Diablo Cody’s ‘Paradise’: Manic Pixie and the Napkin of Sin

It probably says something about Diablo Cody’s directorial debut, ‘Paradise,’ that despite its creator’s celebrated career and feminist street-cred, it premiered and disappeared without me hearing a thing about it. And it’s easy to see why: ‘Paradise’ is cloying, tone-deaf and awkward, and such a perfect storm of awful and offensive that I’m kind of obsessed with figuring it out. How did Cody, who has written such memorable female characters fall so far off base with Lamb Mannerheim?

The survivor of a horrific plane crash, Lamb wears compression body stockings over her burns and constantly taking pain pills
The survivor of a horrific plane crash, Lamb wears compression body stockings over her burns and constantly taking pain pills

 

It probably says something about Diablo Cody’s directorial debut, Paradise , that despite its creator’s celebrated career and feminist street-cred, it premiered and disappeared without me hearing a thing about it. And it’s easy to see why: Paradise is cloying, tone-deaf and awkward, and such a perfect storm of awful and offensive that I’m kind of obsessed with figuring it out.

How did Cody, who wrote such memorable female characters as quippy Juno McGruff (say what you want about Juno, but the film knew what it was and stuck to it), and antiheroine Mavis Gary in the much adored Young Adult, as well as deconstructing toxic female friendships in Jennifer’s Body, fall so far off base with Lamb Mannerheim?

As sugary sweet as the cotton candy on its title card, Paradise is the story of a young girl (Julianne Hough) raised in extreme Christian church who renounces her faith after she is scarred in a horrific plane crash. After giving a speech to her congregation about her newfound atheism, she uses the money from a massive settlement to jet off to Las Vegas, the fabled den of vice condemned in her pastor’s sermons, to complete a list of sins she believes she’s missed out on.

It’s an interesting enough set-up, fruitful ground for several interesting stories, that could delve easily into topics like survivor’s guilt, sex addiction, pain killer addiction (rumor has it an earlier draft went further down this road), white guilt, or a nuanced examination of modern day extreme christianity. As a young woman who grew up in a religion so extreme that she could only listen to Christian music, and wasn’t allowed to drink, wear pants, cut her hair or associate with Muslims or LGBT individuals, there’s certainly areas to explore in Lamb’s relation to herself as a woman, her opinion of her own vanity and how she feels looking back on how bigoted she used to be. But this is not that movie.
So what went wrong?

 

Loray gives Lamb a mini-makeover, converting her maxi-skirt to mini
Loray gives Lamb a mini-makeover, converting her maxi-skirt to mini

 

To start with, Paradise never establishes its tone or its stance on religion. Though in some parts, it’s atheistic, attempting to make a point about problems and hypocrisy associated with religious belief in general, in some its taking on Lamb’s extreme christianity specifically, but throughout the film, Lamb is still presented as being better than everyone she encounters because for all her pretense, she maintains her christian values and fear of anything she was taught led to damnation.  Lamb is a magical, pure unicorn whose quest to sin never goes very far, but who, just by being herself, fixes the lives of her new friends, womanizer William (Russell Brand) and Black stereotype Loray (Octavia Spencer). Rather than giving depth to her character, Lamb’s religious upbringing is used as a device to explain her social handicap and ignorance of anything in pop culture. She’s written like a time traveller or an escapee from an Amish cult, except every so often she stops to make one of Diablo Cody’s signature referential jokes. As the film ends without Lamb forming any stance on religion, nor deciding to compromise with her parents, the way it is stressed throughout the film makes no sense, for something that ultimately becomes a complete non-issue.

 

Over the course of the night, Lamb is trying to complete the sins written on this napkin
Over the course of the night, Lamb is trying to complete the sins written on this napkin

 

Even Lamb’s quest to sin is held back from getting to the darker places one would expect. Lamb takes a drink and spits it out, Lamb pees in an alleyway, Lamb bets a couple dollars on a slot machine, Lamb peeks through her finger at a dirty magazine, Lamb buys pot but doesn’t seem to use it, Lamb eats a dessert called a chocolate orgasm, but never has a real one. There are no anticipated scenes of Lamb playing for big money surrounded by a group at a blackjack table or ducking into a strip club. The most adult thing Lamb does is have a long conversation with Amber, a prostitute in a club bathroom, where again her mere presence seems to be enough to ‘save’ someone. There are no real stakes, so it never feels like an actual movie for adults, only the set-up for a sugary sitcom. Her new friends are roped into following Lamb around the city for no other real reason than that they find her innocence exotic, and the only real conflict is when they lose her, only to quickly find her again, having never been in any real danger.

Lamb, as her name implies, is written as an innocent who needs to be cared for, and is constantly infantilized. Her religion and the naiveté caused by it gives the other characters a reason to treat her this way and it’s shocking when midway through Lamb mentions being in college and that the man who died in the plane crash was her fiancé.

 

The one glimpse we are given of Lamb’s past is a video of her performance at a church talent show
The one glimpse we are given of Lamb’s past is a video of her performance at a church talent show

 

Because viewers never get a solid sense of what Lamb’s life was like when she was faithful and are only given brief glimpses of a video of her singing gospel songs, the reveal that she was courting the boy who died seems unbelievable for the character who has neither before or after suggesting she is mourning a lost love or has ever cared for anyone romantically. Lamb doesn’t seem like a grown woman grappling with a challenge to her faith and the consequent  rewriting of her system of values, but a sheltered child who has decided on something (atheism) without thinking about it and refuses to reconsider even though her heart doesn’t really seem to be in it, and the film treats her that way as well.

Paradise seems to adopt the disturbing stance that if Lamb were allowed a real descent into dens of vice, she would lose what supposedly makes her interesting as a character: her purity. She attempts to have sex with William but is rejected out of hand because he doesn’t want to ‘take her innocence’. And that is what this film really is, it gives the character enough autonomy to run around a bit and see things, to meet a prostitute to pay her for a conversation, but never to do anything that might risk her purity or the sugary foundation that is her personality just under the thin veneer of snark and acidity. Lamb is not allowed to grow and experiment and get to know herself on her own terms.

 

Nick Offerman and Holly Hunter are criminally underused as Lamb’s parents
Nick Offerman and Holly Hunter are criminally underused as Lamb’s parents

 

Even in her own movie, her function is to fix William’s womanizing ways and teach him to “respect” women in only the most patronizing, virtue guarding way and to force Loray into abandoning her cynicism and reconnecting with the family she had said earlier on she felt uncomfortable around. Sassy nightclub singer, Loray also plays into the offensive magical negro trope, something the film acknowledges, attempting (and failing) to make it okay by having the character say she doesn’t like that she is treated as a magical negro and explain what it means.

Lamb is so thinly developed and grounded in reality that her ultimate decision to go home to her parents and make peace with her community cannot be viewed as the victorious end of her internal journey. She doesn’t change or grow as a person, instead her own journey as a character is to cause the journeys of her friends. It’s quite a feat to write a character who is both protagonist and narrator, yet still manages to be a Manic Pixie Dream Girl , and especially sad for a film written and directed by a woman.

Paradise is not the journey of a young girl who’s lost her faith as it purports to be because Lamb continues to hold onto vestiges of it and be both constrained and defined by it, always pulling back before committing to sinning. Even her decision to use her settlement money to help Amber, William, and Loray isn’t the about face in character the film wants it to be.

 

Lamb, with Loray and William, consults her list
Lamb, with Loray and William, consults her list

 

This could work if Lamb’s reaction to the plane crash had been to become a self-absorbed person, living only for herself and committed to living in luxury and at the end of film decided to spend her life and money helping others while living an ordinary life, however, even on her night of sinful abandon, Lamb is always sweet, always thinking of others and frankly, not concerned enough about herself and what she wants.

And it’s sad because it could have been an interesting and unique story. I felt Paradise had the potential to be great fun as a TV show and indeed, watching the movie felt like watching a repackaged pilot. On a network, Lamb could be checking off a list of sins while giving away money in her adventures, based in Las Vegas hotel and indulging in Vegas iconography. On cable, the events of Paradise would be only the pilot episode, after which Lamb would go home and function as an outsider/former insider commenting on religious culture and small-town life, while trying to start her own charitable foundation.

Also worthy of discussion is the film’s portrayal of Lamb as a burn victim, which is complicated by cultural beauty expectations. In an interview, Cody said there was a lot of discussion of the extent of Lamb’s burns. She wanted Lamb to have burns on her face, but the studio would not allow the film’s lead to look less then conventionally beautiful. Cody also acknowledges that Lamb’s hair would have burnt off in the crash and could not have grown back to its massive length in the year since, but again, Lamb was not allowed to be bald.

 

Lamb doesn’t quite enjoy her first sip of alcohol
Lamb doesn’t quite enjoy her first sip of alcohol

 

A young female character grappling with the gulf between her extreme religious background and the forbidden things that interest her as a young modern woman is a narrative we don’t often see, and I wish Diablo Cody had done a better job with it.

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Recommended Reading: The Way We Talk: Cody’s ‘Paradise’ and Hess’ ‘Austenland’ , Diablo Cody’s Directorial Debut is Not Ready for the Big Time

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Elizabeth Kiy is a Canadian writer and freelance journalist living in Toronto, Ontario. She recently graduated from Carleton University where she majored in journalism and minored in film.

The Strong, Detached Female Leads in ‘Bones’ and ‘The Tunnel’

True confession: I love the emerging trope of strong, detached female leads in procedural crime shows. Temperance “Bones” Brennan, internationally acclaimed forensic anthropologist, from the TV show ‘Bones’ was a seminal figure in this movement, and Elise Wasserman, workaholic, brilliant police officer from ‘The Tunnel’ is a more recent iteration.

'Bones' & 'The Tunnel' Posters
Bones and The Tunnel Posters

 

True confession: I love the emerging trope of strong, detached female leads in procedural crime shows. Temperance “Bones” Brennan, internationally acclaimed forensic anthropologist, from the TV show Bones was a seminal figure in this movement, and Elise Wasserman, workaholic, brilliant police officer from The Tunnel is a more recent iteration. (The Tunnel is the French/British remake of the Danish/Swedish series The Bridge. The Bridge has also been remade for American audiences as a US/Mexico TV crime drama.)

Though Bones is a kind of cheesy show (and getting cheesier and boring-er all the time), I have long loved Emily Deschanel‘s characterization of the logical, methodical scientist who solves crimes alongside her more emotional, intuitive male FBI partner, Seeley Booth. When we first meet Brennan, she is not only the leading forensic anthropologist in her field, but she is a physically capable women who’s an expert in martial arts and good with a gun. She also has a pragmatic attitude towards relationships and sex, often comparing both to animal and tribal cultures throughout the world and throughout history to explain human tendencies. Love, Brennan explains, is a chemical process in the brain and not the romanticized notion in which her partner, Booth, believes.

 

Bones: She's a badass in a labcoat
Bones: She’s a badass in a labcoat

 

I also immediately liked the stone-faced Elise from The Tunnel with her calm rationale, her unwillingness to lie, and her dedication to solving homicides. Though difficult to work with, everyone respects Elise’s abilities as a detective (much like Brennan). Also like Brennan, Elise views sex as a practical necessity. She prefers to be alone, isn’t seeking companionship, and doesn’t become emotionally attached to her sex partners. She even tells her partner, Karl Roebuck (a more empathetic character for Stephen Dillane than his Stannis Baratheon of Game of Thrones fame), that her current lover wants her to change and that she doesn’t want to change.

