Bechdel Test – Bitch Flicks

Call For Writers: Sisterhood

Despite what the multitude of Bechdel-test-failing media would have us believe, relationships among women can be complex and about much, much more than men. The sibling relationships of sisters, in fact, can be particularly rich, nuanced, and worth contemplation. Sibling rivalry, as it appears in ‘A League of Their Own’ and ‘Sixteen Candles,’ examines competition for recognition, birth order conflict, and self-doubt when faced with perceptions of sibling superiority.

Our theme week for August 2016 will be Sisterhood.

Despite what the multitude of Bechdel-test-failing media would have us believe, relationships among women can be complex and about much, much more than men. The sibling relationships of sisters, in fact, can be particularly rich, nuanced, and worth contemplation. Sibling rivalry, as it appears in A League of Their Own and Sixteen Candles, examines competition for recognition, birth order conflict, and self-doubt when faced with perceptions of sibling superiority.

Twinness is a fascinating trope that is often part of popular consciousness. Sister, Sister and The Parent Trap (along with all of its sequels and remake) explore the mirroring of twinness in a lighthearted, fun way. Orphan Black, on the other hand, delves into the dark, science fiction realm of the uncanny with questions surrounding cloning. All these examples ponder the nature versus nurture debate, dissecting the differences and similarities between twins.

Some stories highlight themes of sacrifice, like Frozen and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, where the love between sisters is depicted as something pure, righteous, and good. On the other hand, some stories focus on the mysterious unknowableness of the sister bond like in Beloved and The Virgin Suicides, where the bond seems to transcend this life and this reality.

What is so fascinating about the relationship between siblings? What are your favorite depictions of sisters? While there are fewer depictions of sibling women of color and even fewer depictions of trans sisterhood, are there examples that really stand out as excellent or problematic?

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, August 26, 2016 by midnight Eastern Time.

Here are some possible topic ideas:

Frozen

Sisters

Beloved

Transparent

Sister, Sister

A League of Their Own

The Virgin Suicides

Bride and Prejudice

Ugly Betty

Sunshine Cleaning

Pariah

Rachel Getting Married

Sixteen Candles

The Secret Life of Bees

Orphan Black

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

The Cosby Show

Ginger Snaps

Mustang

Parent Trap

Little Women

The Color Purple

Sense and Sensibility

Jem & the Holograms

Practical Magic

My Neighbor Totoro

Middle of Nowhere

Charmed

Half & Half

Full House

Lilo and Stitch

Daughters of the Dust

Grey’s Anatomy

1950s B-Movie Women Scientists: Smart, Strong, but Still Marriageable

While the happily ever after scenario in these 1950s B-movies comes with an expectation that women give up their careers in science to become wives and mothers once the appropriate suitor is identified, it seems there are women in B-movies who do have it all — they maintain the respect afforded to them as scientists and also win romantic partners, without having to sacrifice their professional interests to assume domestic roles instead.

This guest post written by Linda Levitt appears as part of our theme week on Women Scientists.

A study published by the University of Denver in 2012 shows that less than one third of women completing degrees in STEM fields end up pursuing careers in the disciplines they studied. In fact, one in three women leaves the technology workforce within the first two years. Since the number of women pursuing and succeeding in careers as scientists remains quite small, it is surprising to find a particular characterization of women as scientists in 1950s science fiction B-movies. The abundance of female scientists in these films does not reflect the reality of women in the sciences at the time. We could argue that including female scientists enhances the moviegoing experience by creating “eye candy” for male audience members. If the moviegoer identifies with the heroic male lead, as film theorist Laura Mulvey and others would assume, then the film’s satisfying conclusion includes winning the heart of the “leading lady” and enabling the “happily ever after” for the heroic male scientist who saves civilization from deadly creatures, nuclear meltdown, or another apocalyptic scenario.

Science fiction routinely offers an alternative present or a possible future: some of these realities are promising, and some are apocalyptic. The possibility of gender equality in the workplace is not far-fetched for an alternative reality, especially in light of a long history of women working quietly in the background in the sciences. Thus another perspective would be to argue that the inclusion of female scientists in B-movies allowed young women in the audience to see the possibility for an intellectual career for themselves.

In the decades since these films first played in theaters and drive-ins, it has become relatively commonplace for women to have fulfilling careers, although gender equality remains a daunting challenge across all professions. The recent proliferation of discussions about “work-life balance” indicates this inequality: the need to find a balance between professional and personal lives is addressed almost exclusively to women. While the happily ever after scenario in these 1950s B-movies comes with an expectation that women give up their careers in science to become wives and mothers once the appropriate suitor is identified, it seems there are women in B-movies who do have it all — they maintain the respect afforded to them as scientists and also win romantic partners, without having to sacrifice their professional interests to assume domestic roles instead.

Women scientists featured in 1950s B-movies span a broad variety of expertise: paleontologist Lee Hunter in The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms (1953), Dr. Patricia Medford, an etymologist in Them! (1954), biologist Stephanie Clayton in Tarantula (1955), and three scientists — Joanna Merritt, Marna Roberts, and Madame Elzevir (truly, she was not afforded a first name), wife of the esteemed Dr. Pierre Elzevir — in Gog (1954). These women often have the answers to save civilization, or willingly brave deadly encounters with the unknown, but many of the depictions of female scientists also reify gender stereotypes about women, regardless of their intellectual prowess and independence.

The 1954 Cold War sci-fi thriller Gog offers several good examples. A feminist critique would address some of the blatantly sexist events, such as the research assistant who weeps hysterically when the scientist she works with dies suddenly, only to be slapped across the face by another male scientist who implores her to “get some men up here and restore order.” Just the same, three women scientists are at work in this underground laboratory where a space station is being built. One of the scientists, Joanna Merritt (Constance Dowling), is portrayed as serious, intellectual, and devoid of much emotion. She does, however, have a quick wit.

Merritt and Dr. Van Ness (Herbert Marshall), the lab supervisor, take security agent David Sheppard (Richard Egan) on a tour of the facility. They observe an experiment in weightlessness, where a man and woman are training for a zero-gravity environment in space. After watching them for awhile, Sheppard asks: “Why the girl?” Merritt replies: “We think women are better suited for space travel than men.” Lest she have the opportunity to make an argument favoring women over men, Van Ness quickly adds, “For one thing, they take up less space in a rocket.”

Sheppard objectifies the female astronaut in training, referring to her as “the girl” and questioning the appropriateness of her place in the space program. Then Van Ness adds that women are better because they are smaller, providing an idealized stereotype of the petite, fit woman. Nonetheless, there is still an opportunity for Merritt to offer what rhetorically sounds like a scientific truth: “We think women are better suited for space travel than men.” She has a strong and present personality, and the perspective she voices is not easily dismissed. Spoiler alert: There have already been hints that David Sheppard and Joanna Merritt are… well… romantically acquainted, and by film’s end, they appear destined for the happily ever after. Still, her position as a scientist of regard does not seem diminished. The presence of women in positions of intellectual power seems tacitly accepted here, in a filmic world where imagination is boundless.

Merritt has no internal conflict — she is not concerned about making choices about her life. Yet the taken-for-granted nature of female scientists in these films differs markedly from recent films: for characters like Dr. Ellie Sattler in Jurassic Park (1993) or Dr. Eleanor Alloway in Contact (1997), their choice of careers leads others to question their scientific authority and personal motivation.

Women’s studies scholar J. Kasi Jackson points out that “in addition to negotiating between detachment and empathy, the female scientist must balance professionalism with femininity.” The woman scientist is an outsider both in science, where her “feminine” empathy is not objective, and in society, where scientific rationality conflicts with assumed “feminine” traits. Jackson’s observations relate well to Lee Hunter (Paula Raymond), a paleontologist in the 1953 giant creature movie The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms. Hunter is a social outcast: as a woman, she doesn’t comfortably fit in with her male colleagues, nor does she seem to connect with any other women. She is, in fact the only woman with any substance in the film, and no one doubts her place on the scene or the veracity of her research and observations. The other female characters are empty stereotypes: a nurse, a nun, a telephone operator, a screaming mother, and a bank of phone operators handling calls in the monster-created emergency. The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms fails the Bechdel Test, since it does not have: (1) at least two women in it, who (2) talk to each other, about (3) something other than a man.

Although it is unlikely that a 1950s science fiction B-movie would pass the Bechdel Test, it is employed here to draw attention to the strength of the female scientist in this film. Like Joanna Merritt, Lee Hunter is poised, confident, and smart. She is the assistant to Dr. Thurgood Elson (Cecil Kellaway), who is visited by a physicist named Thomas Nesbitt (Paul Hubschmid), who believes he has seen a dinosaur. No one takes Nesbitt very seriously, but Hunter does. She establishes both her scientific prowess and her compassion after Nesbitt leaves Elson’s laboratory. Of Nesbitt, she tells Elson, “When he first came to this country, I attended his lectures on the curative properties of radioactive isotopes. He’s a brilliant man. Isn’t his story in any way feasible?” Despite Elson’s refusal, Hunter decided to visit Nesbitt’s office to offer her support.

