Tag: Biopic and Documentary Week

Biopic and Documentary Week 2012: The Roundup

What’s Love Got to Do With It? by Candice Frederick

Bassett’s was not only one of the defining performances for women in cinema; it was also one that became a benchmark for actresses of color. Her riveting portrayal role was further punctuated by the remarkable writing. Many lead roles for women of color since then are often subordinate characters. And in many other instances, they’re the tough, ever wise figures, which don’t often allow them inhabit any other emotion. Even in the heavily lauded yet divisive drama, The Help, we saw the stories of two African-American characters glossed over and unrealized, lacking the measure of which they were worthy. Overall, too many roles written for African-American actresses have them simply orbiting around the larger story of the movie without actually being a part of it and making any real impact.

The Fat Body (In)Visible by Stephanie Rogers

The New York Times published an article by Roni Caryn Rabin in 2008 titled, “In the Fatosphere, Big Is In, or at Least Accepted.” The author highlights several writers in the blogosphere who focus on Fat Acceptance and the HAES (Healthy at Every Size) Movement.

Rabin describes the Fatosphere as follows:

The bloggers’ main contention is that being fat is not a result of moral failure or a character flaw, or of gluttony, sloth or a lack of willpower. Diets often boomerang, they say; indeed, numerous long-term studies have found that even though dieters are often able to lose weight in the short term, they almost always regain the lost pounds over the next few years.

She continues:

Fat acceptance bloggers contend that the war on obesity has given people an excuse to wage war on fat people and that health concerns—coupled with the belief that fat people have only themselves to blame for being fat—are being used to justify discrimination that would not be tolerated toward just about any other group of people.

Undesired by Martyna Przybysz

Undesired, with interviews and images shot by Walter Astrada, whom I believe to be a very courageous photojournalist, brings to light this painful and current social issue still faced by many. According to Reuters, modern day India is the fourth most dangerous place in the world for women to live, but it seems like it is also one of the most difficult ones for a female life to even begin. Gender inequality and the desire to rectify it, let alone feminism, seem like completely foreign concepts for certain classes. There is also a seeming contradiction in this entire predicament – if a woman is to be perceived as the bearer of life, how can she be made to bring about this life’s actual end?

The September Issue by Amber Leab

Grace Coddington is a former model and the creative director at Vogue. She even started working there on the same day as Wintour. She is intelligent, reflective, and an artist to Wintour’s manager persona. Coddington isn’t afraid to stand up to Wintour (whose lack of empathy was famously fictionalized by Meryl Streep in 2006’s The Devil Wears Prada) either, and flawlessly uses her every resource, including the documentary film crew, to her advantage. Viewers may see her as being cutthroat, but she’s an artist fighting for her vision, her work, and she’s earned it. She’s 68 and has spent her whole life in this industry, working for British Vogue and Calvin Klein before joining Wintour.

Monster by Charlie Shipley

We know the mass-culturally-sanctioned narrative about Patty Jenkins’ directorial debut, Monster: Charlize Theron got “ugly” and delivered a tour de force turn as serial killer Aileen Wuornos that was hailed by Roger Ebert in an effective, rare use of Travers-esque hyperbole as “one of the greatest performances in the history of the cinema.” That quote made it to countless one-sheets and adorns the DVD cover of the film, and perhaps rightly so; Theron’s performance (or “embodiment,” as Ebert puts it) so overwhelms the mise-en-scène and soundscape of the film that Christina Ricci’s stern gaze on the DVD packaging seems little more than a futile attempt to market the film visually as a buddy film gone terribly wrong. Thelma & Louise, this is not.

Poster Girl by Amber Leab and Stephanie Rogers

Nesson also juxtaposes photos of Robynn prior to her Army experience–where she’s in a cheerleading uniform, smiling and having fun with friends–with the post-Army Robynn, a tattooed, pierced, PTSD victim who stares at the former photos as if they couldn’t possibly be her. And they aren’t anymore. The new Robynn is an activist who speaks out against war and gun violence, even while dealing with debilitating panic attacks.

Marie Antoinette by Megan Kearns

Women were reduced to their vaginas, only valued if they got pregnant so they could produce an heir. No one bothers Louis XVI about this, even though he’s the one who doesn’t want to have sex. Nope, just the woman; of course she’s to blame. Eventually after 7 years with no children, Marie Antoinette’s brother, the Holy Roman Emperor, talks to him. But Marie Antoinette is repeatedly blamed for not becoming pregnant. Clearly her body and reproduction are her only salient attributes in the eyes of society. 

American Violet by Amber Leab

It’s impossible to not love Dee–a beautiful woman, a kind and patient mother, a hard worker, and a caring friend. Her temper gets the best of her once in the film, but she’s protecting her children from their alcoholic father and his accused child molester girlfriend, and can hardly be faulted for it. I’m inclined to think the movie tries too hard to make her character likable. In contrast, Dee’s friend and neighbor Gladys–who is not a conventionally attractive woman, and does not have four adorable children trailing her–is a compelling and empathetic character, but the film completely drops the ball, even failing to credit the actor who plays her. Gladys is Dee’s inspiration for continuing to fight the DA even after her charges are dropped (because Gladys took a plea deal, while Dee would not), but we don’t get to explore Gladys or her situation. I’m curious as to why she’s part of the story, but not really allowed to be a character in the film. While the movie is about Dee, I would’ve liked to get to know Gladys a bit.

Gorillas in the Mist by Carrie Nelson

But as the film goes on, the references to beauty cease, and it becomes clear that these lines are not comments on Dian’s gender identity but on the materialism that she gradually gives up as she becomes committed to living among the mountain gorillas. The lines about clothing and make-up eventually stop, and Dian lets go of the previous signifiers of her femininity. It isn’t that she becomes masculine, as Weaver’s character in the Alien series is often perceived – it’s that she no longer needs these material possessions and outward signifiers to feel comfortable in the world and convey her identity. Dian’s transformation is subtle, but it adds significant depth to her characterization as she becomes comfortable in her new surroundings.

Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work by Amber Leab

Rivers is an odd character. Being a superstar female comic alone is odd in the U.S.–only a few came before her–but we get a very real look at her life, at the troubles she has faced  (her husband’s suicide) and continues to face, and at the loneliness that certainly helps her drive to fill her daily calendar. She is vulnerable and still nervous when going on stage, especially when pursuing what she calls the one sacred part of her life–her acting–in which she hasn’t seen a lot of personal success. I came to find her more compelling and interesting than my initial perception of her, and encourage anyone to see this film and learn more about a woman who refuses to stop.

Persepolis by Amber Leab
As much as I like this movie, I can’t help but write this review through the lens of an interview Satrapi gave in 2004, in which she claimed to not be a feminist and displayed ignorance of the basic concept of feminism. I simply don’t believe gender inequality can be dissolved through basic humanism—especially in oppressive patriarchal societies like Iran. I wonder if feminism represents too radical a position to non-Westerners, and if her statements were more strategy than sincerity. Making feminism an enemy or perpetuating the post-feminist rhetoric isn’t going to help anyone. That said, this is a very good movie and I highly recommend it. 

