Diablo Cody – Bitch Flicks

‘Jennifer’s Body’ and Bisexuality

We don’t have direct evidence of how Jennifer or Needy would describe their sexual orientations, but ‘Jennifer’s Body’ works as a depiction of the relationship between two young bisexual women. If nothing else, it subverts expectations around gender and sexuality in horror films. … Even when Jennifer and Needy resort to physical violence with each other, their conflict has an erotic, and even romantic, subtext.

This guest post written by Tessa Racked appears as part of our theme week on Bisexual Representation. | Spoilers ahead.

While the feminist merits of the 2009 horror film Jennifer’s Body remain up for debate, there is no denying that it is a standout in its genre for being female-centric. Directed by Karyn Kusama and written by Diablo Cody, Jennifer’s Body follows the story of Jennifer Check (Megan Fox) and Anita “Needy” Lesnicky (Amanda Seyfried), two teenage girls from a small town whose troubled friendship is shaken up when Jennifer is turned into a demon who must feed on human flesh. The film revels in Jennifer’s seduction and consumption of boys, but it simultaneously gives importance to the conflict between her and Needy. The film throws many heteronormative assumptions made by the audience into doubt. Jennifer isn’t afraid to talk about or act on her desire to have sex with men, but the most important relationship in her life is with Needy, and that relationship is eroticized at some key moments, including Jennifer referencing how they used to “play boyfriend-girlfriend.”

In a 2009 interview with The New York Times, Megan Fox describes Jennifer as a “cannibalistic lesbian cheerleader.” We don’t have direct evidence of how Jennifer or Needy would describe their sexual orientations, but Jennifer’s Body works as a depiction of the relationship between two young bisexual women.

If nothing else, Jennifer’s Body subverts expectations around gender and sexuality in horror films. Sexually active young women commonly meet their fates early on at the hands of the antagonist while their innocent/virginal counterparts survive. But as Gaayathri Nair observes in her article “Does Jennifer’s Body Turn the Possession Genre on Its Head?,” “Jennifer’s lack of purity saves her. The fact that she is not actually a virgin means that she gets a second shot at life.” Not only is she more than fodder for the sake of building tension, Jennifer becomes the most powerful character in the film, as Needy goes from her sidekick to her nemesis. Instead of being fueled by revenge or menace, Jennifer’s love/hate relationship with Needy is the driving force behind Jennifer’s Body. A competitive tension exists between their relationship and how they relate to the male characters that suggests an equal emotional, and even erotic, importance to their connection to each other.

When Needy introduces us to the setting of Devil’s Kettle High School, we see a scene of her watching Jennifer performing with the flag team from the bleachers. The setting and camera work — alternating between and slowly pushing in on Jennifer and Needy — acts as a visual homage to the cheerleader routine sequence from American Beauty. However, instead of emphasizing voyeurism and fantasy, as in the American Beauty scene, we see Jennifer and Needy smiling and waving, connected and mutually happy to see each other. Any potential voyeurism is also undermined by a classmate sitting behind Needy, who describes her relationship with Jennifer as “totally lesbi-gay.” The depth of the two girls’ connection reveals itself to be borderline supernatural even before the occult aspects of the film are introduced, when Needy senses Jennifer’s arrival to her house before we hear her at the door. “That’s fucking weird,” Needy’s boyfriend Chip (Johnny Simmons) comments.

When Jennifer becomes a demon, her bizarre behavior (including the murders) strains Needy’s love for her, but also intensifies their connection. The one actual sex scene in the film, between Needy and Chip, is cross-cut with Jennifer killing and eating Colin (Kyle Gallner). Not only does this equate Jennifer’s consumption of a male body with the more conventional eroticism of Needy and Chip having sex because they love each other, but the two scenes blend together as Needy has visions of blood seeping through her ceiling, and a demonic Jennifer standing over a previous victim. “I need you hopeless,” Jennifer growls at her prey, as Needy begins to whisper “hopeless” over and over, without seeming to know why. Even when trying to satisfy their hunger or connect with someone else, they can’t separate from each other.

Jennifer poses a threat to the young men of Devil’s Kettle, but Jennifer’s Body pushes male characters to the side, relegating them to tropes often embodied by women or other historically marginalized groups. In the beginning of the film, Jennifer refers to men as “morsels;” even before she literally eats them, she views men who she wants to sleep with as disposable objects for her consumption. Roman (Chris Pratt), Jonas (Josh Emerson), Ahmet (Aman Johal), and Colin are Jennifer’s prey, brought into her story so that she can exercise power and prestige both before she becomes a demon (Roman is a police academy cadet, which Jennifer claims gives her legal immunity) and after (she feeds on classmates Ahmet, Jonas, and Colin to replenish her powers). In the extended cut, Needy tries to reason with Jennifer, stating that they need to look for a cure so she can stop “killing people.” “No, I’m killing boys,” Jennifer responds, “Boys are placeholders. They come and they go.” Where characters who wield threatening magic in horror films are usually from marginalized groups — for example, the stereotype of a Romani woman cursing someone — Jennifer’s Body has Low Shoulder, the good-looking, white, male indie rock band who turn Jennifer into a demon as a side-effect of their quest to be “rich and awesome like that guy from Maroon 5.” And then there’s Chip, who takes on the role of the dutiful if clueless partner who needs saving from the supernatural threat in the third act.

If Jennifer were purely a stereotypical bisexual seductress sprung from a heteropatriarchal imagination, she would use erotic interaction between herself and Needy as an accessory to appear more attractive to the male gaze. Instead, Jennifer performs heterosexuality to get a response from Needy. Jennifer agrees to go on a date with Colin after Needy says that she thinks he’s cool, and threatens Needy by stating that she finds Chip attractive, intimating that she is going to fuck, kill, and eat him. In a role that is often filled by an attractive female character, Chip becomes a battleground between Jennifer and Needy.

Jennifer, Needy, and Chip’s dynamic allows space in the film for sexual attraction between characters of both same and other genders. If the film were to go with heteronormative expectations, Jennifer and Needy would be vying with each other for Chip’s affections. Rather, Jennifer and Chip are vying with each other for Needy’s time and attention.

Jennifer and Needy have been best friends since early childhood (“sandbox love,” as Needy calls it), and Jennifer doesn’t have much of an interest in supporting her friend’s romantic relationship. In the first conversation we see between them, Jennifer convinces Needy to ditch Chip and go to Low Shoulder’s show with her. In the next scene, Needy gets dressed to meet Jennifer’s specifications (“I could show my stomach but never my cleavage. Tits were her trademark.”), while Chip sullenly criticizes the low cut of her jeans from the background. Jennifer asks if they’ve been “fucking,” to which Needy giggles and calls her “gross.” Jennifer then indulges in some gloating as the two girls leave together. “You’re just jello because you’re not invited…” she tells Chip, “You’re lime green jello and you can’t even admit it to yourself.” “Stop kidnapping my girlfriend,” Chip responds helplessly. Chip’s insecurity about his standing with Needy is his Achilles heel. Jennifer isn’t able to seduce him as easily as Jonas or Colin, but she is able to lower his defenses by telling him that Needy cheated on him.