Nesbitt’s secretary informs him of Lee’s arrival: “There’s a Lee Hunter waiting for you. She’s very pretty.” In this moment, the narrative privileges Lee’s femininity and sexuality over her intellect. Yet when Nesbitt later asks why she would believe his claims, she says, “I have a deep abiding faith in the work of scientists. Otherwise I wouldn’t be one myself.” Hunter ties her identity to science, a theme which is repeated throughout the film.

Science fiction B-movies from the 1950s are rife with female characters who do not have the independence or determination of Joanna Merritt and Lee Hunter. Some female characters are primarily sexualized and seductive, where others are hyper-emotional and present themselves as weak and needy. Despite the depiction of some women scientists, these films still reflect the gendered reality of their time: the cultural framework in which these films are set is undeniably sexist. Teresa De Lauretis argued that female characters are made to conform to the ideal image that the male protagonist has for them. Regardless of their intellect or achievements, these characters are the object of the male gaze.

Writing in 1971, political scientist Jo Freeman argued that one of the core concepts of sexism is that “women are here for the pleasure and assistance of men.” Freeman goes on to say that:

“It is this attitude which stigmatizes those women who do not marry or who do not devote their primary energies to the care of men and their children. Association with a man is the basic criterion for participation by women in this society and one who does not seek her identity through a man is a threat to the social values.”

Identity formation is a complex process, and every person forms and performs their identity in the context of their interpersonal relationships. In other words, self-identity reflects, but is not dependent upon, the presence of others. Freeman’s claim, then, has validity, especially when viewed with contingency. For women scientists in the 1950s, “association with a man” was “the basic criterion for participation by women” in society: science has been and remains patriarchal. As previously noted, women tend to abandon or simply not pursue professional life in the sciences; the lack of a welcoming, balanced space for women is one reason. With this in mind, it is noteworthy that B-movie women scientists seem undaunted by the patriarchal cultures in which they choose to work.

Although men significantly outnumber women in the B-movies discussed here, women were frequently featured in significant scientific roles, battling aliens, mutant forces, or giant bugs. A survey of these films indicates a spectrum of reception in which female scientists may be welcome or othered, depending on their circumstances and relationships to men within the patriarchal culture of a scientific organization.

Linda Levitt’s research focuses on gender studies, media, and cultural memory. Her work is often situated at the intersection of these ideas.

Bluestocking Film Series Showcases Complex Female Protagonists

I had the wonderful opportunity to speak with Kate Kaminski, Bluestocking Film Series Founder and Artistic Director. We talked about the need for more complex female protagonists, ensuring diversity, women’s representation in film, and what she hopes to accomplish with the film series.

I’m forever looking for more women-centric films, especially considering that only 22% of protagonists are women in the top-grossing films. But I don’t want just any female characters; I crave complex, nuanced, and diverse female protagonists in film and television. This is why I’m delighted to attend the Bluestocking Film Series in Portland Maine, running from Thursday, July 14 through Saturday, July 16.

Bluestocking Film Series “is an exclusive showcase for provocative, well-produced films that feature complex female protagonists driving the narrative and leading the action.” All of the narrative short films they screen must have a woman lead and pass the Bechdel-Wallace Test. It’s also the first U.S. film event to receive Sweden’s A-Rating. The team behind Bluestocking “believe that audiences love a good story no matter what the lead character’s gender is.”

Bitch Flicks: Could you talk about the importance of the Bluestocking Film Series? Why did you start the film series?

Kate Kaminski: I started Bluestocking Film Series because something was missing from festival screens in Maine. What had happened to those festivals I’d been part of (as a filmmaker) that celebrated women? And where were the female-driven films I was craving to see as an audience member? I wondered: what if I created a women in film event with the mission of exclusively screening female-driven films that pass the Bechdel-Wallace Test? If I built it … would they come? Well, I built it and people have shown up, each year in greater numbers.

Bitch Flicks: What does Bluestocking Film Series mean for women’s representation in film? Why do you think we need more complex female protagonists?

Kate Kaminski: Every year, Bluestocking Film Series proves that female characters can be (and do) so much more than what we currently see on-screen. Female characters deserve to be portrayed with as much complexity as their male counterparts but that is rarely allowed — or celebrated — whether in the mainstream or in the indie world. Bluestocking exists to amplify diverse female voices and stories because culture can’t evolve or flourish if those voices and stories are missing from cinema, our most popular art.

Bitch Flicks: Why do you think the Bechdel-Wallace Test (where two named female characters talk to each other about something other than a man) matters?

Kate Kaminski: I’m a believer in the power of the Bechdel-Wallace Test (and its other iterations like the Mako Mori and Lauzen-Silverstein) as a jumping off point for initiating conversation about the ways women and girls are portrayed in film. The Bechdel-Wallace Test obviously doesn’t measure quality — and as we all know, is a low bar — but what it does, is point out how, more often than not, female characters are used in film to simply amplify and support the lead male character’s story. If the female characters in a film are only talking about the male characters, what message does that send to young girls and boys? It erases 50% of the population and makes insignificant the reality that we have lives of our own, rich, inner lives and meaningful, complicated relationships with each other.

Bitch Flicks: What steps do you take to ensure that Bluestocking Film Series is diverse in featuring work by women filmmakers and female protagonists who are women of color, LGBTQIA+, older women, and women with disabilities?

Kate Kaminski: Absolutely every step I take as a curator is about #filminclusion. I look far and wide on my own for films from across the globe that feature diverse female characters who embody something new or surprising. I’m drawn to characters who are not entirely knowable, and who are complex, and whose undeniable needs and wants drive the story. I also query my colleagues in the women in film world about what they’ve seen, who is up and coming, and I even have spies who refer films/filmmakers they’ve seen along the way. Social media for a movement like this is absolutely critical. I’d feel lost without the people I’ve met through social media who, like me, see female-driven films not as a niche, but as rightfully taking their place in the marketplace. In a way, I’m committing Bluestocking to being as far out on the cutting edge of what female characters can be by screening filmmakers who are real risk-takers. We need those creative people to enliven what has become so stale and predictable. Do we want to influence the larger world of film? YES.

A huge thank you to Kate Kaminski for taking the time to speak with me. You can find out more about the schedule, filmmakers and special guests attending, and the panels and films screening at Bluestocking Film Series, as well as purchase tickets.

‘Crossing Delancey’: Isabelle Needs a New Perspective on Life and Love

This romantic comedy has always been more of a cult classic. But it was unusual in its female writer and director, along with its distinctly Jewish cultural setting, its generational custom-clash regarding matchmaking, and its conflicted independent protagonist, Isabelle, who could be read as a late 1980s precursor to ‘Sex and the City’s protagonist Carrie Bradshaw.

This guest post written by Susan Cosby Ronnenberg appears as part of our theme week on Ladies of the 1980s. | Spoilers ahead.

Crossing Delancey (1988) is a romantic comedy featuring Amy Irving, directed by Joan Micklin Silver and written by Susan Sandler, based on her original play of the same title. The tagline was, “A funny movie about getting serious.” This rom-com has always been more of a cult classic. But it was unusual in its female writer and director, along with its distinctly Jewish cultural setting, its generational custom-clash regarding matchmaking, and its conflicted independent protagonist, Isabelle, who could be read as a late 1980s precursor to Sex and the City’s protagonist Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker). An independent, straight single woman with a successful career, Isabelle has professional and romantic options, ambitions, and flawed preconceptions about the incompatibility of those options and ambitions as she tries to decide between an internationally acclaimed poet or a neighborhood. Yes, you read that correctly: poet or pickleman.

Isabelle “Izzy” Grossman (Amy Irving) is irritating and relatable at the same time. She’s an ambitious and successful publisher in Manhattan, where, as she insists to her grandmother, she organizes “the most prestigious reading series in New York City.” She sees herself as modern, forward-looking, cultured, and sophisticated. But she’s also self-centered, snobbish, dismissive, and deceitful. While she possesses many fine attributes, she’s flawed; I like both of those aspects of her that make her fully human. At 33, with one of her peers becoming a new mother, Izzy looks around at her life, wondering about advancing her personal life as she has her professional one. This is a common theme among 1980s romantic comedies, such as Baby Boom (1987) with Diane Keaton and Working Girl (1988) with Melanie Griffith. One of her romantic prospects, a novelist, quotes Confucius to her at dinner one night, “Ripe plums are falling. Now there are only three. May a fine lover come for me”, adding reassuringly, “Lots of ripe plums left on your tree, Izzy.” He seems to recognize her distraction over the passage of time and still being single, which has become an issue with her grandmother.