Gloria: In Her Own Words by Megan Kearns

Gloria: In Her Own Words covers Steinem’s childhood in a working-class neighborhood in Toledo, Ohio and her early career as a journalist. One of her assignments involved going undercover doing an expose on the Playboy Club. Through the unfolding of her history, she discusses gender disparity in wages and sexual harassment. In 1970, women earned half of what men earned. Women were told that they couldn’t handle responsibility or couldn’t maintain the same level of concentration as men. And of course, women were told their place was in the home. She said that if you were pretty, people assumed you got assignments based on your looks. Of course it couldn’t be due to a woman’s intelligence or work ethic. Silly me. Steinem also revealed that her boss sexually harassed her at the Sunday Times.

Heart Like a Wheel by Melissa Richard

Coming from a family of amateur drag racers (and a family where women outnumber men), it’s no surprise that my super-duper #1 female idol as a kid was Shirley Muldowney. A three-time National Hot Rod Association Top Fuel champion, Muldowney has been a part of professional drag racing since the mid-1960s and faced innumerable obstacles gaining entry into the boy’s club of the NHRA. Although not the first woman to race, she was the first to be licensed as a professional competitor and ran cars for the better part of nearly four decades, retiring only due to lack of sponsorship in 2003. Naturally, at the height of her career in the 70s / early 80s, her gender made excellent material for a biopic of her life, Heart like a Wheel (1983). And, perhaps just as naturally, the film does a pretty disappointing job of capturing the complexity of a woman who struggled to break the gender barrier in professional drag racing. 

Women and Biopics–Where Are the Best Picture Nominations? by Stephanie Rogers

I don’t have much analysis to offer here because it feels quite obvious to me that 1) Hollywood doesn’t care that much about women’s stories (gasp!) and 2) the stories that Hollywood does manage to tell about women often get much less critical praise. Is that because the films about women are just … worse? Or is it that, again–as is the case with everything from parenting to politics–we hold women to a much higher standard, imposing a level of scrutiny that makes it impossible to focus on women’s successes in the same ways we showcase the achievements of men? 

The Blind Side, Take 1 by Stephanie Rogers

No. No to the over-abundant racial stereotypes showcased throughout the film. No to the kind-hearted southern woman as the Black man’s White Savior. No to the shallow, embarrassing, surface-level portrayal of class issues. No to the constant heavy-handed references to God and prayer and sexual morality. No to falling back on the tired tropes of wives as mommies and women as over-bearing and emasculating ball-busters. No to this film’s best picture nomination. Just … no.

The Blind Side, Take 2 by Nine Deuce

Let me say up front that I’m aware that I’m supposed to feel sorry for Sandra Bullock this week. She’s purported to be “America’s sweetheart” and all, she has always seemed like a fairly decent person (for an actor), and I think her husband deserves to get his wang run over by one of his customized asshole conveyance vehicles, but I’m finding it difficult to feel too bad. I mean, who marries a guy who named himself after a figure from the Old West, has more tattoos than IQ points, and is known for his penchant for rockabilly strippers? Normally I’d absolve Bullock of all responsibility for what has occurred and spend nine paragraphs illustrating the many reasons Jesse James doesn’t deserve to live, but I’ve just received proof in the form of a movie called The Blind Side that Sandra Bullock is in cahoots with Satan, Ronald Reagan’s cryogenically preserved head, the country music industry, and E! in their plot to take over the world by turning us all into (or helping some of us to remain) smug, racist imbeciles.

Frida by Amber Leab

The film isn’t just about living with disability, though; it’s about thriving in spite of it, about having a full life in which disability is only a part. Kahlo does not “overcome” her physical problems; she spends a lot of time painting in bed, she has good times and bad, and all of this she channels into her work. As a person who lives with disability, it’s damn near inspiring to see a character–based on a real-life person–who struggles and who achieves great things. And great things Kahlo did achieve. Her body of work includes 143 paintings, 55 of which are self portraits. One of her paintings was the first work by a 20th century Mexican artist to be purchased by the Louvre in Paris, she had a one-woman show in Paris, and has become significantly more famous since her death in 1958. Her work is intensely personal, representing most often pain and the broken self. Not only is this work autobiographical–depicting her own pain and suffering–but it is also overtly feminist. Kahlo painting herself in surrealistic representations of womanhood and pain legitimizes female experiences as worthy of high art. Like so many culturally valued enterprises (filmmaking, for one), men tend to dominate the art world. Kahlo–and the film Frida–challenges those patriarchal norms.

Two Documentaries About Aileen Wuornos: The Selling of a Serial Killer and Life and Death of a Serial Killer by Gabriella Apicella

Aileen Wuornos’s story is the antithesis of the American Dream and highlights the causality of crime: abused, abandoned, neglected, poverty-stricken, violated, exploited, shunned, condemned, tormented and eventually killed. It seems understandable that after being repeatedly raped by a family member as a child, living homeless in woods until teenage years, turning to prostitution to make enough money for food and shelter, and then being beaten and raped brutally, that she would, in desperation, reach for a gun and kill. The mythology around serial killers demonstrates that there is a perversion and obsession that perpetrators feed with their crimes, yet in Wuornos’s case that does not appear to have been true, as the killings she committed were apparently borne from fury and, in at least one case, from self-defence. If she had not experienced so much abuse and neglect, would she have gone on to kill?  This can never be known, and her crimes can never be excused. Indeed, it is not possible to know what really happened on the nights of the killings.

Guest Writer Wednesday: Two Documentaries about Aileen Wuornos: The Selling of a Serial Killer and Life and Death of a Serial Killer

Serial killer Aileen Wuornos, immortalized in an Oscar-winning film and two documentaries

