Call For Writers: Bisexual Erasure and Representation

People who identify as bisexual are part of an often maligned group. Both straight and queer community members frequently express discomfort with the concept of bisexuality, feeling threatened by bisexuality’s refusal to fit cleanly into an either/or binary system of sexuality.

Call-for-Writers-e13859437405011

Our theme week for September 2016 will be Bisexual Erasure and Representation.

People who identify as bisexual are part of an often maligned group. Both straight people and queer community members frequently express discomfort with the concept of bisexuality, feeling threatened by bisexuality’s refusal to fit cleanly into an either/or binary system of sexuality. As a result, bisexuality is often depicted as voracious (Lost Girl), respecting no boundaries, and having no limits (Basic Instinct).

Conversely, many mythologize bisexuality, claiming it doesn’t truly exist. They stubbornly label bisexual people as gay, lesbian, or straight based on their current partner, effectively erasing the sexual identity of an entire group of people (The Kids Are All Right, Chasing Amy).

However, some representations of bisexuality accept it as a normal iteration of human sexuality (The 100). These examples allow for exploration and fluidity without judging or demonizing their bisexual characters (The Fall, How to Get Away with Murder). We need to see more bi characters on-screen, especially bisexual women of color (FridaAppropriate Behavior).

Show us the best of bisexual representation and the worst of bisexual erasure. Show us the bisexual characters who break the stereotypical mold and those who define it.

We’d like to avoid as much overlap as possible for this theme, so please get your proposals in early if you know which topic you would like to write about. We accept both original pieces and cross-posts, and we respond to queries within a week.

Most of our pieces are between 1,000 and 2,000 words, and include links and images. Please send your piece as a Microsoft Word document to btchflcks[at]gmail[dot]com, including links to all images, and include a 2- to 3-sentence bio.

If you have written for us before, please indicate that in your proposal, and if not, send a writing sample if possible.

Please be familiar with our publication and look over recent and popular posts to get an idea of Bitch Flicks’ style and purpose. We encourage writers to use our search function to see if your topic has been written about before, and link when appropriate (hyperlinks to sources are welcome, as well).

The final due date for these submissions is Friday, September 23, 2016 by midnight Eastern Time.


Here are some possible topic ideas:

Lost Girl

Appropriate Behavior

The Color Purple

Broad City

Chasing Amy

Degrassi: The Next Generation

Basic Instinct

The Fall

The 100

Orlando

The Rocky Horror Picture Show

The Kids Are All Right

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Frida

Orange Is the New Black

Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

The L Word

Puccini for Beginners

Prey for Rock n’ Roll

Y Tu Mamá También

Orphan Black

My Own Private Idaho

True Blood

De-Lovely

How to Get Away with Murder

Gigli

Horrible Bosses 2

Rent

Torchwood

Jennifer’s Body

House of Cards

Glee

Grey’s Anatomy

Bones

Kissing Jessica Stein

Game of Thrones

Directing One’s Own Life (and Sexuality) in ‘Appropriate Behavior’

‘Appropriate Behavior’ is thus a product and a triumph of female authorship and agency in the male-dominated film and entertainment industry. … Just as Desiree Akhavan went to lengths to ensure her agency and authorship as a filmmaker, Shirin engages with her bisexuality frankly and honestly…

Appropriate Behavior

This guest post written by Deborah Krieger is an edited version that originally appeared at I on the Arts. It is cross-posted with permission.


In Desiree Akhavan’s 2014 film Appropriate Behavior, Shirin (Akhavan), the protagonist, struggles to find her place in both her traditional Iranian family and as a newly-single bisexual woman in New York City. In addition to starring as the protagonist, Akhavan also wrote and directed this offbeat, independent drama-comedy film, basing several of the elements of the film on her own life and experiences, although the plot is fictional. The film premiered at Sundance, where it was perceived as a “breakout,” received a limited theatrical release, and is currently available through various online streaming sources, including iTunes and Amazon Prime. While the film was not a financial success, grossing only $46,000, it put Akhavan on the map, earning her comparisons to Lena Dunham, a writer/director/actor of similar comedic material, and earned her a guest role on Dunham’s HBO show Girls, although Akhavan shrugs off the comparison.

