BDSM – Bitch Flicks

Emotional Violence, Kink, and ‘The Duke of Burgundy’

Cynthia and Evelyn together

This guest post by Rushaa Louise Hamid appears as part of our theme week on Violent Women.

Note: The best viewing of The Duke of Burgundy is without any prior knowledge. Spoilers are contained throughout this piece.

Lesbian relationships in film often carry the burden of limited storytelling which focuses on coming out stories, pregnancy, affairs, and/or death. Peter Strickland’s The Duke of Burgundy has none of these traits. Rather it is a universal story about love and the ways in which we can be undone by it, exploring the emotional violence that can be carried by a relationship. Most importantly, unlike another film that shall not be named, The Duke of Burgundy highlights this as a failure of communication, not as an evil of kink itself. Evelyn (Chiara D’Anna) is neglectful, Cynthia is avoidant (Sidse Babett Knudsen), and these are aspects that can be found in all relationships.

In much of feminist literature from the past, kink is seen an act driven by patriarchy, with submissive women reproducing their oppressions in the bedroom and capitulating to gendered norms of women as silent and subservient. Even nowadays as the tide gradually changes, there is still a large amount of ire reserved for those who practice BDSM. Yasmin Alibhai-Brown writes in 2012, “When young women become instinctively assertive and free of gender constrictions, their liberty threatens the ‘natural’ order. So they have to be reminded of their place, taught they can never be good enough and must relearn submission.” Thus it is often hard to find films which explore serious issues in BDSM relationships without casting the assumption that the protagonists themselves are dis-empowered or damaged in some way.

The Duke of Burgundy in contrast demonstrates that submissive desires are not necessarily borne out of an instinct to please men and that acting in a role with limited power does not mean that a women actually has limited power in the relationship. In fact whilst the physical aspects of subservience we see in the film are consensual and empowering for Evelyn, it is Cynthia (the Domme) who suffers from emotional violence as both she and Evelyn accept the subordination of Cynthia’s own personal desires. This can sometimes be hard to recognise as quite as extreme as it is – indeed, in looking through reviews the level of the emotional conflict present is not addressed, instead viewed simply as lesbian love story with a kinky flair. In part this is perhaps due to the expectation that women perform the trope of martyr for love. The film though clearly presents that it is not the adopted role itself that determines the power balance within a relationship, but rather it comes about through the care of the individuals themselves.

The opening scene clouds this perception, deliberately obscuring who we can “root for.” We first see Evelyn approach the house, where she is aggressively greeted by a cold and cruel Cynthia. She is made to scrub floors and massage feet, eventually making an easily fixable mistake that results in the punishment of having her mouth urinated in. Without background information we assume that Evelyn is meek, and conforming to the past feminist conception of the submissive woman, and that Cynthia is controlled and sadistic. We are unsure throughout the scene of the degree of consent that is present. This is similar to the set-up for Secretary – of which The Duke of Burgundy has occasionally been described as the lesbian version of – where Mr. Grey belittles Lee before the two of them develop a romantic relationship; expectations have been put in place that this film will continue the cinematic trend of cold dominants learning to love. Yet once the scene cuts we see the two characters in bed together, Cynthia removing her wig and wanting to know if her performance was “too cold.”

Evelyn

We then get the opportunity to see the role-play from Cynthia’s perspective. We see her nervously preparing by guzzling water and frantically trying to memorise handwritten cards on which Evelyn has laid out every detail of the scene she wishes to enact. We see her struggling to maintain her icy composure, and suffering through back pain as she tries to maintain an upright posture. The violence is an illusion. Like the titular butterfly, Cynthia is mistaken for one type of person but is actually a completely different one.

In essence the film frames the physical act of “violence” and domination/submission as a representation of love and devotion; it is what the characters do because they want to share intimacy. This contrasts with the truer emotional violence – first with Evelyn’s increasing push of her kinks, wilfully ignoring the growing distress of Cynthia, then later with Cynthia’s violation of Evelyn’s safeword. Cynthia throughout takes on a “traditional” feminine obligation to provide support on things she is not comfortable with for love at the detriment of herself, suffering through the emotional trauma of a partner who increasingly ignores all her needs.

There are no men in this realm – everyone, down to the background characters (and even mannequins), are women. This is an interesting set-up, since even in this women-only world Cynthia cannot escape a gendered expectation of taking on the emotional burden of a relationship. On top of this, by divorcing the relationship from heterosexual narratives Strickland is allowing for more focus on Cynthia’s struggle as a dominant role-player since the character does not have to live up to the audience’s stereotype of the hyper-sexualised and commanding masculine ideal.