Izzy has three men in her life: Nick (John Bedford Lloyd), an old boyfriend/friend with benefits, now married, but who crashes at her place on a regular basis when he and his wife fight; Anton Maes (Jeroen Krabbe), a NYC-based Dutch critically acclaimed novelist, also married but separated, famous, creative, cosmopolitan, and intellectual; and Sam Posner (Peter Riegert), who lives and works on the Lower East Side near her grandmother’s home, the owner and operator of his father’s pickle shop on Delancey Street. Sam and Izzy meet through the pressure of her grandmother, “Bubbie” Kantor (Reizl Bozyk), and Mrs. Mandlebaum (Sylvia Miles), a traditional professional Jewish matchmaker.

To Izzy, to cross Delancey is to return to the past, “100 years” and “a million miles away” from her own life, to her grandmother’s world. She does so often and willingly, providing company and care for her beloved grandmother. But she has no interest in a man who has chosen to remain in that neighborhood, doing the same food sales work that his father did, and, she assumes, contracting a matchmaker to find a bride. It clearly seems archaic and a little desperate to her.

The setting takes place half in Manhattan — in Izzy’s apartment, her place of employment, and out socializing with friends — and half on the Lower East Side — in Bubbie’s vibrant and diverse neighborhood, historically a predominantly Jewish community. It’s clear that, in trying to leave the old world and its ways behind as she makes her way in the new, modern world, Izzy has made some arrogant and faulty assumptions that will require Bubbie’s willingness to interfere.

Passing the Bechdel test, Crossing Delancey features conversations between Isabelle and Bubbie about Bubbie’s health, the neighborhood, Izzy’s dreams and what they might mean, and Izzy’s parents. Izzy actively seeks to support her friend Rickie’s new role as a single parent with a sometimes supportive boyfriend. She also supports her publishing colleague Chinchilla Monk’s new public access show on the local performance art scene, which features a feminist performer.

Izzy attends a bris for the baby of a high school friend of hers, where the film shows us a group of four women in their thirties sustaining a friendship from their teenage years. Two are single, one is married, and one is a new mother with a boyfriend. One of the women refers to the bris as, “Our first baby!” We see the women friends together in varying pairs throughout the film. This group resembles Sex & the City’s foursome of Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda, minus the multi-thousand dollar stylish and sexy wardrobe. Marilyn, in particular, reminds me of Elaine Benes from Seinfeld, which debuted a year after this film came out.

The film’s costuming is refreshing given the frequent sexualization of women in film through wardrobe today in most mainstream movies. The late 1980s is the era of the three-quarter or tea-length casual dress, with both dresses and shirts buttoned to the top, but without appearing constricting. Izzy’s clothes are appropriate for her varied activities: jogging, working at the bookstore, spending time with her grandmother, going on a date. What struck me most was that she looked nice and comfortable and her shoes were practical; she was dressed as many women in real life dress. There were no extra tight outfits, short-short skirts, stiletto heels, or plunging cleavage — at her place of employment or anywhere else. She was obviously meant to be doing things, not just to be the object of the Male Gaze: on display but not functional.

Crossing Delancey and Sex and the City share parallels as both Izzy and Carrie Bradshaw are thirty-something straight white women with successful careers and a support network of female friends. Both long for romance, question the idea of meeting someone who meets their requirements for a boyfriend, much less a husband, and both make selfish and deceitful decisions.

Izzy decides she doesn’t have chemistry with Sam but she likes him, so she attempts to set him up with her high school friend Marilyn, who recently complained that on a given first date she has “forty-five minutes to make this guy think I’m great, when I’d rather be home in my pajamas watching baseball.” But Izzy doesn’t tell Sam that she’s setting him up. Instead, she offers an apology for some of the things she said to him earlier and invites him to have dinner. She plans with Marilyn to “run into her” at the end of dinner, then leave her with Sam. Only the more Izzy talks to Sam, the more she likes him, and the longer she delays the introduction until Marilyn calls her on it and introduces herself. Sam feels used, but blames Izzy, not Marilyn, demanding “What’s there to be sorry about? She’s funny, direct, honest,” with the clear implication that Izzy is lacking in the latter two areas in particular. Afterward, Izzy pines after Sam with her other friends and her grandmother, until Bubbie brings Sam back into contact with Izzy.

Despite things finally seeming to click with Sam, Izzy allows Anton to persuade her to stay late after work to read part of his new novel. He flatters her and, knowing she has a date with Sam, encourages her to make him wait. Foolishly, she does, despite having spent time and money purchasing a new dress for the date and being eager to see Sam. Izzy realizes belatedly her error, in thinking that the mysterious and suave Anton wants a romantic and professional relationship with her when he’s looking for a part-time assistant and a convenient casual sex partner. Astonishingly, Sam has waited for her. He’s a man with the patience of a saint, but he’s not a doormat. In some ways this is a gender-reversed romantic comedy. It’s Izzy who races frantically across town, having come to the belated conclusion that she has been grossly overlooking, underestimating, and underappreciating who Sam is and what he has to offer.

The film presents us with three vivid visual images of groups of women in the city: at the senior center the women’s defense workshop that Bubbie participates in as Izzy watches in amusement; the after-work crowd in the deli/grocery, which includes Izzy, selecting dinner for one to-go from the salad bar; and the long line of pregnant women who file past Izzy and Sam in the entrance to her apartment building. These seem to suggest possible futures for Izzy: older, alone, and in need of self-defense; a solo continuation of her life as it is, focused mostly on work, eating deli take-out at the end of a long day; or preparing to become a mother when paired with Sam.

To choose one is to leave one unknown. Izzy doesn’t want to choose wrongly, or perhaps Izzy simply doesn’t want to choose at all. She’s mistaken in her arrogant and condescending assumptions about Sam, though, when she believes him to be not well read, inarticulate, and not cultured. When she mentions feeling ambivalent and then offers a definition, he interrupts to say that he knows what the word means. He adds, angrily, “You think my world is so small, so provincial? You think it defines me?” His defense of himself moves her as much as learning that he was interested in her because he had seen her around the neighborhood with her grandmother long before Mrs. Mandlebaum showed up with a picture of her (given by Bubbie) to peddle to him. He’s not trapped in the past as Izzy believed.

Although Sam suggests that Izzy needs a new perspective (i.e. a new hat), the Harry Shipman story doesn’t make that point clearly. In the story, Shipman’s new hat allowed the girl he had his heart set on to see his eyes for the first time. She couldn’t see his face for his original hat. But it isn’t Izzy who needs a new hat to be viewed differently. Instead, she needs a more realistic view of him, rather than her preconceived and uncompromising one as she’s frustratingly obtuse when it comes to Sam. She’s selfish in her decisions to keep juggling all three of men and she’s ultimately dismissive of her friend Marilyn after setting her up with Sam.

In some ways this is a film about narrative, including the stories we tell ourselves. We’re given multiple smaller narratives within the main narrative. The excerpt from his novel that Anton reads to the bookstore audience; Sam tells Izzy the Harry Shipman-hat story; Mrs. Mandlebaum peddles other peoples’ stories, poet Pauline Swift’s only referenced story of her, the four men, and a cabbage; Sam’s story of how Izzy came to his attention; the story of Sam’s father, who did a Milton Berle impression in drag, recalled by Nick to Sam and Izzy; and Bubbie’s story of meeting her husband, which she tells Sam. Izzy’s description of Anton’s fiction also describes her story in this film: “Deceptive accessibility. Reads like pulp fiction, but then you hear music.” Some lines are so lyrical they sound like poetry. Some are poetry. And they don’t all belong to the novelist.

The film ends refreshingly only with the promise of a continued dating relationship between Izzy and Sam, no grand declarations, promises, sex, or vows. Sam’s question to himself, to her, “How do I talk to Isabelle?” is an invitation, an openness to collaborate, to teach one another how to better communicate. Although Bubbie seems assured that a wedding will be taking place for them in the future, neither of them takes it that far. They like each other, they’ve admitted that, kissed, and agreed to see one another again. And for this charming romantic comedy, that’s more than enough.

Susan Cosby Ronnenberg is a transplanted Southerner in the upper Midwest, where she has been an English professor for 16 years, specializing in the English Renaissance and Early Modern Women Writers. Currently working on a book through McFarland on Shakespeare and the HBO western series Deadwood. Email: sgcosronn@gmail.com Twitter: @Ouachita9 Blog: Caustic Ginger.

10 of the Best Feminist Comedies of the 1980s

10 feminist comedies from the 1980s that focus on women and their careers, friendships, families, relationships, and journeys of self-discovery. Also, a look at how well these films do (or don’t) pass the Bechdel Test.

This guest post written by Jessica Quiroli appears as part of our theme week on Ladies of the 1980s.