This is a guest post from Gabriella Apicella.
Aileen Wuornos was executed for killing six men. She is as infamous a serial killer as Ed Gein, Ted Bundy, and Charles Manson. Her notoriety was secured with the Oscar-winning film Monster: brave and complex, it achieved a sense of authenticity, portraying both her aggression and vulnerability, ensuring no easy condemnation for the woman made infamous as “America’s First Female Serial Killer.”
Before being immortalised by Hollywood, Wuornos’s story was told in two documentaries by British filmmaker Nick Broomfield. The first of these, The Selling of a Serial Killer, sees Broomfield examine the commercialisation of the Wuornos case, and he spends much of the time communicating with the two people “closest” to her. One of these is her lawyer Steve Glazer, and the other, her adoptive mother Arlene Pralle. While Glazer appears preoccupied with the excitement of having a film crew around and uses the experience to play guitar and sing on camera in what he presumably thought was something of an audition opportunity, Wuornos’s adoptive “mother” is a more problematic and even sinister proposition. Pralle tells Broomfield that after seeing Aileen on television after her arrest she felt compelled to protect her and made steps to become her legal “mother.” Her protection seems to disappear, however, when Aileen maintains that she killed in self-defence, and does not believe that she is ready for the “Kingdom of Heaven.”  It is clear that both Glazer and Pralle are two people looking to exploit Wuornos like so many before them. When their manipulation eventually becomes clear to Aileen, she is understandably furious and upset. Yet she remains heartbreakingly naïve and very quickly puts her trust in Broomfield – for once at least this is not misplaced.
In the second documentary, Life and Death of a Serial Killer, Broomfield meets with Wuornos as another proposed date for her execution nears. After being on death row for 12 years, Wuornos is no longer appealing against her conviction, but has begun to plead total guilt for her crimes, asserting in court that she killed in cold blood with no provocation from the victims. She discounts evidence that had been used to defend her as lies, dismissing testimonies that detailed her devastating childhood and young adulthood, and swears that the horrifying testimony she gave at her trial detailing the brutal rape she suffered at the hands of the first victim was a complete fabrication. She calls herself a dangerous criminal who should be killed immediately or she will kill again.
Aileen Wuornos’s story is the antithesis of the American Dream and highlights the causality of crime: abused, abandoned, neglected, poverty-stricken, violated, exploited, shunned, condemned, tormented and eventually killed. It seems understandable that after being repeatedly raped by a family member as a child, living homeless in woods until teenage years, turning to prostitution to make enough money for food and shelter, and then being beaten and raped brutally, that she would, in desperation, reach for a gun and kill. The mythology around serial killers demonstrates that there is a perversion and obsession that perpetrators feed with their crimes, yet in Wuornos’s case that does not appear to have been true, as the killings she committed were apparently borne from fury and, in at least one case, from self-defence. If she had not experienced so much abuse and neglect, would she have gone on to kill?  This can never be known, and her crimes can never be excused. Indeed, it is not possible to know what really happened on the nights of the killings.
However, Broomfield’s documentaries enable the viewer to look beyond the label of “serial killer,” and provide an understanding of what brought the terrible situations about. Watching Wuornos’s response to Broomfield’s gentle questioning and assurance that he will support her and tell her story results in extraordinary insights into her true nature. To counter tales of abuse and incest provided as testimony to assist her appeal, Wuornos describes to Broomfield a childhood that was proper, within a morally strong family who gave her a good upbringing: yet at the mention of her mother, she is plunged into a vicious fury that leaves her virtually inarticulate with rage. She is adamant at this stage that she should be executed as soon as possible, and is eager to dismiss any evidence that might hinder the process. Although found to be of sound mind the day before her execution by three psychiatric professionals, she asserts to Broomfield that prison officers are using radio waves to control her mind: it is unlawful to execute someone who is not sane.  Most compelling of all is Aileen’s admission to Broomfield, when she believes he is not recording, that the only reason she has stopped appealing her conviction is because, after spending so long on death row, all she now wants is to die, and yes, she did kill in self-defence.
The films illustrate that Aileen Wuornos did not live in a vacuum, and neither did her victims. By labelling her, or any criminals, as “evil,” society absolves itself of responsibility for their behaviour and Aileen Wuornos’s fate can be seen as the result of that. Documentaries such as these, filmed with humanity and compassion remind us that film can capture insights into our world that we may not like, and may wish to look away from, but are endangering ourselves if we ignore.

Gabriella Apicella is a feminist writer and tutor living in London, England. She has a degree in Film and Media from Birkbeck College, University of London, is on the board of Script Development organisation Euroscript, and in 2010 co-founded the UnderWire Festival that aims to recognise the raw filmmaking talent of women. Her writing features women in the central roles, and she has been commissioned to write short films, experimental theatre and prose for independent directors and artists. 

Biopic and Documentary Week: Frida

Frida (2002)

I’ll confess to being a little bit obsessed with Frida Kahlo. A copy of her journals sits on my bookshelf. A postcard of one of her numerous self portraits gazes at me from a bedroom wall. A quote from the movie about her life made an appearance in my wedding ceremony. Hell, I even named my dog “Kahlo.” Personal bias notwithstanding, I love the film Frida, for a myriad of reasons.
In my opinion, biopic is an extremely difficult genre. A person’s life doesn’t fit the narrative arc of a standard movie, so we typically see parts of a person’s life excised, heteronormative relationships emphasized, and vast simplification of an often-famous personality. The best biopics play with the narrative arc, bring in some element of creativity, and allow formal aspects of the film to reflect the subject’s personality. Frida does a good job at this by incorporating surrealism—a reflection of Kahlo’s work—and skipping most of the first eighteen years of her life, in favor of beginning near her artistic awakening. (Two other biopics that also subvert standard moviemaking immediately come to mind: Fur: An Imaginary Portrait of Diane Arbus, about art photographer Diane Arbus, and Beyond the Sea, which looks at the life of singer and entertainer Bobby Darin).
In identity politics terms, Frida tells the story of a disabled bisexual socialist woman of color who became one of Mexico’s most famous painters. That description alone tells you that this isn’t standard fare that the Hollywood machine typically churns out. The film is a decade-in-the-making labor of love for lead actress Salma Hayek, directed by Julie Taymor, and also starring Alfred Molina (as Diego Rivera, fellow painter and husband to Frida), with cameos by Ashely Judd (playing friend, political ally, and photographer Tina Modotti) and Edward Norton (playing Nelson Rockefeller; Norton is also said to be an uncredited writer of the script, and quite a bit of controversy about his role in the making and editing of the film sprung up when he and Hayek ended their romantic relationship).
There is much to admire about Frida as a film, and Kahlo as an artist, for that matter. Although Frida Kahlo was prettied up by the gorgeous Hayek, who did sport Kahlo’s signature unibrow and unbleached/unwaxed moustache, slightly de-emphasized, the difficulties of her life certainly weren’t softened. When Kahlo was six, she contracted polio, which left her with physical difficulties into adulthood. When she was eighteen, she was in a terrible bus accident, leaving her with life-long debilitating pain which required numerous surgeries to resolve (and resolve they never did). The scene below begins with an unconscious Kahlo, immediately following the accident, and takes us through a Day-of-the-Dead-inspired montage of her three weeks in the hospital, until she regained consciousness (warning: the opening image is bloody and disturbing):


Calaca Hospital


Frida

— MOVIECLIPS.com

The film isn’t just about living with disability, though; it’s about thriving in spite of it, about having a full life in which disability is only a part. Kahlo does not “overcome” her physical problems; she spends a lot of time painting in bed, she has good times and bad, and all of this she channels into her work. As a person who lives with disability, it’s damn near inspiring to see a character–based on a real-life person–who struggles and who achieves great things. And great things Kahlo did achieve. Her body of work includes 143 paintings, 55 of which are self portraits. One of her paintings was the first work by a 20th century Mexican artist to be purchased by the Louvre in Paris, she had a one-woman show in Paris, and has become significantly more famous since her death in 1958. Her work is intensely personal, representing most often pain and the broken self. Not only is this work autobiographical–depicting her own pain and suffering–but it is also overtly feminist. Kahlo painting herself in surrealistic representations of womanhood and pain legitimizes female experiences as worthy of high art. Like so many culturally valued enterprises (filmmaking, for one), men tend to dominate the art world. Kahlo–and the film Frida–challenges those patriarchal norms.

