The Curse of Beauty: The Meaning of ‘Penthouse North’

In her Central Park West apartment, Agneta Eckemyr lives in a wonderland of knick knacks, of lace and faded photos and rose appliqués. Her artfully shabby chic wrought iron bed, mammoth and cloud-like, is crowned with embroidered pillows; she lounges with one that says, “And they Lived Happily Ever After.” She picks up another, “The Queen Reigns Here” and sighs, it’s no longer true.
Once upon a time, she was beautiful. Impossibly so.

In a melancholy moment, Agneta remembers her youth
In a melancholy moment, Agneta remembers her youth

 

In her Central Park West apartment, Agneta Eckemyr lives in a wonderland of knick knacks, of lace and faded photos and rose appliqués. Her artfully shabby chic wrought iron bed, mammoth and cloud-like, is crowned with embroidered pillows; she lounges with one that says, “And They Lived Happily Ever After.” She picks up another, “The Queen Reigns Here” and sighs, it’s no longer true.

Once upon a time, she was beautiful. Impossibly so.

Back in the 70s, Swedish born Agneta, subject of Johanna St Michaels’s documentary Penthouse North, which makes its New York premiere this month at DOC NYC, was a model turned actress turned would-be screenwriter and prodigiously skilled fashion designer and interior decorator. She lived in one of Manhattan’s best apartments, a steal thanks to rent control, and held glamourous parties with rock stars and the New York glitterati. She was a social magnet, charming and vibrant with a revolving door policy in her home and a sense of humour about herself. She designed clothes for people like Julia Roberts and Grace Jones, covered Playboy and Cosmopolitan, was considered for a Bond-girl role and was generally pleased with her place in the world. For most of her life she had succeeded at using her beauty as currency, even the ads for her clothes show her beautiful face.

The question Penthouse North ruminates on, but offers little in the way of answers for, is what Agneta can be without that beautiful face, that beautiful body that once were her everything. The documentary began as an attempt to explore the impacts of beauty on the aging process, but Agneta’s real life tragedies intervened and made the story much more substantial.

As the film begins, Agneta is in her 60s. She can’t pay her seamstress and her dresses aren’t selling. Her landlord threatens eviction after discovering she has been subletting to multiple roommates to pay the rent and if evicted, she matter-of-factly states, she plans to kill herself. She has no income and the homeless shelter and the food bank, worlds away from her penthouse, look like they will be part of her near future. Much worse is the fact that she has been forgetting things and repeating herself. In the film, she is told she has high blood pressure and advised not to eat sugar, though she ignores this. Text at its end informs us that she has been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s since the film was shot.

As she faces a legal battle, a friend tells her: “You have to be real now, you can’t live in fantasy.” But Agneta continually refuses.

She will give up in a fight and leave the room before facing anything harsh. She will tell people she can’t deal with hardships right, that she’s not in the mood and break down in tears. She is sure someone or something will come along to save her. Even as she signs up for welfare, she is talking about the films she was in, her relationships with Ringo Starr and the like. In the words of someone’s over-anxious mother, she continues to make a spectacle of herself.

 

Agneta’s apartment is prime real estate and even at a reduced rate, she has a hard time affording it
Agneta’s apartment is prime real estate and even at a reduced rate, she has a hard time affording it

 

Penthouse North becomes increasingly uncomfortable to watch as she falls apart. Often it feels as if we are eavesdropping on the hardest points in Agneta’s life. The question of exploitation is raised when it becomes clear that Agneta is not in her right mind. I am left wondering if she could properly consent to having such personal aspects of her life filmed.

Just as the filmmakers were, we as viewers are lulled into a sense of security. From the film’s opening with all its lovingly framed shots of the Penthouse North apartment, a place that looks ripped from a magazine, we’re sure this will be only a light-hearted character piece. A study of a deluded woman living in luxury, that we don’t have to think much about, except every once in a while to “ooh” and “ahh” over her pretty things. But it’s impossible to pretend Agneta is not a real person; her story is stranger than fiction. As one of her friends, frustrated over the way she fascinates people, makes clear, people have a tendency to romanticize her life, to see her as a tragic figure. Instead, she’s a sick woman who needs help instead of enamored style bloggers.

Still, even in the aborted screenplay she wrote about her glamourous life back when she was living it, it’s clear that this life was far from stable. Agneta had always struggled to pay rent even at a fraction of its true worth. Back then, she was unable to sell the screenplay because all the directors and producers she encountered only wanted to have sex with her.

Agneta says she has felt exploited her whole life, that everyone has taken more from her than they provided. Men used her for sex, and did things like invite her to dinners where they masturbated under the table and it didn’t occur to her to say anything, to do anything but act the naïve, polite schoolgirl who thanks them for the invitation. After all this time she feels she wasted her energy in relationships making beautiful tableaus of the best food and flowers and giving great sex but always being left anyway. Even now, people are constantly taking advantage of her, like the squatter who refuses to leave and screams at her all day.

Like Madame Butterfly waiting for a man everyone knows plans never to return to her, Agneta refuses to believe that things will not just magically get better. She wishes she’d gone back to Sweden, that she’d accepted the proposals of rich gentlemen and left her apartment. In the end, she seems imprisoned in this home she is on the verge of losing, it is the only place where she can feel safe and in control. Yet, it is a curse that has kept her from living a real life among the mortals.

 

In her youth, Agneta felt constrained by “bubbly bimbo” roles
In her youth, Agneta felt constrained by “bubbly bimbo” roles

 

Agneta talks a lot about the character of “the bimbo,” who she has played for most of her life and all of her career. She says she learned being a bimbo was currency in America and does her impression of one, puffing out her chest and speaking in an exaggerated Swedish milkmaid accent. Here is the conflict in her life, she has become the bimbo to survive, dressed up in her clothes and seen her in the mirror and eventually believed that was all there was of worth to her. And it was fun, it was lucrative and exciting, but it stops working. You have to be young.

Because all she was given were “bubbly bimbo” parts in films, her decision to write a screenplay was an attempt to take control, to write parts for herself with a range of emotions and write her own stories, to no longer be a one-dimensional character in others’. In clips from her old films and magazine covers, she is mostly naked and supplicant, always smiling and asking for me.

But this was never enough. Agneta wanted to bare her soul as well as her body. In this era where women are criticized for looking ugly when they cry, her desire to be allowed to be sad,  to contort her face in a way besides eager-to-please smiles, is very relatable.

 

Agneta shows of her fashion designs, she hopes they will save her from ruin
Agneta shows off her fashion designs; she hopes they will save her from ruin

 

At some points, you just want to shake her out of it, tell her she’s incredibly talented in other ways. That she could always be a decorator if all else fails. It’s tragic that Agneta can’t see this. Her beautiful apartment becomes her self, by making it beautiful and admired, she can be too. Even the beautiful clothes she creates, the kind of floaty white dresses a generation of girls in love with The Virgin Suicides would kill themselves for, are attempts to feel beautiful herself.

At one point, the filmmakers arrange for Agneta to encounter her young self by hiring young actresses to act out her script. It is surreal to see her dress the girls playing her and size them up. In one scene, she looks on, jealous of the girl playing her young self, who is being praised for her beautiful eyes. She is framed in the same shot as the girl, looking over her shoulder, like a specter, the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.

She conflates herself and the fictionalized version of herself from her script, saying “I” and then correcting herself. When talking about the script, she describes her character as strong, but emotionally fragile.

In one scene, her friend tells her she does not need to try to sexy anymore, to pout and show off her cleavage. She can go for dignified beauty instead. In his view, the aging woman trying to be young is a grotesque.

But this cuts her off from actualization, suggests she should stop trying to be attractive because she has gotten older. This view says, if you’re not attractive anymore no one wants to see you or your body. You dressing the way you want to now offends us. Beautiful women are allowed to age if they become classic, boast taunt leather skin and an air of health, and dress in heathered sweaters and tweed slacks, buoyed by accumulated wealth and patrician voices. Not if they continue to try to dress, to live, like they’re still the fairy princesses that they’ve always been.

 

Agneta applies make-up in an attempt to look young
Agneta applies make-up in an attempt to look young

 

It raises the question of whether there is an age appropriate way of dress and why. Are there clothes an older woman isn’t allowed to wear, or decor she’s not allowed to love? Why is it that our culture is so quick to look at a woman like Agneta as a pathetic, inhuman creature? But as for Agneta herself, its unclear, whether she dressing this way because she thinks looking sexy is the only way to be worthwhile or because its how she wants to dress, what she wants to show of her body?