9 to 5

If I may, this is the greatest women’s comedy of all-time. So perfect on every level, it’s hard to know where to begin; but how about with the three main characters? These are women on the verge: Judy, a woman in the middle of a painful divorce, is a bundle of raw nerves and professional inexperience. Rosalee is boss Franklin Hart’s secretary, experiencing his sexual harassment on a regular basis that she dutifully smiles through, while also putting a firm foot down. She’s also misjudged by women in the office about her relationship with Hart. Her story shows a side of women in the workplace that was too often kept secret, when women couldn’t freely report their superiors’ behavior without risking unemployment. And then there’s Violet, the woman who trained Mr. Hart, and is now his “right hand.” She’s so in control, so sharp, that it only makes sense that she’s who accidentally sends them into a madcap adventure of unintentional crime. Played by Jane Fonda, Dolly Parton, and Lilly Tomlin, this wild ride is a classic in any era, but a rare, feminist gem of the 80’s.

Bechdel Test Check: Of course! It’s a comedy about working women, workplace sexual harassment, fair pay, and a good old crime caper they alone must solve. First, they discuss matters of business, lamenting Mr. Hart’s horrible sexism and incompetence; then they band together to get out of hot water. They talk survival in the first half, then literal survival, and avoiding prison, in the second half. These women have a lot more to discuss than romance.

Private Benjamin

One of the best, if just for the ending alone. Goldie Hawn stars in this unique story about a young woman, Judy Benjamin, who seeks a challenge to her otherwise nice life by joining the U.S. Army. She quickly realizes the reality of that decision, but forges ahead. Judy rises to the challenge, bonds with the other women, and eventually has to decide what life she’d rather live. The other awesome thing about this movie: Hawn co-produced it with Nancy Meyers, who also wrote the screenplay.

Bechdel Test Check: Many conversations with the awesome Eileen Brennan, who plays Captain Doreen Lewis, including on arrival, when Judy explains she’s looking for the Army with “the condos.”

Desperately Seeking Susan

A buddy comedy without the buddies meeting until the very end. Susan, (pitch-perfect Madonna), is the exciting, perhaps dangerous woman leading an unapologetically carefree life. Rosanna Arquette’s Roberta is a woman married to a man she’s dissatisfied with, living a life she’s uninspired by. Reading about Susan’s life via a personal ads chain sparks Roberta’s imagination and she begins to follow Susan. All the action revolves around them; the men in their lives are the baffled bystanders. The women create the action, tension, and fun. Ultimately, we get two (!) heroines who’ve succeeded in the world by pursuing individual happiness they’ve refused to sacrifice.

Bechdel Test Check: Susan and friend Crystal discuss the working life. Crystal has a great monologue about feeling disrespected and being “legally blind.” Susan and Roberta’s sister-in-law Leslie chat, with Roberta’s husband Gary in the mix, about Roberta’s diary and how little they really know about her.

Fast Times at Ridgemont High

Stacy Hamilton isn’t waiting for the boys to find her. The high school girl Stacy, played by Jennifer Jason Leigh, embarks on a sexual awakening of her own design. She’s unsure, of course, but that doesn’t stop her. Stacy’s on a personal mission to achieve a rite of passage, a high school senior who’s sexually curious. She seeks advice from her experienced friend Linda (Phoebe Cates), hoping for tips and confidence. This movie’s viewed as a sex comedy for teenagers, but the subject matter’s depth, and how it’s portrayed, gives the film an emotional center with a genuinely sensitive, sometimes sad element. Yes, Jeff Spicolli, famously played by Sean Penn, is likely the most memorable character in most people’s minds (even IMDB lists him as the top billed-star). Stacy, however, is the heart and soul of the story. Her character is one we don’t see often enough: a teenage girl, discovering sex, sexual politics, and her own resolve to grow up and treat herself better.

Bechdel Test Check: There’s really nothing. If she’s talking to another girl, it’s about sex with boys.

Working Girl

Tess McGill’s devotion to her career is motivated by her desire to prove her self-worth, to no one else but herself, then to the corporate world. She has ideas, and plenty of intelligence and creativity to realize them. But her boss, Katherine (played by Sigourney Weaver) isn’t interested in helping her climb the ladder. The premise of a woman not wanting to help another woman is unfortunate, but realistically speaks to an earlier time in corporate America when it was even harder for women to succeed. Tess is fair, energetic, ambitious, and sexy. She doesn’t sacrifice anything to be loved, accepted, and successful. It’s inspiring and so fun to watch her emerge.

Bechdel Test Check: Tess and best friend Cyn, played by Joan Cusack with the most Brooklyn accent you’ve ever heard this side of a Joe Pesci movie, discuss Katherine’s absence and business meetings. Also, toward the end, Tess calls her friends and colleagues to make a huge professional announcement.

Baby Boom

J.C. Wyatt’s clocked countless hours, challenging the male-dominated corporate world so relentlessly, she’s nicknamed “The Tiger Lady.” She’s close to being made partner when baby Elizabeth comes along, after a cousin leaves her to J.C. for reasons that baffle her. Her colleagues and boss begin treating her differently. And the man she’s in a relationship with (played by everyone’s favorite, Harold Ramis) politely opts out. J.C. eventually takes her baby and business sense to Vermont and due to a dose of cabin fever, she creates a lucrative baby food company called “Country Baby.” The natural baby food achieves national success and her old company comes crawling back to her. J.C. also meets a veterinarian played sweetly and seductively by Sam Shepard, who respects her as she is, loves her, and loves her child. The story isn’t run-of-the-mill, but women everywhere can relate to juggling all the plates.

Bechdel Test Check: Really only one and it involves discussion about Elizabeth, just not a man. When Elizabeth is handed over to her by the woman from the adoption agency, Diane Keaton hilariously stumbles from impatient, to confused, to stunned, becoming completely unhinged by the circumstances.

Broadcast News

This powerful comedy/drama about a female news reporter, starring Holly Hunter, is perfectly imperfect. The story, the characters, the choices, and the ending are raw reality, rather than the gift-wrapped stories Hollywood, and audiences, love. Of course we love them! But we also love the messy, relatable truth. Jane’s a highly-respected news-producer, handling the egos of news-men Albert Brooks and William Hurt, who compete professionally, and for her affections.

Bechdel Test: Joan Cusack again! Very, very briefly, Jane and Blair exchange words about a segment that needs editing. Cue the most famous scene in the movie.

Heartburn

There’s no way to omit a woman’s story that’s both legendary in literary and journalistic circles, and one relatable to many women. While many of us are merely observers of what it was like for female professionals in the 80’s (and 90’s) who were trying to balance family and career, writer Nora Ephron lived through all the societal stages. But this is a very personal story, with some really raw ugly stuff that you can easily judge, but are better off staying out of the way of, as Rachel Samstatt’s (played by freaking perfect Meryl Streep) friends and colleagues learn. Food writer Rachel has such intense doubt on the day of her wedding to Mark Foreman (played also horribly perfect by Jack Nicholson) that her friends and family, and finally Mark, have to convince her to marry him. There’s a lot to laugh at, and a lot to boil the blood, as we watch Rachel figure out who she is and what she needs to be happy.

Bechdel Test Check: One absolutely killer scene. Rachel returns to New York, after leaving Mark, and she runs into an old friend named Judith (played by Doctor Marsha from ‘Sleepless in Seattle’!). Rather than tell Judith about her husband’s affair, Rachel lies and says that her mother died. Judith tells her that she’s learned that the death of one’s mother can actually be “a blessing.” There are worse things, Judith tells Rachel. “I know, Judith. I know.”

Beaches

This is a love story between two lifelong friends. There’s no replacing the relationship, as C.C. Bloom (Bette Midler) tries explaining to husband John, played by the underrated John Heard. That might be because the friendship began when she and Hillary Whitney (Barbara Hershey) meet in early adolescence, before boys, before adult life pulls them in many directions. They’re each other’s foundation, the one thing that they can count on. Hershey plays Hillary so understated in the light of Midler’s raw, over-the-top performance, that when she falls apart, her meltdowns resonate. When they finally meet again as adults, Hillary flips a switch for a minute, announcing she’s “Free at last!,” prompting C.C. to recoil, uncertain about a person she knows to her core, but is getting to know in a whole new way. This ranks high in all-time great female friendship movies, because, mostly, they aren’t competing for a man’s attention. They’re most hopeful to receive each other’s love and acceptance.

Bechdel Test Check: Their first meeting is as young girls, but we sure need more of those girlhood stories. C.C introduces herself, as if in Technicolor, to the refined Hillary. A lot is revealed quickly about what these girls know, want, and need. Hillary hangs her head sadly, and in hardened monotone, explains that her mother died when she was a little girl. C.C. proudly announces she’s a singer, disappointed that Hillary hasn’t heard of her. C.C. also smokes, calls her mother by her first name, and attempts to calm her mother’s emotions. Hillary talks about her aunt and her concerns that she’s getting into trouble. In a sense, they’re already business women trying to meet their families’ expectations. They harbor too much responsibility, and they talk like the old friends they’ll become. In a later, pivotal confrontation they argue about envying each other.