Jennifer sees the female body as a weapon. She tells Needy that her breasts are “like smart bombs: point them in the right direction and shit gets real.” Jennifer receives an array of powers when she comes back as a succubus, but also becomes more aggressive, both sexually and overall. She makes rude, callous comments about the Melody Lane Fire and its victims; she uses her beauty and sexuality to lure her victims into secluded areas where she can kill and eat them. It would only make sense that she would use her body as a weapon against Needy once the conflict between them surfaces. And the conflict between them is definitely eroticized, but their preexisting close relationship adds a layer of depth to the violence that is not present when Jennifer hunts her prey.

After resurrecting as a succubus, Jennifer shows up at Needy’s house, covered in blood but smiling at her friend (albeit creepily). I imagine that being sacrificed to the devil and coming back to earth as a demon would leave one a little punch-drunk, but considering that Jennifer recounts later that “[she] woke up and [she] found her way back to [Needy],” it could be a smile of relief to see her friend. She pushes Needy against a wall and nips at her neck, both alluring and terrifying. After she eats Colin, Jennifer turns up in Needy’s bed (literally) and tries to seduce her. Although Needy stops her, the scene is shot quite differently from Jennifer’s seduction of Jonas or Colin, or Needy and Chip’s sex scene. There’s no distracting humor, such as Chip’s inexperience in putting on a condom, or the wild animals that flock to Jennifer’s presence when she’s in seduction mode. Instead of dialogue or soundtrack, the sound cuts out completely. The sequence also includes extreme close-ups of their lips and backs. These factors all give their make out scene a more intimate, sensual tone than their sexual encounters with boys.

Jennifer’s reasons for trying to seduce Needy are never clearly outlined, but given that she had just fed on Colin and is at the height of her powers and confidence, it’s likely that she is reveling in her abilities by exerting control over Needy, or using their interaction as a celebratory indulgence. However, considering that this scene also includes her mentioning that they used to “play boyfriend-girlfriend,” and that Needy is active in their kissing before pushing Jennifer away, we are led to believe that there is some precedent in the two having sexual feelings for each other.

Even when Jennifer and Needy resort to physical violence with each other, their conflict has an erotic, and even romantic, subtext. When Needy tries to save Chip from being eaten, we get an exchange that is the closest the film comes to explicitly identifying either of them as bisexual. When Jennifer threatens to “eat [her] soul and shit it out,” Needy tells her, “I thought you only murdered boys.” “I go both ways,” Jennifer responds. This is a Diablo Cody script, smothered in sarcasm and quips, but given the prevalence of bisexual erasure, at least we have a little text to accompany the subtext.

Their final fight begins with Needy gazing through a bedroom window at Jennifer, reminiscent of a typically masculine fetishistic role of voyeur (and Jennifer’s role of hunter). They grapple with each other in bed: Needy straddles Jennifer, who calls her “butch” for using a box cutter as her weapon. Jennifer begins to use her powers to levitate, but when Needy sees the matching BFF necklace from Jennifer’s neck, she becomes vulnerable for a moment and they fall back to the mattress in an oddly sensual slow-motion shot. It’s only when Needy metaphorically stabs Jennifer through the heart that she gets the opportunity to literally do so as well. But even death can’t separate Jennifer and Needy from each other: Needy’s narration informs us during the denouement that some of Jennifer’s demon powers transferred to her when she was bitten during their final showdown. The end credits document a more powerful, vengeful Needy unleashing a satisfyingly bloody revenge on Low Shoulder.

Jennifer and Needy’s relationship is not a very healthy one, characterized by a power imbalance even before Jennifer gains her demonic abilities. The supernatural forces at play in Jennifer’s Body serve as a metaphor for Jennifer’s narcissism, as well as forcing the tension in their relationship to the surface. But even if their friendship isn’t allowing them to be their best selves, their love for each other proves to be the driving force in the film, giving the audience a level of emotional engagement deeper than a conflict for survival between a human and a force of evil. By giving attention both to what Needy and Jennifer want and pursue out of sexual relationships with boys and delving into the romantic and sexual component of their relationship with each other, the film gives enough space to their emotional lives to depict desire for characters of both same and other genders.

Films are imbued with amazing powers when they delve into female characters beyond the depictions of prey and love interests. In the case of Jennifer’s Body, LGBTQ audience members can see an aspect of themselves reflected on the screen.

See also at Bitch Flicks:

Does Jennifer’s Body Turn the Possession Genre on Its Head?
Jennifer’s Body: The Sexuality of Female Possession and How the Devil Didn’t Need to Make Her Do It
From Ginger Snaps to Jennifer’s Body: The Contamination of Violent Women

Tessa Racked writes about depictions of fat people in cinema at Consistent Panda Bear Shape and displays Diablo Cody-level feats of wit on Twitter @tessa_racked.

From ‘Ginger Snaps’ to ‘Jennifer’s Body’: The Contamination of Violent Women

Thematically, ‘Jennifer’s Body’ mirrors ‘Ginger Snaps’ in many respects: the disruption of suburban or small town life, the intersection between female sexuality and violence, the close relationship between two teen girls at the films’ centers, and—perhaps most strikingly—the contagious nature of violence in women.

This guest post by Julia Patt appears as part of our theme week on Violent Women.

“Hell is a teenage girl.” So Anita “Needy” Lesnicki (Amanda Seyfried) informs us in the opening voiceover monologue of Jennifer’s Body.

At first glance, it’s kind of a throwaway tagline sort of quote reminiscent of Mean Girls or Heathers. Teenage girls are the worst—they might even be evil, but just “high school evil,” to borrow another line from Diablo Cody’s highly quotable script for Jennifer’s Body. But we should note that the line isn’t, “The devil is a teenage girl” or “Teenage girls are demons.” Rather: “Hell is a teenage girl.” Which suggests not only evil, but also suffering. Teenage girls may make other people suffer but, more than that, they suffer profoundly themselves. And although Needy’s flashback indicates she’s thinking about her friend, Jennifer Check (Megan Fox), when she makes this observation, her present tense delivery and its placement in the script at least suggest the possibility that she’s also thinking about herself.

Megan Fox as Jennifer Check

Jennifer’s Body comes from a long, proud tradition of possession movies about women, particularly young women, from The Exorcist to Paranormal Activity. But given the conspicuous absence of old priests and young priests—indeed any mention of exorcism at all—the film’s closest analogue is, I’d argue, its pre-9/11 sister movie and cult werewolf flick, Ginger Snaps. Thematically, Jennifer’s Body mirrors Ginger Snaps in many respects: the disruption of suburban or small town life, the intersection between female sexuality and violence, the close relationship between two teen girls at the films’ centers, and—perhaps most strikingly—the contagious nature of violence in women.

Look familiar?

Ginger Snaps takes place in a Canadian suburb called Bailey Downs, where a mysterious creature, the Beast of Bailey Downs, has been picking off house pets, mainly dogs. The movie begins with the discovery of another such canine victim, but the attacks happen with enough frequency that, aside from the hysterical owner, no one bats an eye at this newest fatality. Other than the beast, the community is distressingly normal to the film’s two protagonists, Brigitte (Emily Perkins) and Ginger (Katharine Isabelle) Fitzgerald, who as children vowed to be “out by 16 or dead in this scene, but together forever.” Ginger at least appears to have opted for the latter option, as the sisters’ first scene together is a lengthy discussion and staging of various forms of suicide, which they put together as a photo slideshow for class. Although Ginger hails suicide as the “ultimate fuck you,” Brigitte is markedly less certain, worrying aloud that people will just laugh at her in her casket, her death having changed nothing.

