Ashley Barry – Bitch Flicks

“We’re All Mad Here”: A Closer Look at the Children of Oz, Fantasia, and Wonderland

Though Dorothy’s relationship with her aunt improves at the end of the film narrative, she still keeps her “imaginative” self hidden from her. When Dorothy calls for her aunt to come and see Ozma, Oz’s daughter and heir, in the mirror, the blond girl just shakes her head and presses her finger to her lips. It’s a really telling a moment, a moment that opens a dialogue about the obvious division between adults and children.

This is a guest post by Ashley Barry.

When I was younger, I had an imagination that was overflowing with all manners of people and expansive lands. Entertained by my own thoughts and ideas, I would play by myself for hours and hours on end. I used to dread play dates because I much preferred the company of my rich imagination and the companions that resided within it. What was the point of interacting with an ordinary person my age when I could be taking a refreshing dip with mermaids or assisting a prince on his journey through a dense, dangerous jungle? My mother would frequently find me, an odd and pensive child, in the most peculiar places: sitting cross legged atop the kitchen counter, wedging myself behind the furnace, and, much to her dismay and frustration, climbing around in my dad’s tool closet.

I’m now an adult woman and, aside from getting a little taller and acquiring more responsibilities, not much has changed in terms of my colossal imagination and insatiable hunger for fiction. I’m a 27-year-old woman who still likes to play and pretend, a kind of mindset that we should never age out of but often do. Even when functioning within an adult sphere at my workplace, I occasionally glance out the skyscraper window and imagine there’s an enormous dragon peering in at me. I allowed my imagination, despite my age and what society may deem appropriate. Adults who continue to nourish their imaginations are, more often than not, negatively stigmatized because it’s juvenile and childish. Why? What’s wrong with stubbornly grasping onto that childlike part of ourselves? Having an imagination is one of the best things a person can possess. It should never be dismissed or considered useless. On the flip side of this issue, there are several mediums in which fictional adults attempt to rid children of their imaginations and imaginative thoughts. How come?

In Return to Oz, Dorothy Gale, the heroine of the film, is sent away by her aunt to receive shock therapy because she’s unable to sleep due to her memories of Oz. However, prior to her visit to the mental institution, there’s a moment where Dorothy presents a mysterious key to her aunt. She excitedly tells her aunt that the key bears the Oz symbol and yet her aunt dismisses her claim. Her aunt then goes on to remind Dorothy to not talk about Oz because it’s just her imagination. Rather than believing Dorothy’s claim, the scene further supports the idea that the imaginative child is a child that requires some kind of fixing. Though Dorothy’s relationship with her aunt improves at the end of the film narrative, she still keeps her “imaginative” self hidden from her. When Dorothy calls for her aunt to come and see Ozma, Oz’s daughter and heir, in the mirror, the blond girl just shakes her head and presses her finger to her lips. It’s a really telling a moment, a moment that opens a dialogue about the obvious division between adults and children.

I always envied fictional children like Dorothy Gale and Alice Liddell. How could I not? They possessed agency in their own fantastical realms, befriended magical creatures, and experienced once-in-a-lifetime adventures (sometimes misadventures). Were their friends and experiences any less real than mine? Rather than looking to fictional adults for assistance and guidance, these fictional children oft rely on their wits and inner strengths. Whether it was Atreyu’s miserable trek through the swamp of sadness or Alice outsmarting an evil Queen that’s overly fond of beheading others, fictional children are just as capable and complex as adults, but they don’t always receive the proper credit or consideration they deserve. When operating as agents outside of their whimsical kingdoms, adults commonly other them.

When it comes to the representation of children in pop culture at large, most mediums commonly illustrate the dichotomy of power between adults and children. One of the more prominent examples that I can think of is the infamous power struggle in Matilda (1996). There’s a constant battle for power between Miss Trunchbull, a shockingly abusive school principal, and Matilda, a puny girl that can move objects with the power of her mind. There’s a scene in which Miss Trunchbull, large and horrible with her mess of teeth, loudly informs Matilda that she’s big and right and overall better than our exceptionally smart heroine:

“Even if you didn’t do it, I’m going to punish you because I’m big and you’re small and I’m right and you’re wrong and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Matilda’s an interesting example because she’s mature and capable, but she’s still able to sustain her imagination and lose herself in a good book. She pushes against the idea that imaginative children are aloof, lost, or incapable. There’s a lovely instance in which Matilda, who’s much younger at this point in the film, is giggling in an oversized chair in the library, amused by whatever it is she’s reading. Viciously mean and dismissive of children and their ideas, Miss Trunchbull is a villain through and through. I always adored Roald Dahl because I felt that he was always rooting for the children in his novels. He crafted such detestable adult villains, adults that couldn’t be trusted or relied upon. He also created wonderful child characters that never lost sight of their imagination and used it as a way to succeed or solve problems.

Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland (2010) is very positive in its presentation of imaginative children and adults. Like Dorothy, Alice frequently wakes up at night because of her fanciful experiences in Wonderland. However, at the beginning of the film, there’s a moving scene between Alice when she’s a little girl and her father. When she tells him that she thinks she might be mad due to her memories of Wonderland, her father informs her that all the best people usually are. He’s one of the few fictional adults that believes in Alice and is on her side. He’s not at all dismissive of her and her “imagined” experiences.

I adore adult Alice because she’s a positive representation of a creative person with an endless imagination. Though some adults are dismissive of her and think her a dreamer, I see her as an innovator and a person who is more than capable of changing the world. When her mother discovers that her daughter isn’t wearing a corset or stockings, I couldn’t help but laugh and like her even more. She doesn’t adhere to norms or traditions, a sure sign of a person who thinks outside the box. There’s a spectacular instance at the end of the film when she’s standing atop the deck of a ship that’s about to depart. As a blue butterfly lands on her shoulder, a friend from Wonderland, she welcomes him and doesn’t deny or overlook his existence. She grows to accept that Wonderland is not a dream, but a fragment of her true self. The film is really about reacquainting oneself with a lost and or forgotten identity.

The NeverEnding Story (1984) is another film that celebrates creativity and imagination. Bastian, the boy protagonist, differs from the other fictional children in that he nearly destroys Fantasia because of what his father says in one of the first scenes. When the childlike Empress pleads for his help, frantically asking him why he doesn’t “do as he dreams,” he tells her that he has to keep his feet on the ground, which was the exact phrase his father had said to him at the beginning of the movie narrative. It’s a frightening instance because his father almost hammered his whimsical ways out of him. When he saves Fantasia and accepts himself as the dreamer that he is, he’s able to cross into Fantasia or bring the creatures of Fantasia into his own world. The ending montage is great because it shows a much happier Bastian riding Falkor, the luck dragon, in both worlds.

The children of Oz, Fantasia, and Wonderland prevailed over the adults that attempted to fix or dissuade them. These fictional children are innovative, ambitious, and victorious. If anything, their innovativeness got them through various obstacles. I’ll always fight against the stigmatization of imaginative adults and children. I sure as hell know I’ll forever have one foot in an imagined realm because that’s where I belong and love to be.

Ashley Barry works at a publishing house in Boston and holds a master’s degree in children’s literature. Though her background is in the book business, she loves writing about all mediums. She’s also a contributing writer for a video game website called Not Your Mama’s Gamer. She can be reached at abarry4099@gmail.com.

The Dinosaur Struggle Is Real: Let’s Talk About Claire Dearing’s Bad Rep and Childhood Nostalgia

Does Claire have to forgo her more gentle side to have some form of agency in the corporate world? Does she have to exhibit traditionally masculine traits in order to operate within a male dominated realm? Is she less of a woman because she’s not very interested in kids or having kids? There’s a dichotomy going on here that’s worth exploring.

This is a guest post by Ashley Barry.

Jurassic World‘s opening cinematic had me starry eyed and shivering with excitement. The familiar but epic score accompanied by grand, sweeping shots of Costa Rica transported me right back to my childhood. I’m surprised my face didn’t fracture because a smile was perpetually plastered on it during the entire length of the introductory cinematic. I was home and temporarily lost in the labyrinth of my own nostalgia.

The first installment of the series was released in 1993 and, for some unknown reason, my parents allowed me to watch it. I was five years old and an easily spooked kid (I was afraid of shower drains for crying out loud). With the exception of the infamous tyrannosaurus rex scene, during which I hid underneath a heavy blanket I couldn’t see through, I was blown away by the idea of a dinosaur park and I idolized Ellie Sattler. The franchise itself later evolved into a familial tradition, my dad toting home the newest installment from the rental store whenever I came down with some form of the plague.

It’s difficult to outdo the original movie and, at times, Jurassic World seemed like it was trying to do just that. Though Jurassic World was filled with throwbacks, even going so far as to revisit the original park, I preferred the first film because it didn’t focus so much on gender politics. They were in a crisis situation and there was no time to argue or zone in on such things. Anybody could be a dinosaur’s dinner. Jurassic Park was the first of its kind and, for me at least, the character development was more organic and believable.

Ellie, an empowering character, was never required to forgo her femininity or empathy to be strong and capable. Though she adhered to the final girl trope during the scene in which she had to override the controls in the control room (the most inconveniently placed control room ever), she was an expert in her field and, whether she was working in the dirt or reaching into a colossal pile of triceratops dung, she was unafraid to literally dirty her hands. Though she was just as capable as her male counterparts and coworkers, she still rocked her neatly pinned hair and cut off shorts.

Ellie was never criticized for having a career or not being maternal enough, as if there’s some kind of scale in existence that makes such a determination. She was able to retain her femininity and empathy whereas Claire, in Jurassic World, switched from a hardened non-maternal figure to a maternal figure, a transition that felt forced. I truly believe Claire was assigned a negative and unforgiving reputation. Whether it was the digs at her femininity or her disinterest in having children of her own, it was an unfair reputation she didn’t deserve.