Terms of Endearment

Essentially about two women obsessed with each other, Aurora Greenway and her daughter Emma spend their lives loving, fearing and fighting each other. Men are in their orbit, flying as close as they can, never fully understanding or appreciating them. The mother and daughter (played by Shirley MacLaine and Debra Winger) love one another in an indescribable way, and determine their purpose and happiness. They take what they can and they own it, unapologetically. When Emma begins her affair with Sam (John Lithgow) she proceeds simply and fearlessly. When Aurora talks about sex and stringing men along, or becoming a grandmother (more accurately yells like she’s been wounded), she’s confronting uniquely female experiences. Full disclosure, Emma Greenway Horton is my all-time favorite female fictional character. Created in the Larry McMurtry lab, she’s first introduced in early books as a background character. This story, in case you don’t know, ends badly. But, until then, you’ll be laughing a lot.

Bechdel Test Check: Emma’s best friend Patsy takes her to lunch with her sophisticated New York friends. After lunch, Patsy admits she told them about Emma’s illness and they argue. Later, Patsy tells Emma why their friendship is so meaningful to her.

Jessica Quiroli is a minor league baseball writer for Baseball Prospectus and the creator of Heels on the Field: A MiLB Blog. She’s also written extensively about domestic violence in baseball. She’s a DV survivor. You can follow her on Twitter @heelsonthefield.

Complicating Indigenous Feminism: Shayla’s Story in ‘Imprint’

And the story imprinted is the story of colonization and domination, a story that has seduced Shayla in her role as an attorney. But another story is also imprinted in this woman, a story of tradition, memory, family, and the foundational principles of her Indigenous culture. As the film progress, Shayla starts putting the broken pieces of her experiences in Denver together with the visions and experiences of home in order to remember.

Written by Amanda Morris.

One of our biggest complaints as feminists is the absurd lack of smart, independent, savvy women as lead characters in films. You know, women characters who have lives and complications and thoughts that don’t constantly depend on a man’s validation or involvement. Well, have I got the film for you! In fact, I moved this one up in my queue because it not only passes the Bechdel test, it also presents a complicated view of Native American women that we rarely (if ever) see in mainstream Hollywood films. Plus, it is billed as a “supernatural thriller” or “ghost story,” which is perfect for the month that ends in Halloween.

I give you Imprint, produced by critically-acclaimed Cheyenne/Arapaho director Chris Eyre, directed by Michael Linn, and starring the confident and talented Tonantzin Carmelo (Tongva/Kumeyaay) and Carla-Rae Holland (Seneca/Mohawk), who both won awards for their performances.

Imprint Trailer:

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=saYPpujKK8U”]

Imprint opens with a fast-paced, montage-style of images, views, and movement through a house, field, and barn; ostensibly the ghost’s point of view, which is immediately followed by a hard blackout cut to a protest outside a Denver courthouse. Signs that read “Our voices will be heard” and “Stonefeather is a traitor” dot the crowd as they chant “He’s a good boy, help him!” This is our first introduction to the story that sets this film in motion, and its lead character, Shayla Stonefeather, a Lakota attorney rising in prominence within the American legal system who is successfully prosecuting a young Native American man for murder inside this courthouse. The protesters label her a traitor who has turned her back on her Lakota culture and fellow Native Americans. Shayla’s inner inner turmoil is evident on her face as she closes her case.

Tonantzin Carmelo as Shayla Stonefeather in Imprint.

Shayla is a cultural minority achieving great success in the American colonialist machine, but seems to understand the trade-off; her spirit and her culture suffer next to her American ambitions. She has a job to do and she does it, but clearly feels the toll. Shayla flies back to her childhood home on the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota where she must reconnect with her past, re-embrace her culture, and confront her ghosts. Her mother, Rebecca Stonefeather, played by Carla-Rae Holland, welcomes her home with a hug and the warm sentiment, “Beautiful daughter,” in the Lakota language.

Soon after she arrives to find her father dying, Shayla begins having visions and encounters that are suggestively supernatural. The film unfolds in a somewhat non-linear fashion, melding past with present in a way that causes Shayla to question herself and her place in the community and the world. “What happened to you? What happened to the little girl who wanted to come back and help our people?” her mother asks, and Shayla says that she grew up, responding, “Our biggest problems are self-inflicted.” The conversation between mother and daughter about reservation realities is abruptly interrupted when Shayla’s father suffers an outburst, followed by one of Shayla’s visions that draws her outside to the barn with a loaded shotgun.

Dr. Kim Anderson (Cree-Metis) argues that “there are many kinds of feminism,” including her idea that “Indigenous feminism is linked to a foundational principle in Indigenous societies – that is, the profound reverence for life” (In Indigenous Women and Feminism, 81). In particular, Anderson suggests that “Indigenous feminism is about creating a new world out of the best of the old. Indigenous feminism is about honouring creation in all its forms, while also fostering the kind of critical thinking that will allow us to stay true to our traditional reverence for life. . .We especially need to learn about the feminist elements of our various Indigenous traditions and begin to celebrate and practice them” (Indigenous Women, 89).

This type of feminism that Anderson writes about is represented in Imprint. Shayla learns to listen and the medicine man, played by David Bald Eagle, tells her that the earth and its creatures, plants, rocks, and trees, “remember when we forget. The story forever imprinted on this land.” And the story imprinted is the story of colonization and domination, a story that has seduced Shayla in her role as an attorney. But another story is also imprinted in this woman, a story of tradition, memory, family, and the foundational principles of her Indigenous culture. As the film progress, Shayla starts putting the broken pieces of her experiences in Denver together with the visions and experiences of home in order to remember.

Variety called this film “an old-fashioned ghost story with a Native American twist.” All due respect to Variety, but that is a simplistic and colonialist view of Imprint, a film in which a Native American woman character remains center stage the entire 85 minutes. Yes, there are ghosts. And a great twist at the end. But this is so much more than a ghost story. It is Shayla’s story–a story that complicates our assumptions about representations of Indigenous women, in films and in American culture.

Awards for Imprint include the following:

American Indian Film Festival (2007), won Best Film, Best Actress, and Best Supporting Actress

Cherokee International Film Festival (2007), won Best Feature

South Dakota Film Festival (2008), won Best Feature

Hoboken International Film Festival (2008), won Best Cinematography

South by Southwest FF (2007), Official Selection.

This film is available to stream on Netflix and as a DVD from Amazon.

Dr. Amanda Morris is an Associate Professor of Multiethnic Rhetorics at Kutztown University of Pennsylvania with a specialty in Indigenous Rhetorics.

Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

Check out what we’ve been reading this week – and let us know what you’ve been reading/writing in the comments!

10-Year Study Reveals Women in Key Roles Make Up Less Than a Quarter of Emmy Nominees by Inkoo Kang at Women and Hollywood

Emmy awards face the future as television becomes more diverse by Brian Moylan at The Guardian

The ‘Golden Age for Women in TV’ Is Actually a Rerun by Nell Scovell at The New York Times

Aiming to diversify storytelling, Ava DuVernay expands scope of film distribution collective by Glenn Whipp at Los Angeles Times

The Bechdel Bill is Working to Put the Bechdel Test Into Action by Emily Gagne at The Mary Sue

Denzel Washington Is Bringing August Wilson’s Entire American Century Cycle Plays to the Screen Via HBO by Tambay A. Obenson at Shadow and Act

What “The Golden Girls” Taught Me About Bioethics by Elizabeth Yuko at Bitch Media

Enough With the Queer and Trans Films That Are Actually About Straight People by Kyle Buchanan at Vulture

5 Ways The Movie Industry Still Fails Women by Sarah Aoun at BuzzFeed

We Heart: East Los High‘s Representation of Genderqueer Youth by Anita Little at Ms. blog

What have you been reading/writing this week? Tell us in the comments!

‘Inside Out’: Female Representation Onscreen But Not Off

It’s therefore unsurprising that the character who most drives the plot of the film is Riley’s dad (voiced by Kyle MacLachlan). In fact, the film is largely one big piece of advice for fathers from fathers.

(SPOILERS for Pixar’s Inside Out)

As pointed out by Natalie Wilson on Bitch Flicks, Pixar’s latest film, Inside Out, about a preteen girl and her characterized emotions, has plenty to enJoy. It’s a female-centric film, with three leading female protagonists – the 11-year-old Riley (voiced by Kaitlyn Dias), her leading emotion Joy (voiced by Amy Poehler), and Joy’s least favorite co-emotion, Sadness (voiced by Phyllis Smith). There are also many other female characters, such as Disgust (voiced by Mindy Kaling) and Riley’s best friend Meg (voiced by Paris Van Dyke), and unnamed but still important characters such as Riley’s mom (voiced by Diane Lane). So many female characters with leading or otherwise key roles in the story means that the Bechdel Test is passed in multiple scenes. Nevertheless, while there is much gender diversity, and to a lesser extent ethnic divsersity, there is much less diversity offscreen.