Excellent show-and-tell project

There is of course much about the Fitzgerald sisters’ plan that conforms to the status quo. Suicide is an undeniably violent act, but it’s a self-directed violence, physically harming only the sisters and expected of women whom society views as predominantly nonviolent towards others. Given the abandonment of “out by 16,” it seems evident, too, that the sisters have succumbed to what they believe to be an inalterable, futile situation. They have no power to truly challenge the structures that make them so miserable. That is, until the Beast of Bailey Downs, a werewolf, attacks Ginger and she begins to change.

That the change happens simultaneously with puberty—her first menstrual cycle literally begins on the night she’s bitten—only heightens the sense of power Ginger now feels. Although still a weird Fitzgerald sister, her sexual appeal only increases throughout the movie until she fully transforms. This on its own is insufficient to manifest as a disruption. Ginger’s male classmates are only too happy to view her as a sexual object, albeit a slightly unsettling one. Even her confidence is unthreatening as long as it is confined to the context of their own desires. No, the difficulty is that Ginger remains unsatisfied and is no longer content to be so.

Unfortunately, nothing in this aisle for lycanthropy

In Jennifer’s Body, Needy and Jennifer play somewhat different roles in an otherwise familiar setting. Rural Devil’s Kettle, named for an unusual waterfall, may differ geographically from Bailey Downs but the sense of limitation and confinement remains. At the beginning of the film, Jennifer urges Needy to come to a concert with her because the band, Low Shoulder, is from the city. Her desire to leave Devil’s Kettle is evident in her enthusiasm, a fact Needy appears to wistfully recognize as they watch Low Shoulder perform at the local drinking hole. But Jennifer is no social outcast in the vein of the Fitzgerald sisters. She is, as Needy unnecessarily informs us, “a babe.” And though she characterizes herself as a dork in comparison, Needy herself hardly qualifies as a weirdo. “We were our yearbook photos,” she explains in her voiceover. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

Hard to make Amanda Seyfried look “dorky” but they tried

Jennifer and Needy’s desires similarly do not disturb societal structures. Even Jennifer, extremely cognizant of her sexual powers, is ultimately unthreatening. She is not much of a party girl either, saying longingly at the bar: “I can’t wait until I’m old enough to get trashed.” In other words, she plays by the rules. And despite her assertive attitude, willingness to manipulate men, and apparent confidence, the right sort of masculinity is enough to overcome her. This is painfully evident in her interactions with Nikolai, the lead singer of Low Shoulder, who continues to fascinate her, even after he insults Jennifer and the town.

Satanists with awesome haircuts

In fact, Nikolai brutally uses Jennifer’s desire for and idealization of the outside world against her. After a fire breaks out in the bar, killing several people, she and Needy flee through the bathroom window. Outside, Nikolai finds them and leads Jennifer away to the band’s van—the last time Needy will see her alive, as the members of Low Shoulder intend to sacrifice her in exchange for their commercial success. (It’s a hard world for an indie band. They’re just all so pretty.) When Jennifer appears again, covered in blood, she is possessed by a demon—and as with Ginger, her desires can no longer be sated by ordinary means. As Devil’s Kettle becomes a place of tragedy, Jennifer transforms into an agent of gleeful destruction, lusting not for attention or boys or society dictates for a teenage girl, but rather for power, violence, and fear.

The new Jennifer doesn’t care about gender roles

Ginger comes to a similar conclusion about her longing. “I get this ache,” she confesses to Brigitte. “I thought it was for sex, but it’s to tear everything to fucking pieces.” This conflation between sex and violence is hardly unique to Ginger Snaps or Jennifer’s Body, but the emphasis on female sexuality and female power subvert our expectations in the violent scenes. Nor are these neat, orderly killings—both Ginger and Jennifer tear open and partially consume their victims. These films are bloody and that blood belongs almost exclusively to men. Of the two, Ginger is much more erratic in her selection of victims, striking out mostly at male authority figures as they threaten her. This is fitting for her affliction and the gradual nature of her change, which, in an unusual twist on the werewolf trope, happens over the course of the month until the full moon instead of all in one night.

Jennifer, conversely, makes a full transition to her new undead, possessed state of being although her feeding patterns notably also occur on a monthly schedule as the life forces of her victims wane. As a hungry demon, as Needy points out, Jennifer appears remarkably like a woman in the throws of PMS: “She gets weak and cranky and ugly.” Being full, Jennifer explains, is an incredible high—and she’s basically indestructible. It’s no wonder that each month she seduces and consumes another boy after the juice from the last runs out. Externally, this does not manifest as a large behavioral shift. Jennifer is flirty, appealing, and deliberately submissive as she lures in her next meal. The difference is she no longer figuratively attains her sense of self-worth from her conquests—they are literally making her more beautiful and powerful.

Confidence is terrifying

We can understand why Ginger and Jennifer become so insatiable and simultaneously why their hunger appears so monstrous in the context of patriarchal society. Their love of killing makes them a serious threat. It’s the full realization of their powers and the traditional means by which they might be subdued—control over their self-image, social standing or physical wellbeing—no longer work. For the first time in their lives, both are completely uninhibited. They are free to want. There is something almost laudable about their transformations, too; they’ve gone from almost certain victims to powerful killers. And it’s all the more telling that we can characterize both films as macabre comedies as well as horror flicks; they are often as funny as they are frightening and their delight in the upending of social convention is palpable.

But it is the way of horror that normalcy often reasserts itself and the monster is destroyed. In the case of both Ginger Snaps and Jennifer’s Body, the agent of that destruction is not a man but another teenage girl—and not just any girl, but a literal or metaphorical sister.

Inseparable…until one of us gets bitten by a werewolf

Ginger’s relationship with her sister remains the only reliable element in her life, although her encroaching transformation certainly strains it, as she abandons, threatens, and ignores her at various turns. It’s clear from the outset that their relationship has always been one of distinct inequality with Ginger as the leader and Brigitte the follower. Brigitte, who grows more assertive as the story progresses, is determined to find a cure for her sister’s condition and teams up with local drug dealer and apparent lycanthrope enthusiast Sam. However, this new alliance irritates Ginger, who as they go to consult with him drolly remarks, “Romeo, Romeo, where for art thou, Romeo?” In fact, although there is real affection at the heart of their relationship, Ginger is undeniably possessive and jealous regarding Brigitte, accusing even the school’s elderly janitor of checking out her sister and then killing him in a fit of werewolf-induced rage. Neither is it accidental that Sam becomes her intended target, as she first attempts to seduce him and then attacks him when that fails. However, she does not target Brigitte until the very end of the film, at which point Brigitte resigns herself to killing Ginger in self-defense.

There are striking similarities in the relationship between Needy and Jennifer. Jennifer is often possessive and controlling of the weaker-willed and aptly named Needy. But they genuinely care for one another, as Needy observes, because, “Sandbox love never dies.” Despite her altered state, Jennifer avoids harming her friend, even when the demon inside her would clearly be glad to rip her to pieces, too. Instead, Jennifer settles for consuming the boys around Needy, including her goth friend, Colin, and her boyfriend, Chip. This last murder drives Needy to finally take action against Jennifer and the two exchange barbed insults in two confrontations that eventually result in Jennifer’s death. Needy flatly exposes Jennifer’s insecurities, revealing a dynamic that has subtly developed over the course of the film: Needy is the stronger and more capable of the two.