Appropriate Behavior features not only a female creator, star, and director, but also a female executive producer (Katie Mustard), producer (Cecelia Frugiuele) — indeed, women make up at least half of the crew of the film. It is thus fair to say that Appropriate Behavior is a classic example of women’s cinema, which refers to films that have women in positions of creative control, as well as films that are geared towards a female audience. In an industry where women comprise only 9 percent of film directors, 11 percent of writers and 20 percent of executive producers in the top 250 filmsAppropriate Behavior’s crew is quite impressive in terms of giving women control over the production of the film.

Appropriate Behavior is thus a product and a triumph of female authorship and agency in the male-dominated film and entertainment industry. Essentially, Appropriate Behavior addresses female production and agency not only in the background processes of the film, but also in content, as exemplified through Shirin’s trials and travails over the course of the film. Shirin aims to take control of her life post-breakup and establish her identity in relationship to the world around her. She gets a new job teaching filmmaking to five year-olds, moves into a new apartment, and, most importantly, tries to get over her ex-girlfriend Maxine by seeking out and engaging sexually with partners both male and female, including a leader of a feminist discussion group and a hip swinging young couple. In short, Shirin’s desire to create her own new life post-Maxine is analogous to the process of Akhavan’s making her film independently, serving as writer, director, and star, and exemplifies Shirin’s own sexual and personal agency as an active female character. Both Shirin and the film Appropriate Behavior exist outside of the mainstream: Shirin is a bisexual woman of color in an industry where films are usually made about straight white men (whites making up 70 percent of the protagonists in 2014 Hollywood films, men 88 percent, with LGBT characters only accounting for 17.5 percent of all characters), and Appropriate Behavior is an independently financed and distributed film not made to satisfy commercial needs or beckon broad appeal. At the beginning of the film Shirin starts with nothing — she is unhappily single, in need of a home, and looking for a new job — and must start from scratch, just as Akhavan conceived of the fictional story of the film, beginning, one assumes, with a white blank page. Indeed, when it comes to its depiction of sexuality, Appropriate Behavior through its form and content, center the idea of female agency and authorship, whether behind or in front of the camera.

Appropriate Behavior reflects the choices made by Desiree Akhavan throughout her burgeoning career as a filmmaker to maintain her independence, control and agency over her projects. Filmmaker Michelle Citron, in her essay “Women’s Film Production: Going Mainstream,”[1] creates a divide between usage of the terms “film-maker” [sic] versus “director,” arguing that a filmmaker exercises more “control” over her product than does a director, who trades control for increased “power” within the mainstream Hollywood production structure and, one assumes, the ability to direct projects with larger and larger budgets and commercial appeal further down the line. In the interview with Professor Patricia White preceding the screening of Appropriate Behavior at the Penn Humanities Forum at the University of Pennsylvania, Akhavan spoke about the difficulty of getting Appropriate Behavior financed, since, as both she and Citron point out, the kind of projects Hollywood supports are the kind that have been proven to be revenue-generating in the past.[2] Akhavan noted that even within the niche of more mainstream LGBT films she had little luck, since her film was a comedy, not a drama (in the vein of, perhaps, Brokeback Mountain), and thus did not receive any grants, and because her film centers on a bisexual woman of color and not white gay men, it was harder to find support.

Appropriate Behavior 4

Additionally, while Akhavan did not explicitly reference Citron’s filmmaker versus director argument, she did point out that as a woman behind the camera, she had been offered to direct mainstream comedies — for example, something starring Zac Efron — but that she turned those offers down because she wanted to direct her own her projects, even though by this token she was trading a chance at power within the Hollywood mainstream for control over a much smaller film, as per the Citron model.