Le due Frida
While the film certainly highlights her work as the central element of her life, romantic relationships play a major role as well. Kahlo married the older and more established Mexican muralist, Diego Rivera, when she was 21, and they had a tumultuous relationship, divorcing and remarrying, and having plenty of extra-marital affairs. Their marriage, though, is a kind of model of an artistic pairing; both understanding the other’s devotion to painting and belief in “marriage without fidelity.” Kahlo is known to have had affairs with both men and women, and the film doesn’t gloss over her bisexuality, including a scene with a woman who both Kahlo and Rivera had been sexually involved with. Early indication in the film of her admiration of men and women comes in a somewhat playful party scene, in which Kahlo steps in and wins a drinking contest between Rivera and David Alfaro Siqueiros (played by Antonio Banderas) with the prize of a dance with the lovely Modotti (Judd). The super-sexy tango the two women dance is shown below:


Frida and Tina Tango


Frida

— MOVIECLIPS.com

 

The film, like so many, isn’t without its flaws; one could argue the problem of having a major motion picture about one of Mexico’s most famous artists in which the characters all speak English, for example. Since ten years have passed since the film was made, I can’t be sure whether the same would be true today. Problems aside, this is a visually stunning film, made by a woman, about a woman, and it’s remarkable in nearly every way. If you haven’t seen it, what are you waiting for?

Biopic and Documentary Week: The Blind Side, Take 2: The Most Insulting Movie Ever Made

This piece on The Blind Side, by Nine Deuce, first appeared at Bitch Flicks on March 23, 2011.

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The Blind Side movie poster

 

Davetavius and I consider ourselves the world’s foremost authorities on watching movies for reasons other than those intended by their producers. As such, we go way beyond just watching “cheesy” (whatever that means) movies, 80s movies, or kung fu movies (which I refuse to watch but which every dork on Earth has been pretending to like in some attempt at letting everyone know how “weird” they are since Quentin Tarantino’s ridiculous ass popularized kung fu movie fandom as the #1 route to instant eccentricity cred in True Romance) to focus our attention on recently-released romantic comedies, those obnoxious movies in which two assholes just sit around and talk to each other for 98 minutes, and “serious” movies for which people have been given gold-plated statuettes. One can learn an awful lot about the faults and failings of our social system and corporate entertainment’s attempts to sell us its version of culture by watching movies created by and for the anti-intelligentsia, and if one were to try hard enough, I’m sure one could find the string that, if tugged, would unravel the modern world system buried somewhere in a melodramatic Best Picture Oscar contender intended to make people who refer to beers as “cold ones” feel like they’re considering The Big Issues. There was no way we were going to miss The Blind Side.
Spoiler alert: this is the worst movie I’ve ever seen, and I’m going to spoil your desire to see it yourself by writing this post. Also, I may, if I can manage to give a fuck, divulge important plot elements. But it’s based on a true story that everyone has already heard anyway, so who cares.

Let me say up front that I’m aware that I’m supposed to feel sorry for Sandra Bullock this week. She’s purported to be “America’s sweetheart” and all, she has always seemed like a fairly decent person (for an actor), and I think her husband deserves to get his wang run over by one of his customized asshole conveyance vehicles, but I’m finding it difficult to feel too bad. I mean, who marries a guy who named himself after a figure from the Old West, has more tattoos than IQ points, and is known for his penchant for rockabilly strippers? Normally I’d absolve Bullock of all responsibility for what has occurred and spend nine paragraphs illustrating the many reasons Jesse James doesn’t deserve to live, but I’ve just received proof in the form of a movie called The Blind Side that Sandra Bullock is in cahoots with Satan, Ronald Reagan’s cryogenically preserved head, the country music industry, and E! in their plot to take over the world by turning us all into (or helping some of us to remain) smug, racist imbeciles.

Click here to read the full piece on The Blind Side.

Biopic and Documentary Week: The Blind Side, Take 1

This piece on The Blind Side, by Stephanie Rogers, first appeared at Bitch Flicks on March 3, 2010.

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The Blind Side movie poster

No. No to the over-abundant racial stereotypes showcased throughout the film. No to the kind-hearted southern woman as the Black man’s White Savior. No to the shallow, embarrassing, surface-level portrayal of class issues. No to the constant heavy-handed references to God and prayer and sexual morality. No to falling back on the tired tropes of wives as mommies and women as over-bearing and emasculating ball-busters. No to this film’s best picture nomination. Just … no.

imdb synopsis, as composed by Anonymous:

The Blind Side depicts the story of Michael Oher, a homeless African-American youngster from a broken home, taken in by the Touhys, a well-to-do white family who help him fulfill his potential. At the same time, Oher’s presence in the Touhys’ lives leads them to some insightful self-discoveries of their own.

Living in his new environment, the teen faces a completely different set of challenges to overcome. As a football player and student, Oher works hard and, with the help of his coaches and adopted family, becomes an All-American offensive left tackle.

The real synopsis, as composed by me:

The Blind Side depicts the story of a white woman who sees a Black man walking down the street in the rain. She tells her husband to stop the car, and he obliges—oh, his wife is just so crazy sometimes!—then, out of the goodness of her white heart, she allows him to spend the night in their offensively enormous home.

Unfortunately, she can’t sleep very well—the Black man might steal some of their very important shit! But the next day, when she sees that he’s folded his blankets and sheets nicely on the couch, she realizes that, hey, maybe all Black men really aren’t thieving thugs.

Then she saves his life.

There’s a way to tell a true story, and there’s a way to completely botch the shit out of a true story. Shit-botching, in this instance, might include basing the entire film around an upper-class white woman’s struggle to essentially reform a young Black man by taking him in, buying him clothes, getting him a tutor, teaching him how to tackle, and threatening to kill a group of young Black men he used to hang out with.

Click here to read the full piece on The Blind Side.

Biopic and Documentary Week: Women and Biopics–Where Are the Best Picture Nominations?

Women in Biopics
In November 2009, I wrote a brief analysis of the films that won the Academy Award for Best Picture between 2000 and 2010, ultimately asking the question, “What do these films have in common?” The answer is, of course, men. With the exception of Crash (which qualifies as an ensemble drama in all its racist glory), the Best Picture-winning films all center around men, with women either showcased as sidekicks or merely fulfilling one of the ridiculous tropes that drives the (male) narrative forward.
We’ve talked here before about the importance of looking at and analyzing pop culture–like the Academy Awards–even though we’re all well aware at Bitch Flicks that these types of ceremonies don’t actually honor The Best in Cinema. However, paying attention to what’s happening in pop culture helps us understand what society values as important. And according to the past 40 years or so of Oscar-nominated biopics, society thinks pretty highly of White Dudes.
Here is a list of Oscar-nominated biopics about men (since 1976), accompanied by critics’ ratings on Rotten Tomatoes. Asterisks denote Best Picture Winners.