Jennifer confides in Needy

It is tempting to read these two endings as a reassertion of patriarchal values in the vein of conservative horror: the well-behaved, sensible girl saves the day and survives to tell the tale while the sex-crazed, uninhibited female monster is destroyed. This is accurate but for two facts: the tragedy of our two heroines and the contagion of violence. Brigitte and Needy are devastated by what they have to do, both visibly mourning the women they loved. For them, these moments are personal, not political. It’s worth asking if they would have intervened at all had Ginger and Jennifer ranged farther afield. Both look for other solutions; both permit at least one person to die despite what they know; both keep the confidences given to them. At the end of Ginger Snaps, Brigitte leans over the body of her transformed sister and sobs; having killed Jennifer, Needy is broken, bitter, and changed, spending her days in a mental health institution for criminals. Neither looks much like a heroine of the patriarchy; neither returns to the strictures of society.

Not so Needy anymore

And both are marked in more significant ways. Brigitte deliberately infects herself to gain Ginger’s cooperation. Jennifer scratches Needy as they struggle, thus communicating some of her demonic powers to her friend, a fact Needy reveals at the end of the film as she levitates out of solitary confinement and escapes. Although Ginger Snaps 2: Unleashed show us more of Brigitte’s fate—which also involves institutionalization—it’s unclear at the end of the first movie what the outcome of her infection will be. Jennifer’s Body gives us rather more, because Needy has one thing on her mind: revenge. The closing credits of the film reveal the gruesome deaths of Low Shoulder, and security footage shows Needy strolling towards their hotel room, her intent unmistakable.

Brigitte and Needy’s reactions remind us what we might forget over the course of these films: both Ginger and Jennifer are victims. They did not intentionally become what they are. But their survival makes them strong, even as it changes them in other more horrific ways. Those changes and that power are, the films seem to suggest, communicable. And despite their destruction, something of what they’ve gained persists in the women who love them and survive. Although the immediate threat may have passed, the possibility for further violence lingers.

Julia Patt is a writer from Maryland. She also edits 7×20, a journal of twitter literature, and is a regular contributor to VProud.tv and tatestreet.org. Follow her on twitter: https://twitter.com/chidorme

Meryl Streep Has a Blast in ‘Ricki and the Flash’ and You Will Too

Meryl Streep is having the time of her life in ‘Ricki and the Flash’ — playing rock star, acting alongside her daughter Mamie Gummer, macking on Rick Springfield, and wearing leather pants. Her joy is infectious, and lends an overall lighthearted tone to what could be a very sad movie about estranged families.

Written by Robin Hitchcock.

Meryl Streep is having the time of her life in Ricki and the Flash — playing rock star, acting alongside her daughter Mamie Gummer, macking on Rick Springfield, and wearing leather pants. Her joy is infectious, and lends an overall lighthearted tone to what could be a very sad movie about estranged families.

Streep plays Ricki Randazzo, formerly known as Linda Brummer back in her square suburban mother days. She left her marriage and her three children to escape intractable dissatisfaction; basically, imagine if Streep’s character in Kramer vs. Kramer went on to become frontwoman for a dive bar’s house band.

Ricki’s life is far from perfect: she struggles to get by with her cashier job at a Whole Foods stand-in, she won’t commit to her boyfriend/lead guitarist Greg, but she doesn’t seem to regret her life or her choices.

Then: a phone call. Her daughter Julie’s husband has abruptly left for her for another woman. She’s falling apart and “needs her mother,” a role Ricki hasn’t played in decades.

Mamie Gummer is fantastic in her role as Julie. She genuinely portrays the devastating depression of grief while milking plenty of humor from her character having absolutely zero fucks left to give. Streep and her daughter perfectly utilize their natural chemistry as Julie’s inability to play at normalcy jibes with Ricki’s counterculture vibe, both sticking out awkwardly behind the Brummer’s white picket fence.

There’s a fantastically tense dinner where Ricki’s also reunited with her sons Josh (Sebastian Stan) and Adam (Nick Westrate), who are revealed by Julie to be respectively engaged and gay, though they haven’t felt moved to tell their biological mother either of those things. As strained as Julie and Ricki’s relationship is, there’s a wider chasm between Ricki and her sons.

Even though Ricki does bond with Julie and with her ex-husband Pete (Kevin Kline), Diablo Cody’s smart script avoids excessive sentimentality; it is clear that Ricki can never make up for lost time, and that her children will always have a family she’s not entirely a part of, including their seemingly perfect stepmother Maureen (Audra McDonald). Maureen is stunningly polite and kind when she basically kicks Ricki out of her house, and subsequently reaches out to Ricki with an invite to Josh’s wedding. I really liked seeing these two women not hate each other despite their obvious conflict, and Audra McDonald is really good in her few scenes.

At the big wedding in the end, everyone gets along despite some awkward moments, and when Ricki and the Flash crash the wedding stage (sorry, other band!) they get all the uptight rich people in their boogie shoes. (The third act felt a bit like a condensed version of director Jonathan Demme’s previous wedding movie, Rachel Getting Married.) We know it can’t really be happily ever after for this family, but there is hope for much-less-unhappily ever after.

A significant portion of the film’s run time is Ricki’s band rocking out, so if that’s not your jam, you might get bored (my husband sure did). But director Jonathan Demme has made some incredible concert movies (Stop Making Sense and Neil Young: Heart of Gold), and he puts those talents to use here. And giving the band significant screen time allows us to see the joy in Ricki’s life, so she’s not just some pathetic deadbeat mother who ruined her life. And also lets us see Meryl Streep sing “Bad Romance,” which is worth the price of admission.

Ricki and the Flash is not a movie of great consequence, but it is nearly perfect for what it is. Unless you’re a weirdo like my husband who hates rock ‘n’ roll, you should see it.

Robin Hitchcock is a writer based in Pittsburgh who was born in the same hospital as Meryl Streep.

Seed & Spark: Why Men Need More Female Storytellers

As I move closer to publicly putting three generations of our multicultural family’s racial situations into a film, I think back to the valuable lessons I’ve also gleaned from five female storytellers that have made me a better male and male storyteller.

This is a guest post by Jason Cuthbert.

I am a man who has zero problems admitting that we have been wrongfully taught to believe that males should do all the thinking and women can only do all the feeling. But we all do all the thinking; it’s just us guys that unfortunately ignore those tingly emotions. But if boys and men don’t have real life feminine angels to bless their development like I did, they will need to turn to female storytellers to unlearn the wrong ways to treat women in life and in fiction: those people that so graciously carried every single human being in their bodies for 3/4ths of a year.

I am taking great pride in directing a true story featuring the first two leading ladies of my life: my mother and sister in Colouring Book: The Mixed Race Documentary. As I move closer to publicly putting three generations of our multicultural family’s racial situations into a film, I think back to the valuable lessons I’ve also gleaned from five female storytellers that have made me a better male and male storyteller.