Early on, Agneta gets a massage and her soft, older woman’s body is on display. The film is riveted by her flesh, the spots and wrinkles, the uncontrolled movements of her neck, and her uneven cleavage. There are frequent extreme close-ups of her body, her face, her breasts, so tightly framed that we can see the pores, the hair and lines, the permanent purse of her mouth that mark her as an aging woman.

Is this view of her exploitative? Are we meant to feel sorry for her just from the sight of her flabby skin? Agneta certainly feels this way, obsessed as she is with reclaiming her youth. While being filmed, she is constantly asking if this make-up or that hairstyle will make her look younger, asking to sit in more flattering light (shades of Blanche DuBois in that) and taking breaks to freshen up her lipstick.

It’s important to note that this film was made by a female director and as such, is directed from a female gaze. We are meant to identify with Agneta, to think “there but for the grace of God go I,” not to shudder in repulsion at the idea that we once found her attractive. Shots pan from Agneta’s breasts to her face, but spend a lot of time focused on her eyes and the pain clearly visible within them. The camera’s eye is kind. These scenes are shot from a directorial distance, as documentary evidence, capturing but never commenting.

It is so odd to see her in the real world, waiting for the subway, struggling alone with heavy bags of groceries and facing eviction and indignity, an ordinary person’s problems, the ones we are a culture tend to think beautiful people are exempted from.

Agneta is living every woman’s worst nightmare: old, poor, alone and unsure of her looks, even losing her mind. I think maybe her story tells us about the curse that beauty can be. We’re told that beautiful people don’t have to live in the real world, that if you were born lovely to look at you can live in fairyland. Except, the truth no speaks, is that when you return to earth as everyone eventually does, you will find that 40 years have passed in one day of fairyland’s and everyone who loved you or cared about you will be lost.

This idea makes me feel guilty. I am exactly the audience for film. I read books like this (most recently the delightful Wish Her Safe At Home), I watch movies like this. I am fascinated by characters like Blanche, like Miss Havisham and real fallen beauties like Little Edie and Dare Wright. I decided to watch this film in the first place because I was drawn to the idea of a beautiful tragedy. Even the constant fairy tale references I am tempted to make here, seem like I’m trying to make things more picturesque than they are, that I’m attracted to the wrong parts of the story.

I don’t think I am at all unusual in that.

 

Agenta’s beautiful home is left behind
Agenta’s beautiful home is left behind

 

Penthouse North is hard to watch but maybe it should be. It’s an important film that touches a nerve, forces us to think about our ideas of aging, of how we treat the elderly, of how we tell stories and force people’s lives into romantic frameworks, three-act fairy tale structures.

There’s no happy ending for Agneta. She loses her apartment and moves back to Sweden to live in a retirement home and lose herself to Alzheimer’s. It’s important to remember these are the facts.

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Elizabeth Kiy is a Canadian writer and journalist living in Toronto, Ontario.

Choice Within Fashion and Fundamentalism: ‘The World Before Her’

In making ‘The World Before Her,’ Pahuja chooses to walk the neutral line by avoiding a personal stand and trying to hold up a mirror instead. In an interview with ‘First Post,’ she says that she made this documentary in an attempt to create a dialogue. Her humanizing, vérité cinema approach works to that effect.

This is a guest post by Nandini Rathi. 

Chinmayee, a young girl at the Durga Vahini camp in Aurangabad, takes pride in the fact that unlike before, she has no Muslim friends anymore since her thoughts have matured in Hindutva at Durga Vahini. She takes exclusive pride in Hindu culture and looks forward to strengthen her thoughts about it in the future camps.

In another part of the country, Ruhi Singh, a 19-year-old Femina Miss India 2011 aspirant laments that her hometown, Jaipur, is not supportive of her ambitions as many people fear that allowing girls to get educated and choose their own careers will be tantamount to a loss of culture. “As much as I love my country and my culture,” she says, “I consider myself to be a very modern, young girl. And I want my freedom.”

This freedom, which is echoed by other characters in the The World Before Her (Pahuja, 2012), is of being who they want to be and living as they choose to live, without constantly having to worry about safety. Even though many institutions nurture the dream and promise to fulfill it, they come with strings attached. Indo-Canadian director Nisha Pahuja works hard in this phenomenal documentary to reveal some tensions within a rapidly modernizing India, through the microcosm of the Miss India beauty pageant and the Hindu nationalism of Durga Vahini. Apart from raising questions about objectification of women in the glamour industry, the movie also touches upon the state of communalism and religio-nationalism in India.

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After stumbling upon its fascinating Kickstarter pitch video almost two years ago, I finally watched The World Before Her on Netflix. It was thoroughly engaging and every bit worth the time as Pahuja juxtaposes two diametrically opposite, extreme worlds of modern Indian women — behind the walls of the Miss India pageant boot camp in Mumbai and the Durga Vahini physical training camp in Aurangabad. Durga Vahini is the women’s wing of Bajrang Dal, a subsidiary of the Vishva Hindu Parishad (VHP), a Hindu right-wing organization in India.

Beauty pageants deem all their critics to be a singular species from the “Old World.” Right-wing Hindu organizations see beauty pageants as a sign of Western attack on their frozen-in-time, monolithic conception of “Indian culture.”  Archival footage informs the audience of the Hindu right wing’s various physical attacks on girls in pubs, in the name of desecration of this “Indian/Hindu culture.” In making The World Before Her, Pahuja chooses to walk the neutral line by avoiding a personal stand and trying to hold up a mirror instead. In an interview with First Post, she says that she made this documentary in an attempt to create a dialogue. Her humanizing, vérité cinema approach works to that effect.

The narrative of The World Before Her cuts back and forth between a Miss India crown aspirant, the sweet 19-year-old Ruhi Singh and a Durga Vahini camp youth leader and staunch VHP supporter, the 24-year-old Prachi Trivedi. It is full of ironies along the way, as the two radically opposite worlds come out to be more similar than what we initially imagined.

The doors of opportunity and exposure open far and wide for the Miss India crown-bearers. Pahuja claims early on that the beauty and glamour industry is one of the few avenues in India where women stand at par with men. Ruhi has the drive to win and the full moral support of her family. However, for many girls, to make it as far as the Miss India pageant is a difficult task of overcoming family reluctance as well as personal resistances. These girls understand that culture is, and was, never a fixed entity — but one that constantly evolves with time and contact with other cultures.  Contestant Shweta says that that they are often accused of becoming “American,” to which she smartly argues that she isn’t becoming American for wearing jeans or eating a burger, anymore than Americans are becoming Indians for taking up Yoga.

42 Durga Vahini camps veteran and leader Prachi Trivedi is easily the most fascinating character, who likes to command others and talks to Pahuja with breathtaking candor. Prachi strongly believes in her Hindu nationalism which is based on the idea that the golden age of Hindu India was marred by outsiders who are still the enemy within. She has no qualms about killing any moment for her religion. Her father is cheerfully antagonistic to what she wants to do with her life. He fulfills his duty towards Hindutva by teaching the young girls in the camp — who the “bad guys” are, aka Muslims and Christians. Unlike Ruhi’s parents, Prachi’s father believes that she doesn’t have any rights besides what he gives her. One gets goosebumps when Prachi says that she forgives him for all the bullying, because it’s enough for her that he let her live — and didn’t kill her at birth for being a girl child, like many others do.

Prachi does not think her life is intended for marriage and family. She wants to dedicate her whole life to the Parishad (Vishva Hindu Parishad). But she is not sure if, being a girl, she has the freedom to make such a choice. The choice of a woman to stay single and not produce children is completely outrageous to the Parishad as well as her father. Her candid self-awareness reveals her vulnerable side in that poignant moment; it is so easy to forget then, that her ambition is to become the next Sadhvi Pragya Singh Thakur of the Malegaon bomb blast notoriety.

There is a palpable tension in the values inculcated at the Durga Vahini camp. “Sher banne ki prakriya yahan se shuru hoti hai (the process of becoming a lion begins here)”, says one of the camp instructors to the girls. On one hand, they want to increase young women’s confidence so they can be independent enough to rise to the call of action for the religio-nation. On the other hand, they are taught the dharma (duties) of a Hindu woman — in which chasing careers is a futile, corrupting, Western pursuit and only a “high moral character” matters, especially in the role of a wife and mother. Women’s action and power matters and is extremely important, but only while it actively and appropriately services the religious nationalism. They are nowhere expected to take liberties or choose their own paths. A conflict from this is likely underway in the future, as it is for Prachi.