 

Badass Elise and Karl at a crime scene
Badass Elise and Karl at a crime scene

 

Though I love this strong, intensely logical female lead character trope, it also raises some questions for me. I like the idea of reversing traditional gender roles by making the female lead the analytical one and the male lead the emotional one, but I wonder if, in a way, this is an attempt at the masculinization of  the shows’ female characters? These characters literally have their emotions and their ability to express their emotions almost completely removed. Why did the writers think it was necessary to remove the emotions of its female characters in order to make them logical? This isn’t Star Trek; Brennan and Elise aren’t Vulcans. This subtly promotes the idea that logic and emotions are mutually exclusive, even part of a binary opposition. In particular, this dichotomy suggests that a women who is in touch with her emotions cannot possibly be rational, too. As women are so often associated with emotion, is muting Brennan and Elise’s emotions an attempt to make them more masculinely rational?

 

Elise hard at work, eschewing sleep and a social life for her job
Elise hard at work, eschewing sleep and a social life for her job

 

Interestingly enough, over the many seasons of Bones, the writers are actually changing Brennan, making her more readily emotional, quicker to cry or acknowledge her love, her fear, her sadness. At the same time, they have systematically made her more “feminine” by having her suddenly wanting many of the trappings of the traditional female role that she once dismissed (having a baby, cohabitating, and getting married, in particular). Brennen also seems to have forgotten her martial arts skills, is in need of frequent rescues, and no longer uses her gun. Not only that, but they gave her an unexplained supernatural experience that defies her atheism and points to the existence of a higher power.  All these things undermine her identity and have slowly rewritten her into less of that subversive, independent female powerhouse role.

 

Bones gets domesticated
Bones gets domesticated

 

Another thing that gives me pause is that both Brennan and Elise are…abrasive. To strangers, they can come off as rude, insensitive, and self-important. Both women are, though, strikingly beautiful. Emily Deschanel brings her stark blue eyes and sexy, husky voice to the characterization of Brennan.

 

Brennan is a detached scientist when it comes to bones, but does the fact that she's a looker make her more likable?
Brennan is the perennial detached scientist, but she’s a looker.

 

Even though they try to make Clémence Poésy look disheveled as Elise and maybe they’re attempting to make her seem plain because she’s not obviously made-up, but she’s model gorgeous.

 

Messy hair and combat boots add to Elise's allure in 'The Tunnel'
Messy hair and combat boots add to Elise’s allure in The Tunnel

 

This makes me question whether or not audiences would like these women and find their quirks so endearing if they weren’t so beautiful? Or, maybe, audiences might like them, but would studios trust audiences to like these unusual women if they weren’t knockout stunning…since pretty much all women on TV are required to meet a specific standard of beauty no matter what their personality may be?

Now, it’s my theory that both Brennan and Elise are most likely somewhere on the autism spectrum. Both women have trouble understanding the humor of others, reading the social or emotional cues of others, and observing social niceties.

 

A Joan of Arc joke is completely lost on Elise.
A Joan of Arc joke is completely lost on Elise.

 

I love that their communities are accepting and inclusive, that these women lead productive, successful lives, and their capability is rarely questioned. But why aren’t we talking about it? Why aren’t these shows acknowledging the truth about who these women are, the challenges they face, and the multifaceted nature of their triumphs? By not talking about it, these shows not only deny the identity and experiences of these women but also those of autism spectrum viewers and their community members. Announcing that your lead character is part of an underrepresented, marginalized group is a hugely important step in de-stigmatizing and giving a voice to that group.

 

Let Brennan be the superheroine she was meant to be!
Let Brennan be the superheroine she was meant to be!

 

Despite my speculations on the institutional sexism and shortcomings of the creators of Brennan from Bones and Elise from The Tunnel, I dig these women. They’re both smart, ambitious, unique, highly moral, and compassionate women who are fantastic role models for their female audience members (in spite of the apparent taming of Brennan through marriage and child rearing). I wish the shows were doing a few things differently…more better-ly, but all in all, Brennan and Elise are great characters who I love to watch, which says to me that both shows are doing something very, very right.

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Amanda Rodriguez is an environmental activist living in Asheville, North Carolina. She holds a BA from Antioch College in Yellow Springs, Ohio and an MFA in fiction writing from Queens University in Charlotte, NC. She writes all about food and drinking games on her blog Booze and Baking. Fun fact: while living in Kyoto, Japan, her house was attacked by monkeys.

Becky, Adelaide, and Nan: Women with Down Syndrome on ‘Glee’ and ‘American Horror Story’

Characters with physical or developmental disabilities are rarely given prominent roles on television ensembles, much less well-developed characters. ‘Glee’ and ‘American Horror Story,’ TV shows created by Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk, both feature important characters with Down Syndrome and have received much praise for it. However, the mere existence of these characters is not enough to suggest they are well portrayed and in each character there are several questionable areas that warrant discussion.

Characters with physical or developmental disabilities are rarely given prominent roles on television ensembles, much less well-developed characters. Glee  and American Horror Story, TV shows created by Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk, both feature important characters with Down Syndrome and have received much praise for it. Glee’s Becky Jackson and AHS’s Adelaide Langdon and Nan are all portrayed as flawed women and are allowed their own inner lives, desires, and triumphs.

However, the mere existence of these characters is not enough to suggest they are well portrayed and in each character there are several questionable areas that warrant discussion. Though one must take this criticism with a grain of salt, as Glee is a surreal over-the-top comedy where everyone is made fun of to a degree (though has been consistently problematic in its portrayal of women, the disabled, bisexuality and transwomen, among others) while American Horror Story is literally a horror show, where nearly everyone suffers and dies and indulges in many horror movie cliches–among them the child-like prophet and the martyr.

Becky

Becky Jackson (Lauren Potter) was introduced in Glee’s first season to as a means to character development for the show’s previously one-dimensional villain, Sue Sylvester. She was a shy, young girl with Down Syndrome, a social outcast who just wanted to be a cheerleader.

 

As a Cheerio, Becky is among the most popular girls in school
As a Cheerio, Becky is among the most popular girls in school

 

When Sue put her through a rigorous audition process, viewers and Glee Club leader Will Schuester assumed this was yet another of Sue’s cruelties. Obviously Sue was just torturing this girl for her own amusement with no hope of her actually making the squad, but this assumption was proved wrong when the show revealed that she reminds Sue of her sister Jean, who also has Downs.

Sue tells Will she is treating Becky just like everyone else because that’s what she wants and from then on Becky is a Cheerio, Sue’s constant sidekick and assistant and frequently recurring character.

Becky also continues to aid in the development of Sue’s character, as she becomes her voice of reason, being the the only one who can criticize Sue’ behaviour and talk to her on her level without fear of retaliation. For example, when Becky learns that Sue’s baby will likely have Downs, she is able to tell Sue that she needs to work on her patience to be a good parent. Becky functions as Sue’s heart and when Sue is shattered by her sister’s death, she expresses her grief by casting aside the only other thing that made her human, and kicks Becky off the Cheerios. Their bond is restored when Sue welcomes Becky back to the squad and promotes her to captain, after realizing how much it helps her to have Becky in her life.

 

Becky and Sue have a strong relationship that gives Sue humanity and Becky, a role model
Becky and Sue have a strong relationship that gives Sue humanity and Becky, a role model

 

However, for Becky, her relationship with Sue results in the loss of her own personhood. In a relatively short length of time, Becky gives up any other interests or ambitions she had and becomes a miniature version of her hero, Sue (even dressing her for Halloween). For most of the show, Becky is Sue’s mouthpiece, echoing her criticisms and opinions and making snarky and frequently offensive comments in the same manner that Sue is known for. She even shares Sue’s grossly inflated sense of self worth and importance (Helen Mirren is her inner voice) and heckles and sabotages other students when given the opportunity.

For brief period, it was fun that Becky could be as mean and snarky as almost all the other characters, but as the show dragged this on to become Becky’s defining characteristic, it become patronizing and unfunny. Becky is not portrayed as an otherwise ordinary teenage girl with interests in sex and blue humour but as low comedy, like a child swearing. The joke wasn’t what she was saying but that she was saying these kind of things at all.

 

Becky is disturbingly infantilized as Baby Jesus in the school’s nativity scene
Becky is disturbingly infantilized as Baby Jesus in the school’s nativity scene

 

In addition, Becky is constantly prepositioning other characters and making crude sexual comments about them. She lusts over the Glee Club’s Men of McKinley calendar and claims ownership of one-time date, Artie Abrams when she sees him kissing his girlfriend, calling him her future husband. However, none of her attractions are treated as valid. When she pays for a kiss at a kissing booth run by quarterback Finn Hudson, he kisses her on the cheek; when she and Artie bond over their disabilities on their date, he breaks up with her after she asks him to “do it” with her (in an alternate reality where Artie never went out with her, Becky became “the school slut”); and when she seems to find happiness with Jason, who also has Down Syndrome, she claims the relationship couldn’t work because he liked hot dogs and she liked pizza. By hypersexualizing a character who is treated as humourous for having a sexual desire and never considered as a viable romantic option, she is also desexualized and infantilized, treated like a child who doesn’t understand that (from the narrative’s perspective) the conventionally attractive characters aren’t interested in sleeping with her and she’ll never be prom queen.

There have been two particularly problematic plot lines featuring Becky in Glee’s recent seasons, both which could be essays in their own right. In season four’s much-maligned Shooting Star , Becky brings a gun to school because she fears the world outside the safe bubble of McKinley High, suggesting individuals with Down Syndrome are unstable and dangerous. In season five episode, Movin’ Out,  frequent misogynist Artie decides to “save” Becky and helps her find a college with programs for people with developmental disabilities, something she hadn’t considered previously. While this recent story has a positive message about Becky’s future and her abilities, the fact that another character, one who she stalked after he rejected her, imbues it with the same patronizing dynamic found in much of the plot lines featuring Becky.

Adelaide

The first episode of American Horror Story: Murder House opens in 1978 with Adelaide Langdon, a young girl with Downs ominously warning two boys they will die if they go into the titular house. In the next scene, her warning comes true.
As an adult over 30 years later, Adelaide (Jamie Brewer) continues to given warnings, frightening the Harmon family who have just moved into the house, next door to where she lives with her mother Constance (Jessica Lange). Though she is well meaning and friendly, her warnings are constantly misconstrued as threats due to her creepy habit of starring unblinking and appearing out of nowhere in the Harmon house.

Addy’s mother Constance is relentlessly cruel to her
Addy’s mother Constance is relentlessly cruel to her

 

Being a character on a horror television show, Addy’s Down Syndrome is used to frame her as an uncanny figure, an other in the style of Tod Browning’s Freaks. In horror or gothic media, the uncanny  is something that is familiar, yet strange at the same time, producing an unsettling and comfortable feeling, such as identical twins, mutes or people with developmental disabilities. Seemingly, Addy is able to enter the house whenever she desires, no matter what barriers are in her way, suggesting a magical, otherworldly aspect of her character. Her Down Syndrome alone is meant to produce discomfort in the viewer, manipulating them into wondering if she is evil or will, even unthinkingly, harm the family, for no other reason than that she is so othered.

Raised to believe she is an ugly monster who should keep out of sight, Addy wants nothing more than to be “a pretty girl” and mourns that she doesn’t look like the women in her fashion magazines. Her mother frequently insults her, calling her a burden and a ‘mongoloid’ and reinforcing over and over that Addy’s dream will never happen. Cruelly, Constance punishes her by locking her in the “Bad Girl Room,” a closet full of mirrors, further reinforcing Addy’s monstrous self-image.