*Patton (97%)

Lenny (100%)

Bound for Glory (88%)

The Elephant Man (91%)

Raging Bull (98%)

Reds (94%)

*Gandhi (88%)

*Amadeus (96%)

*The Last Emperor (91%)

Born on the Fourth of July (89%)

My Left Foot (100%)

Bugsy (88%)

JFK (84%)

In the Name of the Father (95%)

Shine (91%)

*A Beautiful Mind (78%)

The Aviator (87%)

Finding Neverland (83%)

Good Night, and Good Luck (94%)

Ray (81%)

Capote (90%)

Milk (94%)

Frost/Nixon (92%)

The Fighter (91%)

*The King’s Speech (95%)

The Social Network (96%)

127 Hours (93%)

Moneyball (94%)

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Here is a list of Oscar-nominated biopics about women (since 1976), accompanied by critics’ ratings on Rotten Tomatoes. Asterisk denotes Best Picture Winner.

Coal Miner’s Daughter (100%)

*Out of Africa (63%)

Elizabeth (82%)

Erin Brockovich (83%)

The Queen (97%)

The Blind Side (66%)

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So the only biopic about a woman to win the Oscar for Best Picture is Out of Africa, which–based on Rotten Tomatoes scores–critics disliked way more than any other nominated biopics within the past 40 years. 
I don’t have much analysis to offer here because it feels quite obvious to me that 1) Hollywood doesn’t care that much about women’s stories (gasp!) and 2) the stories that Hollywood does manage to tell about women often get much less critical praise. Is that because the films about women are just … worse? Or is it that, again–as is the case with everything from parenting to politics–we hold women to a much higher standard, imposing a level of scrutiny that makes it impossible to focus on women’s successes in the same ways we showcase the achievements of men?
However …
We love our women entertainers! I remember taking a class in college in which we discussed the dynamics of visibility in the patriarchy; we love women and minorities who sing for us, make us laugh, dance for us, play sports for us–but do we want them in leadership positions? Fuck no. And if one looks at a list of biopics in general (i.e. biopics that weren’t necessarily nominated for Oscars or other major awards), it’s easy to see the disproportionate number of biopics and documentaries focusing on women in the entertainment industry. That isn’t to say, of course, that entertainers don’t influence society in significant ways, but they’re less able to directly do so than, oh, women in high government offices, for instance.
I’m reminded of an important documentary, Miss Representation, which we wrote about here, and the astute tagline, “You can’t be what you can’t see.” We’ve got two Linda Lovelace biopics on the way. Wouldn’t it be nice to get, like, a Harriet Tubman biopic?

Biopic and Documentary Week: Blast from the Past: Jonathan Kaplan’s Heart like a Wheel

Heart Like a Wheel (1983)

This is a guest post from Melissa Richard.

Coming from a family of amateur drag racers (and a family where women outnumber men), it’s no surprise that my super-duper #1 female idol as a kid was Shirley Muldowney. A three-time National Hot Rod Association Top Fuel champion, Muldowney has been a part of professional drag racing since the mid-1960s and faced innumerable obstacles gaining entry into the boy’s club of the NHRA. Although not the first woman to race, she was the first to be licensed as a professional competitor and ran cars for the better part of nearly four decades, retiring only due to lack of sponsorship in 2003. Naturally, at the height of her career in the 70s / early 80s, her gender made excellent material for a biopic of her life, Heart like a Wheel (1983). And, perhaps just as naturally, the film does a pretty disappointing job of capturing the complexity of a woman who struggled to break the gender barrier in professional drag racing. 
Shirley Muldowney behind the wheel

Directed by Jonathan Kaplan and written by Ken Friedman, Heart like a Wheel hits the high points of Muldowney’s rise to prominence in the racing world: her beginnings as an amateur drag racer (which she did for extra money as a young, newly married waitress); her desire and ability to race professionally with the help of her first husband, mechanic Jack Muldowney, and son John; her divorce from Jack and relationship with fellow racer / crew boss Connie Kalitta; the failure of that relationship and, of course, the movie’s climax in which Muldowney beats Kalitta to take the NHRA U.S. Nationals championship in 1982. Heart like a Wheel has a certain B-movie quality to it, but garnered a 1984 Golden Globe nomination Best Performance by an Actress for Bonnie Bedelia, who plays Muldowney in the film. While not tremendously popular at the box office, it received favorable critical acclaim at film festivals and, among racing aficionados at least, still holds significant underground popularity.

Like most “women breaking barriers” films, especially those involving sports, Heart like a Wheel has a sort of against-all-odds feel to it that makes you want to like it, even if you know hokey story lines like that tend to be amped up by filmmakers for the benefit of paying audiences. This is no surprise. What is surprising, however, is that viewers are privy only to a watered-down version of the significant odds that Muldowney really faced. There are the typical sexist lines that a female drag racer could’ve expected to hear in a male-dominated sport (like when an announcer decries Muldowney receiving a kiss from her husband prior qualifying for her competition license ) and scenes that illustrate the roles Muldowney had to play as an hyper-sexualized novelty in order to do something she loved and was good at (including taking on the exotic name conferred on her by Connie Kalitta, “Cha Cha,” which she later rejected as a racing moniker). 
The “Cha Cha” version of Muldowney, 1972

Instead of developing important moments, like those in which she has trouble getting sponsorship because of her gender or struggles to make ends in the furious balance between a burgeoning racing career and a family, the film aims most of its dramatic focus on Muldowney’s romantic relationship with Kalitta.  In all of the drama of her seven-year fling with her hot-headed, womanizing guy, the lines and scenes that purport to represent the barriers Muldowney broke down seem pale and artificial, like they’ve been inserted only for the sake of occasionally reminding the viewer that Muldowney had to put up with a lot of macho crap in order to race.  