All four producers were men. Pete Docter and Ronaldo Del Carmen, a White man and a Man of Color, co-directed and came up with the story. Of the three people who wrote the screenplay, there was one woman (Meg LeFauve), and the music, film editing, and art direction were all done by men, and most of the rest of the crew is male. This is despite the fact that not only does the film feature many female characters, but most of the film actually takes place inside the mind of a girl. And yet, not only was the film mainly created by men, but even the scientific and psychological consultants who were brought on board to help Pixar create an accurate and authentic portrayal of the workings of a girl’s mind, were men. Sure, the daughters of the film’s creators provided the “inspiration” for the story, but it’s not their names on the film. It’s therefore unsurprising that the character who most drives the plot of the film is Riley’s dad (voiced by Kyle MacLachlan). In fact, the film is largely one big piece of advice for fathers from fathers.

Riley’s dad is the one who moves the family from Minnesota to San Francisco for the sake of his start-up business, and it is this move that is the impetus for the plot and the changes that take place in Riley. Though not portrayed as an actual villain, the film puts a fair amount of blame for Riley’s unhappiness on Riley’s mother. It is Riley’s mom who brings in the dad to reprimand Riley’s “attitude,” and the argument between Riley and her dad escalates quickly. It is Riley mom who most encourages Riley to “keep smiling” and be “happy,” putting pressure on Riley to show happiness and optimism whether she feels them or not for the sole sake of making the move easier on her parents. It is this pressure that hurts Riley the most. She feels such pressure to be happy that she even attempts to run away in order to find happiness, and steals money from her mother for her bus ticket.

This pressure on Riley to provide her parents with happiness is emphasized by the subtle but present fact that Riley is adopted, and by her mom’s line, “What did we ever do to deserve you.” Riley is blonde and blue-eyed, while both her parents have brown hair and eyes. When baby Riley “meet[s]” her parents, her mother does not look like she just gave birth, and isn’t sitting in a hospital bed. Riley’s parents adopted Riley to make them happy, and inadvertently put pressure on her to continue to make them happy by feigning constant happiness herself. At the end of the film, it is Riley’s father who gives the strongest lines of comfort to Riley, assuring her that it’s all right for her to miss Minnesota and to be sad. This elevates the role of the dad, while at times even condemning the mother. Though this is slightly balanced by portraying the mother as more intelligent than the father at times, this too emphasizes the kindness and innocence of the father and making the mother look like a downer and someone fast to criticize others.

The film serves a dual purpose: beautifully letting children know that it’s OK to feel sad sometimes, while also encouraging parents (especially fathers) to be more understanding of their children. The bond between fathers and daughters, and the inspiration for the film itself, is emphasized by the fact that while Riley is a complex character, much (if not most) of what makes her that way is her similarity to her father. Her father daydreams about hockey, and Riley plays hockey. Her father at first condemns her anger in their argument despite his leading emotion being anger. (Interestingly, the emotions in the mother’s head are female and the emotions is the father’s head are male, while Riley has emotions of both genders. Evidently, this was done so that the cast was more “diverse” because goodness knows that men need more roles in film…) The toll of the move is shown to be harder for Riley and her father, while her mother encourages Riley to make the move easier for her father by showing herself to be happy. At the end of the film, Riley and her father reunite due to their shared feelings of sadness, while mother’s emotions are given less consideration.

At the end of the film, Riley is problematically put into the male gaze, as not only Riley’s parents but a boy who instantly develops a crush on her watch her play hockey, and the male emotion Anger (voiced by Lewis Black) guides her actions. Despite there being many, many other ways to continue Riley’s story, when the DVD of Inside Out is released, it will contain a short about Riley’s first date (which will be with a boy) and the anxiety that her father feels about it. This further emphasizes Riley’s role in relation to men and boys, and arguably takes autonomy away from her by focusing on her father and the boy.

Male sacrifice is also emphasized by the film. Riley’s imaginary boyfriends constantly state that they would “die” for Riley, and there words are proven to be true statements. A more heartbreaking instance of male sacrifice is the one carried out by Riley’s imaginary friend Bing-Bong (voiced by Richard Kind). So emotional is the character’s storyline that more than one article has been dedicated to him, such as BuzzFeed’s humorous one and Slate’s interview with a child psychologist about Bing-Bong’s role.

I and many others loved Inside Out, and viewed it in theaters more than once due to liking it so much. Its female characters are well-developed and engaging, and pass the Bechdel Test often. The maternal role that Joy feels for Riley is beautiful, especially when Joy is watching a memory of Riley skating, and pretends to skate along with her. However, the film emphasizes the need for women behind the camera, and Hollywood can only ignore the voices shouting for diversity for so long.

How Female Characters in ‘Fear the Walking Dead’ Are Represented

Outside of their relationship, the fleeting glimpses of strength illustrated in the women are immediately overpowered by their lack of emotional self control. Alicia’s weaknesses lay in her annoyance and resentment of Nick and Travis. However, Madison’s issues run a little deeper.

This is a guest post by Maria Ramos.

Recently, AMC premiered their new show Fear The Walking Dead to the tune of 10.1 million viewers. We were all introduced to a highly dysfunctional family unit living unwittingly at the outset of a zombie epidemic. The episode began with teenaged drug addict Nick (Frank Dillane), waking up in an abandoned church and discovering that his friend Gloria has eaten at least two people. As he runs away into traffic, he’s hit by a car and hospitalized. These events are also our introduction into the lives of the female characters, Madison (Kim Dickens) and Alicia (Alycia Debnam-Carey).

In ideal televised femininity, Madison enters the show juggling a semi-chaotic household and loving relationship with boyfriend Travis (Cliff Curtis). Her initial moments of happiness are interrupted as she and her family are summoned to the hospital for her son Nick. It is obvious she is frustrated with Nick’s addiction, but her overly haughty attitude towards the details of his accident is perplexing. She is initially portrayed as a ball of emotions, both rude and dismissive. Eager-to-please Travis steps up (again and again) as the voice of reason. Although his efforts are initially dismissed by Madison, his rationality allows Nick (who doesn’t seem to like him) to confide in him.

Alicia is Madison’s daughter. We get the sense that she has the potential to be a strong character, but her scenes are relegated to a huffy annoyance at her mother’s relationship with Travis and junkie brother Nick, as well as a puppy love relationship with boyfriend Matt (Maestro Harrell). Unfortunately, the introduction of Alicia is no more than a hackneyed down portrayal of a teenage girl with a modest case of raging angst. It’s a waste of the smart and witty nature we see glimpses of throughout the episode. It is also pretty worrying that Alicia’s relationship with her mother largely concerns the men in their lives. When she’s not offering moody wisecracks about Travis, she is complaining about Nick. The show’s failure to produce a meaningful dynamic between mother and daughter is one of the ultimate fails of feminine portrayals as documented by the Bechdel Test.

Travis is brought front and center due to his role in solving Madison’s problems, despite having a major one of his own. He is solitary in his struggle to connect with his estranged son, yet Madison surrenders to a complete reliance on him. It is also important to note that most of the male characters are well versed in her problems. With the historic premiere of the show, Madison has joined the endless ranks of emotionally delicate women needing to be saved in television. Yes, she’s a working mom and an authoritative figure at her job, but it’s a thin veil of independence written to mask her reliance on the men around her.

Ultimately, the Fear The Walking Dead pilot fails to introduce a strong female character and it’s disappointing. To be fair, its sister series The Walking Dead has suffered notoriously with this as well, despite making modest strides in recent seasons towards the equality of the females in the group. The women of Fear The Walking Dead don’t need to be ruthless zombie assassins in order to exhibit strength. The real strength of character comes from the ability to recognize and deal with their own weaknesses. One can hope the show may address this through future episodes, but it may be too early to speculate. You can catch the show on AMC through cable TV and watch as its female characters unfold (or not).

Maria Ramos is a writer interested in comic books, cycling, and horror films. Her hobbies include cooking, doodling, and finding local shops around the city. She currently lives in Chicago with her two pet turtles, Franklin and Roy. You can follow her on Twitter @MariaRamos1889.

The Sleepover Paradigm: What to Do When the Party’s Over

Plus, things got in the way–like jobs, schedules, coworkers, relationships, disappointments and distance…basically just growing up. So when I sat down to create ‘Young Like Us,’ an original series that I wrote with Chloe Sarbib, my real college roommate, this is exactly what we (and the rest of our all-female production team and main cast) wanted to explore.

This is a guest post by Cleo Handler.

Remember how you felt at the end of a big sleepover, when you’d wake up with a Sour Patch Watermelon and Junior Mint hangover and the DVD menu for Mean Girls back up on the TV, still blaring the same few bars of “Overdrive” on repeat? You’d reach around groggily for your glasses, not wanting to leave, but feeling kind of sick and realizing you had a full day of homework ahead of you. That’s just what graduating college is like.