Ava DuVernay

Way before it was ever announced that Ava DuVernay would become my choice for Best Director when she rose her head high above the hills of Mount Hollywood with her Martin Luther King drama Selma – we followed each other on Twitter. I completely appreciate this digital window into her very personal filmmaking process. By adding Ava’s prolific 140 character-or-less points of view to my Twitter timeline, I shared her victory as the first African-American to win Best Director at the Sundance Film Festival for Middle of Nowhere. I watched as she erected her African American Film Releasing Movement (AFFRM) to assist storytellers from a similar experience, building audiences for Big Words and Vanishing Pearls before my very eyes.

There were also those deep DuVernay tweets of solidarity during the Trayvon Martin horror show and the #Ferguson demand for justice. Then my inspiration reached above the clouds when Ava DuVernay began sharing her research trips, production updates and promotional runs as the director and co-writer of Selma. Whether it is a love story in her hometown of Compton, or passionately portraying the biggest figure of the Civil Rights movement, DuVernay has taught me the importance of making cinema personal. If a piece of me isn’t in the work…it aint working.

Diablo Cody

I admittedly was more than fashionably late to the Diablo Cody party that started off with stripper tales told in her popular blog. But once I happily suffered from unapologetic laughing fits in front of complete strangers while watching Cody’s story Juno, I was instantly in awe of this Academy Award winner’s whimsical way with words. I loved how the bold “Diablo Dialect” vomited out of her character’s mouths with zero fear of being considered pretentious. This inventive keyboard killer wielded words that were born to be reincarnated as bumper stickers and t-shirts.

Juno defied stereotypes: she was not brainless, half naked or waiting to be rescued. She was a young mother-to-be that was actually striving to be responsible and take ownership of her actions. These coming-of-age elements normally get traded out for fart jokes and keg parties. But Cody with the devilish first name taught me the importance of coloring outside of the lines and to not be afraid of writing a script that feels like I had way too much fun concocting it.

Sarah Polley

While developing the structure for my first full-length film: Colouring Book: The Mixed Race Documentary, I rewatched Sarah Polley’s super brilliant documentary-within-a–documentary-with-a-taste-of-lime: Stories We Tell. It carries a similar approach to Colouring Book in that I will also be the Sarah Polley narrator in my doc, probably making my family just as uncomfortable with my personal questions like she did.

I love how Sarah Polley uses humor when things get serious while getting us misty-eyed moments later. Polley taught me that documentaries don’t have to stay reluctantly chained to the wall as dusty talking head book reports. You are allowed to incorporate hybrid meta-dramatic approaches and peek-a-boo “its just a movie” moments while you arrive at the truth.

Kathryn Bigelow

As the director of explosive hard-hitting thrillers like Point Break, The Hurt Locker, and Zero Dark Thirty, Kathryn Bigelow refuses to drop to her knees before the feet of gender stereotypes. I dare you to find a single romantic comedy on her report card as of today’s date. Kathryn Bigelow has educated me on the idea that if a protagonist is going to be really violent then there has to be more than just courage and a brain inside that soldier of misfortunate – there needs to be a beating heart.

Bigelow’s opinion on being a female director, or more accurately, a director who just happens to be a female can be summed up in one of Kathryn Bigelow’s many fine quotes: “If there’s specific resistance to women making movies, I just choose to ignore that as an obstacle for two reasons: I can’t change my gender, and I refuse to stop making movies.”

Francesca D’Amico

The female storyteller I have actually learned the most from is Francesca D’ Amico – the producer of Colouring Book: The Mixed Race Documentary. When I brainstorm out loud or quietly deliver thoughts in cell phone texts, she isn’t brutally honest–she is soothingly honest. She puts my imagination at ease with her clearly drawn reasons to bring a concept to life, or drop a bad idea off the face of the Earth–fast!

Francesca cares about everyone’s feelings and it is her self-less compassion for everyone who will ever exist that has helped to organically attract people to our documentary. I’ve learned from Francesca D’Amico that those silent emotional connections between human beings are little timeless stories of eternal universal truth. If the audience can’t relate to the characters on a primal level, no amount of glamour will remove how useless the story will be.

Jason Cuthbert is a screenwriter, writer and the biracial (African Trinidadian and Caucasian American) creator, director and co-producer of Colouring Book: The Mixed Race Documentary, a full-length film comparison of multiculturalism in the United States to Canada, paralleled by the exploration of Jason Cuthbert’s own mixed race experience.

For more information on Colouring Book: The Mixed Race Documentary:

Jason’s Twitter: @A2Jason

Francesca’s Twitter: @HipHopScholar82

Colouring Book’s Twitter: @ColouringBk

Website: ColouringBook.info

Support: http://www.seedandspark.com/studio/colouring-book-productions

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This film is a fucking bitchy breath of fresh air.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

________________________

______________________________________________________________________________

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 Way We Talk: Cody’s ‘Paradise’ and Hess’ ‘Austenland’

When the trailers for Jerusha Hess’ Austenland and Diablo Cody’s Paradise first premiered, there was a lot of talk about the two young female directors and their debut films. Each woman had good credits, Cody for writing the academy award-winning script for Juno, and Hess for her work on the surprising cult-hit, Napoleon Dynamite.

At first, the hype was positive; Cody would hopefully turn out another witty conglomerate of social insight and angsty sarcasm and Hess might bring a quirky, women’s-focused comedy to the table.

Written by Rachel Redfern

When the trailers for Jerusha Hess’ Austenland and Diablo Cody’s Paradise first premiered, there was a lot of talk about the two young female directors and their debut films. Each woman had good credits–Cody for writing the academy award-winning script for Juno, and Hess for her work on the surprising cult-hit Napoleon Dynamite.

At first, the hype was positive; Cody would hopefully turn out another witty conglomerate of social insight and angsty sarcasm and Hess might bring a quirky, women-focused comedy to the table.

[youtube_sc url=”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Blu3_Mxpimc”]

And then they each released a bit more information about their projects: Cody’s Paradise was a story of a young Christian woman recovering from a plane who decides to sample the pleasures of the world in Las Vegas. And Hess’ Austenland featured an obsessed Austen fan who travels to England to live out her unrealistic romantic fantasies in an Austen theme park.

Instantly, the tone surrounding the two films changed; Paradise would be an edgier piece with great commentary about the loss of innocence, whereas Austenland would be a fluffy rehash of romantic clichés.

[youtube_sc url=”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KbHr8YyjSlg”]

In the world of “women’s film,” the conversation can move quickly from one of support, to one of derision. Even just a film’s association with a topic normally seen as “girly” is instantly belittled and pushed to the background. A shame, since Jane Austen’s insight into social classes and wealth make her still relevant today, and some of her writings included fabulous satire about over-indulgent romantic media. By extension, Austenland had some true potential for meta-commentary about romantic comedies and the dangers of “fandom.”

Unfortunately, both films have disappointed critics, box office sales, and audiences—neither film proving to be original, funny or insightful (or apparently, even well-acted).

But the worst part is, setbacks like these always take female directing down a bit, proving fodder for those who make quippy remarks about how women “just aren’t funny,” and can’t really direct. With only 11% of Hollywood directors being women, we still under-represent half the population going to see movies in a big way, and it’s always sad to see young directors struggling after only one film.

But, hopefully, Hess and Cody won’t give up, and instead, will return with new stunningly original characters and winning comedy. We need it.