In a key scene, the emotional care of Cynthia contrasts with the selfishness of Evelyn. “Are you sure you’re going to be OK?” Cynthia asks having shut the heavy lid of the truck containing Evelyn tied up inside for the night. The silence panics her and so again she questions and is responded to with a sharp “Yes!” Cynthia’s legitimate need for a simple word of reassurance aren’t considered valid by her partner – instead there is an anger that Cynthia would dare break the fantasy role that Evelyn has placed her in.

Cynthia

Consent is a key aspect of BDSM, and is not just “no means no” or “yes means yes” but much more fluid and active – it requires partners to consider situations in which their lover might not feel comfortable or be physically able to speak out and so paying careful attention to body language is key. Evelyn is the true inflicter of violence in The Duke of Burgundy by ignoring these signs. If she was presented as a dominant man these acts of control would seem overt – pressuring her lover into a particular type of sexual activity, pressuring her lover to act in a particular way, pressuring her lover to dress in a particular way, ignoring her lover’s discomfort, using “I wasn’t getting what I wanted” to justify seeking things outside the relationship, and pressuring her to perform despite physical injury. Though Cynthia is making these choices too, she is also motivated by a fear that she will be abandoned if she refuses. Only in the end when Evelyn realises the sheer level of strain she has put her partner through (following Cynthia’s breakdown) does Cynthia get that reassurance that her no’s will not lead to Evelyn leaving her. Evelyn relies on Cynthia’s devotional love to continue to be egocentric and aggressive and ignores her responsibility to check in on her lover’s well-being.

In contrast to this slow drip of pressure from Evelyn, Cynthia expresses emotional violence all at once, choosing to violate their safeword on Evelyn’s birthday. The scene is aggressive and uncomfortable to sit through – by continuing through Evelyn’s cry of “pinastri” she has dragged Evelyn into a realm where her explicit consent no longer matters. Evelyn goes from a woman in charge of her sexuality to an object to be acted on, voiceless. “If only pinastri could make all our troubles go away,” Cynthia says as she presses onto her lover’s face, as if the only way the relationship can ever work is if one person is always suffering. Unfortunately this major violation is never addressed again in the film.

It is perhaps one of the best merits of The Duke of Burgundy that the resolution does not provide an escape from the duty to provide for love – rightly compromise is portrayed as an essential part of a relationship, and shifting the balance to entirely favour Cynthia would just leave the two cycling through the same mistakes and feelings of frustration. Though it is left ambiguous, with the closing scene featuring Cynthia back in her Domme persona, there is an element of confidence that these characters have learnt a little more about supporting each other. In Strickland’s world the true emotional violence is not defined as doing something you don’t want to do, but rather feeling trapped and ignored and unloved when doing something you have no interest in; it is about intent more than action. When Evelyn can grow and recognise the pain that she causes and Cynthia can articulate her needs they create a more tender relationship that can include the roles that each are willing to perform for the other, without carrying the emotional pain.

Rushaa Louise Hamid is a writer-for-hire normally located in London, UK. She enjoys politics, the issues of identity, and perfecting her Dalek impression. You can find her @thesecondrussia or more of her writing over at rulohamid.wordpress.com.

Unity Through Differentiation: The Radical Sex Positivity of ‘Sense8’

The net effect, woven throughout the series, is a sex positivity that both embraces differentiation and recognizes the universal experiences that can work to close gaps of gender, orientation, and race that routinely stymie the discourse.

This guest post by Emma Houxbois appears as part of our theme week on Sex Positivity.

Sex positivity, as a movement and concept in general, is open to a great deal of interpretation and criticism because of the multitude of forms that it’s taken over the years. Nowhere is that more apparent than in the heated debates that formed what are alternately described as “the feminist sex wars” and “lesbian sex wars” in establishing where the boundaries between legitimate self expression and exploitation lie in areas like commercial pornography and BDSM lie.

Discussions of power, privilege, and control typically remain central to the topic of sex positivity, and they’re vitally important when considering film in particular, a medium where female expressions of desire are more often than not conceived of and executed by men. While these discussions are vital, they can also stand to be expanded into what sex positivity can look like when it moves beyond the idea of liberating self-expression to recognizing and understanding other people’s desires.

Prior to the debut of Sense 8, Lana and Andy Wachowski were not typically considered to be filmmakers with a particularly sex positive agenda, but the roots of their broad and inclusive conceptions of sexuality in their Netflix series (co-created with J. Michael Straczynski) go all the way back to their debut Bound, a heist flick that starred Gina Gershon and Jennifer Tilly as lovers. At the time, the Wachowskis reached out to erotica writer and famed proponent of sex positive femininity Susie Bright to offer her a cameo in the film as thanks for her work’s influence in creating the film. Bright, who fell in love with the script, countered with a readily accepted offer to be their consultant on film and provide direction on how to film the sex scenes between Gershon and Tilly.