As punishment, Addy is terrorized in a closet full of mirrors, where she is forced to see her face
As punishment, Addy is terrorized in a closet full of mirrors, where she is forced to see her face

 

Addy’s story ends sadly on Halloween when she is hit by a car and killed. Here, the show’s treatment of Addy continues to be problematic as it tries to have it both ways, portraying her as both something to fear and as an object of pity, a tragedy for viewers to mourn. When Addy dies she is wearing “a pretty girl” Halloween mask and just minutes before, she was ecstatically happy to finally be the person she’d always wanted, even if it was only in a small, temporary way. Like Sue, Addy is also used to humanize a bigoted character, as Constance, who caused most of the problems in Addy’s life puts makeup on Addy’s corpse and cries while telling her she’s “beautiful.” This suggests that Addy’s purpose in the narrative was chiefly to facilitate Constance’s character development, rather than a storyline or a life of her own.

 

Dressed as a “pretty girl” Addy is hit by a car and killed on Halloween
Dressed as a “pretty girl” Addy is hit by a car and killed on Halloween

Nan

Unlike Adelaide, whose story is presented as a tragedy centered around her Down Syndrome, Nan’s condition is never mentioned but subtly informs how she is treated by the narrative and the other characters. A young clairvoyant on American Horror Story: Coven, Nan (Jamie Brewer) is in most ways, portrayed as a normal girl. She admires the hot neighbor with her classmates, joins in on their catty comments and using her powers for cruel, teenage girl teasing (trying to make Madison put her cigarette in her vagina) in a way that doesn’t seem like the joke is that she is saying these things at all.

Nan is however, constantly dismissed even within the  group that tacitly includes her (problematically, Queenie who is Black is treated as the real outsider). She is never considered a serious contender in the season long competition to see who is  the most powerful witch of her generation, the Supreme, called ugly by Queen Bee Madison and the discovery that the neighbor, Luke is interested in her is treated as unbelievable by other characters.

Nan and Madison (Emma Roberts) compete for the affections of their neighbor Luke
Nan and Madison (Emma Roberts) compete for the affections of their neighbor Luke

 

However, sad as it may be, this is probably be an honest portrayal of how such a character would be treated in such an environment full of bitchery and backstabbing over any character flaw or deficit in appearance. Unlike Queenie, whose difference and feelings about her exclusion from the coven’s majority of white witches are explored in detail, Nan’s feelings are glossed over. She is different, but her difference is never examined, so it becomes an elephant in the room.

Like Adelaide, Nan insists she is not a virgin when it is assumed by other characters. She says she has sex all the time and men find her hot, however because the show never gives any background on who Nan was before she came to the school (as is given for all other characters), it is not clear whether this is true. The storyline of her romance with Luke is never able to progress to a romantic or sexual relationship as he is quickly murdered by his mother so he will not reveal her secrets.

Nan is portrayed as the moral center of the school/coven as her power, allows her to see into the hearts of the people around her. She mediates in fights and threatens to tell the police about the baby Marie Laveau had kidnapped earlier. However, Nan has a dark side which is briefly explored when she uses her powers to kill Luke’s mother, by compelling her to drink bleach, as revenge for her murder of Luke.

After her murder, Nan’s spirit looks down at her body and decides to leave the coven
After her murder, Nan’s spirit looks down at her body and decides to leave the coven

 

She is ultimately murdered by matriarchs Marie and Fiona Goode, functioning bringing them closer together. Her death is used as the sacrifice of an innocent soul, but it is suggested that Nan had some choice in the matter and decides to leave the coven to destroy each other so she can be at peace. The one bad thing she does, the neighbor’s murder is excused because it was deserved and as she is accepted as an innocent, a soul too pure for this world. In this manner, Nan comes close to the stereotype of the saintly disabled person, and is portrayed as a martyr, the lone character over the season who is never resurrected.

Ultimately, though are three characters discussed here have problematic and debatable qualities, both in their personalities and in the way they are framed by their respective narratives, they offer unique portrayals of women with Down Syndrome. If nothing else, they are all prominent characters who are treated as people rather than public service announcements in major television shows. Hopefully they are seen as steps in the right direction.

 

Recommended Reading: Will This Depiction of Down Syndrome be a Horror Story? ; Exploring Bodily Autonomy on American Horror Story: Coven ; Glee’s Not so Gleeful Representation of Disabled Women; The Complicated Racial Politics of “American Horror Story: Coven”; Disability Advocates Call ‘Glee’ Portrayal ‘Poor Choice’

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Elizabeth Kiy is a Canadian writer and freelance journalist living in Toronto, Ontario. She recently graduated from Carleton University where she majored in journalism and minored in film.

Bourgie White People Problems and Fat Shaming in ‘Enough Said’

To put it bluntly, I hated ‘Enough Said.’ The theme was trite, the characters were insufferable with their selfish pretensions, and there was a whole lot of fat shaming going on. Frankly, I’m surprised that Julia Louis-Dreyfus has been getting such high praise for starring in this turd, and I’m disappointed that I can’t be more supportive of a film written and directed by a woman: Nicole Holofcener.

"Enough Said" Movie Poster
Enough Said Movie Poster

 

Though guest writer Heather Brown wrote a Bitch Flicks review of Enough Said, I felt compelled to weigh in because my opinion of the film was the exact opposite. To put it bluntly, I hated this movie. The theme was trite, the characters were insufferable with their selfish pretensions, and there was a whole lot of fat shaming going on. Frankly, I’m surprised that Julia Louis-Dreyfus has been getting such high praise for starring in this turd, and I’m disappointed that I can’t be more supportive of a film written and directed by a woman: Nicole Holofcener.

 

Director Nicole Holofcener with stars Julie Louis-Dreyfus & Catherine Keener.
Director Nicole Holofcener with stars Julia Louis-Dreyfus and Catherine Keener.

 

Though I’d love to congratulate a female writer and director (especially one who employed kickass actresses like Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Catherine Keener, and Toni Collette), the storyline itself fell flat. Enough Said is about a massage therapist who ends up dating a man while giving massages to his ex-wife. Once she learns of the connection, she continues to probe the ex for information about her new beau despite the moral ambiguity of building a false friendship and essentially spying on her new boyfriend. Doesn’t that sound like a snore-fest sitcom episode of misadventure where you know the guilty party will be found out in the end and then realize the error of their ways? Well, that’s pretty much what happens. The themes admirably touch on the desire to make smarter relationship choices, to understand why relationships fail, and to avoid committing to the wrong person. In the end, though, the film claims that relationships, human compatibility, and chemistry are all a mystery…that over-thinking it doesn’t do us any favors. Talk about making a really simple point seem complex enough to warrant an entire movie. It’s also a very privileged upper-crusty perspective. Breaking out of destructive or abusive relationship cycles does require a good deal of introspection, honest analysis of choices, and recognition of personal patterns as well as a willingness and commitment to change. This movie basically pisses on the reality of the lives of people who aren’t wealthy (or at least financially comfortable), straight, white people. It pisses on the people who’ve faced major life struggles, crises, and trauma.

 

Vapid friends and friendships.
Vapid friends and friendships.

 

Speaking of which, the cast of characters is astoundingly shallow and self-involved with boring upper class bored-people pseudo-problems. Main character Eva’s best friend, Sarah, obsessively rearranges the furniture in her house and can’t bring herself to fire her (of course) Latin maid. Sarah’s husband, Will, has the least interesting or complicated case of middle child syndrome ever; he is simply obsessed with fairness.

 

Eva probes Marianne for dirt on her new boyfriend (& Marianne's ex-husband) Albert.
Eva probes Marianne for dirt on her new boyfriend (and Marianne’s ex-husband) Albert.

 

Eva’s new friend, Marianne, reveals that her marriage failed because she was annoyed by her husband Albert’s (played by James Gandolfini) annoying little habits and his weight.

 

Is there such a thing as oblivious daughter replacement syndrome? Eva's got it.
Is there such a thing as oblivious daughter replacement syndrome? Eva’s got it.

 

Eva herself comes off as sweet at first, but we learn she hates most of her massage clients, is selfishly and obliviously trying to replace her daughter, Ellen, who is going off to college with one of Ellen’s friends. Plus, she cultivates a faux-friendship with Marianne just to get dirt on Albert, which she then uses to humiliate him at a dinner party.

 

Eva gets drunk and humiliates Albert, the only nice person in the film.
Eva gets drunk and humiliates Albert, the only nice person in the film.

 

Eva’s behavior at that dinner party sealed the deal for me. I wanted her to get everything that was coming to her. I wanted the incredibly sweet, gentle, intelligent Albert to realize he was dating a horrible person and ditch her ass. Eva’s callous treatment of Albert doesn’t end with her general mockery of his inability to whisper or her distaste for the way he eats guacamole. No, she fat shames him in front of her friends. Fat shaming is never okay, but this seems particularly cruel because Albert sheepishly admitted to her beforehand that he has a complicated relationship with his weight and wants to lose some. She picked a very sensitive point of insecurity for Albert and exploited it because she was insecure about their relationship and about how people would think of her for dating a fat person. How is that ever okay or forgivable? If Eva had been a male character and Albert was female, would people be so quick to excuse that fat shaming? I hope not. Not only that, but Eva is ignorant. She is oblivious to the struggles of people who navigate the world with bodies different from her own, bodies of which the world doesn’t approve. How is her fat shaming any better than if she’d mocked Albert had he been a person of color, trans*, or differently abled? It is not different. She is an inexcusable bigot.

 

Eva is appalled by the way Albert eats popcorn when they go see a movie.
Eva is appalled by the way Albert eats popcorn when they go see a movie.

 

What it boils down to is that the character problems in Enough Said are a function of class. They say more about how much money and comfort these people have than about the state of the human condition. Movies that advocate for hateful bigots like Enough Said‘s fat shamers, even the ones who learn their lesson in the end (can you say Shallow Hal?), appeal to people who have “isms” of their own. Seeing a lead character bully another character due to their marginalized status (whatever it may be) allows the audience to vicariously indulge in that behavior and to vicariously feel solidarity in the character’s eventual contrition. It doesn’t necessarily help the audience inhabit the Othered, marginalized character.

Albert and Eva kiss
Albert and Eva kiss

Another important point that I’ve been dying to make for years is: Understated performances from people who’re typically in comedies…does not good acting make.  I’m so tired of people “breaking out” of their comedy typecast to reap countless praise for roles that simply didn’t have them laughing or cracking jokes or…emoting. I’m thinking of Jennifer Aniston in The Good Girl, almost every Jim Carrey, Bill Murray, or Adam Sandler “serious movie” ever made. Acting like a normal human being isn’t range. Don’t get me wrong, I think Julia Louis-Dreyfus is a stellar actress, but I don’t think bourgie, fat-shaming, linoleum Enough Said showed that.

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Amanda Rodriguez is an environmental activist living in Asheville, North Carolina. She holds a BA from Antioch College in Yellow Springs, Ohio and an MFA in fiction writing from Queens University in Charlotte, NC. She writes all about food and drinking games on her blog Booze and Baking. Fun fact: while living in Kyoto, Japan, her house was attacked by monkeys.