On the occasion of Nina Davuluri’s crowing as Miss America, Rediff columnist, Amberish K. Diwanji noted that India’s beauty pageants do not reflect its diversity. Although the issue of inclusion of an Indian dalit or tribal woman in a beauty pageant is much more complicated (keeping in mind, the economic disparities, rural/urban divides and cultural clashes), simply speaking, the definition of beauty in pageants (and the glamour industry) is disturbingly narrow. I was shocked by Cosmetic Physician Dr. Jamuna Pai’s ease in administering Botox injections to achieve some ‘golden rule’ in the facial proportions of the contestants. Add to it, the application of face-whitening chemicals to burn through their tans. Miss India trainer, Sabira Merchant, describes the Miss India pageant boot camp as a factory, a manufacturing unit where beauty is controlled and prepared to meet the demands of the national and international fashion industry. The rough edges have to be straightened out and polished. The routine of the camp makes sure that any personal inhibitions on the woman’s part have been overridden. “The modern Indian woman” is produced for the world to look at.

“… I always had this vision of putting cloaks on women so we can’t see their faces, only their legs — and then decide who has THE best pair of legs. Sometimes you may get thrown — beautiful girl, lovely hair, she walks so good, she has a great body — we don’t want to see all that! I just want to see beautiful, hot legs!” –Marc Robinson, former model and Pageant director

Out of context, this would read as a perverted person’s fetish fantasy. I am trying to remind myself that Robinson speaks for the beauty industry– and so I shouldn’t think of only him as a creep. The parading Ku Klux Klan-esque figures are the contestant ladies, who ought to feel hot when they catwalk up to him like that.

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What about self-respect and dignity, one is forced to wonder. Contestant Ankita Shorey, who felt claustrophobic during the cloak session, reflects on her feelings about bending over backwards for the sake of success.

“Aurat ko maas ke tukde ki tarah plate par rakhkar serve kiya jaaye, aur taango, breast aur hips ke aadhaar par taya kiya jaaye – ye toh poori duniya ki aurat zaat ke liye be-izatti ki baat hai, khaali Hindustaan ke liye nahin.” — an Activist in the 1996 archival footage of demonstrations against hosting Miss World in India

(To serve a woman like a piece of flesh on the plate, and to judge her on the basis of the size of her legs, hips and breasts – it is disrespectful to the womankind all over the world – not just to women of India)

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My roommate’s and my reaction was — that’s true, she’s right. She expressed a genuine concern that would resonate with anyone who is even mildly concerned about the male gaze and the objectification of women’s bodies in media/glamour/film industry. Her saffron clothes suggest that she could be from a Hindutva-espousing party that sees pageants as a plain attack on “Indian culture”. It’s that awkward moment when feminists and right wingers find themselves to be bed fellows on this cause.

The formidable Ms. Merchant says in the second half: “There is a dichotomy and the girls seem like very with it, but they have traditional values. Should we go with the Old World or should we go with the New World? When they ask me that question, I always tell them to go with the New World, because the only thing constant in life is what? Change.” Just as Hindutva-espousing groups like VHP have no reason to not promote a blind hatred of Muslims and Christians, the beauty industry has no need or desire to parse out what the “New World” values really are.


P.S. While there is definitely a dichotomy between the old ideas and the new ones, Pahuja has chosen extreme, contrasting examples for the most narrative oomph. It creates a better story, which I am all for. The documentary is also timely as it is being viewed at a time when the Hindu right in India is gaining power and popularity (since Narendra Modi’s victory at the center). That said, it is crucial to remember that girls who participate in beauty pageants and those who participate in the likes of Durga Vahini camps are extreme minorities. They do not represent the majority.


 

Nandini Rathi is a recent graduate from Whitman College in Film & Media Studies and Politics. She loves traveling, pop culture, editing, documentaries, and adventures. Now living in New York city, she wants to be immersed in filmmaking, journalism, writing and nonprofit work to ultimately be able to contribute her bit toward making the world a better place. She blogs at brightchicdreams.wordpress.com.

 

The Trauma of ‘Private Violence’

It is absolutely clear that throughout ‘Private Violence,’ Hill allowed Gruelle to take her into a world that she felt compelled to share with the public. That trust, that “wide-eyed curiosity” (as Gruelle said of Hill’s directing technique), created a documentary that not only pays homage to the strength and tragedy of women whose lives are torn apart by male partner violence, but also serves as a wake-up call that the system–law enforcement, news media, medical professionals, local and federal court systems–are not serving victims the way they should. ‘Private Violence’ is a public testament to the horror of domestic assault.

Private Violence, Sundance Film Festival 2014

Written by Leigh Kolb.

Gloria Steinem said,

“The most dangerous place for a woman statistically speaking is not in the street. It’s in her own home. She’s most likely to be attacked by a man with whom she lives. It’s the trauma of it we’re just beginning to realize.”

This “private,” not public, violence, is the subject of the documentary Private Violence, which premiers Oct. 21 on HBO. (Steinem is an executive producer of the film.) Cynthia Hill directs the documentary, which focuses in on Kit Gruelle, an advocate and survivor, and Deanna Walters, a survivor who is navigating the court system. Other women’s stories are woven throughout, but the individual stories of these women offer a stunning, jarring inside look on what goes on behind closed doors and how “Why didn’t she just leave?” is not a question we should ever ask.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jf_zvbMwhHo&list=UUbKo3HsaBOPhdRpgzqtRnqA”]

“It’s not your job to fix broken men.”

Statistics surrounding domestic violence in the US are stunning, even to those who are immersed in following women’s issues in the news–perhaps because the news media too often keeps these stories of assault, stalking, and murder in the private sphere. During the University of Missouri – Columbia’s Journalism School and True/False Film Festival collaboration, Based on a True Story: The Intersection of Documentary Film and Journalism last February, Hill and Gruelle participated in a panel discussion entitled “Telling Stories About Trauma.” Gruelle  pointed out that in one of the cases she was advocating for, the local news refused to air graphic photos of a victim, but later that night, “the channel ran TV dramas about violence against women for profit–we can deal with the fantasy.”

The reality is this:

One in four women (22.3 percent) has been the victim of severe physical violence by an intimate partner
One in six women (15.2 percent) has been stalked during her lifetime
Thirty percent of female homicide victims are murdered by their intimate partners
Private Violence does not, as some social-issue documentaries do, continuously slam us in the face with these statistics. Instead, the film takes us inside, takes us behind closed doors, to come face-to-face with victims, families, and advocates. The news media may not show us photos of brutalized women, but Private Violence does. We hear–and see–Walters, as she tries to escape and get some kind of justice (and how difficult it is). In an incredible opening, Candy tries to escape from William (who didn’t even care if they used the scene). The intimate, heartbreaking look into these women’s lives turns a mirror onto a society that has historically been far too complacent about violence against women.
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During the aforementioned panel discussion, Hill said that she was approached by Gruelle, who wanted to work on a project about the history of domestic violence advocacy work. “Her intention wasn’t to be the subject of the film,” Hill said. “I wanted to turn my camera in her direction… she already had access and intimacy. A historical film became a cinema verité film.” Hill’s decision to turn the camera on Gruelle was brilliant. Gruelle is a passionate advocate who works hard and speaks loudly about domestic violence in our culture. Hill invited her to speak up during the panel discussion, and Gruelle pointed out that “It’s never just about the abusers. It’s about patriarchal systems that are quick to blame her.”
Advocate Kit Gruelle.
Advocate Kit Gruelle.
The crux of Gruelle’s message to audiences, to not ask “Why doesn’t she just leave?” is amplified by focusing on these individuals’ stories. It was difficult to hear that when the film was shown at the True/False Film Festival, Candy had gone back to William. Seeing faces somehow makes that knee-jerk reaction of “Just leave!” creep up, even if we know better. “Leaving an abuser isn’t an event,” Gruelle said. “It’s a process.” The process isn’t incredibly fulfilling to watch in Private Violence, nor should it be. The system fails women far too often, and Private Violence shows that in painful detail.
"Why doesn't she just leave?"
Why doesn’t she just leave?”
Before the film screened at True/False (to an overflowing, sold-out crowd), Hill told the audience that the ultimate goal is “to make women and children safe in their own homes.” Because we know that as it stands, they are not.
It is absolutely clear that throughout Private Violence, Hill allowed Gruelle to take her into a world that she felt compelled to share with the public. That trust, that “wide-eyed curiosity” (as Gruelle said of Hill’s directing technique), created a documentary that not only pays homage to the strength and tragedy of women whose lives are torn apart by male partner violence, but also serves as a wake-up call that the system–law enforcement, news media, medical professionals, local and federal court systems–are not serving victims the way they should. Private Violence is a public testament to the horror of domestic assault.
During the Q&A after the screening, Walters appeared on stage with Hill and Gruelle. She said that her participation in the film–and how she laid herself bare–is “my way of helping people.” Gruelle pleaded with the crowd to “go back to your communities and pop the hood,” ensuring that victims got the justice they deserved (but first we must keep their stories out of the shadows).
Gruelle, left, and Watson.
Kit Gruelle, left, and Deanna Walters.
Hill’s direction is remarkable in its effortlessness; she knows to follow, to absorb, to tell the story. When she was asked during the panel discussion about her decision to include upsetting audio in the film, she said, “Well, this is what happens. People need to know what happens.”
Private Violence shows what does–and doesn’t–happen behind closed doors and within a system we’re taught to trust. May audiences be moved to lift the veil in their own communities, to listen to women’s stories, and to effect change in a patriarchal system that is far too brutal to its female citizens.
Private Violence airs on HBO at 9 p.m. Eastern on Oct. 20. In 2015, Private Violence will be available for educational distribution through Women Make Movies.
[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nJxFP43nNik&list=UUbKo3HsaBOPhdRpgzqtRnqA”]
Recommended reading: Interview with Private Violence Director Cynthia Hill, by Danielle Lurie at Filmmaker Magazine; A Brief History of Sexual Violence Activism in the U.S., by Caroline Heldman and Baillee Brown at Ms. blog; Till Death Do Us Part, by Doug Pardue, Glenn Smith, Jennifer Berry Hawes, and Natalie Caula Hauff at The Post and Courier; Prosecutors Claim South Carolina’s Stand Your Ground Law Doesn’t Apply to Domestic Violence Survivors at Ms. blog; Why You Need to Watch this HBO Film on Domestic Abuse, by Hilary White at Pop Sugar; Sundance Film Review: Private Violence, by Dennis Harvey at Variety
Cynthia Hill, left, and Kit Gruelle.
Cynthia Hill, left, and Kit Gruelle.