What do you think? Did you enjoy Paradise or Austenland? How will this impact female directors in the future? Can they bounce back from these two flops?

Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

From a Saudi Arabian female filmmaker to loving your body to privilege–check out what we’ve been reading about this week! What have you been reading/writing this week? Tell us in the comments!

Saudi Arabian Film “Wadjda” Quietly Subverts and Stuns by Sarah Mirk at Bitch Media

The Big O: How Sandra Bullock Found Her Own Sense of Gravity by Susan Wloszczyna at Women and Hollywood

Homeland and Mental Illness by Melissa McEwan at Shakesville

The Female Anti-Hero in “Masters of Sex” by Alyssa Rosenberg at Bitch Media

Fanboys Don’t Like Black Widow’s ‘Huge’ Role in the Avengers Sequel by Alexander Abad-Santos at The Atlantic Wire

Why ‘It’s Like a 13-Hour Movie’ Fails to Do Justice to Great TV by Ronan Doyle at Indiewire

Women Film Pioneers Project at Columbia University

Meet Chris Nee, creator of Disney’s “Doc McStuffins” by Lorena Ruiz at msnbc

Quote of the Day: Jennifer Lawrence to Hollywood’s Diet Police “Go F*** Yourself” by Kerensa Cadenas at Women and Hollywood

Natalie Portman On The Real Meaning of Feminism at Huffington Post

The Feministing Five: Mariska Hargitay by Suzanna at Feministing

Fox Buys Diablo Cody/Fake Empire Drama by Nellie Andreeva at Deadline Hollywood

OWN: Oprah Winfrey Network Presents Special Night of Programming on Being Gay in America by Tambay A. Obenson at Shadow and Act

Stars Bring Laughter, Tears to Variety’s Power of Women Luncheon by AJ Marechal at Variety

Loving Your Body in the Age of Patriarchy by Sam at Autostraddle

Why We Still Need to Talk About Privilege by Jamilah King at Colorlines

Stop Dismissing Young Female Musicians as “Inauthentic” by Carl Wilson at Slate

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

Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

Women and Minorities Snubbed by TV Academy’s Hall of Fame by Chris Beachum via Gold Derby

Lena Dunham and Democratic Nudity by Ta-Nehisi Coates via The Atlantic

Diablo Cody on the Challenge of Directing While Raising a Toddler, and Women in Film (Q&A) by Jordan Zakarin via The Hollywood Reporter

The Liz Lemon Effect by Jen Chaney via Slate

An Observation by Melissa McEwan via Shakesville

2013 Women-Created TV Pilots by Karensa Cadenas via Women and Hollywood

“Girls,” “Scandal,” and TV’s New Crop of Flawed Women by Sarah Seltzer via RH Reality Check

Bollywood Actress Sonam Kapoor on Women’s Portrayal in Indian Movies by Nyay Bhushan via The Hollywood Reporter

Feminism, King Arthur, and Disney Come Together in ‘Avalon High’ by Margot Magowan via Reel Girl

Reel Girl’s Gallery of Girls Gone Missing from Children’s Movies in 2013 via Women and Hollywood

What ‘Girls’ and ‘Shameless’ Teach Us about Being Broke, and Being Poor by Nona Willis Aronowitz via The Nation

Sundance 2013: Female Directors Discuss the Challenges They Face by John Horn via The Los Angeles Times

2012 Celluloid Ceiling Study Results Are In. Spoiler Alert: They Aren’t Great by Melissa Silverstein and Karensa Cadenas via Women and Hollywood

Where Are the Girls in Children’s Media? by Laura Beck via Jezebel

Chatting With Diablo Cody About Film, Feminism, and the Right to Be Mediocre by Katrina Pallop via Bust Magazine

‘Mama’ Tackles the Psychotic Mother Trope and Makes It Less Problematic in the Process by Alex Cranz via FemPop

MTV’s ‘Catfish’ Show Tackles Fake Online Profiles, Villainizes Transgender Women: #Fail by Breanne Harris via QWOC Media

‘Girl with the Dragon Tattoo’ Sequel Could Ditch Daniel Craig, Feature Female Lead Instead by Jill Pantozzi via The Mary Sue

Hollywood — Don’t They Want the Money? by Martha Lauzen via Women’s Media Center

A Black Feminist Comment on ‘The Sisterhood,’ the Black Church, Rachetness, and Geist by Tamura A. Lomax via Racialicious

5 Female Characters Who Should Star in ‘Star Wars Episode VII’ by Alyssa Rosenberg via ThinkProgress

Thank You, Liz Lemon, for Being You by Madeleine Davies via Jezebel

Horror Week 2012: Portrait of the Artist as the Demon’s Best Friend Forever

Jennifer’s Body (2009)

This is a guest post from Erin Blackwell.

Jennifer’s Body, the 2009 horror chick-flick that was a coming-of-age for sex goddess Megan Fox after hyper-lucrative, career-building toil under the aegis of Michael Bay’s teenage-boy-centric Transformers franchise, now enjoys a cult following outside the Transformers demographic. And yet, on release, Jennifer’s Body was widely panned by reviewers who were oddly outraged by its unworthiness. (Maybe they were bought off, but that would be another story.)

Maybe the male critics and audience somehow sensed this was the break-up film. Simultaneous to its release, Fox untied her tongue in interviews, famously comparing the Transformers director to Hitler, a salvo that sealed her fate with the franchise and, at least initially, its fans. They felt betrayed.

Megan Fox as Jennifer

They were right, they had been betrayed: by their own phallocentric delusion that women exist to serve men, and its tributary delusion that Megan Fox enjoyed performing the objectified sidekick to Shia LeBoeuf’s action hero, and more poignantly, that she intuited from the far side of the screen how hot she made them, each guy individually, and that meant something to her beyond a sense of power and a pay check. She was their admission-priced, inaccessible, fantasy, group girlfriend. Until she wasn’t any more. Sorry, Boys. Game over.

It took chutzpah to give Bay that well-publicized kiss-off. The same year Jennifer’s Body, directed by Karyn Kusama, grossed $30 million worldwide on a $15 million budget and uniformly dismal reviews, Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen, directed by Michael Bay, grossed $400 million on a $200 million budget. (But that’s yet another story.)

SPOILER ALERT: Out of respect to writer Diablo Cody’s wondrous storyline, I’m not pretending this movie is only worth seeing once and in total ignorance. In fact, it must be seen at least twice to be fully appreciated. Call it complex storytelling, hidden depth, flaws in the plot structure and/or direction, or all of the above.

Jennifer’s Body is the story of a lush cheerleader ritualistically murdered by the cute lead singer of boy band Low Shoulder, in a pact with the Devil for fame and stardom. Unfortunately for the teenage males of suburban Devil’s Kettle, the cheerleader is thereby transformed into a bite’em’n’eat’em serial killer, selecting, seducing, and isolating male classmates before offing them at their most pathetically tumescent — on the brink, they think, of experiencing the private pleasures of her flesh. Bummer for the guys onscreen and a refreshing, amusing twist for a jaded female audience.