‘Deuce Bigalow’: Pleasure, Male Likability, and Finding Love Through “Man-Whoring”

Navigating male prostitution has always been tricky, but ‘Deuce Bigalow: Male Gigolo’ (Mike Mitchell, 1999) unburdens audiences from tackling any heavily philosophical explications through its potty humor, shallow characters, and offensive depictions of ailments such as Tourette Syndrome, Gigantism, Narcolepsy, and obesity. This same brand of mindless humor is found in ‘Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo’ (Mike Mitchell, 2005). However, despite what the movie lacks (and it’s certainly aware of itself as a raunchy, unconventional rom-com), its central themes are love and kindness, and what is perhaps less apparent is the seemingly rare ability to pause and see someone for who they truly are, as opposed to how they may be of service in terms of sex or money. This goofy film featuring Rob Schneider begs a feminist critique not only because the film lacks many multi-dimensional characters, but because it is a prostitution narrative encoded as a story depicting the pursuit of romantic love, rather than a cautionary tale about the dangers of the world’s oldest profession.

Written by Jenny Lapekas.

Navigating male prostitution has always been tricky, but Deuce Bigalow:  Male Gigolo (Mike Mitchell, 1999) unburdens audiences from tackling any heavily philosophical explications through its potty humor, shallow characters, and offensive depictions of ailments such as Tourette Syndrome, Gigantism, Narcolepsy, and obesity.  This same brand of mindless humor is found in Deuce Bigalow:  European Gigolo (Mike Mitchell, 2005).  However, despite what the movie lacks (and it’s certainly aware of itself as an unconventional rom-com), its central themes are love and kindness, and what is perhaps less apparent is the seemingly rare ability to pause and see someone for who they truly are, as opposed to how they may be of service in terms of sex or money.  This goofy film featuring Rob Schneider begs a feminist critique not only because the film lacks many multi-dimensional characters, but because it is a prostitution narrative encoded as a story that illustrates the pursuit of romantic love, rather than a cautionary tale about the dangers of the world’s oldest profession.

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We see Deuce’s priorities are obviously askew when he pours Fiji water into his fish tank while he drinks murky tap water.

 

While sex for pay is in fact criminal in most places, we’re positioned to believe that any form of prostitution is also unsafe and downright gross.  However, audiences respond differently to Deuce due to his male status.  Female prostitutes are typically interpreted as vulnerable, desperate, and revolting–quite the contrary, we sympathize with Deuce, we root for Deuce, we like Deuce.  Would most audiences feel the same way about a woman protagonist?  Probably not.  In fact, TJ’s (Eddie Griffin) continued use of terms like “he-bitch” and “man-gina” only serve to further affix a pseudo-stigma to Deuce in his pursuits as a hooker.  Indeed, Deuce is not stigmatized; rather, he’s reigned a sort of hero for his accomplishments as a “he-bitch,” as he helps to develop the self esteem of his clients and urges them to remember that they’re worthy of love.  Also, Rob Schneider is not a traditionally handsome man, which may aid audiences in feeling more at ease with Deuce’s profession.  Gender in comedy is certainly an issue here–many viewers find male characters like Deuce funny precisely because we don’t take men seriously when they’re sexualized, especially awkward, goofy Schneider.  It is this quietly confident brand of masculinity that feminist viewers endorse, if we can excuse the insulting placement of minorities, people with disabilities, and others.  TJ fulfills the stereotyped role of the token Black friend and the experienced pimp, yet he’s Deuce’s only source of guidance in his misadventures as a gigolo.  What is perhaps most troubling is when, in the film’s concluding scene, Deuce spots TJ sitting behind him in court, disguised in “white face” to avoid being accosted by the police for his involvement in pimping.  This disguise surely eliminates any suspicion of wrongdoing or affiliation with the prostitution business.

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We’re struck with the sobering fact that Deuce is indeed desperate, and yet the effect is still one of comedy and likability.

 

A particularly significant scene in this discussion depicts Deuce accidentally taking home an actual prostitute in a classic case of mistaken identity.  Claire adamantly requests $500 for her services, and they argue over who exactly pays who.  We find ourselves comfortable with Deuce’s new career when he insists that he wants only $10, which is clearly the price he believes he’s worth after a kinky woman dresses him as a German tourist and her rabid dog chases him out.  This run-in with a female prostitute is a refreshing reminder to audiences that sex workers can indeed be ambitious and business-savvy, and works as a wake-up call to Deuce that perhaps he should stick to cleaning fish tanks for a living.

TJ uses the term “man-whoring,” which implies that “whoring” itself is a practice reserved exclusively for women.  Deuce agrees to “man-whore” to replace the expensive fish tank that he breaks in Antoine’s home.  However, money is not the motive; Deuce simply wants to do what’s right by replacing the expensive item he broke while housesitting.  We may also note that Deuce returns the money given to him by Kate’s (Arija Bareikis) friends to take her out, and also stands up for her when they argue that she’s “not normal.”  When Deuce first meets Kate, he’s thrilled that she seems so “perfect,” of course not like his other clients who attract unwanted attention in public.  Also vital to unravelling character development is that Deuce’s discovery of Kate’s prosthetic leg takes place during foreplay:  an act of intimacy, exploration, and trust–and he doesn’t bat an eyelash.

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A portly girl scout serves as our surrogate when Deuce answers the door to offers of cookies shortly after he accidentally turns on pornography. “You’re a sick man, and I’m gonna tell!”

 

Each of Deuce’s clients present a challenge:  to “normalize” their bizarre behavior and off-putting appearances.  Deuce takes Ruth (the lovable Amy Poehler), a woman with Tourette Syndrome, to a baseball game so her disorder doesn’t alienate her in public.  He exercises with the hefty Fluisa (Big Boy) and even plays a food trivia game with her, and he accommodates Carol’s (Deborah Lemen) Narcolepsy to prevent self-injury.

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Detective Fowler can’t seem to stop whipping out his junk for Deuce to assess.

 

The film is resolved in a court scene where all of Deuce’s “clients” testify on his behalf.  Tina (Torsten Voges), an exceedingly tall woman from Norway, declares, “Deuce and I never had sex.  It was physically impossible.  It’s true I paid him money to be with him, and I’d do it again because he made me feel good about myself.”  Deuce must admit that he did, in fact, sleep with one woman who was a client, but he asserts that he is in love with her.  He is pardoned since she never actually paid him for sex.  “This whole gigolo thing was just a mistake,” he tells Kate.  His time as a man-whore essentially leads him to love, to a woman he finds ideal.  Deuce refuses to ostracize any of these women simply because they are society’s “throwaways,” and other men have perhaps rejected or abandoned them due to their quirks or impairments.  We can argue that the film hates fat women, tall women, perhaps all women, but we must consider the possibility that these characters represent the hyperbolic caricature images many women imagine of themselves:  “I’m too fat,” “my feet are too big,” “I’m no fun to be with.”  We all have insecurities, especially about our bodies and social identities; however, enter Deuce to confirm that we all have the right to unapologetically be who we are.

All of the “flaws” Deuce’s clients exhibit only serve to highlight that nothing is actually wrong with any of them at all.  Every woman Deuce “pleasures” is “broken” in some way, as the film seems to insist.  Even Kate’s roommate Bergita, a very minor character, is newly blind, a disability which serves as comic relief throughout the movie.  While the placement of disabled, queered, othered, or otherwise “damaged” women in the film is no doubt offensive, these characters undeniably aid in the narrative structure of Deuce Bigalow.  Although Deuce is obviously not destined for life as a sex worker, his sampling of the trade offers viewers the reality that prostitutes are indeed hard workers and human beings.

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Bergita worries that something is wrong with her “cat.”

 

Deuce actually grows by choosing to become a prostitute, primarily because he’s so horrid at it.  His redeeming quality, amid choosing such an unsavory career path, is his unrelenting kindness, his willingness to please, and his natural role as the “good guy.”  Deuce tells Kate, “This whole gigolo thing was just a mistake…but I’m glad it happened, cause I never would have met you.  I never would have known what love was.”  Throughout Deuce’s time as a man-whore, he comes to know himself well, he forges authentic friendships, and he finds the girl of his dreams.  Deuce tells one client, “I just can’t do this.  I’m head over heels for a girl.  We’re going through a rough time, me being a man-whore and all, but I know it’s gonna work out because I love her,” a moment that negotiates the shady boundaries between romance and plain raunchiness.  Although he initially recoils at the idea that he doesn’t bring any women “pleasure,” Deuce provides comfort, support, and friendship to all the women he takes on as clients.  As Ruth explains in court, “Deuce taught me to be comfortable with who I am.”  If we pause to look past the poop jokes, the unoriginal stereotypes, and a cop who can’t stop flashing Deuce his “thin” dick, we can easily detect a genuine person who simply wants what we all want:  love.

_______________________________

Jenny has a Master of Arts degree in English, and she is a part-time instructor at Alvernia University.  Her areas of scholarship include women’s literature, menstrual literacy, and rape-revenge cinema.  You can find her on Pinterest.

The Sex Worker and The Corporate Raider: Dissecting ‘Pretty Woman’

‘Pretty Woman’ depicts a world where everyone is either a card-carrying member of the corporate caste or an obliging subordinate whose primary purpose in life is to serve, drive or blow members of that caste. It is obsessed with things and encourages the audience to share its obsession with things. These include Lotus cars, jets and jewelry. It also sells the City of Angels, of course. Rodeo Drive is one of the stars of the show. In fact, the whole movie is pretty much an extended Visit California commercial.

Pretty Woman (1990)
Pretty Woman (1990)

 

Garry Marshall’s romantic comedy, Pretty Woman, is one of the most popular American movies of all time. A box office success when it was released in 1990, it still rates highly in those Greatest Romantic Comedy lists. Audiences all around the world have embraced Pretty Woman’s buoyant tone, pop soundtrack, Hollywood setting, and fairy-tale love story. The lovers, Edward Lewis and Vivian Ward, make an unlikely couple, of course. He is a wildly successful businessman and she is a hard-up street prostitute. The meet-cute takes place on Hollywood Boulevard. Both lovers have looks and personality, and both are portrayed as engaging and sympathetic. Julia Roberts and Richard Gere give winning movie star performances as the pair. The mass popularity of the love story is, no doubt, due, in great part, to the attractiveness of the stars and the appeal of the characters. Their love is, also, habitually read as perfectly romantic because it seems to transcend all differences.

This is not my Pretty Woman, though. The movie I recognize is a glossy yet insidious Hollywood product that seeks to convince viewers that street prostitutes are eternally radiant and movie star beautiful, and that their corporate clients are all gracious and movie star handsome. I’m not sure that there is a film out there that has sanitized and romanticized prostitution as much as Pretty Woman. The clear intention of the movie-makers is to drug and delude the audience. Music, beauty and fashion serve to seduce the viewer, and mask the fact that they are watching an impoverished street prostitute spend a week with an extremely wealthy man in his hotel room. In response to the question, “Isn’t it just a fairy tale?” we have to remind ourselves that there is no such thing as a meaningless fairy tale. Nor is there such a thing as an apolitical Hollywood film. Pretty Woman may be a fantasy but it’s a deeply sexist, consumerist fantasy.

Forever happy
Forever happy

 

Julia Roberts’s Vivian does not have the aura of a street prostitute. She is way too sunny and sugary. Although she initially comes across as a trifle feisty and seasoned, the impression does not last. For the most part, the character looks and behaves like an ingénue. Actually, you never even believe the wild child introduction. Vivian’s best friend, Kit de Luca (Laura San Giacomo), is portrayed as earthier and less attractive because Vivian’s essential wholesomeness and beaming beauty must stand out (This is the function of best friends in Hollywood films, of course). Vivian is, in fact, nothing less than a 90s reworking of two of the oldest stereotypes in cinema and literature: the “whore with a heart of gold” and “happy hooker”. Our heroine smiles, sings and laughs throughout the movie with excessive dedication.