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

Seed & Spark: ‘Actress’ and the Messiness of the Moving Image

In the film I follow Brandy’s unfolding drama as-it-happened, hanging the film on her trained actor expressions and captivating ability to theatrically display fragility, anger, and force of will. The film is a documentary in the sincerest way; Brandy’s performance is the truth I was observing. ‘Actress’ is about the roles we play and how we get trapped in them; the role the viewer sees Brandy wrestle with most vigorously might be the role of documentary subject.

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This is a guest post by Robert Greene and Brandy Burre.

From Director Robert Greene:

How does a man make a movie about a woman who is going through a crisis in her life that he, despite being the same age (with the same ambitions, the same number of children that are the same age in the same town), will never have to deal with because he’s a man?  That’s what I’ve tried to do with my new nonfiction film Actress, which stars my neighbor and friend Brandy Burre as she tries to balance motherhood and artistic dreams in the face of a suddenly tumultuous domestic situation. The answer in this case: you wind up the toy and hold on tight.

Brandy got pregnant when she was filming her final appearances on HBO’s legendary show The Wire, in which she played political consultant/vixen Theresa D’Agostino. Her life didn’t immediately settle (at one point she was doing a theater run far away from Tim, the baby’s father), but she eventually moved to Beacon, New York to raise a growing family. I moved next door to her a few weeks after she came to Beacon. Five years later we began filming what would become the movie. Its original title was Mother As Actress.

In the film I follow Brandy’s unfolding drama as-it-happened, hanging the film on her trained actor expressions and captivating ability to theatrically display fragility, anger, and force of will. The film is a documentary in the sincerest way; Brandy’s performance is the truth I was observing. Actress is about the roles we play and how we get trapped in them; the role the viewer sees Brandy wrestle with most vigorously might be the role of documentary subject.

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The project started from the formal question, “What happens when you film an actor in an observational documentary?” before the story took us in unexpected places. I also know that women, especially mothers in their later 30s, are harshly under-represented in movies. In general, too, I begin from the point of view that documentaries are inherently exploitative, that a power exchange is created when one person films another, not to mention when a man films a woman. This may be especially true when that man is exploring genres such as melodrama, which have traditionally been called “women’s films.”

The best way to short circuit the potential calamity of this exchange is to foreground the exploitation, to make it part of what the viewer is watching while they follow the story. The way a man can make a documentary about a woman in this situation, then, is to dive deep into the contradictions of the nonfiction form and display the mess onscreen. Documentaries are made of the tension between order and chaos, between directing and living. Letting these tensions show (and allowing space for the viewer to think about these tensions, including questions of gender and exploitation) cedes some of the power of the image to the person in front of the camera.

That person in this case is Brandy, a complex, theatrical, mercurial force of nature. It was not always easy to “cede power” of my film to this magnificent creature, and I wasn’t about to do it just because she was a woman. She was hesitantly stepping forward, too, though I wouldn’t have been able to tell; by the time she said yes I had already become somewhat obsessed with the possibilities of filming her and how my ideas would mingle with what I could never have predicted. What happened, of course, was that Brandy’s force, her power, her fragility, her ability to make every scene crackle was the film I wanted to make. Soon my ideas were dwarfed by this bright star and it was now our film, though it obviously never could have remained just mine.

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This film was very hard to make, but ultimately I think we’ve arrived at something productive and meaningful. I think Brandy agrees, but let’s see what she thinks in her own words.

From Subject/Star Brandy Burre:

Indeed being the subject of a documentary, actor or no, is a dicey proposition. When Robert first introduced the idea that he “follow my journey of getting back into acting,” I declined. The problem as I saw it: I’ve never had the desire to trudge into the business of acting as it formally exists.  End of story.

The fact that Robert couldn’t, in many ways, understand my views as a woman and mother further distanced me from the idea. The assumption I inferred in Robert’s scheme was that I had lost my way as an actor and was in need of finding it, that my life without acting was lacking in some way and needed to be rectified, as if my career had been on a clear path, I had been derailed by having children, and I simply needed to hop back on the train and resume my efforts where I had left off.

Clearly he didn’t understand my rogue path to landing the role on The Wire. Nor did he understand the extent of my other work as a theater artist and musician. How could he know I had made definitive choices, defying the one size fits all rigmarole allotted to aspiring artists in America (those without lineage or trust funds, that is)? I had no desire to prop up a false perception of a typical actor’s life, or worse, come across as a failure or desperate in some way.

But then there is Robert, a persistent hornet of a person. Taking a different approach with me, he threw down the gauntlet: we just start filming. We turn on the camera and see where it leads, even if that destination is nowhere. We film for the sake of filming, make art for art’s sake, he the filmmaker and I, the muse to his musings. Hmm… Now this got my mind a-churning.

How could I say no to this exercise? What is it to play the role of one’s self? What actions define me as an individual, and what are the boundaries of my existence that I’m forced to question when confronted with a camera lens as witness?

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I was sufficiently stung by Robert’s passion and commitment to the potential of this project. If he accepted me with all my contradiction and parody, force and feebleness, without need for outcome, who was I to deny him? From this moment on, Robert found in me his willing cohort, conspirator, and collaborator. And once I commit to a project, I invest my entire soul to it.

I am endlessly proud of Actress and the bravery it took to make this film.  The bravery to be as truthful and raw as I knew how to be.  Robert met me as a fellow artist without definition of gender, and this was his greatest gift to me and to women in general. The fact that Actress might be considered a “woman’s film” is because my story was truthfully told within the context of itself, not with a male-dominated agenda. And in case it needs clarifying, the context of me is ALL woman.

Actress is currently building an audience and raising funds for music rights on Seed&Spark.com.

 


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Brandy Burre is an American actress best known for her portrayal of Theresa D’Agostino on the HBO Series The Wire. Currently, she is the subject of Actress, the critically acclaimed documentary from Robert Greene. Other recent credits include Alex Ross Perry’s Listen Up Philip and Phil Pinto’s “Diplo Revolution” music video. Also a musician and mother of two, Brandy has performed many great roles on professional stages across the country. She has an MFA in Acting from Ohio University.


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Robert Greene is a filmmaker and writer. He was named one of the 10 Filmmakers to Watch in 2014 by The Independent and received the 2014 Vanguard Artist Award from the San Francisco DocFest. Robert’s films include Actress (2014), Fake It So Real (2012) and Kati With An I (2010). He has edited over a dozen films, including Alex Ross Perry’s Listen Up Philip and Amanda Rose Wilder’s Approaching the Elephant. Robert writes for Sight & Sound and other outlets.