In all fairness, Muldowney and Kalitta’s relationship did have a significant impact on her career. They were involved professionally as well as personally, and her decision to cut him from her crew once the romance died made her even more of an underdog that she already was in the NHRA (since she couldn’t make it in racing without a bigger name than her own, apparently—or a man). In life and in the film, Muldowney took advantage of Kalitta’s license suspension (for fighting) and asked if she could race his top-fuel dragster with him as her crew chief, which put her on the road (literally) to three NHRA top-fuel championships. In fact, Kaplan and Friedman’s decision to organize the movie’s plot around Muldowney’s relationships with men is not unwarranted and lends an interesting masculine frame to a movie about a woman who came from and broke into, well, a masculine-framed world. From the opening black-and-white scene in which we see a young Shirley sitting on her father’s lap as he drives “too fast” down a deserted road through to the end when she shakes her fist in victory alongside her son / mechanic, this is a movie about a woman who lives in a world of men, is influenced by men, is supported and abandoned by men.
However, the male relationships that fostered Muldowney’s confidence and faith in her abilities hardly go noticed—especially the encouragement of her father.  One of the more touching scenes occurs in the first 10 minutes of the film, when a young Shirley Roque and her then beau Jack Muldowney approach her burly father to ask for permission to marry.  Tex Roque, a rough-and-tumble Country and Western singer, does not necessarily object to the marriage based on Shirley’s age—she’s sixteen—nor does he object to her choice of husband—he says that Jack is a really nice kid. What he objects to instead is that Shirley’s decision to marry so young will thwart her development as a self-sufficient woman. He advises her that “there’s not a man anywhere who’s worth giving up your ability to take care of yourself.”  Tex died fairly early in his daughter’s racing career, so perhaps there just wasn’t enough of a presence there to make it a bigger part of the film, but his advice – that Shirley take care of herself – doesn’t necessarily serve as the story arc that it seems set up to be.  Muldowney certainly gets things some things done herself: soliciting sponsorship, getting those needed signatures of support for her license application, and generally making it known that she would “mouth off” when she needed to.  But the crucial lesson for Shirley behind Tex’s advice gets lost in the development of her relationship with Kalitta, who is important in telling the Muldowney story, but who is certainly not the whole of it. 
Connie Kalitta (played by Beau Bridges) in Heart Like a Wheel

The relationship with Kalitta, of course, sets up the film’s narrative climax: the 1982 U.S. Nationals race in which Muldowney beat Kalitta to claim her third national title. They’d separated before the ’82 race, and the romance – in the film, but also to NHRA fans at the time—injects the duel with a provocative rivalry in which the little lady who can drive fast beats not just a male competitor, but a cheating, lying bastard.  It’s one of those convenient moments from Muldowney’s life story that make for a good Hollywood story, but the real victory there is overlooked by the film.  In 1982, no one had won three national NHRA titles and suddenly, someone had.  And it happened to be a woman. This achievement, though, is lost behind the drama of Muldowney beating a former lover who treated her badly and, by the film’s end, you wonder if Heart like a Wheel was really about a woman breaking into the male-dominated world of racing to begin with.

Maybe Heart like a Wheel is just a love story with fast cars in it—something for the boys and the girls in the Hollywood mindset. But the real story here is one about a woman who loved to drive and compete, inaugurated the participation of women in a sport decidedly “for boys,” and dealt with a mountain of complexity in the process (the usual accusations of being a bitch that go along with being an ambitious woman, the failure of her first marriage because of her racing career, and the emasculating threat a woman with a great ability posed to her male competitors). As someone who watched this movie over and over as a kid, and who could still watch it over and over as an adult, I can’t help but love Heart like a Wheel because I love Shirley. But I don’t love what Heart like a Wheel says about a woman who had a tough row and has served as a significant influence to those who follow in her footsteps– and what it doesn’t say about the challenges of women in a world dominated by men.


Melissa Richard is a PhD candidate at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro and a part-time English instructor at High Point University in the Piedmont Triad area of North Carolina. She writes about nineteenth-century factory girls in British literature and culture, likes to take photographs of things and stuff, and thinks that dancing is really fun. 

Biopic and Documentary Week: ‘Gloria: In Her Own Words’

