Tag: Cicely Tyson

“Mama’s Here Now” and Dynamics of Sexual Trauma

But last Thursday’s episode, “Mama’s Here Now,” hosted a surprising masterclass on dealing with the fraught topic of sexual abuse on network television.

Cicely Tyson and Viola Davis in 'How To Get Away With Murder'
Cicely Tyson and Viola Davis in How To Get Away With Murder

 

Written by Rachel Redfern.

SPOILER ALERT

“So let’s just roll out the complicated, inter-genertional, often racially influenced, issue of sexual assault in America in about 40 minutes and be pretty much exhaustively mind-blowing,” said How To Get Away With Murder last Thursday.

I think its been universally accepted that Viola Davis is delivering some of the best acting on network TV for her portrayal of Annalise Keating in How to Get Away with Murder. The show itself is fun and entertaining, although occasionally falls into the trap of “so much drama,” in the courtroom and out. However, despite its flaws, the show boasts an expansive diversity in its character base: lots of female lawyers and judges, ethnically diverse cast, and LGBTQ relationships.

But last Thursday’s episode, “Mama’s Here Now,” hosted a surprising masterclass on dealing with the fraught topic of sexual abuse on network television.

Thursday’s episode opened with Annalise receiving a visit from her aging mother, Cicely Tyson. Hopefully you know Tyson from her work on Because of Winn Dixie and Diary of A Mad Black Woman. Tyson steps into Annalise’s house and we have the first scene of straight familial comfort, a mother holding her daughter: simple and powerful. But as with most mother-daughter relationships, it becomes apparent within the next few minutes that there is a fraught backstory between the two. Annalise’s mother insists on calling Annalise “Anna May,” a name that becomes a clear symbol for a life that she shed on her way to becoming a successful professor and sophisticated trial lawyer.

Parallel to the beginnings of Annalise’s family drama is the strange client that “the gang” and Bonnie (Liza Weil, from Gilmore Girls) decide to take on. The strange case revolves around a timid nurse accused of raping a male patient post-surgery.

And while Bonnie struggles through her own Annalise as “mommy” lawyer issues, Annalise begins to reveal that she was sexually assaulted by her uncle as a child, accusing her mother of knowing what happened to her and not caring.

Cicely Tyson brilliantly plays Annalise Keating's mother.
Cicely Tyson brilliantly plays Annalise Keating’s mother

 

During all of the personal drama is Bonnie’s courtroom case; besides the obvious similarities between the two storylines, both dealing with sexual assault, Bonnie’s case is difficult to unpack. A woman is accused of rape by man, but she claims the sex was consensual. Bonnie and “the gang” then discover that the accuser is a gay man in a relationship with hospital legal staff, in league to grab a big payout from the hospital on a falsified rape claim. I found this problematic.

Sexual assault happens to both men and women, and in an episode committed to the discussion of the ways that victims of abuse often don’t see any justice, if felt like an odd juxtaposition for the storyline. However, it could also have been read as a way of repositioning normal gender stereotypes, a switch from men as sexual aggressors to women as enactors of violence and trauma as well.

But the magic of this episode was in the complexity with which the writers and actors dove into a hugely complicated issue and emerged, not with easy platitudes of forgiveness, but rather, a more complicated evaluation of sexual (and racial) politics.

In an explosive dinner scene, Annalise–haggard and drunk–accuses her mother of not caring about what her uncle did to her. But in a surprise, Annalise’s mother delivers her mantra for the episode: “I told you, men take things! They’ve been taking things from women since the beginning of time.” She angrily lists her own sexual assault by her reverend as a child, a teacher who raped her aunt, and Annalise (and audience) sit there, horrified at the string of violence she spits out.

The obvious anger and helplessness that both of these women feel just spills out, crossing generational borders and speaking volumes to the pervasive ugliness of sexual assault. But it doesn’t stop there–Tyson continues on, revealing more about Annalise’s past with Sam, and the reasons for her occasional disdain for Annalise: “Ain’t no reason to talk about it and get all messy everywhere. Certainly no reason to go to a head shrink or for help.”