In terms of the film’s content, the depiction of Shirin’s sexuality also emphasizes her choices and agency in her (attempted) sexual encounters with both men and women. Just as Akhavan went to lengths to ensure her agency and authorship as a filmmaker, Shirin engages with her bisexuality frankly and honestly, seeking out partners whom she believes will make her happy (or at least satisfied), regardless of how society views her sexual orientation. She pursues a male partner for a one-night stand over OkCupid, a female feminist group discussion leader, and a couple, who invites her into their home for a threesome. In one key scene in the film, Shirin attempts to revive her existence as a sexual single woman by going to a lingerie shop and hesitantly requesting to be shown “underwear of a woman in charge of her sexuality and not afraid of change.”

Despite her attempts to prove otherwise to herself, Shirin’s sexual identity and agency is anything but assured, as the audience learns over the course of the film, and is a source of both happiness and pain for her. In her article “Pleasure and Danger: Towards a Politics of Sexuality,” which addresses conceptions of female sexuality through a feminist lens, Carole S. Vance cites a “powerful tension”[3] between pleasure and danger. While Appropriate Behavior does not explicitly define itself as feminist or anti-feminist, its take on female sexuality, especially Shirin’s bisexuality, is indicative of the divide between pleasure and danger that Vance addresses. In the film, Shirin’s bisexuality within both straight and lesbian contexts is treated as dangerous and “other”; her straight brother doubts that bisexuality is real and calls her “sexually confused,” while her ex-girlfriend Maxine, in a particularly harsh moment, wonders aloud if their relationship was just a “phase” for Shirin — particularly damning for a bisexual woman, since they are often perceived as experimenting or, indeed, “confused.” Additionally, Shirin’s sexuality is a source of stress — and, indeed, danger — in the film, because Shirin worries about alienating her traditional Persian family if she comes out to them, which is one of the causes of the breakdown of Shirin’s and Maxine’s relationship.

Appropriate Behavior

Furthermore, during the discussion with Akhavan, when the topic of filming sex scenes came up, she spoke of her enthusiasm for participating and directing these kinds of scenes, adding that she felt “empowered” by this type of material. However, what was interesting in the interview, vis-à-vis Vance’s discussion of pornography being demonized by certain feminists, is that one of the sex scenes (likely the threesome) worried Akhavan because she thought it was too close to pornography, rather than an honest depiction of sex, and had to be reassured by her producer that it would turn out to be acceptable. In the scene in question, Shirin engages sexually with the couple, then watches awkwardly as they engage with one another, leaving her out. Where the scene becomes “dangerous,” in a sense, for Shirin is the strange connection she makes with the female half of the couple — a connection that so unnerves as disturbs her that she feels obligated to leave the couple’s apartment. Through Akhavan’s intervention, a scene that could have been aimed at the male gaze and meant to titillate like pornography becomes more emotional and meaningful, with the nudity serving to advance the sentiment of the scene as well as the plot of the film. What is emphasized both in the film and in Akhavan’s commentary is the sense of female power and agency in that both Shirin and Akhavan have, and had, the opportunity and luxury of pursuing and expressing their sexuality in or through the making of the film, even if the outcome for Shirin is not what she expected.

Thus, with regards to both the behind-the-scenes processes as well as the narrative of the film, Appropriate Behavior exemplifies and addresses issues of female authorship and agency. Desiree Akhavan asserted herself not only by writing, directing, and starring in her own film, as well as hiring many women to serve on the production team, but also refusing to take on projects that would diminish her agency and control over the process and end result, preferring to be an author and filmmaker rather than a director-for-hire. Similarly, Shirin alternately asserts (and questions) her identity over the course of the film through her displays of sexuality and the choices she makes, ultimately reaching a place where she is feeling hopeful about her own life and ready to move forward, as emphasized by her finally throwing away the strap-on Maxine insisted Shirin take as part of their break-up. In Akhavan’s career as well as the content she creates, it would seem, women’s ability and agency to be sexual, to be oneself and make one’s own choices, to direct one’s own life, as it were, are paramount. Ultimately, Appropriate Behavior succeeds as a feminist film, in my view, insomuch as we can tie female agency and authorship to feminism, because it keenly addresses these concepts both behind and in front of the camera.


See also: In ‘Appropriate Behavior’: What Does It Take for a Woman to Author Herself?