 

‘Finding Vivian Maier’: The Greatest Art Mystery of the 20th Century

However, Vivian Maier–besides being an obvious genius–remains a mystery. ‘Finding Vivian Maier’ follows the narrative mystery as we pursue the reclusive and eccentric Vivian (or her personas of Ms. Meier, Mayer, Meyer, Meyers, Maier) across the US and through the streets of the 1950s and 1960s, attempting to discover more of a woman who is still unknowable.

Written by Rachel Redfern.

[youtube_sc url=”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2o2nBhQ67Zc”]

In April of 2009, one of the greatest street photographers of the 20th century died in a Chicago nursing home. Her passing was quiet and seemingly without notice, and the photographs that she left behind were dusty unknowns, auctioned off at a storage locker in Chicago. The buyer, John Maloof, began posting the photos on the Internet, hopeful that someone would recognize their quality. When the photographs went viral, Maloof began searching for the photographer, just a handwritten name on a few receipts stuck into the boxes, and stumbled upon a woman as fascinating as the art she produced.

Directed by John Maloof and Charlie Siskel, Finding Vivian Maier is an award-winning documentary exploring the art and artist discovered on an auction house floor, and whose prolific work has been subsequently shown all over the world. During her life, Vivian Maier produced over 150,000 photographs, as well as films and audio recordings, and did so while keeping her talents and work completely hidden from the world—choosing instead to work as a nanny in New York City and Chicago.

However, Vivian Maier–besides being an obvious genius–remains a mystery. Finding Vivian Maier follows the narrative mystery as we pursue the reclusive and eccentric Vivian (or her personas of Ms. Meier, Mayer, Meyer, Meyers, Maier) across the US and through the streets of the 1950s and 1960s, attempting to discover more of a woman who is still unknowable.

 

A portrait of the artist--Vivian Meier
A portrait of the artist–Vivian Maier

Vivian Maier hid herself well during her life, and there has been some speculation: is it right to expose her now in death? Would Maier be pleased at the recognition of her talents? Her friends say no, but Maloof disagrees (for obvious financial reasons), arguing that since Maier corresponded with an art printer in France that she was obviously interested in displaying her work at some point.

Finding Vivian Maier embodies an art historian’s meta-dream of art exposing art and reveals the way that art can be lived in a person—empathetic, obviously political, socially conscious, occasionally gritty artwork, reflective of the woman behind the lens.

For photographers there is often the thought that we must be standing in front of the exotic to have something worth photographing; however, Maier exposes women, children, minorities, laborers, and other “background” faces in “normal” cities with a compelling charisma. As one historian states in Finding Vivian Maier, the fact that Maier was able to push so deeply into the personal space of her subjects and then photograph them with such an honest vulnerability, is remarkable. As an artist, her work is not a moment out of time, but instead occupies a contradictory grounded timelessness where we, the viewer, are included in a sympathetic, deeply personal interaction.

One of Meier's beautiful, inclusive moments from the streets of Chicago
One of Maier’s beautiful, inclusive moments from the streets of Chicago

Despite the occasional self-congratulatory tone of the Maier discovery, the documentary is exceptional. Finding Vivian Maier is paced like a mystery film and viewers are drawn in to explore the fractured pieces of Maier’s secretive life along with Maloof.  However, in a delicious, almost teasing way, after Finding Vivian Maier is finished, we’re still left with much to wonder about the enigmatic artist and spirited woman that was Vivian Maier.

Additionally, within the past few months a legal battle has surfaced over the right to print, publish, curate and sell Maier’s work by a Chicago lawyer (aptly) named Mr. Deal. Until the case is decided it seems that the unknowns surrounding Maier’s curious life and work will grow even more.

Finding Vivian Maier was released on DVD July 29 and can be viewed in theaters around the country. Collections of Maier’s photographs can be viewed at exhibitions in New York City, Chicago, Los Angeles and a host of other cities around the world. To view Vivian Maier’s work online, click here.

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

Exposing Real Lies: ‘Reel Injun: On the Trail of the Hollywood Indian’

What does an “Indian” look like? If you are like most Americans, your answer will fall somewhere between Disney’s Pocahontas character, Johnny Depp’s depiction of Tonto, and the Washington NFL team logo. That’s because your education, family, friends, and society have no idea what actual, living Native peoples look like thanks in large part to Hollywood film representations. The 89-minute documentary ‘Reel Injun: On the Trail of the Hollywood Indian’ (2009) will begin to correct some of those misrepresentations floating around in your brainpan.

What does an “Indian” look like? If you are like most Americans, your answer will fall somewhere between Disney’s Pocahontas character, Johnny Depp’s depiction of Tonto, and the Washington NFL team logo. That’s because your education, family, friends, and society have no idea what actual, living Native peoples look like thanks in large part to Hollywood film representations. The 89-minute documentary Reel Injun: On the Trail of the Hollywood Indian (2009) will begin to correct some of those misrepresentations floating around in your brainpan.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rbDvteUUrm4″]

What will really blow your mind is when I say that “Indians” don’t exist. “Indian” was the term Columbus labeled the indigenous peoples of this land because he thought he was in India. So this mistake has become the generic name for all 500+ nations that still remain in this land. Charming. And in Hollywood films, Native peoples exist only as stereotypes. Thomas King (Cherokee) writes in his latest tome, The Inconvenient Indian, “Indians were made for film. Indians were exotic and erotic. All those feathers, all that face paint, the breast plates, the bone chokers, the skimpy loincloths. . .The only thing film had to do was to collect such materials and cobble them together into a series of functioning cliches. Film dispensed with any errant subtleties and colorings, and crafted three basic Indian types. There was the bloodthirsty savage, the noble savage, and the dying savage.”

The history of this practice is laid bare in Reel Injun and will shock and amaze you. Director Neil Diamond (Cree), and co-directors Catherine Bainbridge, and Jeremiah Hayes craft an alternative narrative to the one you think you know. For instance, did you know that the most famous “Indian” actor, Iron Eyes Cody, was Sicilian, not Native?

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=65PpeJkix5g”]

Did you know that the story you think you know about Crazy Horse and Custer isn’t true? Or that in many “classic” Hollywood westerns where Native actors are speaking a Native language, they are making fun of the scene or their fellow white actors instead of saying the lines presented in English on screen? Or that in the 1930s, Native Americans directed and acted in films from their own perspectives? Or that the headband seen so often on Native characters in westerns was because of the costume department and has absolutely nothing to do with real Plains cultures?

After a scene in a Hollywood costume vault, Ojibway film critic Jesse Wente says, “This is actually, while probably not calculated, an ingenious act of colonialism. You are essentially robbing nations of an identity and grouping them into one.”

Ojibway film critic, Jesse Wente.

Reel Injun starts off by reminding viewers that Hollywood has represented “Indians” in over 4,000 films for over 100 years before launching into a film clip smorgasbord that washes you with image after image that reinforces Thomas King’s statement.

The director/narrator, Neil Diamond, does a simple voiceover as the camera captures young Native kids watching one of those ubiquitous Hollywood westerns where “Indians” are the enemy. His voiceover: “Growing up on the reservation, the only show in town was movie night in the church basement. Raised on cowboys and indians, we cheered for the cowboys, never realizing we were the indians.”

Diamond’s stated goal is to “make sense of the world’s enduring love affair with the Hollywood indian. . .this image has captured the world’s imagination.” From the silent era when Native Americans were directing and acting in films to the twentieth century when representations of Native peoples remained wildly inaccurate and fantastical.

Cree director of Reel Injun, Neil Diamond.

Adam Beach, John Trudell, Russell Means, and Chris Eyre are among an impressive list of interviewees in the film and their comments are dispersed among historic photographs, film clips, and images of iconic American landscapes. About 13 minutes in, Chris Eyre explains, “The reason that indians were projected so heavily into movies was the romance of the tragedy, Greek-Roman tragedy.”

Philip J. Deloria addresses the representation of Native peoples in film in his book, Indians in Unexpected Places, writing, “Films, of course, never repudiated the sensibility of Indian violence found in the Wild West. Indeed, they were key to the shifting of Indian violence from nineteenth-century possibility to twentieth-century titillation and metaphor” (55).

At one point, director Diamond visits one of the many summer camps held in America every year that keep “Hollywood’s notion of the noble savage alive and well,” where little white boys romp and play and fight dressed in face and body paint and grunt and shout and vocalize the Atlanta Braves’ “tomahawk chop” tune under the watchful eye of their white leaders. Before he meets this group of campers, Diamond says, “I wonder if any of these kids have ever met a Native person. Or if their image of us comes only from the movies. I hope I don’t disappoint them.”