Viola Davis and Cicely Tyson in mother-daughter mode.
Viola Davis and Cicely Tyson in mother-daughter mode.

 

Sam was Annalise’s therapist; as Annalise reveals her vulnerabilities to her mother’s disgust with her daughters weakness, so many things click into place: Sam using his place of confidant and doctor to prey upon Annalise’s belief that she “belonged in a hand-me-down box.”

After Tyson’s tirade against the nature of men, their next scene together is different: softer, stronger. Annalise seems stripped down–no makeup, no wigs, her hair bunched into a more natural ‘fro, everything from her life as a lawyer pushed to the side as she sits on the floor between her mother’s knees while she brushes her daughter’s hair. For me, this was the most telling scene; not only is it an iconic image, but it also takes Annalise back into her older self, and we see her, confused, half in and half out of her old world and her new one. But despite the fancier settings than the ones she obviously grew up with, women’s problems are the same, and so are the solutions.

It is in the safe and familiar image that Tyson reveals the truth about Annalise’s uncle and what happened to him. Annalise’s mother saw the man emerge from Annalise’s room and knew what had happened, and so days later, while he was passed out drunk on the couch, she took a long match, and burned the house down, fixing the problem the only way she knew how. Tyson now repeats the refrain, “Only God can judge.”

Conclusion: Men take, women fix things?

 

Rachel Redfern is a traveler and teacher who spent the last few years living in Asia. Now back in her native California, she focuses on writing about media, culture, and feminism. While a big fan of campy ’80s movies and eccentric sci-fi, she’s become a cable acolyte, spending most of her time watching HBO, AMC, and Showtime. For good stories about lions and bungee jumping, as well as rants about sexism and slow drivers, follow her on Twitter at @RachelRedfern2.

Older Women Week: ‘Fried Green Tomatoes’: A Celebration of (Older) Women

This is a guest review by Amanda Morris.
Sassy and fearless storyteller, 82-year-old Ninny Threadgoode (Jessica Tandy), takes Evelyn Couch (Kathy Bates) and viewers on a journey through a tableaux of Southern family and friendship in Fried Green Tomatoes. There’s a lot going on in this film worth talking about, from race and sexuality to class and masculinity. But let’s focus on how the film presents older women. Based on a Fanny Flagg original novel, Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe, the movie presents a vision of mature women who are survivors that guide their families and communities with compassion, stubbornness, and love.

Original trailer for Fried Green Tomatoes
Set in 1920s Alabama, Fried Green Tomatoes is a story about the healing power of stories, as much as it is about how Evelyn develops a friendship with Ninny that is forged from story. The primary characters are older women, with men taking supporting roles, which is an impressive reversal for any Hollywood film. The story within the story features the friendship and love between young Ruth Jamison (Mary-Louise Parker) and Idgie Threadgoode (Mary Stuart Masterson), Ninny’s family and friends from 50 years in the past. Ninny, Evelyn, Mama Threadgoode (Lois Smith), and Sipsey (Cicely Tyson) present four different views of older womanhood in this complex film that touches on many taboo subjects that older women aren’t usually permitted to grapple with on film. All four demonstrate the the kind of agency and decision-making prowess usually reserved for younger women and men.
“I’m too young to be old and I’m too old to be young,” Evelyn says to Ninny during one of their visits. Ninny asks a few pointed questions and then diagnoses Evelyn as going through menopause. This subject opens the door to a further conversation about Ninny’s son Albert, “the Lord’s greatest gift,” who died at 30. Mentioning child death and menopause in the same scene is unusual, not to mention the casual and straightforward way it is handled, without excess drama or emotion. Rather, these issues are presented as just a part of life, and Ninny’s wisdom is hard-earned and taken in stride, which helps the middle-aged Evelyn change her own attitude about feeling depressed and lost.