Needy (Amanda Seyfried) and Jennifer (Megan Fox)

Demon-Jennifer is a bodacious avatar of female rage — plus other less righteous emotions, hormones, and vanities. Her story is told by best friend Anita, nicknamed Needy, the gawky sidekick in glasses who’s a bit smitten by Jennifer’s “saltiness.” Needy eventually figures out her friend is “actually evil.” For her boyfriend Chip’s sake, Needy is forced to fight her to the death. As narrator, Needy frames the action, told in flashback, from her prison cell. This formal device complicates the plot but pays off in a clever denouement shown in a montage of stills and video under the closing credits. As I write that sentence, I have to wonder why this vital piece of story — Needy’s revenge massacre of Low Shoulder — is relegated to an afterthought.

So, it’s a (media) story within a (movie) story, a star within a character, and a film within a genre or two. Any way you slice it, Jennifer’s Body is disputed territory — which gives that awkward title the post-modern cachet of multiple readings. Is it slasher? Chick flick? Coming-of-age? Vampire? Feminist? Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. It’s even vampire-lesbian, a tease it declines to exploit; teen psycho, cultural satire, and New Romantic.

Amanda Seyfried as Needy

Two things make the film hard to watch, or clearly “see.” First, Megan Fox’s bravura glamour. As Needy, Amanda Seyfried is every inch an actress and holds her own, but Kusama’s camera gives Fox’s fearsome symmetry the kind of attention ultimately detrimental to a storyline. No one’s going to complain, but droolworthy Fox detracts from Needy’s story, and that’s a problem because Needy is our low-profile protagonist, and she bookends the film. For the script to work, we have to root for both halves of this dynamic duo, until we let go of Jennifer and follow Needy, whose rage is less psychosis and more personal-is-political focus.

Second, Diablo Cody’s free-form plotting, with its gratuitous flashbacks and ill-timed exposition, impedes the film’s forward drive. The most glaring example comes three-quarters in, when Jennifer suddenly decides to let Needy and the audience in on the details of her own heinous murder. We don’t know why we’re suddenly watching a missing narrative chunk in flashback, but the footage is compelling and when it’s over, Jennifer suddenly comes on to Needy in their much hyped lesbian moment. Heat trumps logic, just like in high school. Are they going to do it? No. Was it actual lesbian heat? Um. Can hormonally unstable Jennifer’s power plays be assigned a stable orientation other than “on?”

Demon Jennifer

Since Jennifer herself is clueless how she returned from the dead, Needy makes a trip to the Occult section of the campus library to discover “demonic transference happens when you try to sacrifice a virgin to Satan who isn’t an actual virgin.” Great. Now Needy’s best friends with a demon. She tries to warn Chip, who, as her boyfriend, is the obvious next victim on Jennifer’s list of perversions.

Needy: Jennifer’s evil.

Chip: I know.

Needy: No, I mean, she’s actually evil. Not high-school evil.

Such stock-in-trade dialogue wherein the danger to an individual or the community is willfully ignored, is kept to a minimum, yet it’s one of the treats of the monster genre. Remember the original Dracula (1931), with Bela Lugosi? It’s worth a look, in sumptuous black and white. Yes, it’s ham-fisted, stilted, stagey, featuring a bat on a string, but it’s pretty authoritative about Transylvanian vampire lore — sleeping habits (coffin, native soil, diurnal), telltale signs (no reflection in mirrors, fear of sunlight), and remedies (garlic, crosses, stake through heart). Tracking and dissecting vampire quirks is half the fun of having them around.

Vampire trope

The pleasure of recognition, that ghastly chill down the spine, is mostly missing here, because this is less a genre movie than a rite of passage dressed-up in the tropes of horror. Emotion, intuition, everyday telepathy between close friends are on a sliding-scale from everyday reality to full-blown inexplicable mayhem. Rules governing demons are introduced piecemeal, and Jennifer’s sudden new talents — like projectile vomiting black goo — are momentary gross-outs devoid of gravitas. Such tricks work less well a second time. Worse, Jennifer’s ability to rise in the air and hover is abruptly revealed in the climactic fight scene to no strategic advantage. Surprising but not really satisfying, the hovering trick later powers Needy’s prison escape. Is that why it was introduced when it wasn’t necessary?

So, okay, Cody’s script is loose-weave. It’s also fresh, grrrl-centric, fed-up with male ego/privilege, and full of satiric touches. And yeah, Megan Fox overwhelms the cast and crew with her performative beauty, but she’s both a great icon for most-popular-cheerleader-with-perfect-cheekbones and a recognizable teenager: a bipolar wreck under her foundation, an insecure bitch seducing her best friend’s boyfriend, a naive groupie seeking validation from a small-time boy band “from the city.”

The central pleasure of Jennifer’s Body — the confusing love Needy feels for Jennifer, and the trouble she takes to clarify that feeling, and act on it (revenging Chip), then act on it again (revenging pre-demon Jennifer) — might be precisely what turned off male reviewers. For all the promise of eye candy going in, this is a story about young women negotiating the horrors of the adolescent-to-adult obstacle course with some dignity, loyalty, and social conscience intact. The infamous male gaze has to work harder to appropriate a film told from the p.o.v. of cute but bookish, shy but self-respecting Needy, whose closest bond is, and might ever be, her friend Jennifer.

The two girls have four big scenes together:

Date with Destiny: Jennifer uses Needy as a disposable date in her quest for the Low Shoulder lead singer, to the annoyance of Chip, who had a date with his girlfriend. When bad things start to happen at the rustic Melody Lane Tavern, Jennifer ignores Needy’s screams to leave. Oblivious to danger or perhaps unconsciously courting self-destruction, Jennifer gets into the band’s scuzzy retro van. Cue: loss of innocence.

Jennifer and Needy’s much-hyped lesbian moment

Same-Sex practicum: Jennifer hides in Needy’s bed, confesses her own murder, then starts making love to Needy, who lets herself go until she jumps off the bed screeching, “What are you doing?” By scene’s end, Needy knows she has to be the adult.

Prom Night from Hell: in a swampy, abandoned public pool, Jennifer kills Chip and fends off a tongue-lashing from Needy before slithering away without eating his flesh. This climactic scene is less exciting than it should be, crushed under the weight of an overly elaborate set and Jennifer’s ho-hum hovering, but signals the beginning of the end.

Liebestod: Jennifer’s bedroom, when Needy comes in through the window to kill her. In this passionate encounter, the two young women fight like wildcats on the bed and in the air. The fight is physical, metaphysical, and deeply emotional. When Needy rips the BFF locket from around her neck, Jennifer’s eyes register defeat, loss, submission. If she’s not Needy’s best friend forever, what’s the point of immortality? With suddenly slack lids, she gazes into Needy’s eyes in eroticized surrender. How do you spell Romantic death wish? Finally, Needy has topped Jennifer. Maybe that’s all she ever wanted. Then comes the death blow: box cutter to the heart. Wow.

Online movie review clearinghouse Rotten Tomatoes gives Jennifer’s Body a measly 43% rating, which I take as an indication of factors, like misogyny and male entitlement, beyond the reach of wonderful filmmaking. Their summary judgment: Jennifer’s Body features occasionally clever dialogue but the horror/comic premise fails to be either funny or scary enough to satisfy. I guess it all depends on who you’re trying to “satisfy.”

———-

Erin Blackwell is a practicing astrologer who blogs at venus11house and pinkrush. Congratulations to Megan Fox and Brian Austin Green on their new baby boy.