It is Vivian’s good-hearted, unaffected ways that enchant Edward, of course. He is smitten by both her spark and beauty. There is, though, a deeply disquieting edge to Edward’s appreciation of Vivian. The makers of Pretty Woman have no problem infantilising their heroine and there is a child-woman aspect to her character. For Edward, it is a vital part of her charm. In one signature scene, we watch him move closer to Vivian to gaze at her laughing gleefully at I Love Lucy rerun on the TV. It is telling that Vivian’s family name is Ward. She is like Edward’s ward. He cares for, nurtures, protects and spoils her. The age difference is both acknowledged and overcome. The kind hotel manager (Hector Elizondo) and Vivian come to an agreement that she is Edward’s “niece” if any guest asks. The age gap is recognized but it is not understood as a major obstacle to true love. Pretty Woman is, therefore, yet another perpetrator of that old Hollywood gender age gap rule. Roberts is nearly 20 years younger than Gere and they basically play their ages. The older man-younger woman intergenerational relationship is normalized and naturalized, and the underlying archaic message is that that a heterosexual relationship can only work if the man is significantly older than the woman. Edward’s not a partner; he’s a patriarch.

At the opera
At the opera

 

Pretty Woman is both sleazy and conservative. The first shot we have of Vivian is actually of her ass and crotch. We see her turn over in bed in her underwear. As she is not with a client but in her own single bed, in the run-down apartment she shares with Kit, the shot is only intended for the audience. It is, perhaps, the most explicit one in the film as the sex and love-making scenes between Edward and Vivian are neither graphic nor intense. We subsequently see her evade the landlord- she can’t afford the rent- by taking the fire escape route. Soon, she will be on Hollywood Boulevard conversing with Kit. The audience does not spend a lot of time with Vivian on her home turf. It is understood as a dangerous, seedy place but it is not depicted with any real grit or insight. The body of a dead woman has been found in an alley way dumpster but this is soon forgotten. Although Vivian is dressed for business in thigh-high boots, she cuts an incongruous, glamorous presence. However, thanks to a lost millionaire in a Lotus Esprit, the good, pretty woman will be magically transported from those streets in fairy-tale, Pygmalion fashion.

Although Vivian is an endearing pretty woman, she does not conform to class-sanctioned feminine styles and behavior. Cue the most famous makeover in modern movie history. To the tune of Roy Orbison’s “Pretty Woman,” Vivian is appropriately dressed and groomed for Edward’s perfumed world. Pretty Woman, unsurprisingly, patronizes its heroine. In the early part of the movie, at least, Vivian is portrayed as a wide-eyed hick from Georgia who spits out chewing gum on the sidewalk and (accidentally) flings escargots around restaurants. Fortunately, Edward is there to guide her. Note that he doesn’t only introduce her to snail-eating but he also takes her to polo matches and concerts. One evening, courtesy of his private jet, he whisks her off to San Francisco for a performance of La Traviata. “The music’s very powerful,” he helpfully notes.

Learning how to eat
Learning how to eat

 

Which brings us to Pretty Woman’s unashamedly antiquated and classist portrayal of Edward. The corporate raider is portrayed as an extremely cultured and intelligent man. He loves the opera, plays the piano, and reads Shakespeare. Pretty Woman does not only have a hilariously Hollywood, and frankly philistine, idea of what constitutes a cultured person but it also suggests that America’s astronomically wealthy are exceptionally intelligent and cultured.  “You must be really smart, huh?” Vivian says to Edward, after he explains what he does for a living. This is one of the more mind-boggling messages of the movie.

Along with his tall and slender lover, Edward also embodies Pretty Woman’s lookist ethos. Handsome, self-assured and enormous successful, the businessman is seen as superior to other men. His lawyer (played by Jason Alexander), on the other hand, is a nasty, envious, little creep who attempts to rape Vivian at one point. True to the lookist philosophy of the movie, the scumbug character cannot be conventionally attractive or taller than our hero. In Garry Marshall’s fantasy Hollywood, beautiful equals good. But how good is Edward? The movie’s morality is, in fact, mystifying on many levels. Its hero doesn’t drink and or tolerate drug-taking but he has no problem with hiring out women or buying out companies.

The polo match
The polo match

 

Ideologically, Pretty Woman is a love song to consumerism and capitalism. Yes, Vivian gets to disparage Edward’s superficial, affluent social circle at the polo match: “No wonder why you came looking for me,” she observes sadly–and yes, Edward learns to temper his rapacious corporate ways under her gentle influence- he now wants to build stuff and not just deal in money- but this never destabilizes the system. In fact, the system is, arguably, made more secure through reform. Edward just realizes he shouldn’t be so much of a dick. Pretty Woman depicts a world where everyone is either a card-carrying member of the corporate caste or an obliging subordinate whose primary purpose in life is to serve, drive or blow members of that caste. It is obsessed with things and encourages the audience to share its obsession with things. These include Lotus cars, jets, and jewelry. It also sells the City of Angels, of course. Rodeo Drive is one of the stars of the show. In fact, the whole movie is pretty much an extended Visit California commercial. It does its job well, of course. It’s a sleek product. There are many cars, rooms, gowns and suits to admire. But it’s a sleek Hollywood product jam-packed with dazzling fictions and lies about everything under the sun.

Transformed
Transformed

 

The representation of gender and sexuality in Pretty Woman is equally seedy and reactionary. Prostitutes should be civilized and saved while young women should resign themselves to being sexually objectified. Vivian is, of course, portrayed as a deeply romantic being. When their week together is up, Edward offers to take her off the streets and set her up in an apartment. But Vivian refuses to be his mistress. “I want more…I want the fairy tale,” she says to Edward. We, the audience, are encouraged to see her as an all-American girl driven by the pursuit of happiness. But she is also, at the end of the day, a deeply conventional woman with very traditional aspirations. She gets the fairy tale, of course. But Pretty Woman’s not just a love story; it’s also about becoming the respectable partner of a businessmen. Vivian Ward may be a romantic, sympathetic figure but she is also a woman fated to marry well. They may have changed each other but Vivian is incorporated into Edward’s world. Her illicit sexuality must be contained. We see her appreciate Edward’s beauty in the quiet of the night, but we also see her take pleasure in expensive things that he has bought for her. There is a scene in Pretty Woman where we see Vivian go to back to a store on Rodeo Drive where she was previously snubbed and humiliated by snooty sales staff. Armed with gorgeous purchases and gorgeously attired, she reminds them of their “big mistake.” It’s intended as a crowd-cheering scene of course–we enjoy Vivian’s screw-you moment–but it also expresses an unquestioning acceptance of the Darwinian wealth equals power diktat. When she is finally saved by her prince at the end of the movie, Vivian vows that she will save Edward in return. Will she really be allowed to save him? Will she have a role of her own? Or will she just buy stuff on his credit card?

The gentleman and the raider
The gentleman and the raider

 

It would be hilarious if the whole enterprise was actually a send-up of sexual politics and consumerism. No such luck. There is not a whiff of subversion in Pretty Woman. Admire Julia and Richard’s beauty, and sing along to Orbison or Roxette, but never forget that it is one of the most misogynist, patriarchal, classist, consumerist, and lookist movies ever to come out of Hollywood.

 

There’s More to Love in ‘Loverboy’ Than “Extra Anchovies”

Randy defines the male sex worker in ways that are diametrically opposed to more traditional depictions of female sex workers. He is not oppressed by his clients, controlled by a pimp, or violently threatened until the very end. Even then, such “threats” are delivered as a comedy of errors after a group of husbands discover their wives have been ordering a lot of pizza with “extra anchovies,” the code for Randy’s clandestine services. Thus, he enjoys a much more privileged kind of work as a casual summer gigolo than as a professional prostitute who is often trapped in such work for extended periods of time and trapped by dominating patriarchal forces.

Movie poster for Loverboy
Movie poster for Loverboy

 

This guest post by Kristina Fennelly appears as part of our theme week on Representations of Sex Workers.

At first glance, the 1989 comedy Loverboy, directed by Joan Micklin Silver and starring Patrick Dempsey, may not seem a likely choice for inclusion in films specifically focused on sex workers.  After all, how could a seemingly trivial movie about a failing college student, a pizza parlor, and a group of rich yet unhappy California wives possibly inform and challenge dominant definitions of sex workers, traditional gender roles, and even heteronormativity?

Yet this film, largely derided in the late 1980s as “hopelessly tacky,” and “a pitiful waste,” speaks to these issues as it chronicles the maturation of college sophomore Randy Bodek (played by Dempsey).  The film makes the claim that the education Randy gains through his summer employment, both as a pizza delivery boy and as a gigolo, prepares him to return to college in the fall as a man: a man more serious about his academic goals, his professional future, and his long-sought-after girlfriend, Jenny.  Just as Randy gains a great deal of knowledge about himself, so, too, can viewers today gain a great deal of insight when analyzing this film through a feminist lens.

In the March 2008 issue of the journal Gender Issues, scholar Jeffrey Dennis gives voice to the often ignored and silent male sex workers in his article “Women are Victims, Men Make Choices: The Invisibility of Men and Boys in the Global Sex Trade.”  Dennis argues that the accounts of men and boys as sex workers have largely gone unnoticed, which seems ironic given Dennis’s observation that, “Male sex workers are easy to spot anywhere in the world…Yet they are almost completely ignored by social service agencies, administrative bodies, the mass media, and scholarship” (11-12).  Critically examining Randy’s profession as a sex worker in this film seeks to do the kind of intellectual and gender-conscious work that Dennis calls for: “a re-evaluation of scholarly preconceptions about male and female bodies, about objectification, about the inevitability of heterosexual identity and about the impossibility of same-sex desire.”

At the onset of the film, Randy concludes his sophomore year of college where he has failed, yet again, to make the grade.  In addition to failing at school, Randy has also failed in his relationship with his live-in girlfriend, Jenny.  When Randy returns home for the summer, he is admonished by his father, Joe, for his lack of any visible work ethic.  Thus Randy must pursue a job as a pizza delivery boy in order to earn $9,000 to pay for his own tuition.  While working for $4.80 an hour—a rate that Randy and his co-worker crassly describe as less than wages earned by “people who swim here from Mexico”—he realizes that his life of privilege as a young, white, middle-class male is not automatically guaranteed.  Gone is the financial protection from his parents, Joe and Diane.  Now he must venture forth on his own to earn the money.  His goals, at this point, are not based whatsoever in academic or professional ideals; rather, he wants to earn the money simply so he can return to college, recapture his girlfriend, and continue on with his “party hard” lifestyle.

Randy, having returned home from college, explains to his parents that he is failing at school
Randy, having returned home from college, explains to his parents that he is failing at school

 

One day, a chance encounter leads him to meet Alex Barnett (played by Barbara Carrera), a wealthy Italian businesswoman (presumably in her 40s) who owns a chain of high-end clothing stores.  Soon, Alex lavishes Randy with expensive clothes, allows him to drive her racy red sports car, and seduces him.  Randy is not a morally bankrupt character, however.  He quickly tells Alex that he is in love with Jenny, to which she replies: “I think I can handle it.”  She understands the arrangement before Randy does because she has established the parameters of such an arrangement.  At this point, the viewer cannot help but pity Randy’s naiveté and obvious lack of experience with an accomplished and mature adult; after all, his social circle in college has consisted primarily of party-driven peers with a similar penchant for goofing off.