Mean Girls – the sleepover classic — *Mean Girls* – the sleepover classic

Or at least, that’s how I felt. When I found myself alone in New York City, after four years of playing a Little League game of “Adult” and winning participation trophies, I was disoriented and overwhelmed. But most of all, I was no longer at one giant, constant slumber party with my friends, where no one told us what to eat or when to go to bed. Friendships suddenly required work (and hours on the train!) and I wasn’t sure how to adjust. Plus, things got in the way–like jobs, schedules, coworkers, relationships, disappointments and distance…basically just growing up. So when I sat down to create Young Like Us, an original series that I wrote with Chloe Sarbib, my real college roommate, this is exactly what we (and the rest of our all-female production team and main cast) wanted to explore.

Young Like Us characters on the stoop with their landlord Larry (Brad Dourif) in the pilot episode — *Young Like Us* characters on the stoop with their landlord Larry (Brad Dourif) in the pilot episode

When the main characters Mia, Ava, and Charlie realize that post-college life is pulling them in very different directions, they are forced to give up their shared Brooklyn apartment (with their creepy landlord Brad Dourif) and maybe more. In a last-ditch effort to stay in Neverland, Charlie convinces her reluctant friends that the best way for them to hang out more is to become a girl band – because bands never break up, right? Through the songs the girls (try to) write each week, they are able to explore the confusion of being a semi-adult, the same confusion we often struggled to articulate in our own lives.

Many shows out there deal with similar issues of shifting female friendships and navigating the transition to the real world (like gems Broad City and of course Girls, but we still felt that something was missing – and that’s where the music came in. The Young Like Us characters, like most 20-somethings we know, are too self-aware, self-deprecating, and defensive to address many of the serious issues they’re wrestling with in conversation. But the songs could take the characters to places where dialogue could not. In their music, the girls can more honestly explore crises of sexuality, identity, and piercing loneliness, as well as a nostalgia for the past and an anxiety about the future.

The Young Like Us girls writing a song in their studio, in Episode 2 - “High-Waisted” — The *Young Like Us* girls writing a song in their studio, in Episode 2 – “High-Waisted”

Of course, there are many great musicals out there that do this, like the incredible Fun Home now on Broadway (speaking of Alison Bechdel and powerful feminist stories, check this) but there’s one key difference – for them, the songs are (largely) supposed to be unconsciously interwoven with reality, an external projection of their inner angst, expressed when their feelings are just too large to be contained by dialogue. What we found with our series is that music is not only a powerful tool when it’s supposed to be invisibly intertwined or employed effortlessly. Our characters do not have the power to burst into fully formed, gorgeous songs through theater magic; they sit there working it out consciously, struggling and writing together, and the material they come up with is not always great. They have some successful moments and some nice turns of phrase, but basically they don’t know what they’re doing and it doesn’t really matter. (Not only did this take some pressure off us as writers, but it also gave us the cool opportunity to actually finish the girls’ incomplete song fragments post-episodes, in collaborations with some generous and extremely talented friends of ours on a full album). But most importantly, this let our characters grapple with the idea that writing music takes work, as does friendship. Neither is about the finished product because the thing that really counts is the struggle to put your feelings into words, the give and take along the way, the collaboration.

So I’m not necessarily saying that the cure-all for keeping your shifting friendships alive in the real world is to form a band. BUT–if you’re thrust out into a new situation, finding yourself a bit lost, and feeling that familiar sugar high post sleepover crash coming on, you might as well break out the old Rock Band game and let yourself ease into real life with another round of “Island in the Sun.”

Cleo Handler is an actress, writer, and lyricist in Brooklyn, NY. She has written several original plays and musicals, including Glass Act and From the Fire, and co-created and starred in the musical web series Young Like Us. She is a member of the Advanced BMI Musical Theater workshop, and has recently acted in projects such as the upcoming TNT drama Public Morals (Barbara) and the sitcom Honest Living. Cleo can be found on her website and on Twitter.

Why ‘The 100’ Is a BFD

Bisexual protagonists, scenes that pass the Bechdel Test, women making choices that drive the action of the story – I’m still the only person who watches ‘The 100,’ but, boy, do I enjoy it when I do.

Written by Katherine Murray.

Bisexual protagonists, scenes that pass the Bechdel Test, women making choices that drive the action of the story – I’m still the only person who watches The 100, but, boy, do I enjoy it when I do.

Last year, I wrote about the first season of The 100, a dystopian YA science fiction series on The CW, based on a dystopian YA science fiction novel of the same name. While the first few episodes were laughably terrible, the series later took a sharp (and dark) turn toward being kind of good. The second season of The 100, which airs the first half of its two-part finale this week, is also laughably terrible in places, but also kind of surprisingly good.

One of the good surprises happened last week, when the series hero, Clarke, turned out to be bisexual in a low-key, fairly believable way, that didn’t involve any hand-wringing about her sexual identity. The major story line this season has been that Clarke’s group, the Sky People, are trying to forge an alliance with the Grounders – a group of clans native to the planet the Sky People have landed on. The Grounders’ leader, Lexa, is a girl Clarke’s age who’s also been pushed into a position of responsibility, and the two of them grow closer as the season progresses, because no one else understands the pressure of making life and death decisions for thousands of people, or of sacrificing those you love for the sake of the greater good. There’s tension between them, because they have different ideas about what it means to be a leader, and Clarke’s character arc this season is partly about whether she’s going to end up as cold as Lexa.

That’s already unusual for a network TV show, in that the story is about a serious philosophical difference between two female characters who talk to each other about it, and make life and death decisions based on their discussion, but it’s also unusual because the showrunners decided to let them kiss, and didn’t make a whole big deal about it.

It turns out that Lexa doesn’t make Clarke a cold, hard-hearted leader after all – the opposite happens, and Clarke gets Lexa to warm up a little – at least enough to admit that there’s a place in her hard heart for Clarke. And, rather than having her push Lexa away, or say, “I’m not gay – god, what if I’m gay?!” it turns out that Clarke’s been quietly bisexual all along, and it never came up before because it’s not all that noteworthy a thing. It’s exactly the same as if she were kissing a guy.

In other words, the fact that it’s not a big deal is what makes it a really big deal.

As Allyson Johnson writes in The Mary Sue: “It’s not pandering, or queer-baiting; it’s simply a part of [Clarke’s] characterization that’s played as if it’s totally and beautifully normal.” Series creator and executive producer, Jason Rothenberg, also went on Twitter to explain that people don’t get freaked out about bisexuals in the future world of The 100 and that “if Clarke’s attracted to someone, gender isn’t a factor. Some things improve post-apocalypse.”

We’ve already had bisexual characters on science fiction shows – Torchwood is notable for making bisexuality as part of its mission statement – but there’s still something surprising and refreshing about the easy-going way that The 100 made this happen. It’s a step forward in the portrayal of LGBT people in general, but of Bi people especially. That Clarke’s comfortable with who she is – that she already knew this about herself, and the only thing that’s new is that we’re learning it about her; that she doesn’t turn into a lesbian as soon as she kisses a girl – that’s a big deal.

Another pleasant surprise in the second season is how willing The 100 is to cast women in roles where they just need some generic person. Almost every time – if not every time – groups of random, redshirt, background characters convene, some of them – and some of the ones with speaking parts – are women. The show also fills a lot of secondary roles with women – the generically menacing doctor who works for this season’s enemy, the Mountain Men, is a woman; the super hard core Grounder who distrusts the Sky People and causes tension is a woman – but I was most impressed by Major Byrne.

Major Byrne is a cookie-cutter character who exists just to create conflict among the Sky People now that the conflict-creators from last year have been rehabilitated. The Major is the hard-ass, shoot first and ask questions later, “they are the enemy,” letter of the law, peace-hating, harsh justice head of security who keeps telling the other characters that they’re screwing up by being too lenient and soft-hearted. It’s the kind of role that casting directors usually fill with a male actor, because that’s the person we all picture in our heads when we think of this archetype. The reason I’m impressed that Major Byrne turned out to be a woman is that it shows that someone, somewhere along the line, thought past their knee-jerk reactions and made a deliberate choice about casting the role – and I think that’s indicative of the deliberate choices that The 100 makes in casting female actors in general.

That doesn’t mean that Major Byrne was more than a military stereotype, or that the doctor mentioned above was more than generically evil, or that female redshirts are any more useful than male redshirts as characters – it just means that rather than defaulting to “male unless otherwise specified” it seems like The 100 makes a conscious effort to present a world where both men and women are present and involved in what’s happening.

The third good surprise, and the last one I’ll talk about – although I could mention the show’s humour, and its interesting grimdark twists – is that the writers seem to understand that there was a problem with Octavia in season one. They haven’t figured out the right way to fix it yet, but they’re trying, and I appreciate that.