It’s an under-discussed part of the Wachowskis’ career that Bound, through arrangements made by Bright, had its debut at the San Francisco Gay and Lesbian Film Festival at the Castro theater, establishing a queer context to their work years before Lana came out as transgender. However it’s easy to see a recapturing of the spirit of their collaboration with Bright in Sense8, as they expand from the lesbian romance of Bound to expand into a multitude of simultaneous expressions of sexuality.

Key to much of the conversation around the series and its depiction of sex is how central, and explicit, the relationship between Nomi, a trans woman, (played by Jamie Clayton) and her girlfriend Amanita (played by Freema Agyeman) is. In and of itself it’s a tremendous victory for trans representation that scores the unheard of trifecta of a trans woman character being played by an actual trans actress, recognizes that trans women experience same gender desire, and doesn’t construct her sexuality around deception of any kind. The Wachowskis clearly communicate their triumph in this with the close up shot of a well-lubricated rainbow dildo dropping to the floor at the close of their first sex scene together, but Sense8 sets out to accomplish far more than just a sex toy mic drop.

In addition to Nomi and Amanita’s relationship, the series develops the romance between closeted Mexican actor Lito Rodriguez (played by Miguel Angel Silvestre) who is among the seven other characters Nomi shares an empathic bond with, and his boyfriend Hernando, as well as blossoming heterosexual romances between other members of the group. Nomi and Lito’s relationships are given the bulk of the development as the series progresses, but the Wachowskis use that focus as an opportunity to build a conception of sex that celebrates differentiation while also tapping into the universal aspects of sex and intimacy that everyone experiences regardless of gender or orientation.

This is primarily and most noticeably achieved in a sequence in the sixth episode where enough of the emotional energy of the sensates is focused on sex to trigger a full blown orgy between several of them, including Nomi, Lito, and two of the straight male characters. The focus and direction of the sequence, which was described by Silvestre as Lana Wachowski yelling directions from the sideline, which sounds much like what Bright believed her role in Bound’s production would be interpreted as. (“I think they imagined that meant I stood over Gina and Jennifer with a riding crop, snapping, “Deeper , Harder, A Little to the Left!”) But the scene does also communicate the same language and visuals that Bright intended for Bound:

“There were two main ideas on my mind. One, unlike most Hollywood lesbian scenarios, this movie shouldn’t insinuate oral sex– that’s not the kind of characters we were looking at. BOUND is about getting inside someone very fast, trusting them with everything-these women had to be fucking each other. Penetration was the act we wanted to imply. Yet obviously we weren’t going to get away with gynecological or hardcore shots in a movie that was headed for America’s shopping malls.”

“My idea, stolen from the ‘Kathy’ footage, was that we show a woman’s legs, straining and squeezing, and that we see that her lover’s forearm between her thighs. We dwell on that arm for a moment, moving back and forth in a fucking rhythm, looking sure, steady and unrelenting. Then, instead of following her arm all the way up to her lover’s pussy, we would cut to her stomach, fluttering like a little butterfly in that spasm we all recognize as orgasm. I loved the idea of eroticizing a woman’s belly like that. A lot of men making sex movies try to show a woman’s sexual pleasure by focusing the lens on her cleavage. Maybe that’s what they’re looking at, but hey, there’s a lot more going on!

“The other key idea was to eroticize the women’s hands whenever they were flirting or making love with each other. ‘A lesbian’s hands are her cock, they’re the hard-on of the movie, that’s what you want to follow,’ I said, like some veteran pornographer. When I see Corky’s hands on screen, I want to imagine how they would feel inside me. They’re the metaphorical substitute for the genital shots that you won’t be showing.”

Eroticizing the hands is the technique most keenly felt that follows through from Bound, but toward a somewhat different purpose in Sense8. Bright was looking for a way to get the idea of the kind of sex she imagined being most relevant to the plot and character beats of Bound across without being able to use explicit detail. She wanted to communicate genuine queer female desire to an audience who had never seen it presented in a manner equal to the depiction of straight sex in mainstream film. In Sense8, the first thing that focusing on eroticizing hands and grasping does is communicate the universality of desire across characters who identify as gay, lesbian, and straight. It depicts a physical element of sex that everyone, no matter their gender or orientation, can easily grasp and identify with. What it also does, just as Bright sought to evoke penetration in the sex scenes as part of the overall themes of Bound, is communicate how the individual sensates have been grasping toward each other in the series, trying to reach an understanding of their circumstances and who each other are.

Differentiation cannot be overlooked as being a major component of how the series presents and celebrates sexuality, despite the centrality of the “orgy” sequence that communicates a universality to human desire. Immediately following that sequence is a conversation in which Nomi tries to make sense of why she shares an empathic bond with the others, stating that it would seem more logical to her if the others were closer and not further from her identity and experiences. The response from Amanita’s mother is that she teaches the importance of differentiation through her classes on evolution. The implicit idea is that if differentiation is a key catalyst in biological evolution, it cannot be overlooked when considering the evolution of attitudes around sex that include queer and trans experiences.