Gloria Steinem in HBO’s Gloria: In Her Own Words
If I were to ask you to name a famous feminist, who would you say? I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that most of you would probably say Gloria Steinem. And with good reason. A pioneering feminist icon, she’s been the face of feminism for nearly 50 years. Many people have admired and judged her, putting their own perceptions on who she is. In the documentary Gloria: In Her Own Words, Steinem tells her own story.
Directed by Peter Kunhardt and produced by Kunhardt and Sheila Nevins, the HBO documentary which also aired at this year’s Athena Film Fest, “recounts her transformation from reporter to feminist icon.” It explores Steinem’s life through intimate interviews and impressive historical footage, focusing on the tumultuous 60s and 70s, the core of the Women’s Liberation Movement. It’s an intriguing and thought-provoking introduction to feminism and insight of a feminist activist.
Gloria: In Her Own Words covers Steinem’s childhood in a working-class neighborhood in Toledo, Ohio and her early career as a journalist. One of her assignments involved going undercover doing an expose on the Playboy Club. Through the unfolding of her history, she discusses gender disparity in wages and sexual harassment. In 1970, women earned half of what men earned. Women were told that they couldn’t handle responsibility or couldn’t maintain the same level of concentration as men. And of course, women were told their place was in the home. She said that if you were pretty, people assumed you got assignments based on your looks. Of course it couldn’t be due to a woman’s intelligence or work ethic. Silly me. Steinem also revealed that her boss sexually harassed her at the Sunday Times. She said:
“There was no word for sexual harassment. It was just called life. So you had to find your own individual way around it.” 
Steinem found that she wasn’t alone. Many, MANY other women faced this same barrage of sexism and misogyny. She said she “wasn’t crazy, it was the system that was crazy.” This echoes something badass feminist poet and activist Staceyann Chin said when I attended Feminist Winter Term in NYC last year. Some young women feel like they’re losing their minds, that they see something wrong with society but so many others don’t. I know this is how I felt for a long time. But there’s nothing wrong or weird or abnormal about wanting to be treated equitably. Steinem says:
“I began to understand that my experience was an almost universal female experience.” 
Is there a “universal female experience?” I disagree. Yes, many women face the same gendered oppressions and stigmas. But this ignores the intersectionality of sexism, racism, classism, ableism, homophobia, transphobia, etc. that play pivotal roles in women’s lives. But Steinem asserts:
“Women really do have a community of interest because we are relegated to menial and dehumanized positions simply because we’re women.”
While the film glosses over some parts some parts of Steinem’s life I was absolutely thrilled it showcased abortion and reproductive justice. Steinem revealed how she had an abortion when she was 22 which she kept secret. When she covered an abortion hearing in New York in 1969, she realized the importance of reproductive justice. And that was her “click” moment in becoming a feminist:
“Women were standing up and sharing their abortion experiences…I listened to these women testify about all that they had to go through, the injury, the danger, the infection, the sexual humiliation, you know to get an illegal abortion. And I suddenly realized why is it a secret, you know? If 1 in 3 women has needed an abortion in her lifetime in this country, why is it a secret and why is it criminal and why is it dangerous? 
“And that was the big click. It transformed me and I began to seek out everything I could find on what was then the burgeoning women’s movement.” 
It’s interesting that abortion can be a catalyzing force in declaring a feminist identity. But it makes sense. When the government tries to take away your reproductive rights, to make choices about your own body, you realize the importance your voice and standing up for your rights. And Steinem’s absolutely right; an abortion stigma of shame should not exist. There’s nothing shameful in making a choice about your reproductive health. With the passage of Roe v. Wade and the legalization of abortion in 1973, “reproductive freedom” was established “as a basic right like freedom of speech or freedom of assembly.” Sadly, it’s a war we’re still fighting to win.
For Steinem, becoming a feminist meant becoming part of a group, something she had never felt before. She also discussed the “demonization” of “the word ‘feminist:’”
“I think that being a feminist means that you see the world whole instead of half…It shouldn’t need a name. One day it won’t…
“Feminism starts out being very simple. It starts out being the instinct of a little child who says it’s not fair and you are not the boss of me…and it ends up being a worldview that questions hierarchy altogether.”
As she “realized there was nothing for women to read that was controlled by women,” Steinem recognized the crucial need for feminist media. This sparked the creation of Ms. Magazine, the first feminist publication in 1972, which Steinem co-founded and edited. She said that while they didn’t invent the term “Ms,” it was “the exact parallel to “Mr.” and it had a great, obvious political use.” Marital status doesn’t affect male identity, so why should it affect women’s? Men in the media predicted its rapid demise. Yet it sold out in a week. Thankfully, it’s still in print as it’s one of my fave magazines!
Gloria: In Her Own Words shows footage of Steinem in interviews, rallies, marches and conferences such as the 1977 National Women’s Conference and the 2005 March for Women’s Lives in DC. At a rally for the Equal Rights Amendment (ERA), Steinem declared:
“We’ve been much too law-abiding and docile for too long but I think that period is about over. So I only want to remind you and me tonight that what we are talking about is a revolution, and not a reform…
 “We are the women that our parents warned us about and we are proud.”
Throughout the film, Steinem talks about anger:
 “A woman who aspires to something is called a bitch…There’s such huge punishment in the culture for an angry woman…I learned to use anger constructively.”
Society tells us women are meant to be docile and agreeable, not righteous and angry. As an angry child who grew up to be an angry woman, it was refreshing to hear Steinem discuss this stigma. She also talks about the need to advocate and fight for your rights as “nobody hands you equality.”
Steinem frankly shares her triumphs and her pain. She discussed her friction with feminist Betty Friedan, her admiration for her friend U.S. Representative Bella Abzug, a feminist pioneer, and her alliance with activist Angela Davis. She talks about her regret at distancing herself from her mother and her choice not to have children saying “having children should not be such a deep part of a woman’s identity.” She discussed her marriage to husband David Bale, whom she called “an irresistible force” and who sometimes introduced himself as Mr. Steinem, much to her chagrin. She survived breast cancer, depression and faced her own lack of self-esteem.
While the documentary alludes to Steinem’s other social justice passions, one for me, is glaringly omitted: her passion for animal rights. As a feminist vegan, I often see the two movements bifurcated, despite some of the parallel struggles. So it would have been great to see that here.
Throughout the film, I get the sense that Steinem is intelligent, kind, witty and passionate. When asked if she feels just as strongly today as she did when she started out as an activist, Steinem says:
“Oh much more, god much more, much much more. And it’s a world view. Once you start looking at us all as human beings, you no longer are likely to accept economic differences and racial differences and ethnic differences. So you have to uproot racism and sexism at the same time otherwise it just doesn’t work.”
I love this holistic view of abolishing kyriarchy and multiple systems of oppression.
Feminist writer Amanda Marcotte critiqued the documentary as “fun” and “worthy” yet “incomplete” and “far too upbeat.” I see her point. Yes, some events, particularly the ERA, were glossed over and some viewers might not understand the full scope of the struggles and sacrifices made during the women’s rights movement. But I’m glad it was hopeful. This is a documentary about Gloria Steinem, her views and her experiences; not a documentary on the history of feminism.
Sheila Nevis, the president of HBO’s documentary film division, views Gloria: In Her Own Words not as a biography but rather “an inspirational film” for young people “who didn’t know who she was.” For seasoned feminists who feel distraught over the plethora of incessant struggles, it’s nice to be buoyed by optimism. And for those who don’t call themselves feminists or don’t know much about the women’s movement, this might pique their curiosity to explore feminism. Inspiration is a powerful and sometimes underrated thing.
When someone leads a life in the spotlight, many myths and misconceptions may swirl around their public persona. But Steinem lays out her life: her triumphs, accomplishments, woes and heartbreak. It’s time you got to know the person you might think you knew, the woman who helped catalyze feminism in the U.S. I didn’t think it was possible to be even more inspired by Steinem than I already was…but I am.

Biopic and Documentary Week: Persepolis

This piece on Persepolis, by Amber Leab, first appeared at Bitch Flicks on July 1, 2009.


Marjane can’t hide behind ABBA
In Persepolis, we meet Marjane (Satrapi), a young girl living in Iran at the time of the Islamic revolution of 1979. The society changed drastically under Islamic law, as evidenced by Marjane’s teacher’s evolving lessons. After the revolution, in 1982, she tells the young girls, who are now required by law to cover their heads, “The veil stands for freedom. A decent woman shelters herself from men’s eyes. A woman who shows herself will burn in hell.” In typical fashion, the students escape her ideological droning through imported pop culture: the music of ABBA, The Bee Gees, Michael Jackson, and Iron Maiden. 
While the film is a personal story, it does offer a concise history of modern Iran, including the U.S. involvement in the rise of Islamic law and in the Iran-Iraq war. This time in Iranian history is especially important right now, with the disputed re-election of President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad and the ensuing protests. One scene in particular depicts a group of people protesting when a young man is shot, bleeds to death, and is hoisted over his fellow protesters’ shoulders–eerily reminiscent of what happened with Neda Agha Soltan, whose public murder has rallied the Iranian protesters and people all over the world. 

Biopic and Documentary Week: Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work

This piece on Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work, by Amber Leab, first appeared at Bitch Flicks on March 21, 2011.

Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work (2010)
Most reviews of the documentary Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work begin by describing how the film opens–with a close-up shot of Rivers’ face, without make-up. This is, of course, a metaphor for the goal of the film (to get behind the facade) and an acknowledgment of what Rivers has come to be most famous for–her surgically-altered appearance. While her face is surely a piece of surgical work, the far more fascinating work is that of her long life in the spotlight, and her drive to keep going, keep performing, keep selling, when the culture tells her she should stop (or that she should have stopped long ago).
I went into this film feeling ambivalent. On the one hand, it’s a documentary about an extraordinary woman, made by two women–Ricki Sternand Anne Sundberg, who are known for their previous films The End of America, The Devil Came on Horseback, and the forthcoming Burma Soldier, among others. It’s about a mouthy broad (and I love mouthy broads, women who speak their minds and aren’t afraid to put themselves out there), who is funny, and who has been at it since 1966. On the other hand, it’s yet another film about a wealthy white woman (I just watched and reviewed The September Issue, about Vogue editor-in-chief Anna Wintour) who lives like “Marie Antoinette, if she’d have had money.”