For Ninny, who remembers by the end of the film that the most important thing in life is “friends, best friends,” keeping friendships alive through story provides a pathway to both the fascinating past and the unknowable but exciting future. On her birthday, Ninny tells Evelyn not to fear death because even though she is “at the jumping off place,” she isn’t scared at all. Ninny’s spirit is energetic and intoxicating as she regales Evelyn (and us) with the life and times of Idgie and Ruth, including how Idgie was accused of murdering Ruth’s husband, Frank Bennett (Nick Searcy). Ninny’s frank mode of speaking, indomitable spirit, and ability to treat everything as an adventure, even while sampling the fried green tomatoes that Evelyn brings for her birthday, sets this character apart from other representations of older women on screen. In fact, Ninny is so different from our expectations of an 80-something woman that the disconnect between Ninny and the nursing home where she lives becomes starkly apparent when Evelyn discovers that Ninny really is meant to stay in this dying, sad place for good.

In American society and in Hollywood films, too often women are invisible, much less a force to be reckoned with. Older women in particular are meant to be hidden away, not viewed as holders of wisdom or desired as sexual beings or feared as people who could create change or cause damage. And when women ARE a force in film, there tend to be dire consequences for demonstrating independence and strength. This is not the case in Fried Green Tomatoes. Ninny and Evelyn are older female characters who not only carry the film with their stories but also demonstrate real strength and determination in the face of denial, obstinacy, and youthful swagger. Consider one of my favorite scenes in the final third of the film where Evelyn stands up to two young women over a parking lot slight:

Evelyn discovers her inner Towanda
Who else hasn’t wanted to react this way when cut off in a parking lot or in traffic? Evelyn’s action is cathartic for older female viewers as we imagine ourselves in her seat, embracing our inner Towandas right alongside her. She is accessible because she is imperfect, emotionally complex, and full of vigor. As a character, Evelyn is not just a reflection of Southern middle-aged womanhood; she is a modern Everywoman and we cheer for her every discovery and improvement that she makes for her own benefit, such as her decision to invite Ninny to live with her and Ed (Gailard Sartain), who is less than thrilled with the idea.

When Evelyn states, “Don’t you ever say never to me,” this is a direct reflection of Ruth’s statement when she and Idgie have to jump from the train. The scenes in this film intertwine and interconnect in ways that help viewers see older women as positive, strong, and wise role models. Even the tertiary but important characters of Mama Threadgoode and Sipsey show strength and determination when it isn’t popular or socially acceptable to do so.
The scene where Sipsey stands up to Frank Bennett and says, “I ain’t scared of you,” sets the stage for her later accidental murder of the man when he tries to abscond with his and Ruth’s infant son from the Cafe.

Cicely Tyson as Sipsey
While murder is decidedly against the law, audiences are meant to sympathize with this older Southern black woman who is standing up to white male domination.
As for Mama Threadgoode (Smith), she also stands up to societal expectations when she invites Ruth to stay for the summer as a way to reach Idgie. She says to Ruth after Idgie, who appears indifferent to Ruth’s presence, walks away, “Oh, it’s got to work. Somebody’s got to help her and I can’t.” The expectation is that mothers can fix their children’s problems, and Mama Threadgoode reverses that expectation by reaching outside for help.
Nominated for two Oscars (Best Actress in a Supporting Role and Best Writing, Screenplay Based on Material Previously Produced or Published), Fried Green Tomatoes weaves a moving picture of older women that is uplifting even as this vision borders on the sentimental. Gentle strength is the beating heart of this story, embodied by the older female characters who weave powerful stories that are strong enough to heal even the toughest cynic among us.

Amanda Morris, Ph.D. is an assistant professor of multiethnic rhetorics at Kutztown University in Pennsylvania, and when she’s not writing or wrangling students, she loves shark fishing, gardening, and cooking with her man.