If you recall, Octavia is the character who began the first season as a sassy, hypersexualized rebel, and then was rebooted as The Kindest Girl Who Ever Lived. In both incarnations, the main point of Octavia was how other people felt about her, and she constantly fell into danger and had to be rescued by other characters.

Season two reboots Octavia again as kind and rebellious, resourceful, independent, and brave. Her character arc this season is that she spends less time with her Grounder boyfriend, and more time training to be a warrior in the Grounder army, after proving herself to the really hard core Grounder, Indra.

There are some ooky colonial elements to Octavia 3.0’s story, and I don’t at all buy that she’s now an honorary Grounder because she started braiding her hair and lost a fist fight in a really spectacular way. She also looks hilarious when she tries to join them in a tribal yell, and she uses literally the worst strategy ever when she tries to take hostages during an early episode. Like, it’s really so bad that I have to believe Indra let her walk away with a hostage because she just didn’t like the guy Octavia was holding hostage very much.

That said, I appreciate that the show is trying to turn Octavia into a person rather than a chess piece in a game that other characters are playing. Right now, the character’s exhibiting a pretty superficial, and unrealistic form of girl power (“Let’s just make her awesome at everything!”), but it’s an improvement over the days when she used to trip over her feet and get knocked unconscious in the woods. If the producers were going to learn any lessons from season one, and latch onto anything as being the core of their show, I think trying to build strong female characters is a fine thing to latch onto – even if they haven’t quite got it right with Octavia.

The 100, like Battlestar Galactica before it, is still remarkable for having women make so many choices that drive the story, and I think that, once they find a way for Octavia’s choices to matter, things will finally slide into place.

And I haven’t even told you about the episode where the A-plot is that the characters go to the zoo and get chased by a monkey!

If you live in the United States, The CW airs The 100 on Wednesday nights. If you live in Canada, you can catch it on Netflix the following morning. Please watch it – I think it deserves to exist.

Katherine Murray is a Toronto-based writer who yells about movies and TV on her blog.

With an Outspoken Anti-Heroine and a Feminist Lens, ‘Young Adult’ Is Excellent

In this witty, hilarious, and bittersweet dramedy, Theron plays Mavis Gary, an author of young adult books living in Minneapolis. Mavis’ life is a hot mess. She’s divorced, drinks her life away, and the book series she writes is coming to an end. She was the popular mean girl in high school who escaped to the big city. Mavis returns to her small hometown in Minnesota full of Taco Bells and KFCs intending to reclaim her old glory days and her ex-boyfriend, who’s happily married with a new baby. As she fucks up, she eventually questions what she wants out of life.

This repost by Megan Kearns appears as part of our theme week on Unlikable Women.

We so often see men as wayward fuck-ups. Ben Stiller in Greenberg, Zach Braff in Garden State, Jack Nicholson in As Good As It Gets all fill this role. Selfish asshats who do the wrong thing, lack ambition, or screw someone over for their own selfish needs. And yet they’re somehow loveable and charming. You champion them, hoping they’ll succeed and grow…just a little. Audiences want female leads nice, amiable, and likable. Not messy, complicated, complex, and certainly not unlikable. Heaven forbid! But that’s precisely the role Charlize Theron steps into in Young Adult.

Young Adult is a fantastic film, the best I’ve seen all year. I seriously can’t say enough good things about it. Diablo Cody’s feminist lens and sharply funny dialogue fuse with Jason Reitman’s knack for bittersweet direction, buoyed by stellar portrayals.

A force of nature, Theron gives both a subtly nuanced and bravura performance. In her Golden Globe-nominated role, she makes a flawed, cranky, bitchy, selfish, alcoholic charismatic and likable. When she’s doing something despicable (which happens all too often), I found myself cringing yet simultaneously rooting for her. That’s not easy to do. Theron, who’s been called a transformational chameleon, particularly for her award-winning role in Monster, melts into this role. She imbues Mavis with depth, caustic wit, raw anger and vulnerability. It’s hard to see the boundaries where Theron begins and Mavis ends.

Suffering from depression, Mavis tries to drown her sorrows, unleashing a destructive tornado of chaos. Even though Mavis fled her small town, she’s haunted by the prime of her youth. Most of us have moved on from high school. But Mavis hasn’t grown up yet. With unwavering determination and delusion, she thinks if she can recapture the past, all her problems will be solved.

With her popular girl swagger, you can picture how she sashayed down the halls in high school (and probably shoved people into lockers or hurled insults). That same bravado fools her into thinking she can bend the world to her will.

She finds an unlikely ally and confidante in nerdy, sarcastic yet tender Matt (Patton Oswalt), a former bullied classmate in an achingly touching performance. Some of the best scenes contain Mavis and Matt volleying their biting banter.

What made the film brutally funny is Mavis tosses retorts people think but would never dream of actually saying. She says hilariously wrong things. Matt asks her if she moved back to town, she replies, “Ewww, gross.” She shamelessly throws herself at a married man. When Matt reminds her Buddy has a baby, she retorts, “Babies are boring!” And trust me. I’m not doing Theron’s comic abilities justice.

Uncomfortably funny, hilariously heartbreaking, Young Adult passes the Bechdel Test several times. In one scene, the bandmates in the all-female group Nipple Confusion (love that name!), who also happen to be Mavis’ former high school classmates, briefly debate Mavis and her dubious intentions. Mavis confronts compassionate Beth (Elizabeth Reaser), her ex-boyfriend Buddy (Patrick Wilson)’s wife and the object of Mavis’s vitriolic hatred. Also, Mavis confides in Matt’s sister Sandra (Collette Wolfe), who desperately wants to escape small-town life, about the course her life has taken.

I felt a sigh of relief while watching this film. It felt fantastic to have a woman quip snarky comments that maybe she shouldn’t say but she does anyway. Because Mavis doesn’t give a shit what people think. She doesn’t conform to other people’s standards of who she should be. Most movies suppress women’s rage. Not this one. As the awesome Melissa Silverstein at Women and Hollywood wrote:

This film is a fucking bitchy breath of fresh air.

Hollywood purports a double standard that only men can play unsympathetic roles. If a female actor portrays a complex character, she’s too often labeled a bitch. People don’t usually want to see complicated or unsympathetic women on-screen.

Besides the fabulous Kristen Wiig in the hilarious Bridesmaids, Lena Dunham in Tiny Furniture and Julia Roberts in the god-awful My Best Friend’s Wedding (which Young Adult strangely parallels – both contain selfish female protagonists struggling to recapture the past, hoping to break up a wedding/marriage), there really aren’t many examples of women in this kind of unlikable or flawed role.

In an interview with Silverstein, outspoken feminist (woo hoo!) Diablo Cody shares her inspiration for creating an unlikeable character:

The idea of a cold, unlikeable woman or a woman who is not in control of herself is genuinely frightening to people because it threatens civilization itself or threatens the American family. But I don’t know why people are always willing to accept and even like flawed male characters. We’ve seen so many loveable anti-heroes who are curmudgeons or addicts or bad fathers and a lot of those characters have become beloved icons and I don’t see women allowed to play the same parts. So it was really important to me to try and turn that around.

With female writers comprising 24 percent of ALL writers in Hollywood and women in only 33 percent of speaking roles in films (god that makes me cringe), it’s vital to have more women writing scripts to yield women’s diverse perspectives and stories.

Young Adult is entirely told from Mavis’ perspective. As Mavis scribes the last book in Waverly Prep, a Young Adult series, her writing mirrors events and feelings in her own life. It could have easily veered off course to examine how Mavis’ inappropriate flirting (or rather throwing herself at him) affected Buddy. But the film astutely anchors itself to Mavis, a unique female voice.

I often lament the lack of female-centric films as most either feature men in the spotlight or have women as merely secondary characters. If we want more diverse films, including those where women are front and center, we need to support those films by voting with our dollars and going to the box office.

At first, it seems Young Adult might succumb to the same fate as so many other films and end up revolving around Mavis finding love. Men go on quests and emotional journeys. They learn. They grow. Women often stagnate. Or more common, their lives revolve around men. They wait around for love, seek love, find love, and turn themselves inside out for love…and ultimately a man. We don’t often see them doing things for themselves.

That’s the rare beauty of Young Adult. It’s not really about Mavis finding love. It’s about confronting your mistakes, letting go of the past and growing up. Too many movies reinforce the notion careers and friends don’t count. It’s only your love life that matters. Only love can save you. But sometimes, you can save yourself.

Life is messy, complicated, and difficult. Women can be too. It’s about time we see more roles reflecting that on-screen.

Megan Kearns is a blogger, freelance writer and activist. She blogs at The Opinioness of the World, a feminist vegan site. Her work has also appeared at Arts & Opinion, Fem2pt0, Italianieuropei, Open Letters Monthly, and A Safe World for Women. She earned her B.A. in Anthropology and Sociology and a Graduate Certificate in Women and Politics and Public Policy. Megan lives in Boston with more books than she will probably ever read in her lifetime.