Biopic and Documentary Week: Gorillas in the Mist

Gorillas in the Mist (1988)

This piece is from Monthly Contributor Carrie Nelson.

This post contains spoilers about the film Gorillas in the Mist.
For nearly 20 years, zoologist Dian Fossey lived and worked among the mountain gorillas in Africa. Her work as a researcher and animal rights activist is responsible for raising awareness about Africa’s gorilla population and the threat of their extinction. Gorillas in the Mist, a film directed by Michael Apted in 1988, follows Dian (Sigourney Weaver, in an Oscar-nominated role) as she works in the Congo and Rwanda to study the behavior of mountain gorillas and protect them from poaching. As the film was produced after Dian’s untimely death (she was murdered in 1985; to this day, the precise circumstances and perpetrators remain unknown), it is impossible to know how she would have responded to the film. However, based on what I understand about Dian’s real life, I believe she would appreciate the film. I believe she would see it as an honest portrayal of her life, and I also believe she would be happy to see that the film avoids common clichés that are typically found in mainstream films about the lives of women.
Over the course of the film, Dian experiences a radical transformation in gender presentation. At the beginning of her travels, she is incredibly conscious of her appearance. When she meets her mentor, Dr. Louis Leakey (Iain Cuthbertson) at the start of her mission, he explains that there isn’t room for all of the luggage she’s brought with her, to which she stubbornly replies, “Those cases contain my hairdryer, my makeup, my underwear and my brassieres. If they don’t go, Dr Leakey, I don’t go.” I thought this was a throwaway line, so I was surprised that there were several additional mentions of her interest in make-up, hair products and clothing soon after this exchange. I was frustrated with this focus on materialism, thinking that the writer was using these moments as shorthand to remind the audience that the protagonist is, indeed, a woman; I felt as if the filmmakers were saying, “Well, what woman wouldn’t want to bring her cosmetics to the jungle?”
But as the film goes on, the references to beauty cease, and it becomes clear that these lines are not comments on Dian’s gender identity but on the materialism that she gradually gives up as she becomes committed to living among the mountain gorillas. The lines about clothing and make-up eventually stop, and Dian lets go of the previous signifiers of her femininity. It isn’t that she becomes masculine, as Weaver’s character in the Alien series is often perceived – it’s that she no longer needs these material possessions and outward signifiers to feel comfortable in the world and convey her identity. Dian’s transformation is subtle, but it adds significant depth to her characterization as she becomes comfortable in her new surroundings.
A similar transformation occurs in Dian’s romantic life. When she moves to Africa, she leaves behind her fiancé, David. Over the course of the film, her mentions of him become fewer and fewer, until a passing remark reveals that they have ended their engagement. She does, however, meet photographer Bob Campbell (Bryan Brown). Bob is married, but his and Dian’s shared passion for studying the gorillas leads them to start a passionate love affair. His work as a photographer makes him travel frequently, but he always returns to visit Dian, until he finally reveals to her that he is divorcing his wife to marry her. Initially, Dian is thrilled with this proposal; though she is devoted to her career, she often expresses an interest in wanting a family. But ultimately, she chooses her career over Bob anyway. He is offered a job that would take her away from Africa and the mountain gorillas, and she tells him that if he accepts the job and leaves, he should never write or come back to her. It’s a tragic moment, as the film demonstrates how much Dian and Bob love each other, but it is ultimately a refreshing and honest one. Given how many films feature women sacrificing ambitions and goals in order to preserve romantic relationships, Dian’s lack of compromise is a welcome change of pace.
Fossey represented as maternal
The most fascinating and complex depiction of Dian’s gender identity, however, is her portrayal as a maternal figure. Dian never has children of her own, and her interactions with children in the film are troubling. At one point, she catches a young boy found among gorilla poachers, and in an attempt to uncover information about the poachers, she has his hands tied and dresses as a witch to scare him into talking. Dian is not above torturing children to get what she wants; it would seem, therefore, that she is not particularly maternal. However, this is not entirely accurate or fair. Rather than being maternal in a traditional sense, Dian channels that energy toward the gorillas. At one point, she saves baby Pucker from capture, and she takes care of her in her home until Pucker is healthy and taken away to a zoo. In the moments when she is seen taking care of the gorillas, particularly the young ones, it is clear that there is a certain maternal sensibility to Dian that remains constant throughout all of her other personal transformations. Though it is common to see women presented as mothers and caretakers in cinema, Dian’s role as one is untraditional. It may echo common tropes, but it remains a unique facet of her life and work.
Gorillas in the Mist does not always paint Dian Fossey in a positive light. It does, however, present her in a realistic one. She’s often portrayed as stubborn, unfriendly and even abusive; these traits, however, reflect the reality in which she lived. Dian did not have time to be feminine or nice or accommodating. She was too busy focusing on her work and dedicating her life to ensure the protection and well being of the mountain gorillas. Gorillas in the Mist constantly references the usual clichés of films about women – namely, an overwhelming focus on beauty, romance and children – but rather than reaffirming them, the film counters them. Dian’s characterization proves that there is no single way in which to be a woman and that, often times, it is women who step outside of the boxes of conventional femininity who are able to create the most radical change in the world.

Carrie Nelson is a Bitch Flicks monthly contributor. She is a Staff Writer for Gender Across Borders, an international feminist community and blog that she co-founded in 2009. She works as a grant writer for an LGBT nonprofit, and she is currently pursuing an MA in Media Studies at The New School.

Biopic and Documentary Week: American Violet

This piece on American Violet, by Amber Leab, originally appeared at Bitch Flicks on April 5, 2010.

American Violet (2008)

American Violet tells the true story of an African-American mother of four girls arrested and falsely accused of selling crack cocaine. Set in a fictional Texas town with the 2000 presidential election as a fitting backdrop of confusion and corruption, we see Dee Roberts fight–with the help of ACLU lawyers–to clear her name and the names of other innocent people arrested in a broad sweep that day.
Newcomer Nicole Beharie gives a powerful performance as Dee, and the supporting cast, including Alfre Woodard as Dee’s mother, and Tim Blake Nelson and Malcolm Barrett as lawyers for the ACLU, do an equally good job. 

It’s impossible to not love Dee–a beautiful woman, a kind and patient mother, a hard worker, and a caring friend. Her temper gets the best of her once in the film, but she’s protecting her children from their alcoholic father and his accused child molester girlfriend, and can hardly be faulted for it. I’m inclined to think the movie tries too hard to make her character likable. In contrast, Dee’s friend and neighbor Gladys–who is not a conventionally attractive woman, and does not have four adorable children trailing her–is a compelling and empathetic character, but the film completely drops the ball, even failing to credit the actor who plays her. Gladys is Dee’s inspiration for continuing to fight the DA even after her charges are dropped (because Gladys took a plea deal, while Dee would not), but we don’t get to explore Gladys or her situation. I’m curious as to why she’s part of the story, but not really allowed to be a character in the film. While the movie is about Dee, I would’ve liked to get to know Gladys a bit.