Alex, however, shows him the kind of privileged lifestyle he is missing out on at making only $4.80 an hour. When she awakens him the following morning by dropping $100 bills on his pillow, he tries to refuse the payment by telling her, “Alex, I can’t.  It makes me feel…”  Though Randy does not explicitly give voice to his feelings in this scene, the audience can infer that he feels bought and paid for, much like a traditionally-defined prostitute.  He even acknowledges the quickness of the exchange when he says, “I’m never going to see you again, am I?”  Their brief and fleeting affair is framed in more financially pragmatic terms by Alex who explains that if their roles were reversed and she needed the money, she knows he would give it to her.  “So what’s the difference?” she asks as she gets up to leave.  It is at this point in which the film seems to ask this exact question of its audience: What’s the difference between a male sex worker and a female sex worker?  What’s at stake for a “gigolo” versus a “prostitute,” even from a purely rhetorical analysis of those classifications?  Does sex work involve the same kind of possession, objectification, and violence for men as it does for women?

Randy, a pizza delivery boy, meets Alex, the owner of high-end clothing stores
Randy, a pizza delivery boy, meets Alex, the owner of high-end clothing stores

 

These questions do not go unexplored or entirely unanswered in the film.  Randy defines the male sex worker in ways that are diametrically opposed to more traditional depictions of female sex workers.  He is not oppressed by his clients, controlled by a pimp, or violently threatened until the very end.  Even then, such “threats” are delivered as a comedy of errors after a group of husbands discover their wives have been ordering a lot of pizza with “extra anchovies,” the code for Randy’s clandestine services.  Thus, he enjoys a much more privileged kind of work as a casual summer gigolo than as a professional prostitute who is often trapped in such work for extended periods of time and trapped by dominating patriarchal forces.

Randy, by contrast, appears to benefit greatly from his work as he grows attuned to romance and intimacy, cultured in ballroom dancing and photography, and refined in his ability to genuinely listen to women and their needs.  For example, he fulfills the fantasy of his Asian client, Kyoko Bruckner (played by Kim Miyori), whose husband has stereotypically assumed she, like “all” Asian women, will submit, remain silent, and above all, satisfy his every whim.  Randy also provides much-needed validation to Monica Delancy (played by Carrie Fisher), a photographer whose husband personally trains women with “Barbie doll”-type bodies.  Finally, he reminds the cynical doctor Joyce Palmer (played by Kirstie Alley) that romance still exists when he engages in an act perhaps even more intimate than sex: ballroom dancing.

Dr. Joyce Palmer (left) teaches Randy how to dance
Dr. Joyce Palmer (left) teaches Randy how to dance

 

As he seeks to explain his time with Alex to his horny co-worker, “That isn’t all we did.  We talked…,” he again tries to resist traditional definitions of sex workers as objects of pleasure.  Unlike heteronormative prostitution, which tends to rely on an exchange of sex for money and positions women as the object of men’s desire, the kind of “work” Randy finds himself doing requires him to be more of a companion than a lover, more of a listener than a performer, more of an adored “loverboy” than a mere sex object.

It is no accident that Randy’s first delivery of “extra anchovies” is to Alex (short for Alexandra), a woman with a name typically considered for boys.  She, in fact, assumes a traditionally masculine role as she—a powerful, successful, and rich businesswoman—pursues a partner for her own sexual satisfaction.  It should not surprise the discerning viewer that just as Alex showers Randy with expensive clothes, so does Edward Lewis (played by Richard Gere) provide prostitute Vivian Ward (played by Julia Roberts) with a new wardrobe in Pretty Woman, a popular film which proved a box-office hit the following year in 1990.  The inclusion of Randy’s improved clothes, combined with Alex’s more masculine name and behavior, are not incidental matters in this film.

In an effort to further the comedic effect of the movie, Randy’s first gift from Alex—a $500 sports coat—is delivered by his co-worker, Tony, who drops it off at Randy’s house after it arrives at the pizza shop.  Randy’s father, Joe, who has already told his wife, “Our son is a fruit,” reads the attached note from Alex and believes the coat is actually a gift from Tony, the presumed gay lover.  It is not a stretch to qualify his father’s comments as homophobic when he tells his wife Diane, “A guy shows up at our door wearing enough cologne to make me puke.”  After bemoaning the fact that Randy never talks about any girls, he tells himself, “You always think it happens to the other guy”—as if the reality of a gay son has now become an affliction, an “it” that one “always think[s]” (read as “always hopes”) will happen to, or pain, someone else.  Thus, not only is Randy atypical in his role as a male sex worker, but he is also cast as aberrant (especially in 1989 at the height of the AIDS crisis) in his presumed homosexuality.

Randy, unsurprisingly, is clueless about his father’s fears.  Instead, his primary concern is to improve his own identity, to transform himself from a part-time gigolo, defunct college student, and inconsiderate boyfriend into a mature student, respectable son, and loving boyfriend.  Inevitably, he must answer to Jenny, who shows up on the day of his parents’ twentieth wedding anniversary.  Ironically, it is on this same day that his mother places a pizza order for “extra anchovies” as revenge against her husband, whom she believes has cheated on her.  As Randy’s parents try to sort out their mistakes, Randy tries to explain to Jenny that he engaged in such work for the money so that he could return to college and ultimately return to her.  His actions prove unforgivable, at least initially.  Soon, though, Jenny comes to see Randy as a matured man willing to go to great lengths for love: not only for her love, but also to preserve the love between his two parents.  She is heartened and warmed by him and his parents who welcome her with open arms.  How could they not since they are so happy and grateful to have a heterosexual son?  All is forgiven when Randy promises to return the money, and Randy’s father even promises to pay for his tuition.

Randy's girlfriend, Jenny (right), is not forgiving of his work as a gigolo at first
Randy’s girlfriend, Jenny (right), is not forgiving of his work as a gigolo at first

 

If this film succeeds in doing the kind of work Dennis calls for, to acknowledge male sex workers largely ignored by “mass media,” does it fail in its treatment of homosexuality?  Does it insist on “the inevitability of heterosexual identity”?  Not entirely.  Before Jenny is identified as Randy’s girlfriend, Randy’s father embraces him and tells him: “You’re my son.  I love you.”  Certainly, this father-son relationship appears progressive for 1989, especially from where we sit 25 years later when gay marriage is one of the most contentious political and social issues of our time.  What’s most potent is the way in which the film anticipates Pretty Woman by framing sex work as a means to a financially and emotionally secure future…when we know it rarely fulfills such dreams.  Yet before we toss this movie aside as irrelevant, as “instantly forgettable…the kind of movie that’s perfect for a lazy summer afternoon,” it behooves us to acknowledge how this film can and should encourage conversations about male sex workers that have heretofore been silenced.

 


Kristina Fennelly is a Visiting Assistant Professor at Kutztown University in Kutztown, Pennsylvania.  Her research and teaching interests focus on composition and rhetoric, gender studies, and digital texts. 

‘For a Good Time, Call …’: A Modern Rom Com About Friendship

But ‘For a Good Time, Call…’ doesn’t think of itself as better than other films with sex workers as their protagonists, with Lauren using Katie’s virginity against her as a metaphor for her insecurity when they have their first major fight, a prevalent attitude that buys into virgins being lesser versions of sex-having humans. As Vivian in ‘Pretty Woman’ resents Edward for making her “feel cheap,” Lauren’s treatment of her housemate brings up feelings of worthlessness for Katie. “You make me feel like I’ll never be good enough for you,” she cries. It seems we can’t win either way: women are slut- and prude-shamed no matter our real or perceived bedroom habits.

Ari Graynor, Justin Long, and Lauren Miller in For a Good Time, Call ...
Ari Graynor, Justin Long, and Lauren Miller in For a Good Time, Call …

 

This cross-post by Scarlett Harris was previously published at Filmme Fatales and appears as part of our theme week on Representations of Sex Workers.

Sex workers get a bum rap in most aspects of society. In April 2013, publisher Mia Freedman and author of The Secret Diary of a Call Girl, Brooke Magnanti, butted heads about the use of the word “prostitute” and whether it’s a valid career choice for our daughters on Aussie talk show Q&A; the murder of sex worker Tracy Connelly in Melbourne in July sparked protestations as to why her death wasn’t given as much attention as, say, white, middle-class Irish immigrant beauty Jill Meagher’s, also occurring in Melbourne; and we still stigmatise the exchange of sex for money despite it being one of the oldest occupations in the world and, to my mind, a necessary one.

Many pop cultural representations of sex workers tend to play into the notions that they need to be “saved” or are less than: Leaving Las Vegas, Lovelace, Pretty Woman. One that shines a refreshingly progressive and nonchalant light on sex work is 2012’s For a Good Time, Call…starring Ari Graynor and Lauren Miller (who also cowrote the effort).

College enemies Katie (Graynor) and Lauren (Miller) are forced to move in together by their mutual gay bestie, Jesse (played by Justin Long), after a series of unfortunate events sees neither one being able to afford to live alone in the Big Apple. When Lauren discovers Katie pays the bills by working for a phone sex line, she decides to help her make it into a viable small business, and before long Lauren’s in on it, too.

Lauren Miller in For a Good Time, Call ...
Lauren Miller in For a Good Time, Call …

 

While the roommates and their friends don’t bat an eyelid at their supposedly sordid occupation—Jesse wants to be involved, Katie meets her sweet, unassuming boyfriend via the hotline, and a prospective employer of Lauren’s applauds her for her newfound laidback demeanor—not everyone is so impressed. Lauren’s WASPy parents are mortified she ditched (read: was fired from) her long-time publishing gig in order to “listen to guys jack off,” as her father puts it.

Not to stoop to their level, but phone sex is probably the most banal of all possible sex work avenues to go down (pardon the pun!); big bucks can be made from any location without mandatory sex or nudity. Talk about a low-risk, high return investment! If anything, Lauren’s parents should be proud of their daughter’s entrepreneurial skills and her ability to turn a profit in a hostile economy, not slut-shaming her based on very little information. (Granted, the dildos on the coffee table and the g-string bunting strewn across the lounge room as the revelation is made probably don’t lend themselves to acceptance.)

If they looked beneath the surface they’d see that Lauren’s sexy, loudmouthed pole-dancing roommate who once peed in their daughter’s car (“It was a graduation present!”) has actually never had sex. And that the seemingly successful career woman was unhappy in her “boring,” passionless relationship and uninspiring publishing gig. The differences that once saw Lauren and Katie clash in college now bring them closer together in an alternate version of the heteronormative rom-com, where female friendship reigns supreme. Quite a contrast from the hooker sex-worker-with-a-heart-of-gold-who-needs-saving-by/from-a-man trope of the above mentioned Pretty Woman, Lovelace, etc.

For a Good Time, Call ...
For a Good Time, Call …

 

But For a Good Time, Call… doesn’t think of itself as better than other films with sex workers as their protagonists, with Lauren using Katie’s virginity against her as a metaphor for her insecurity when they have their first major fight, a prevalent attitude that buys into virgins being lesser versions of sex-having humans. As Vivian in Pretty Woman resents Edward for making her “feel cheap,” Lauren’s treatment of her housemate brings up feelings of worthlessness for Katie. “You make me feel like I’ll never be good enough for you,” she cries. It seems we can’t win either way: women are slut- and prude-shamed no matter our real or perceived bedroom habits.

Above all, For a Good Time, Call… is a rom com about best friends; screw the menz. Unlike in the above mentioned sex worker movie cache, men are not the moral of this love story.

 


Scarlett Harris is a Melbourne, Australia-based freelance writer and blogger at The Early Bird Catches the Worm (soon to be undergoing a revamp; stay tuned!).