Claire Dearing, the parks operations manager, is a great example of a modern if not progressive woman in that she’s highly career-oriented and ambitious. I reveled in the fact that she’s a female identifying person who’s in a position of power in the corporate world, which is a typically male-dominated space. It’s great to see her acting as her own agent, but in selecting a career over a family, Claire is often distracted and, at times, disconnected from what’s really going on behind the scenes. She’s usually awkward around and sometimes indifferent toward her nephews, which the film presents as a flaw. Does Claire have to forgo her more gentle side to have some form of agency in the corporate world? Does she have to exhibit traditionally masculine traits in order to operate within a male dominated realm? Is she less of a woman because she’s not very interested in kids or having kids? There’s a dichotomy going on here that’s worth exploring.

Claire is either presented as cold and uptight, seeing the dinosaurs as investments rather than actual animals, or she’s warm and caring and inherently maternal. It’s problematic because the film reinforces the idea that all women are inherently maternal and to unlock a woman’s maternal instinct is as simple as triggering an on/off switch. At the beginning of the film narrative, Claire not only forgets how old her nephews are, but she leaves them in the care of her assistant due to her hectic schedule. Is it really a problem? Is it really her problem? Why are the other characters passing such harsh judgment on her? Are they exempt from judgment? Consider, for a moment, the reality of how busy Claire must be. Her career is obviously important to her but she’s also in an authoritative position, meaning she’s likely under a lot of stress. Why are her duties cast aside? Despite her success, the other characters often scrutinize her for not being maternal enough.

There’s a scene in which she has a heated discussion with her sister, Karen. When Karen stresses the importance of close familial ties, she’s operating under the assumption that Claire will have children someday. Claire’s response is short and to the point, but firm. Not all women want children and that should never be viewed as a shameful or selfish want. Motherhood does not make a woman. Though Claire corrects her sister, she’s still viewed as the quasi-villain of the film. She’s under constant scrutiny from other characters, characters that want to alter her in some way.

“When you have kids of your own—“

“’If,’ not ‘when.’”

There’s a shift at one point in the film when the hybrid dinosaur escapes its enclosure and becomes a real threat. Claire’s transition from cold business woman to maternal figure is more apparent at this point. I recall a moment where Claire looks at one of the security monitors and watches a mother comfort her child. This instance may or may not be the thing that triggers Claire’s inherent maternalness. However, the unlocking of Claire’s inherent maternalness aligns with the trope of the fierce or ferociously protective mother. When Claire presents as an active agent of the corporate world, she relies on her intelligence to carry her through. When her maternal side is unlocked, she goes from being an uptight business woman to a sexy action hero. It raises a few questions. Is her womanhood only a cause for celebration when she accepts her maternal side? Is she more of a woman now that she has taken on the protective role of the mother figure?

After luring the t-rex out of its enclosure, there’s a sexualized shot of Claire lying on her side. The shot itself is clearly intended for the male gaze. With her red hair all mussed and her arms bare, the audience is viewing and consuming a very different version of Claire. It’s a version that doesn’t quite line up with her original character. Does she want to revel in her sexuality? Does she even have time to do so? In becoming a more protective figure, she has become more traditionally feminine. Is she only able to loosen up when adopting a more protective role?

There has been a lot of backlash in regards to Claire’s outfit, especially her stiletto footwear. She’s receiving backlash from both the fictional people in her own world and real life movie-goers. It’s a hard and definitely unfair burden to bear. Visually, Claire is dressed in all white towards the start of the film, which might be a nod to John Hammond but it’s also the very picture of sterility. This image circles back to Claire not wanting children and could be read as a visual representation of her neutralized attitude towards them. When she commits to saving her nephews, she ties her shirt in a fashion that’s similar to Ellie’s shirt. Though my childhood self appreciates the throw back, especially because it’s a throw back to my idol, Owen ruined it for me because he made fun of her “impractical” outfit. Instead of being taken seriously, she became the punch line of a joke and it’s not the first instance in which she served as the punch line of a joke. Is that her only purpose? Is she there to be poked, prodded, and laughed at?

Lastly, there’s something to be said about her stiletto footwear. Too often we’re taught to view and interpret symbols of femininity as things that are weak, vain, and impractical. Personally, I would have rolled my ankles had I been running away from dinosaurs in those heels. Claire impressed me with how well she managed in those nude colored heels of hers. It might have been a painful experience, but she endured the pain to not only save her own skin but to save others as well. There’s a kind of strength in that and it’s a strength that needs to be acknowledged and celebrated.

Claire isn’t a bad character. She’s smart and strong, but she operates in a world that wants to change her and back her into a wall. Ellie was feminine and caring, but that was OK. Though Jurassic World had some great parts, I struggled with the film as a whole because everyone was trying to make a villain out of Claire and a hero out of Owen. Oddly enough, I felt as though the first installment was more progressive in its presentation of deeply developed male and female characters. It’s 2015. Shouldn’t we be moving in a forward direction?