2nd Annual Athena Film Festival

Yesterday the Athena Film Festival, which takes place February 9 – 12 at Barnard College in New York City, announced its lineup–and is it a good one!

The festival, created by Melissa Silverstein of Women and Hollywood and Kathryn Kolbert of the Athena Center for Leadership Studies at Barnard College, highlights women in film–whether behind or front of the camera, in writing, editing, and promotion. According to the site:

The Festival will highlight the wide diversity of women’s leadership in both real life and the fictional world, illuminating the stories of women from across the globe who have made a difference in their countries and communities. Our goal is to open a robust dialogue about women and leadership: what it takes to excel, collaborate, lead, and inspire.

I won’t list everything (go to the official site for the full list of films and awards), but here are some highlights of this year’s festival.

Awards will be presented to Rachael Horovitz, Julie Taymor, Dee Rees, Nekisa Cooper, Theresa Rebeck, Diablo Cody, Dana Fox, Liz Meriwether, Lorene Scafaria, and others.
Film screenings include:

Women, War & Peace: War Redefined (produced by Abigail Disney, Pamela Hogan, and Gini Reticker)
Tomboy (directed by Céline Sciamma)
The Naked Option (directed by Candace Schermerhorn)
Who Took the Bomp? Le Tigre on Tour (directed by Kerthy Fix)
The Whistleblower (directed by Larysa Kondracki & starring Rachel Weisz, Monica Bellucci and Vanessa Redgrave
and many more!

There are two programs of short films, which include: The Director (Destri Martino), Equality, I Am Woman (Al Sutton), Slaying the Dragon Reloaded (Elaine Kim), Tasnim (Elite Zexer), Umoja: No Men Allowed (Elizabeth Tadic), Abuelas (Afarin Eghbal), Harriet Returns (Marquis Smalls), Junko’s Shamisen (Sol Friedman), Nurses for Africa (Benjamin and Robert Clyde), T’Ain’t Nobody’s Bizness: Queer Blues Divas of the 1920s (Robert Phillpson), and Unchastened (Brynmore Williams).

If you’re in the New York area, we highly recommend attending. We were there last year and had an amazing time. Tickets are very affordable (in terms of film festival tickets) and it really is a fantastic experience.

Why We All Need to See Young Adult, a.k.a. How Diablo Cody Shines a Light on the Cost of Beauty

This guest review by Molly McCaffrey previously appeared at her blog I Will Not Diet.

I’m thrilled that it’s finally Oscar season, and I get to see DOZENS of outstanding movies between now and Sunday, February 26th when I’ll walk the red carpet with The Help‘s Viola Davis and The Ides of March‘s Ryan Gosling (also of Feminist Ryan Gosling fame).

Okay, so I won’t really be walking the red carpet, but a girl can dream, right? And who knows? Maybe I’ll spring for a long roll of red tissue paper and unroll it in front of my flat-screen.

I’ve already seen The Descendants (loved it) and Hugo (bleh—too slow for me), and last night I also got to see Young Adult from the Juno writing-directing team of Diablo Cody and Jason Reitman.

First, let me say that Young Adult is an outstanding piece of filmmaking—it’s dark and funny and intelligent and honest in a way that not many films are anymore when they’re this entertaining.

But the reason I want you all to see Young Adult is not only because it’s such a good film, but also because it’s an important film for woman—a film that explores issues central to our identity such as beauty, gender, marriage, motherhood, and family among others.

Of course, the issue most relevant to this blog is beauty, which is one of the main themes of the film. Without giving anything away in terms of plot, I can tell you that the main character, Mavis—played with heartbreaking gravity by Oscar winner Charlize Theron—is obsessed with the way she looks and seems to gather a good deal of her self-worth from her looks.

At one point in the film—and the preview—Mavis tells a Macy’s clerk that she wants an outfit to help her seduce her ex. The clerk says, “You want to remind him of what he’s missing,” and Mavis responds by saying something like, “Oh, he knows what he’s missing. He’s seen me.” The implication is that Mavis’ value is completely derived from her looks: her gorgeous, heart-shaped face and her fit, flawless body.

But though other characters see only the physical manifestation of Mavis’ beauty, the viewer is treated to the lengths Mavis must go to to achieve that beauty.

In fact, Mavis spends a good deal of her time (probably a third of most days) primping in some fashion or another—she spends hours styling her hair, applying her makeup, shopping for expensive clothes, shaving her legs, and visiting a salon where she gets manicures, pedicures, facials, waxing, and various other treatments on a daily basis.

Yes, I said daily.

After all this is done, Mavis looks fabulous—almost as good as the real-life Charlize Theron. But when she doesn’t devote that much time to her looks, she is a disheveled mess—she walks the streets in sweats and a t-shirt, gulping from a two-liter bottle of Diet Coke and pulling at her matted tangle of hair.

The implicit message is frighteningly clear: a woman doesn’t look this good—at least not at the age of 37 like Mavis—without a hell of a lot of help. And money.

I especially love that these two versions of Mavis—the Mavis who takes hours of time and piles of cash to put together and the Mavis who rolls out of bed in the morning—are shown in such stark contrast to each other.

She is both the former Homecoming queen who has held on to her looks as she approaches forty…

and the lonely, depressed divorcee who can’t be bothered to change out of her pajamas…

I greatly appreciate this depiction of the two sides of Mavis because I think it’s incredibly real.

We all know what it’s like to want to spend the day in our pajama pants and favorite t-shirt, and we all know that some days we want to go to the trouble of getting dressed and made up for a night out on the town. Yes, we know the value of both of these extremes, but most of us—unlike Mavis—also understand that our worth isn’t wrapped up in our ability to do the latter. But Mavis, sadly, is obsessed with this aspect of herself.

It’s equally sad—and interesting—that Mavis is also depicted as a fast food junkie who hits what she calls the local “Ken-Tac-Hut” (a combo Kentucky Fried Chicken/Taco Bell/Pizza Hut) whenever she needs an emotional pick-me-up. I’ve known for a long time that many thin women eat as much as anyone else (even those who are overweight), so it was incredibly refreshing to see a thin and beautiful woman depicted this way—well, refreshing and painful.

But it is Mavis’ slavish devotion to her looks that is one of the more alarming part of this film.

In one particularly gruesome scene, Mavis is shown applying her makeup. I like to wear makeup as much as the next girl, but watching Mavis Gary put on what can only be described as a face-altering mask frightened me so much that I still haven’t gotten the image out of my head. Like a particularly poignant episode of The Twilight Zone, her beauty regime is scary enough to make us rethink our own. Her physical machinations are, in fact, so arduous that only a masochist would embrace them.

Clearly that’s what Mavis is—a masochist, a person who tortures herself regularly and doesn’t know how to be happy. She is like this in more ways than one, but I don’t want to give away the whole film.

In this way, she is a perfect role model for the kind of person we should all not want to be—beautiful, successful, and miserable, reminding us yet again that there is more to life than physical perfection.

—–

Molly McCaffrey is the author of the short story collection How to Survive Graduate School & Other Disasters, the co-editor of Commutability: Stories about the Journey from Here to There, and the founder of I Will Not Diet, a blog devoted to healthy living and body acceptance. She teaches English and creative writing classes and advises writing majors at Western Kentucky University in Bowling Green, Kentucky.