Notes: 

[1]: Michelle Citron, “Women’s Film Production: Going Mainstream,” in The Gender and Media Reader, ed. Mary Celeste Kearney (New York: Routledge, 2012), 177.

[2]: Desiree Akhavan, interview by Patricia White at the Penn Humanities Forum, September 25, 2015.

[3]: Carole S. Vance, “Pleasure and Danger: Towards a Politics of Sexuality,” in Pleasure and Danger: Exploring Female Sexuality, ed. Carole S. Vance (Boston: Routledge, 1984), 1.


Deborah Krieger is a senior at Swarthmore College, studying art history, film and media studies, and German. She has written for Hyperallergic, Hooligan Magazine, the Northwestern Art Review, The Stake, and Title Magazine. She also runs her own art blog, I On the Arts, and curates her life in pictures @Debonthearts on Instagram.

The Male Gaze, LOL: How Comedies Are Changing the Way We Look

The body is no longer a Lacanian reflected ideal, it is a biological mess that often exists beyond anyone’s control. The effect of this convention is two-fold–a bait and switch of expectations but also the creation of a sense of biological sameness: man or woman, everybody poops. By placing the body in a biological space instead of a symbolic one, physical comedy is questioning the visual tendencies of subconscious desire.


This guest post by Donna K. appears as part of our theme week on The Female Gaze.


When I was taught the definitions of comedy and tragedy as an angst-y teen, I remember being struck by the way in which they were generalized. In tragedy, everyone dies. In comedy, everyone gets married. I remember thinking, “Yes, marriage IS hilarious!” But in fact, marriage was comic in the sense that everything worked out for everybody–everybody often being defined as the white male with power. Over the last decade, the male gaze has quietly been averted through a new wave of female-driven comedies. Television shows like 30 Rock, Broad City, Orange is the New Black, The Mindy Project, Inside Amy Schumer, and films like Bridesmaids and Appropriate Behavior have paved the way for comedy, specifically the role of women in it, to be re-defined: comedy is a choice. Comedy is not who will marry whom it is the choice to marry or not, to tell one’s individual story, to laugh in the face of the controlling patriarchy until there is nothing left to laugh about.

1

One of the hallmarks of the new class of female comedies is to subvert the “to-be-looked-at-ness” of the female form, begging an audience to gaze upon woman but then exposing the gawkers to the truths below the surface in a physical- almost biological- comedy; Julie (Julie Klausner) publically wets herself in the very first episode of the new series Difficult People; Amy Schumer’s skit “Milk Milk Lemonade” reminds audiences that the sexy booty fetishized in music videos is, in reality, “where your poop comes out”; the explosive diarrhea of food poisoning ruins the extravagant rite of wedding dress shopping in Bridesmaids. The body is no longer a Lacanian reflected ideal, it is a biological mess that often exists beyond anyone’s control. The effect of this convention is two-fold–a bait and switch of expectations but also the creation of a sense of biological sameness: man or woman, everybody poops. By placing the body in a biological space instead of a symbolic one, physical comedy is questioning the visual tendencies of subconscious desire. No longer do audiences expect to walk into a theater or turn on a TV and be greeted with a vision of feminine perfection; now they might be subjected to blood, sweat, tears, and all other kinds of bodily fluids of not just the female form but the human one. The body is an object but not one strictly made for pleasure (yet pleasure is nice too, of course).

2

In Broad City the character of Ilana (Ilana Glazer) sets the mood propping up mirrors, putting on make-up, prepping herself to be a vision of desire (Season 2 Ep. 8, ““Kirk Steele””). She turns on her vibrator, and some porn, and is ready for some self love: she is not here to please anyone but herself. When Danny (Chris Messina) opens the drawer of Mindy Lahiri’s (Mindy Kahling) nightstand in The Mindy Project and proclaims “Mindy has the same neck massager as Ma,” (Season 3, Ep. 8 ““Diary of a Mad Indian Woman””) not everyone might understand the implication (pssst, pharmacies sell vibrators in disguise). New female comedy isn’t presenting sex as a males want toward females; it is showing sex as a thing all genders desire, even to the point they make it happen alone. Self-love in female comedy could potentially feed into the male gaze, making him even more afraid of castration or exciting him through pleasurable moans, but what is also occurring is a normalization of female sexual pleasure. Sex and the City led the way and now movies like Appropriate Behavior (full of bi-sexuality, threesomes, and a strap on!) and Trainwreck (even if Apatow is undeniably a slut shamer!) are reminding audiences that women use their vaginas for things other than birthing and male satisfaction. These comedies are creating what Laura Mulvey calls a “new language of desire” (where the controlled and the controller are interchangeable between genders, quietly inserting the fact that this dynamic has, in actuality, always existed).