In The Inconvenient Indian, King provides a guiding perspective with which to consider the documentary Reel Injun, as well as any representations of Native peoples you may see on film or TV: “The good news is that none of these Indians was a threat. To the White heroes in particular and to North America in general. None of them ever prevailed. What we watched on the screen over and over was the implicit and inevitable acquiescence of Native people to Christianity and Commerce. No matter what happened, the question that was asked again and again on the silver screen was: Can Indians survive in a modern world? And the answer, even in sympathetic films such as Broken Arrow, Little Big Man, and Dances with Wolves, was always: No.”

Reel Injun won Gemini Awards for Best Direction and Best Visual Research and was nominated for Best Original Score in a Documentary Program. Available to stream on Amazon and Netflix, this documentary would make a wise and balanced addition to any classroom studying film, film history, Native Americans past and present, as well as issues of representation or identity.

 

 

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

‘To Be Takei’: Ohhh Myyy

Jennifer M. Kroot’s documentary ‘To Be Takei’ centers around the life, career, and activism of George Takei, the much beloved ‘Star Trek’ original series veteran helmsman Sulu. The real meat of Takei’s story, though, is his youthful imprisonment in a Japanese American internment camp during World War II and his coming out as a gay man, followed by his gay rights activism.

To Be Takei Poster Horizontal

Written by Amanda Rodriguez.


Jennifer M. Kroot‘s documentary To Be Takei centers around the life, career, and activism of George Takei, the much beloved Star Trek original series veteran helmsman (turned Captain) Hiraku Sulu. The film has a lot for Trekkies in it with its cast interviews: Nichelle Nichols (Black communications officer Nyota Uhura), Walter Koenig (Pavel Chekov with his ridiculous Russian accent), and William Shatner (infamous ham Captain James T. Kirk). The real meat of Takei’s story, though, is his youthful imprisonment in a Japanese American internment camp during World War II and his coming out as a gay man, followed by his gay rights activism.

"The Naked Time": Takei's favorite Star Trek episode

“The Naked Time”: Takei’s all-time favorite Star Trek episode

A pioneer for Asian American representation on television, George Takei is best known for his 1966 role as Star Trek‘s Mr. Sulu aboard the USS Enterprise. Though Takei has had a prolific acting career since, he still attends conventions and speaks with fondness about his Star Trek days. Believing in the “multi-ethnic” cast and boundary-pushing themes of the classic sci-fi series, Takei even confesses that he suggested to show creator Gene Roddenberry that the cast be expanded to include a gay officer. Alas, that didn’t happen, but it’s some consolation that many years later, the Star Trek franchise dealt with questions surrounding sexuality and same-sex marriage and equality, most notably in Deep Space Nine with its character Jadzia Dax.

Mr. Sulu at the helm

To Be Takei payed a great deal of attention to the ongoing feud between George Takei and William Shatner, as I’m sure fans have always been curious about it. The film even suggests that Shatner may be homophobic but never outright says it. Despite the discord between captain and helmsman, we see that Takei has formed life-long friendships with fellow cast members Nichelle Nichols and Walter Koenig who even attend and participate in his wedding to long-time love Brad Altman (now Brad Takei).

The Takei wedding ceremony

The Takei wedding ceremony

Throughout his life, George Takei has always been an activist. Now he spends much of his time at speaking engagements where he educates audiences on his experiences as a Japanese American prisoner of the US internment camps, explaining the harsh conditions and the stripping of rights and humanity that went on at the camps. Takei spent four years of his childhood in internment camps. He’s spent many years fighting for recognition and reparation for survivors. He’s even collaborated on a musical Allegiance that he refers to as his “legacy project,” which details the lives of survivors and life-long trauma caused by internment.

A quote from George Takei's father about his family's internment

A quote from George Takei’s father about his family’s internment used in the play Allegiance

Decades after his most popular film and television role as Mr. Sulu ended, George Takei has managed to become a pop culture icon. He’s become a radio and internet sensation, best known for his wildly popular Facebook page, which at present has nearly 7.5 million fans. Takei wields his online fanbase and notoriety, building and communicating with an activist base, to promote with humor the issues about which he cares. Most notably, Takei is ever more present and vocal about the gay rights movement, in particular, same-sex marriage equality. However, Takei uses his infamous humor to humanize LGBTQI people who are bullied, persecuted, and discriminated against. In fact, one of his most hilarious and impactful uses of social media to spark anti-hate activism, was his “It’s OK to be Takei” campaign:

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dRkIWB3HIEs”]

Um…So. Much. Awesome.

To Be Takei also reveals some less shining examples of George Takei’s life. Though director Jennifer M. Kroot refers to George and Brad’s marriage as “charmingly functional-dysfunctional,” it’s safe to say Takei’s marriage may not be the healthiest relationship in the Alpha Quadrant. Not only that, but we see Takei’s unforgiving weightism, wherein he tells fellow Star Trek actor Wil Wheaton (Wesley Crusher) that he’s got to lose that weight he put on. Takei then mocks his husband Brad’s weight gain over the years, despite Brad’s insistence that he feels “sensitive about it.”

I, like so many others, am still enamored of this ever-rising ex-Star Trek actor. With his deep voiced oh my‘s and his dedication to humor and social progress, it’s hard not to overlook Takei’s faults. In spite of his very human shortcomings, George Takei is an amazingly energetic human being, using his growing fame to create real change in the world.


Read also at Bitch Flicks:

Trill Gender and Sexuality Metaphors in Star Trek


Bitch Flicks writer and editor 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. Her short story “The Woman Who Fell in Love with a Mermaid” was published in Germ Magazine. 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.


Turning Poison into Medicine: ‘On and Off the Res w/Charlie Hill’

Normally, I would now insert a trailer, but this small independent documentary from Upstream Productions has no trailer or clips to share. It has an IMDB listing, but there is barely any information on it. To find anything out about Oneida Nation member Charlie Hill or this documentary, you have to search. Not only that, you have to know in advance what you are searching for. That puts you, kind reader, at a serious disadvantage if you didn’t even know Native Americans still exist, much less participate in the stand-up comedy circuit.

Charlie Hill is the most well-known Native American stand-up comedian that you’ve never heard of because his mainstream appearances on The Tonight Show and Richard Pryor’s TV show happened back in the 70s and 80s. He was a ground-breaking comic, the first American Indian on The Tonight Show, and considered by many contemporary Native comics to be the “godfather” of Native stand-up. On and Off the Res w/Charlie Hill (1999) is a one-hour documentary that uses humor to challenge the racism about Native peoples that is so pervasive in America, while also sharing the biography and story of Hill’s life and rise as a stand-up comic.

Normally, I would now insert a trailer, but this small independent documentary from Upstream Productions has no trailer or clips to share. It has an IMDB listing, but there is barely any information on it. To find anything out about Oneida Nation member Charlie Hill or this documentary, you have to search. Not only that, you have to know in advance what you are searching for. That puts you, kind reader, at a serious disadvantage if you didn’t even know Native Americans still exist, much less participate in the stand-up comedy circuit. This absence of information, the silence about real, living, Native peoples perpetuated by the American entertainment industry is indicative not only of American mainstream racism, but also of our shared ignorance. We don’t know, so when we are confronted by such a comic as Charlie Hill, we don’t know how to react. Surely, not with laughter?

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=545t5SvcyDo”]

Hill’s accessible humor is on display in On and Off the Res, as well as his more serious commentary about stereotypical representations of Native Americans in mainstream American venues. The film includes interviews with his family, Dennis Banks, and Vine Deloria, who says early in the film, “Charlie’s valuable to the Indian community as a person out there on the edge, acting as a bridge between cultures.”

One moment included in this documentary is Hill’s presentation to the National Indian Education Convention in Tacoma, Wash. (1997) where he says,

“But America, it’s not really America, it’s Europe Junior when you really think about it. You know, when they start honoring the treaties and respecting the ladies in this nation, we get rid of sexism and racism, maybe we can call it America. But when you think about the history of this country, it never started ‘til 1492. We were here like billions of years like we was all on hold, like in freeze-frame or somethin’, like we weren’t movin’ (Hill freezes in place on stage), hup, it’s October 12, the white man’s here we better move (Hill starts a powwow chant).”

When Hill talks about his time in Catholic schools and being beaten by nuns, as he says they all were, he says, “We’re all reverberating from that. I learned to convert that into humor. I try to turn poison into medicine.”

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wh6eCALFohY”]

As the film shows, many of HIll’s televised appearances were on Canadian TV, which is sad. Here we had this wonderful comic in our midst making us laugh at our own racist tendencies and he wasn’t a fixture on American television. Think about that.