 

‘Blue Jasmine’ and Other Art By Abusers

It’s the feminist fan’s eternal conundrum: can I support art made by abusers of women? (For any value of support: consuming it to begin with, paying to consume it, or—gulp—enjoying it). But I watched ‘Blue Jasmine’ this week, even with Woody Allen’s sexual abuse of children in his family freshly in mind after the controversy surrounding his Golden Globes lifetime achievement award. And maybe it was my feminist guilt seeping in, but I was disappointed with it.

Movie poster for Blue Jasmine
Movie poster for Blue Jasmine

It’s the feminist fan’s eternal conundrum: can I support art made by abusers of women? (For any value of support: consuming it to begin with, paying to consume it, or—gulp—enjoying it.)

The incredibly sad truth of the matter is that switching off art by abusers can feel like switching off art entirely. It’s not just a matter of changing the station when “Yeah 3X” comes on, it means not listening to The Beatles and James Brown. It’s not just a matter of not watching Chinatown or Annie Hall; you have to decide if it is OK to watch 12 Years a Slave because it features Michael Fassbender, whose ex-girlfriend took out a restraining order on him after he broke her nose. Maybe that’s OK because he’s not the “author” of the film. But, well, supporting it supports his career (he got his first Oscar nom out of it), so, well… was my ticket for the best movie of the year, that’s also a landmark achievement for black filmmakers and actors, and moreover a powerful condemnation of systems of oppression intersecting with rape culture, now a betrayal of feminism and human dignity?

Everyone has to make these personal negotiations themselves. Maybe you can choose to tolerate work featuring actors who beat women, but not work “by” them. So watching Sean Penn in Milk is OK, but you must not watch The Crossing Guard and his other directorial efforts. Maybe you will only shun the work of sexual abusers, or maybe only sexual abusers of children, like Roman Polanski and Woody Allen.

Woody Allen
Woody Allen

A relatively easy approach is to lean heavily on the word “allegedly.” Other key vocab words: “rumor” and “gossip.” Ignore the myriad failures of the legal system in bringing abusers to justice, ignore that celebrity often compounds those failures, and remind everyone that these artists have “never been formally charged with/convicted of” their crimes. This is very nearly a free pass! [Speaking of free pass: let’s apply a blanket “alleged” to everything in this piece! Don’t sue me!]

I truly respect people who refuse to consume art by abusers, and I hope I can be forgiven for being too much of a pop culture completist to take that hard-line stance. Again, I think this is a choice everyone has to make for themselves, and I think the only wrong answer is the one that Hollywood appears to cling to: sweep the sins of its darling “geniuses” under a rug, so we can enjoy their work without internal conflict. (That is, if those sins were not against Hollywood itself, for that is UNFORGIVABLE!)

So: I watch Woody Allen’s movies, and I like a lot of them (although I feel compelled to clarify, when I wrote that I wanted “the next Woody Allen” to be a woman, I certainly did not mean a woman who is a sexual predator). I watched Blue Jasmine this week, even with Woody Allen’s sexual abuse of children in his family freshly in mind after the controversy surrounding his Golden Globes lifetime achievement award.

blanchettsagawards
Blanchett accepting Best Actress at the SAG awards

In Cate Blanchett’s Best Actress acceptance speech at the SAG Awards last week, she thanked Woody Allen for creating “role after role after role” for women. This praise of Woody Allen as a great giver to women left a bad taste in a lot of feminist mouths. But he has written many great female characters, even the elusive meaty roles for women over 40, like Blanchett.  I watched Blue Jasmine because I didn’t want to miss out on a new iconic female character and one of the most-praised female performances of the year.

And maybe it was my feminist guilt seeping in, but I was disappointed with Blue Jasmine. It’s a solid film, and sort of the polar opposite of To Rome With Love on the “effort expended by Woody Allen as filmmaker” scale.  But the cracks still show: the class commentary central to the film can be cartoonish, the Ruth Madoff character analogy feels a bit dated (at least coming from guy who makes a movie every seven months or so), and the pivotal moment in the third act is a chance encounter on the street, which is somewhere on page one of “Hacky Screenwriting for Lazies.”

Jasmine, not only from Allen’s writing but also from Blanchett’s performance, is a captivating character. But she never transcends “character” for me. I took particular issue with the jumbled mental illness cliches cobbled together: Nervous breakdown! Talks to herself! Medication “cocktails”! Excessive intake of actual cocktails! Electroconvulsive therapy! Delusions of grandeur! Relying on the kindness of strangers!

Cate Blanchett as Jasmine
Cate Blanchett as Jasmine

I am a mentally ill person myself, and I saw nothing recognizable in Jasmine. Silver Linings Playbook caught some flack last year (including from me!) for being a little too lighthearted and breezy on the subject of mental illness, but I found the characters in that film PROFOUNDLY relatable. One of the things Silver Linings Playbook did right was craft mentally ill characters not solely defined by their illness. Jasmine’s only other characteristics are being selfish and mean and generally unpleasant, all too easy to conflate with her illness itself.

This hodgepodge characterization makes Blanchett’s acting seem more awards-bait-y than it actually is.  She is fantastic in the film, especially because she manages to win some small amount of sympathy from the audience despite her character’s thorough terribleness. Sally Hawkins is also great as Ginger, Jasmine’s semi-estranged adopted sister, and I appreciated that she had her own storyline instead of existing merely as Jasmine’s grounded foil.

Blue Jasmine is the kind of movie I would normally say “is worth seeing” even though I didn’t personally like it very much. Multiply that lukewarm semi-endorsement by the sum of your personal “comfort with consuming art by abusers” coefficient and your awards-season completist factor to determine if you should give it two hours of your time.


Robin Hitchcock is an American writer living in Cape Town, South Africa.

When I Say Go We Go: Popular Feminism and ‘Spice World’

Some people see the Spice Girls as champions of female empowerment, and others as mindless actors in a consumerist pantomime of feminism. Like most artifacts of pop culture feminism, the Spice Girls presented an image that was neither perfectly laudable nor perfectly awful and shaming – they gave us a sincere attempt at female empowerment that wasn’t entirely free from the culture they lived in.

Some people really hate the Spice Girls. I’m not one of them.

spiceworld

We can’t really talk about Spice World without talking about the Spice Girls, in general, and why everybody seems to love and hate them.

Since “Wannabe” first topped the charts in 1996, the public attitude toward the Spice Girls has whipped back and forth between love and rejection faster than Willow Smith’s hair (because remember when that was a thing? This is a timely pop music joke). Some people see the Spice Girls as champions of female empowerment, and others as mindless actors in a consumerist pantomime of feminism. Like most artifacts of pop culture feminism, the Spice Girls presented an image that was neither perfectly laudable nor perfectly awful and shaming – they gave us a sincere attempt at female empowerment that wasn’t entirely free from the culture they lived in.

It’s hard to remember, because they looked so old when we were twelve, but the Spice Girls were a group of very young women (aged 18-22, when the band first formed) who wanted to be professional entertainers and answered a casting call beginning with the words, “R. U. 18-23 with the ability to sing/dance?” This is not an auspicious beginning for ground-shaking social and political work.

If you’re curious, or hungry to hear all the details of how terrible the pressure-cooker of fame really feels when the whole world is calling you fat, the one-hour documentary, Spice Girls: Giving You Everything, includes footage of the shockingly young, shockingly ordinary-looking Spices auditioning and rehearsing their first songs. It also includes some fairly well-spoken and introspective reflections on what it was like to live in the whirlwind of temporary Spice fame, and stories that should put to rest the idea that these women were mindlessly doing whatever a man said to do.

It isn’t hard to attack them; if I were a baby feminist scholar in undergrad, still getting used to my claws, the Spice Girls would make for some easy, delicious prey. They dress really sexy; they’ve each been reduced to a single personality trait; one of them is supposed to be childlike and that’s kind of creepy; the Black one is “scary” and that feels weird; the band was forged in the fires of consumerism, and that seems pretty evil to me – I’m licking my chops just thinking about it, but wait!

To paraphrase Camille Hayes, let’s remember that not everyone has a degree in Sociology and Gender Studies. Some people are just doing their best on their own, and, rather than demonizing them for not doing well enough, let’s at least acknowledge that we’re on the same team.

Considering that they were a bunch of 20-year-olds in a manufactured pop band, the Spice Girls did a pretty good job of carrying the feminist flag. They didn’t say or do anything radical and challenging; they didn’t provide stunning new insights into gender equality. The explicit message they preached (to their core audience of tween-aged girls) was that friendship is important, and so is self-expression, and girls are just as good as boys. That’s not earth-shattering stuff, but they also modelled through their behaviour that women can be confident and ambitious – outspoken, funny, loud, accomplished – and still receive mainstream acceptance.

The Spice Girls were competent performers who made decisions that they believed would further their careers. Were they perfect? No. Is it important to discuss the ways that Spice feminism falls short, in order to shed light on larger cultural and societal problems? Yes. But they were rowing in the same direction as the rest of us, even if their strokes weren’t especially powerful, so let’s all just ease up a bit, yeah?

The Part Where I Actually Talk About The Movie
Okay, right. So, there was a movie. Spice World was filmed at the height of the band’s popularity in 1997, and released five months before Geri Halliwell announced she was leaving the group. As of this writing, it enjoys as 29 percent Fresh Rating on Rotten Tomatoes.

The film follows the Spice Girls’ fictionalized Spice adventures as they tour in a massive, double-decker Spice bus and learn lessons about the importance of friendship, etc, etc. The adventures range from the commonplace (going to a fancy party) to the outlandish (making first contact with aliens), and the whole thing is wrapped in a framing story about movie executives pitching the worst, most random, half-assed tie-in movie ever (i.e., the movie we’re watching). Add to that roughly a million cameos from other celebrities, a whole bunch of singing, and a villain who makes cryptic pronouncements under the soft cloak of darkness, and you have not yet begun to imagine all of the nonsense packed into this film.

I don’t know why so many people hate it.

It’s bad, but it’s purposely bad – it’s a campy, ironic comedy that makes fun of the idea of the Spice Girls as a manufactured, highly commercialized product. It sells the central Spice Girl fantasy – that being a pop star means hanging out with your very best friends and occasionally rehearsing in between wacky adventures – and it includes a fake Spice Girl origin story – that they began as best friends who spontaneously formed a band one day – but it also addresses many of the criticisms people had of the band in a tongue-in-cheek way. It’s actually kind of smart.

For example, one of the (valid) criticisms people have made of the Spice Girls is that, by reducing each member to a single personality trait or caricature, the band is participating in an ugly interaction of consumerism and patriarchy in which women are a commodity that comes in five types. Spice World is full of scenes that make fun of these simplified personas and highlight the fact that these women are actually whole human beings. They talk about things that have nothing to do with their Spice personalities, like chess, and manta rays; they do unflattering impressions of each other performing their Spice personalities; and they complain that everyone stereotypes them while (deliberately and obviously) acting out the stereotypes in question.

They also drive a bus over a model bridge and sleep in a haunted mansion. It’s not The Color Purple. But the movie is self-aware enough, and self-reflexive enough, that it ends up being a fun, playful story that ultimately resists the idea that there are Five Types of Women defined by specific traits.

It’s also a mainstream movie aimed at young girls where the heroes are all women who make their own decisions and who are way more concerned with their careers, their friendships, and chasing their dreams than they are with meeting some boys. In fact, the topic of boys comes up very rarely in Spice World, as though it’s possible for a woman to get through the day without raising the subject at all.