3

Much like the voice-over in 90s comedies that presented a personal and omniscient guide to female protagonists (Sex and the City, Mean Girls, Clueless, and Election), flashbacks are now the go-to convention used to expose the inner and past lives of women. Desiree Akhavan’s Appropriate Behavior is a flashback in its entirety, slowly showing the steps that led to the opening break-up between Shirin (Akhavan) and Maxine (Rebecca Henderson), a slow methodical break-down of motivations and personal histories. In 30 Rock, a nerdy child Liz Lemon (Tina Fey) speaks German in a short moment of memory, a happening common in the series with the young Liz sometimes played by Fey’s real life daughter. The characters of OITNB have constant, harrowing flashbacks that connect their present to a long receding past, in Sophia’s (Laverne Cox) pre-transition flashback her character is played by Cox’s real life twin brother. How can one see a character as a hollow, empty image when they are created with an entire life? A life that sometimes even edges into their fictional world? Women are not, as Mulvey says, “Freez[ing] the flow of action.” They are, and have always been, part of the action, whether recognized or not. The stories of women remain untold and the reminder that lives exist beyond their simple image, even in a fiction, is an enormous step forward in terms of making an active female figure rather than a passive one. Herstory isn’t a joke, it is a thing that roots woman in the world, it makes women makers of meaning and not strictly bearers of it.

1

And then come our good, old friends satire and parody! Comediennes are taking the unattainable expectations and fears of the male gaze, pointing at them and laughing as hard as possible, exposing the ridiculousness in objectification and shaming the power struggle into submission- it is almost like an S&M relationship with the status quo. When Liz Lemon does promos for her show “Dealbreakers”  (Season 4 Episode 7, “Dealbreakers Talk Show,” a show that points out the faults in men that make them un-marriable: yas!), she ends up becoming so nervous about her appearance she is reduced to crying from her mouth after off-brand eye surgery. When Amy Schumer consults every possible man in her life, from doctor to mailman to boy scout, on whether she should go on birth control, it is hilarious but it is also not too far from the truth. When Annie (Kristen Wiig) wakes up early to apply make-up and return to bed before her sex friend wakes to give the illusion of flawlessness, it is a joke, and it is also, unfortunately, not a joke. Satire is a powerful way of exposing questionable societal norms, ridiculous attitudes, and insane standards; it is a socially acceptable way to challenge the patriarchy and air our grievances. If we collectively confront the male gaze through satire those in power can no longer turn a blind eye to the true absurdity that exists.

By choosing how we are looked at and creating comical stories beyond the marriage plot, we are making an enormous reclamation of our bodies and ourselves: power lies in choice. Alternative ways of seeing and being seen are created with each new story told, a visibility that is only just starting to be explored as we struggle to be better represented in mainstream media. Contemporary comedies with female leads are now ruled by countless types of desires as we are stick out our tongues at the gazing males frozen in the audience. Raising our laughter is just another form of raising our voices for change.

2


References

  1. Mulvey (1975). “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema.” Screen, 16.3 Autumn, pp. 6-18

 

 


Donna K. is a cultural critic, film festival consultant and creative producer based in Southern Vermont. She is a member of the Women Film Critics Circle and a writer for Hammer to Nail. You can follow her musings about visual storytelling on her blog Gravity Was Everywhere Back Then.

 

 

In ‘Appropriate Behavior’: What Does It Take for a Woman to Author Herself?