One clip from a Hill set includes one of my favorite Hill jokes that turns racist assumption on its own head. He relates the story of a man who yells out, “I don’t want to hear that crap, Injun, I’m an Amuurican, why don’t you go back where you came from!” Hill pauses for a second and then says, “So I camped in his backyard.”

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QOf-3TShBio”]

Vine Deloria explains, “What you do is a quick reverse of whatever the person says to you. You can find that in treaty records. Red Cloud at one point says, why don’t you put us on wheels? Then every time we make a treaty you can wheel us around. You get reports by treaty commissioners, you know these Indians know exactly what we’re after, we can’t deal with them. Gotta have someone else come in because they turned that thing quick. That’s a universal trait that you found all over the continent. Those people negotiating treaties had a sense of humor, a greater sense of irony, like some of the stand-ups, Rickles and others, just slice all day long. So you had that kind of humor Indian chiefs and diplomats used when they were negotiating.”

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HK6TKLImrkg”]

Negotiating with the American government or the American people about Native peoples and their sovereignty and right to a non-stereotyped identity has been a challenge for these Nations since Europeans first arrived on these shores, and the challenge continues today. Unfortunately, Charlie Hill’s presence and voice exists now only in the record, for he walked on in Dec. 2013, a great loss to the comedy community and to us. Fortunately, we still have access to Hill’s sharp wit and comedic stylings through this documentary, on the American Indian Comedy Slam DVD, and on YouTube.

Deloria states toward the end of the documentary, “What I’ve tried to do, what Floyd and Charlie have tried to do, is kind of get the flavor of being an Indian in an Indian community out to a larger audience.”

For anyone interested in exploring other Native American stand-up comics, I encourage you to check out the following comedians and challenge your own assumptions through laughter.

Jim Ruel

Anjelah Johnson

JR Redwater

Howie Miller

Charlie Ballard

Marc Yaffee

Vaughn Eaglebear

Larry Omaha

Charlie Hill, Oneida, stand-up comic (1951-2013). You are missed.

 

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

She’s Pretty for a Black Girl: ‘Dark Girls’ and Colorism in America

I can remember an episode of ‘Chappelle’s Show’ (a sketch series that offered some valuable commentary on race and race relations in America) where Paul Mooney says, “Everybody wanna be a nigga, but nobody wanna be a nigga.” How does this seemingly crude sentiment translate to reality? to a social framework? To color? What he means is this: being Black is still considered “cool” and trendy by some, and it can be a mark of power and subversion. On the other hand, those who find race to be an accessory are more than happy to avoid the consequences and negative stereotypes associated with blackness, such as prejudice and discrimination. ‘Dark Girls’ investigates what causes colorism, how it’s begun to poison Black women, and how Black communities can heal from it.

Written by Jenny Lapekas.

I can remember an episode of Chappelle’s Show (a sketch series that offered some valuable commentary on race and race relations in America) where Paul Mooney says, “Everybody wanna be a nigga, but nobody wanna be a nigga.”  How does this seemingly crude sentiment translate to reality? to a social framework? To color?  What he means is this:  being Black is still considered “cool” and trendy by some, and it can be a mark of power and subversion.  On the other hand, those who find race to be an accessory are more than happy to avoid the consequences and negative stereotypes associated with blackness, such as prejudice and discrimination.  Dark Girls investigates what causes colorism, how it’s begun to poison Black women, and how Black communities can heal from it.

A 2011 documentary, Dark Girls details colorism in America, particularly amongst the Black female population.  Since learning about this phenomenon in college, I’ve been fascinated by this idea that the darker your skin, the more poorly you’re potentially treated not only in America, but across the globe.  Dark Girls touches on stereotypes such as dark-skinned girls coming from impoverished communities, or even simply having too much “attitude.”  The film is a touching and inspiring examination of blackness, with layers of social and psychological insight, culminating in a poignant conclusion that urges dark girls to “rise,” to reclaim what’s been forgotten, oppressed, or effaced.

Before I evaluate or scrutinize anything:  I don’t know the Black experience firsthand.  I’m not Black, so I always approach the subject of race with caution.  Watching this film won’t make me “get” the Black experience, and neither will reading Malcolm X or watching a Tyler Perry film.  It’s insulting and reductive to assume that we can absorb the struggles of an entire people simply by exposing ourselves to a piece of art or media, such as a dramatic performance or a book of poetry–these things must be lived.  To reduce a whole race to a 70-minute film like Dark Girls is to limit ourselves.  In short, I admire Black women and the strength they embody, I find “ethnic” hair aesthetically pleasing, and I’ve dated Black and Hispanic men who were absolutely guilty of practicing colorism.

In the opening scene, a little girl tells us that she doesn’t like to be called “Black” because she’s not:  a nice preface for the negative connotations we can attribute to that one word.  Several people interviewed, most of them psychologists, explain the “paper bag test,” which dictates that if your skin is lighter than a brown paper bag, you’re considered beautiful, but if you find yourself darker than the bag, you’re dark and unattractive, and thus undesirable.  This seems an unnecessary exercise in masochism, but hey, women also have the “pencil test,” which lets us know if our boobs are too saggy to be considered sexually attractive (see Breasts, another great documentary where women are interviewed topless).  How very queer to think of mundane items like pencils and paper bags as tools to assess we all are or what we’re worth.

A drawing that reflects such tragic self-doubt at a surprisingly young age.
A drawing that reflects such tragic self-doubt at a surprisingly young age.

 

One psychologist explains that Black women who experience insecurity about their color cannot count on Black men to “liberate” them from this “slave mentality”:  that lighter-skinned Black women are more desirable than dark Black women.  Those of us who saw Django will recall that Broomhilda is light-skinned, which meant that she was a house slave (or a “house nigger”); darker slaves worked largely in the fields since they were considered less valuable or unpleasant to look at.  This observation brings to mind the popular idea that “good” black men are difficult to find; one participant even explains that she knows black men must exist who are capable of giving her a family and a pleasant life, but she fears they all must be in prison.

Black women are generally insulted when Black men declare their romantic and sexual preference for white women.
Black women are generally insulted when Black men declare their romantic and sexual preference for white women.

 

To help offset some of the negative commentary in this short film, we meet many articulate and upfront men who explain that they actually prefer dark women for a variety of reasons:  Black women are sexier or have nicer skin, dark-skinned men want dark babies with other dark women, and even “the darker the berry, the sweeter the juice.”  Whether or not we agree with any of the men interviewed, we have to appreciate their honesty and willingness to share their feelings about race, color, and Black women on camera.  Some Black women we meet speak to the sexualization of their bodies and their refusal to allow men of any racial background exoticize their skin color.  Some of these women also report that while Black men reject them, white men revere them and their blackness.  While much of this film focuses on racial issues in the United States, it discusses the global prevalence of colorism in countries where we wouldn’t expect such behavior, such as Thailand or the Gambia.

Actor/Comedian Michael Colyar says, “I really believe everybody wants to be Black except Black folks,” a thought that echoes Paul Mooney’s.  The Black experience seems to be coveted and glamorized, despite the knowledge that racism runs rampant.  “They call us colored–but–but–but we always our color, whatever color we are, if we come out, we brown, we always brown, we end up brown.  White people, when they’re born, they’re pink, when they’re mad, they’re red, when they’re cold, they’re blue, when they die, they’re gray.  Them the colored people!”  Clearly, Colyar offers some much needed humor to an otherwise sober look at colorism and what it means to be a dark woman.  Just as Chappelle’s Show utilized humor to diffuse the racial tension it unveiled, comedy seems to be the most effective antidote (besides education!) when combating everything from racism and misogyny to political strife.

Dark Girls also references the absence of dark-skinned people on television; it’s this invisibility that suggests that these people don’t exist for the rest of us.  Colyar goes on to say, “Usually when you see Black people on TV, we’re on our way to jail or we’re rapping or we’re in sports.  You don’t get to see us in a positive light continuously.”  Colyar’s astuteness here demonstrates just how both racism and colorism are perpetuated quietly via our seemingly innocuous television sets.

This woman used to worry that her children would be too dark, but tearfully says that she now loves her beautiful “chocolate baby.”
This woman used to worry that her children would be too dark, but tearfully says that she now loves her beautiful “chocolate baby.”

 

We come full circle as the documentary ends with the same little girl from the opening scene, the beautiful little girl who already struggles with her skin color, believing that Black equates to “bad” and “ugly” while white equals “good” and “pretty.”  This girl represents future generations of dark girls who will hopefully embrace their color and challenge Western beauty ideals.