There’s this scene early on in the film, where the Spice Girls are meeting with fans, and they decide to ditch the planned trip on the Spice bus and run off to make their own fun. Mel B. says, “When I say go, we go,” and then they sprint away from the bus, dragging ten-year-old girls behind them, into adventure and freedom and Doing Your Own Thing and other big movie clichés – and maybe I’m getting soft in my old age, but I can think of worse heroes for those girls to have.

Spice World isn’t going on my imaginary shelf of Greatest Movies, but it captures a really interesting moment in pop culture history, and an interesting look at feminist ideals, as filtered through and expressed by mainstream entertainers.


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

‘The Wolf of Wall Street’ and an Audience of Sheep

When Jordan says to his staff, “Stratton Oakmont is America,” he wasn’t, as he typically was, full of shit. That was one of the truest statements in the film. … But even if we are adequately critical of the reality of Jordan Belfort’s story, how much can we expect from audiences who, like the audience at the end of the film, want at some level to know Jordan’s secrets?

The-Wolf-of-Wall-Street-Trailer-Wallpaper-poster

Written by Leigh Kolb.

At the end of The Wolf of Wall Street, Jordan Belfort (played by Leonardo DiCaprio) gives a motivational sales speech to an audience. The audience members stare at him, slack-jawed, trying to absorb his infinite sales “wisdom.”

They are revering and listening to a criminal–a man who had been indicted and served time for fraud.

The problem with Martin Scorsese’s treatment of the real Jordan Belfort autobiography isn’t the misogyny. It isn’t the drugs, or the perceived celebration of excess.

Instead, the problem with The Wolf of Wall Street is those slack-jawed (or cheering) audiences who don’t seem to understand that this is meant to be a post-modern morality play. The fact that Scorsese doesn’t adequately “punish” Jordan in the film is necessary, because Jordan wasn’t adequately punished in real life 

That audience at the end of the film? That’s us.

This. (Image via College Humor.)
This. (Image via College Humor.)

 

I suppose it’s easy to miss that, since an aspect of America that’s as important as bootstraps and apple pie is to whitewash a white history that’s been written–or rewritten–by greedy white men. When Jordan says to his staff, “Stratton Oakmont is America,” he wasn’t, as he typically was, full of shit. That was one of the truest statements in the film.

From a feminist perspective, I can understand that the three-hours of objectified and largely one-dimensional female characters can seem overwhelming and disappointing. However, how do we think Jordan Belfort sees women? How do we think Wall Street treated/treats women? Feminists should want to be shown and disgusted by this, because we are supposed to be disgusted with everything in Jordan’s world. Our ire should be pointed toward audiences who don’t get it.

But even if we are adequately critical of the reality of Jordan Belfort’s story, how much can we expect from audiences who, like the audience at the end of the film, want at some level to know Jordan’s secrets?

Cheers.
Cheers.

 

The real tragedy in The Wolf of Wall Street isn’t that it doesn’t pass the Bechdel Test. The tragedy of this film is that it is so real, and that Jordan Belfort is out there, making money, granting interviews, selling his sales techniques, and gaining more and more followers. The reality is what makes me nauseous, not Scorsese and DiCaprio’s treatment of reality. What sent me over the edge was going home and googling “Jordan Belfort,” and then checking my bank account. This is surely how we are supposed to respond–with rage at the injustice of not just Belfort’s case, but also the insidious untouchability of the 1 percent.

In an excellent interview with Deadline, DiCaprio (who also was a producer) says,

I wanted to make an unapologetic film looking at a character in a very entertaining and funny way, and isn’t passing judgment on them but is saying, look, this is obviously a cautionary tale, and what is it that creates people like this? I thought that could somehow be a mirror to ourselves….

That theme has been prevalent in Marty’s work, since Mean Streets. It’s about the pursuit of the American dream, about the re-creation of oneself to achieve that dream, and the hustle that it takes to get there. I see that theme in so many of his films. He’s talking about a darker side of our culture in all these movies, and yet he’s vigilant about not passing judgment on them. He leaves that up to the audience. That’s why it boggles my mind a bit that anyone would ever not realize this is an indictment of that world.

The intent of the filmmakers is clear, and it’s reflected on screen. The humor and lack of judgment has more to do with our culture than with the story itself. And again, if audiences either cheer, or laugh heartily throughout Wolf of Wall Street–they are essentially celebrating a culture that allows this kind of story to happen. If audiences condemn the film itself, I would hope they would instead focus their condemnation on a culture that allows this kind of story to happen and leads audiences to cheer.

In reality, there’s just a little bit of this…
In reality, there’s just a little bit of this…

 

…and then more of this. (But only 22 months of a four-year sentence.)
…and then more of this. (But only 22 months of a four-year sentence.)

 

As the audience at the end of the film is trying to learn something from Jordan Belfort (while further lining his pockets), there’s a distinct sense of hopelessness. DiCaprio points out:

“As we are progressing into the future, things are moving faster and we are way more destructive than we’ve ever been. We have not evolved at all.”

The Wolf of Wall Street is a great film, and features incredible acting. It’s flashy, it’s shiny, it luxuriates in excess while we watch, stunned, powerless. And until we evolve, people will always be laughing and cheering, while desperately seeking Jordan Belfort’s advice.

Film Fall Preview

 


Leigh Kolb is a composition, literature and journalism instructor at a community college in rural Missouri. 

 

‘The Spoils of Babylon’: A Campy Parody of Every Miniseries Ever

Again, I can’t underscore enough how awesome Wiig is as Cynthia. She is a grotesque caricature of a debutante gone wrong and I love it. Her melodrama makes her quite the scene stealer. Her failing in the background makes slow scenes much more entertaining. Plus Devon is kind of dopey, so we need Cynthia’s emotional instability to spice things up a bit.

The Spoils of Babylon promotional poster.
The Spoils of Babylon promotional poster.

Written by Erin Tatum.

I’m not going to lie, The Spoils of Babylon is a really weird show. Admittedly, I only gave it a chance because I have a childhood crush on Tobey Maguire that never died and I’ll watch Kristen Wiig do just about anything. I had only seen promotion for the show on social media, and judging by the dramatic stills, believed it was a serious period piece. Casting Maguire and Wiig as romantic interests for each other also felt bizarre. My misguided assumptions became all the more hilariously ironic as I finally realized the writers’ intentions.

Will Ferrell as Erin Jonrosh.
Will Ferrell as Erin Jonrosh.

The Spoils of Babylon is meant to be a gigantic parody of itself, so outlandishly ridiculous that you can’t help but laugh even if the humor is bad. Will Ferrell sets the tone by framing all the episodes as tipsy and pretentious author Eric Jonrosh, who informs us that the original 22-hour epic has been whittled down into just six half-hour episodes. To be honest, I don’t particularly understand why Will Ferrell or his character is there in the first place, but given the star-studded cast, I think the writers are on a mission to prove how many famous people they can convince to do such a silly project.

The central narrative tells the story of Jonah Morehouse (Tim Robbins), a delusional aspiring oilman. The audience gets an account of the events through the eyes of Devon Morehouse (Maguire), who was spontaneously adopted by Jonah as a boy. Jonah also has a biological daughter, Cynthia (Wiig). Cynthia is portrayed as a shallow, smart-aleck know-it-all even as a child. She convinces a reluctant Devon to give her a kiss despite their newly minted family relationship, an awkward moment that kicks off a lifetime of clumsily avoided sexual tension between the honorary siblings. It seems like everything I’m reviewing lately has an incestuous dynamic in it somewhere. Occasionally I know that going in, but this one was a total accident, I swear!

Devon tries to comfort Cynthia during another halfhearted rejection.
Devon tries to comfort Cynthia during another halfhearted rejection.

Although they start off as fairly average children, Devon and Cynthia grew up to be complete bumbling idiot as adults. Devon is naïvely committed to his father’s business and Cynthia is a stereotypical ditz hellbent on becoming her brother’s trophy wife. I obviously expected sheer comedic gold from Wiig, especially since she excels at playing airheads. I had reservations about Tobey Maguire because I’ve never seen him in anything funny and he kind of has that long faced expression of perpetual wistfulness. Those big sad baby blue eyes! I’m delighted to report that I underestimated him. Devon’s happy-go-lucky optimism and eagerness to please perfectly contrast Jonah’s gruffness. People have made criticisms that he lacks comedic timing, but his flaws are mostly masked by the social ineptitude of his character.

Humor in The Spoils of Babylon is simplistic and cleverly unexpected. The material never hesitates to mock the stuffiness of historical authenticity. (Scene transitions are carried out using plastic cars and cardboard scenery.) Some of the gags drag on a little too long, but by the middle of them I was giggling too much to notice my eventual boredom. For example, Jonah asks Devon to read the sentimental inscription on a pocket watch he gave him. Devon dutifully recites about ten paragraphs, with each sentence having more ludicrously complex vocabulary than the last. Many of the jokes that run out of steam become funny again precisely because they go on forever.

Awkward.
Awkward.

Jonah implausibly finds one bountiful oil well, thrusting the Morehouses into the lap of luxury. It’s now 1941. Devon proves woefully unable to fend off the obsessive sexual aggressions of his sister. Their decision to kiss at last is cringe worthy to say the least. There’s a lot of…licking and sloppy Eskimo kissing. I suppose it’s just as repulsive as you would hope a passionate romantic encounter between two adoptive siblings would be. Adding to the discomfort, their dad has a habit of walking in on them, but he’s gullible and selectively oblivious. Facing pressure from both Jonah and Cynthia, Devon seizes onto the convenient announcement of Pearl Harbor over the radio and decides to go fight for his country. Is that a thing? What about the draft? I know if you were rich you might have been able to buy yourself out of it, but could you voluntarily opt into it as well? Look at me, trying to apply 70-year-old socio-political dynamics to a sketch comedy. This is what I do in my spare time.

Devon with Lady Anne York.
Devon with Lady Anne York.

In an effort to avoid acknowledging his torrid affair with Cynthia, Devon decides to stay in London after the war. He marries Lady Anne York, a mannequin voiced by Carey Mulligan, and brings her back to the States to introduce her to his family. A mannequin is an actual character. This is why this show is great. Anne notices Cynthia’s jealousy and confronts Devon in despair, but Devon seduces her back into bed. The “sex scene” that follows is a hilariously cheesy, uncomfortable montage of facial closeups and moaning. I like that Tobey Maguire isn’t afraid to make fun of himself. The next morning, Anne and Cynthia have a passive aggressive conversation over breakfast in which Anne basically tells Cynthia that she knows about her creepy incest crush and she needs to back the hell off. Cynthia copes with her anger by frantically cutting up almost all the food on the table into tiny pieces on her plate. I laughed out loud. You don’t need elaborate or super-smart jokes as long as you capture quirky mannerisms of everyday life.

Breakfast angst.
Breakfast angst.

Again, I can’t underscore enough how awesome Wiig is as Cynthia. She is a grotesque caricature of a debutante gone wrong and I love it. Her melodrama makes her quite the scene stealer. Her failing in the background makes slow scenes much more entertaining. Plus Devon is kind of dopey, so we need Cynthia’s emotional instability to spice things up a bit.

Sure, The Spoils of Babylon might not have the most universal appeal. Things can get confusing. It’s one of those intentional train wrecks that hooks you in just because you’re in awe of its ridiculousness. Even if you’re a little lost, Maguire and Wiig’s performances alone make it worth the watch. Sit back and enjoy the wine with Eric Jonrosh.