What’s more, to understand ‘Appropriate Behavior’ as the bisexual Iranian version of someone else’s work would be to miss the point of the film entirely. While on the surface, the film is about a bisexual Iranian American coming to terms with a breakup and with the messiness of her sexuality, it’s really a film about identity, about what it means not to take the easy way out by shaving off or hiding the parts of yourself that don’t fit into a neat package. By failing, spectacularly, to fit, the film, like its main character, becomes something more than the sum of its seemingly discordant parts, something entirely of its own.

Desiree Akhavan in Appropriate Behavior

 


This is a guest post by Dena Afrasiabi.


It’s tempting to try to fit Desiree Akhavan’s unique and hilarious first feature, Appropriate Behavior, into the appropriate box. In the age of tagging and buzzwords, a film of its kind lends itself to a plethora of catchy categories: Iranian, Brooklynite, lesbian, coming of age, categories that have never all been represented on the same screen at the same time. Add to that some awkward (i.e. realistic) sex scenes and it’s no wonder that so many reviewers have described Akhavan as the bisexual Iranian version of Lena Dunham. Or is it? Upon reading other articles on the film, as well as interviews with Akhavan, on the topic, it becomes glaringly apparent that the comparisons say a lot less about the film or about Akhavan as an artist than they do about the relationship between the media and women artists of color. Granted, Akhavan and Dunham do share some surface similarities: both filmmakers are young women, both make work set in Brooklyn that features flawed (i.e. real), intelligent female characters, characters who harbor real desires, make real mistakes and find themselves in real, awkward, often cringe-worthy sexual encounters. And in all fairness, the comparison is certainly a flattering one, as Akahavan herself has acknowledged.

Nor is Akhavan the first filmmaker or writer to be compared to Dunham. Both Greta Gerwig, writer and star of Frances Ha and Gillian Robespierre, the director of Obvious Child, have also held the somewhat dubious honor, one that’s apparently granted to any talented young female filmmaker who makes a funny film about a smart woman who lives in Brooklyn and doesn’t have her life all figured out by her mid-20s. Indeed, linking filmmakers to one another seems to be a favored pastime of film critics. Dunham herself has oft been dubbed the new Woody Allen. And the interwebs does yield its share of comparisons between male filmmakers as well (Paul Thomas Anderson has been compared to Quentin Tarantino, Tarantino to Scorcese, Judd Appatow and Ed Burns to Woody Allen). But these linkages occur much less frequently and carry less weight than comparisons between female filmmakers, and especially the ubiquitous comparisons between Akhavan and Dunham.

Lena Dunham and Greta Gerwig
Lena Dunham and Greta Gerwig

 

Great artists locate themselves in a tradition. Most filmmakers, including Allen himself, are quick to name their biggest influences. But the above-mentioned comparisons point to something more than just the creation of a genealogy. They reek of a tokenism that only makes room for one successful woman at a time and that fosters acceptance for women of color by linking them to their white counterparts. This tokenism diminishes or even erases the nuances of these filmmakers’ distinct voices and minimizes the range and complexity of experiences they convey.

What’s more, to understand Appropriate Behavior as the bisexual Iranian version of someone else’s work would be to miss the point of the film entirely. While on the surface, the film is about a bisexual Iranian American coming to terms with a breakup and with the messiness of her sexuality, it’s really a film about identity, about what it means not to take the easy way out by shaving off or hiding the parts of yourself that don’t fit into a neat package. By failing, spectacularly, to fit, the film, like its main character, becomes something more than the sum of its seemingly discordant parts, something entirely of its own.