Elsewhere in the series we see the critical importance of differentiation outside of sex, most notably as Lito and Wolfgang trade places in each others’ lives at the climax of their individual storylines. Lito, having pushed the situation with his blackmailer as far as he can by acting, falls back on Wolfgang to literally finish the fight. Then Wolfgang, having reached the limits of his skills as a thief and fighter in dealing with his rival, allows Lito to step forward and ply his trade as an actor. Each facet of the characters’ lives and experiences are as vital to the others’ towards their shared survival whether it be Sun’s martial arts skills, Capheus’ driving abilities, Lito’s acting skills, or Nomi’s computer wizardry.

Emma Houxbois is a fiercely queer trans woman whose natural habitat is the Pacific Northwest. She is currently the Comics Editor for The Rainbow Hub and co-host of Fantheon, a weekly comics podcast.

Love and BDSM Meet in ‘The Duke of Burgundy’

In a radically empathic way, we feel the emotional pain both women face when Evelyn’s desire to be dominated is greater than Cynthia’s will to dominate. This deftly expressed when we see identical scenes enacted from each woman’s perspective. Take the golden shower scene: the door closes, we hear water running, and then the sound of Evelyn choking. Since we’ve just been introduced to them, its Evelyn who wins our sympathies and Cynthia that seems aggressive in punishment.

If one were to judge the film based on its trailer alone, it would be tempting to assume The Duke of Burgundy could be categorized as a lesbian 50 Shades of Blah Blah Blah, only with lots of butterflies and gorgeous cinematography. (Full disclosure: this reviewer has not seen the latter but puts her total trust in J. Jack Halberstam’s takedown.) More impressive than the cinematography, though, is how the film explores the complex relationship between love and power in a lesbian couple’s BDSM role-play.

Cynthia is an entomologist who lives in a sprawling, ivy-covered home. She writes books, attends lectures on her subject, and employs a woman named Evelyn as her maid. Cynthia is rarely satisfied with how Evelyn completes her chores, and disciplines her charge with humiliating labor, like hand-washing her undergarments and polishing her boots. When Evelyn inevitably fails to satisfy, Cynthia subjects her to physical punishment, much of which happens with Evelyn lying prone. Cynthia sits on her head, ties her hands, and urinates in her mouth.

It soon becomes clear that the humiliation we see is carefully orchestrated by Evelyn. The couple has a deep intimacy that is co-created through Cynthia’s total devotion to pleasing her partner’s voracious desire to be dominated. Although Evelyn is the sub, she is the architect of their fantasy play. Through non-linear storytelling, the perspective shifts from Evelyn to Cynthia. For example, when we first see Evelyn arrive for work as maid, Cynthia presents as a formidable, disapproving master who exacts total control in words and actions. Soon, however, the scene is replayed from Cynthia’s point of view and we see her reading a set of instructions for how to behave when Evelyn arrives. Cynthia diligently fashions her wig just so, and her eyes betray a measure of anxiety. She is an actress taking care to craft her appearance just before walking onstage. Their performance is about to begin.

Through flashbacks and fantasy sequences, the depth of Cynthia and Evelyn’s relationship is revealed. We learn they are both entomologists who bring the same degree of precision to their role-play as they do to their research. Evelyn is unrelenting in her commitment to creating opportunities for Cynthia to dominate her, which both emotionally and physically wears on her partner. And it is these moments when the staging of their role-play makes for surprising instances of comedy and tenderness. An especially titillating scene wherein Cynthia whispers commands in her lover’s ear as Evelyn masturbates turns humorous when, post-orgasm, she tells Cynthia to have more “conviction” in her voice next time. Though Evelyn often delivers her requests with a sweet but deliberate earnestness, these pieces of constructive criticism have the cumulative effect of wearying her lover. When Cynthia’s ambivalence tips toward frustration, we see how much negotiation is required by both partners to maintain the artifice of their role-play.

In a radically empathic way, we feel the emotional pain both women face when Evelyn’s desire to be dominated is greater than Cynthia’s will to dominate. This is deftly expressed when we see identical scenes enacted from each woman’s perspective. Take the golden shower scene: the door closes, we hear water running, and then the sound of Evelyn choking. Since we’ve just been introduced to them, its Evelyn who wins our sympathies and Cynthia that seems aggressive in punishment. Later, when Cynthia is carefully reviewing her index cards of instructions, we see her guzzling glass after glass of water—and now we know what’s coming. When the door closes again to replay the scene, all is quiet. And then Evelyn suggests the Cynthia turn on the tap. It’s not every day that we see a film that elicits two opposing and equally felt reactions: “Don’t pee in her mouth!” and “Why can’t she just pee in her mouth?” Such is the contradictory nature of desire.