“My mommy and daddy say I’m beautiful.”
“My mommy and daddy say I’m beautiful.”

 

Colorism seems to be a misguided attempt to better understand your own self-appointed rank of blackness while belittling others in the process.  This practice is maybe prevalent amongst the Black population due to a lack of self-esteem, one’s own self-loathing, or misdirected anger that is perhaps meant for hegemonic masculinity or non-Black cultures.  Because women and Black people are still oppressed, it’s especially problematic when Black women become oppressors of one another; solidarity, at times, can be an illusion if colorism continues within Black communities.  While the little girl we meet–perhaps unnamed because she represents every dark girl everywhere–relies on her family to encourage her, we should all be cognizant of our own inclination to attach negative stereotypes to something as superficial as color.  I was glad to see that Dark Girls concludes on a hopeful note:  that you are not beautiful in spite of your color, but beautiful because of it.

Recommended reading:  2013 Oscar Week: Race and the Academy: Black Characters, Stories and the Danger of Django, Women of Color in Film and TV: A Celebration of Black Women on Film in 2012, Light Skin Vs. Dark Skin: Breaking the Mental Chains 

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Jenny holds a Master of Arts degree in English, and she is a part-time instructor at a community college in Pennsylvania.  Her areas of scholarship include women’s literature, menstrual literacy, and rape-revenge cinema.  She lives with two naughty chihuahuas.  You can find her on WordPress and Pinterest.

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

‘Shine’: 10 Women Strip Down and Share Their Thoughts on Body Image

There were parts of the short that I really loved. The variety of women–not just in terms of body type but also ethnicity–was wonderful to see captured on film. The scenes where the women were just hanging out being themselves were beautiful and really conveyed a sense of easy feminine bonding that is something unusual in a world where women are almost always conveyed as competing with each other.

The short film Shine describes itself on its website:

“10 young women were inhibited to come together, shed their layers and return to nature. By removing comparisons, competition and conditioning they were given a space to look inward.”

The short has been created by The Goddess Project, which aims to be a feature-length documentary about everyday women who realize their potential in order to change the world.

TheFilmmakers
The Filmmakers

In Shine, 10 strangers are brought together. They take off their clothes to have their bodies painted and have pieces of nature glued to them so they effectively become living art.

There were parts of the short that I really loved. The variety of women–not just in terms of body type but also ethnicity–was wonderful to see captured on film. The scenes where the women were just hanging out being themselves were beautiful and really conveyed a sense of easy feminine bonding that is something unusual in a world where women are almost always conveyed as competing with each other.

The camaraderie in the short and the purpose of it–the stripping of outer clothes in order to turn inwards and find the qualities that make us as women feel beautiful and claim inspiration–was quite beautiful to watch.

However, while the cast was diverse and interesting, the vague neo-tribal atmosphere of the short made me feel a little squicky. The whole thing feels slightly orientalist and appropriative.  The short does not reference a specific culture, but it has that sort of “back to nature” feel that  is generally connected to the appropriation of native or indigenous cultures the world over.  I am very wary of empowerment being  discovered through appropriation and personally I think the short would have been much more powerful if it had delved more into the individual women’s experience of being naked with a bunch of other women they didn’t know.

The stills from the short of such a wide range of women are quite stunning so I do applaud the film makers for what they have undertaken, but it is important for empowerment not to come at the cost of further marginalizing certain groups of people.

shinecollage3


Gaayathri Nair is currently living and writing in Auckland, New Zealand. You can find more of her work at her blog A Human Story and tweet her @A_Gaayathri.

Seed & Spark: The Film Industry Needs Women Like You

Being a female in the male-driven world of film often elicits instant praise: “Good for you! The industry needs women like you!” which opens the door for us to respond with, “Yes! Let me tell you all about our documentary, ‘Trichster’!” The problem is—because Hollywood is well-known for having an astonishing lack of females—this is without having ever seen or heard about our work; we’re just what the industry needs (having lady parts and all). We are proud to represent the growing number of women in the independent film industry and gladly share the story of our team, but we’d prefer the focus to be on our work.

Why an all-woman film team is marketing gold—and what that says about the industry

The all-woman creative "Team Trichster": Producer Amanda Giordano, Director Jillian Corsie, DP/Co-Producer Seun Babalola, Producer Carolyn and Cinematographer/Co-Producer Katie Maul)
The all-woman creative “Team Trichster“: Producer Amanda Giordano, Director Jillian Corsie, DP/Co-Producer Seun Babalola, Producer Carolyn and Cinematographer/Co-Producer Katie Maul)

 

This is a guest post by Katie Maul.

I’m co-producing a film with a team of four smart, innovative, creative professionals, who are, yes, all women. Take the time you need to applaud, throw your fist in the air and share this article on your social pages.

Being a female in the male-driven world of film often elicits instant praise: “Good for you! The industry needs women like you!” which opens the door for us to respond with, “Yes! Let me tell you all about our documentary, Trichster!” The problem is—because Hollywood is well-known for having an astonishing lack of females—this is without having ever seen or heard about our work; we’re just what the industry needs (having lady parts and all). We are proud to represent the growing number of women in the independent film industry and gladly share the story of our team, but we’d prefer the focus to be on our work.

Director of Photography and Co-Producer for Trichster, Seun Babalola
Director of Photography and Co-Producer for Trichster, Seun Babalola

 

Our film, Trichster, follows seven people living with trichotillomania, a disorder that causes them to pull out their own hair. According to the Trichotillomania Learning Center, the little known disorder is “estimated to affect one to three percent of the population,” and “by adulthood, 80-90 percent of reported cases are women.” As a direct result, our audience and cast reflect those percentages, and our growing fan base is largely female. Touting our all-woman creative team is a perfect way to reach and expand that audience and our rare case of an all-woman team is marketing gold.

Co-Producer and Cinematographer, Katie Maul, shooting a scene with Rebecca Brown
Co-Producer and Cinematographer, Katie Maul, shooting a scene with Rebecca Brown

 

As team-appointed “marketing strategist” for the film, this is not lost on me, and it’s why with every pitch, synopsis, interview or discussion about the film, the phrase “all-woman creative team” is brought up and is often the main focus. Interest is piqued at the mention of our collective gender and gives us access to apply for specialized grants, media/blog coverage, and mentorship programs and groups. “Five females producing their first film” is not only pleasing alliteration, but the inclusion of “female” automatically boosts our appeal and makes us “different and interesting.”  It opens doors and opportunities to collaborate with other women trying to break into the industry and gives us VIP access to women-only events and workshops.

It’s great marketing for us, but it’s a sad reflection on the industry as a whole.  The slowly expanding crack in the glass ceiling of filmmaking still hasn’t cleared enough women to come remotely close to evening out the playing field, so it’s no wonder that an all-woman team is news. The problem is: It shouldn’t be. We shouldn’t get attention for something as basic as our gender—we didn’t have to do anything to be born with vaginas. Somehow, the fact that we were simultaneously helps and hurts us in the film world. We are an anomaly, which is great for marketing opportunities, but not so great for our prospects in an industry where that anomaly exists.

Producers Carolyn Maher and Amanda Giordano
Producers Carolyn Maher and Amanda Giordano

 

Dr. Martha M. Lauzen’s study, The Celluloid Ceiling: Behind-the-Scenes Employment of Women on the Top 250 Films of 2013, shows that 16 percent of key behind-the-scenes positions of the top grossing 250 U.S. films were filled by women in 2013— that’s down 2 percent from 2012. Only 6 percent of last year’s directors from those films were women (another disappointing decline from the previous year). The numbers don’t lie; the off-balance industry is extremely one-sided when it comes to gender. The need for specialized grants, mentorship programs and organizations that support and encourage female filmmakers is real—and it’s infuriating. Don’t get me wrong, these groups should be commended on their persistent efforts and the advancements they’ve made to shatter that “celluloid ceiling,” but I have a feeling they would all agree that their necessary existence is maddening. An all-woman team shouldn’t be surprising or noteworthy; it shouldn’t be anything more than trivial information about the film, but, here, in 2014, our team is a pioneering anomaly. We will gladly do our part and continue to stand up for female filmmakers as we storm our way into the industry. And we will produce a film that will make the industry and those trying to break into it proud.


katie
Katie Maul

Katie Maul is Co-Producer and Cinematographer on Trichster, a documentary about seven people living with the little-known disorder, trichotillomania. She works full time as Marketing Strategist and Content Producer at Critical Mention, a media monitoring company. Katie pursues freelance projects on nights and weekends as an editor, producer, and videographer.