AB-STILLS-9-

The film’s narrative follows Shirin (Desiree Akahavan), a 20-something bisexual Iranian American living in Park Slope whose barely held together life is coming apart at the seams. She and her girlfriend, Maxine (Rebecca Henderson), have just broken up, sending Shireen out of Park Slope domestic bliss and into a self-destructive spiral inside a dark and cluttered apartment in Bushwick that she shares with a hipster artist couple who look like they just walked off the set of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. She quits her job at the Brooklyn Paper, where she has been replaced as the token Middle Easterner by a Syrian woman whose Syrianness is more exciting to her coworkers than Shirin’s more understated Iranianness and goes to work as a teacher for an after-school filmmaking class full of Park Slope toddlers more interested in eating their cameras than shooting precocious art films she imagines them making. As Shirin deals with her grief over the breakup, we learn of the relationship through a series of bittersweet flashbacks—that’s right, Annie Hall style. In one scene, Shirin and Maxine meet on a stoop just before midnight on New Year’s Eve, where they bond over their mutual disdain (“I hate so many things, too” Shirin tells her, just before their first kiss). In another, they make the romantic discovery while smoking pot together for the first time that they’re “the same type of high person.” The romance quickly unravels, however, as Shirin and Maxine repeatedly butt heads over Shirin’s unwillingness to come out to her socially conservative Iranian parents (Hooman Majd and Anh Duong).

appropriate-behavior2-640x371

Throughout the film, we watch Shirin repeatedly fail to fulfill the expectations of those around her. She doesn’t embody Maxine’s idea of the right kind of lesbian, one who reads queer studies classics like Stone Butch Blues, embraces gay activism with earnest enthusiasm and wears her sexuality as a badge. Nor does she fit her family’s definition of the right kind of Iranian offspring, by contrast to her successful doctor brother (Arian Moayed) or his polished Iranian fiancée (Justine Cotsonas), who performs reconstructive surgery on pediatric burn victims. She also fails to be the right kind of Iranian in the eyes of Park Slope’s upper middle class liberals, who expect her to be one of the hip young Tehranis they read about in the Times. When asked by her new boss (Scott Adsit) if she’s part of the underground hip-hop scene in Tehran, she answers, “I spend most of time in Iran watching Disney videos with my grandmother while she untangles jewelry.” The slapstick film she makes with her class also clashes hilariously with Park Slope’s collective Disney-like fantasy of a harmonious multicultural world, epitomized by her bohemian coworker, Tibet (Rosalie Lowe), who attends West African dance classes religiously and makes a film featuring white and African American children poetically climbing trees. Shirin’s eventual coming out to her mother, too, defies expectations of the genre with its quiet ambiguity. “Mom, I’m a little bit gay,” Shirin tells her mother one night at her parents’ New Jersey home. And rather than set off a show of hysterics or threats to ship her off to Iran or to straight camp, her mother meets this confession with a simple dismissal, the tip of a cultural iceberg that alludes to beliefs and attitudes that will not melt overnight. It’s such moments of ambiguity that set Akhavan apart as a filmmaker, moments that can’t be separated from her unique vantage point and that get lost in the Dunham comparisons and the branding.

Desiree-Akhavan-in-APPROPRIATE-BEHAVIOUR-2-620x400

What makes the story so resonant is that Shirin doesn’t ever tie up her identity’s loose ends. A lesser film may have shown the protagonist reaching an epiphany of self-acceptance or end with a celebration of her sexuality or of her identity as an immigrant. Instead, the film vividly details Shirin’s loneliness and discomfort (albeit with much hilarity) as she stumbles from one awkward discovery to another and eventually into a more honest self while also acknowledging, in its own subtle way, the empowerment that comes with resisting the pressure to wrap your identity around any one thing, be it your sexuality or your ethnicity or the neighborhood where you live. This isn’t to say the film is a Song of Myself celebration of American individualism. She doesn’t receive a trophy at the end for “being herself.” Shirin doesn’t defy categorization to make a point or prove herself; she does so because it’s ultimately the only way she knows how to be, a way of being that comes at its own price but whose benefits far outweigh the cost of self-erasure.

Like Shirin, who finally comes into her own by the film’s end through her inability to meet other’s expectations of her identity, it’s Akhavan’s deft and nuanced, not to mention hysterically funny, chronicling of this journey that makes her a filmmaker bound to defy and surpass the already high expectations of her future work—and perhaps in this one sense, it is fair to say she does have something in common with Lena Dunham, a.k.a the straight white Desiree Akhavan.

 


Dena Afrasiabi is the co-editor of the literary magazine Elsewhere Lit. Her fiction has appeared in Kartika Review, JMWW and Prick of the Spindle. She resides in Austin, Texas and sometimes vents or raves about films here.