Emma Thompson – Bitch Flicks

‘Sense and Sensibility’: Sister Saviors in Ang Lee’s Adaptation

On first glance, it may well appear that the film follows the usual trappings of the romance genre, in which the young women eventually marry the men that they love, who fortuitously possess more than ample funds to elevate them and their families from poverty, thereby “saving” them. …If we delve a little deeper into Lee’s adaptation it becomes clear that the sisters are not saved by the men they marry, but rather by each other, and multiple times throughout the story.

This guest post written by Melissa-Kelly Franklin appears as part of our theme week on Sisterhood. | Spoilers ahead.

Much is made of the erotic undertones of recent adaptations of Jane Austen’s work, particularly the wildly popular BBC adaptation of Pride and Prejudice directed by Andrew Davies, and so it is easy for one of Austen’s most prevailing and insightful themes to be forgotten. Austen is deeply interested in the relationship between sisters and the almost mystical intimacy that stems from it. For Austen’s women characters, this sibling connection is vital in being able to cope with all the trials that family life, social circumstances, and a patriarchal world casts in their direction.

Amidst the clamor of swooning over Mr Darcy’s wet-shirt and Pride and Prejudice’s subsequent pop-cultural appropriations, the importance of the friendship between the eldest two Bennet sisters can sometimes be overshadowed. Indeed, the sensation around the “sexing up” of the BBC’s Pride and Prejudice somewhat sidelines the memory of another superb adaptation of the Austen canon, released in the same year: Sense and Sensibility. Emma Thompson’s Oscar-winning adaptation of Austen’s novel, beautifully directed by Ang Lee in his English-language debut, focuses on the relationship between sisters Elinor and Marianne, not only to highlight their divergent personalities and thus the “sense” and “sensibility” of the title, but how necessary the sisters are to each other’s survival.

The family of wealthy Dashwood women find their fortunes irrevocably altered on the death of their father, whose home and fortune legally passes to his eldest son from a previous marriage and his selfish, insensitive wife. The four women are left without a home and a mere £500 a year to live on (to put this into perspective, this translates to roughly £16, 980 in today’s currency — $22, 580 in U.S. dollars — according to the National Archives’ currency converter). By the end of the story, the two eldest sisters are happily married: Elinor (Emma Thompson) to a comfortably-off, kind-hearted gentleman turned vicar, and Marianne (Kate Winslet) to an exceptionally wealthy and honorable colonel.

Some may argue that this preoccupation with handsome, eligible men makes it “fluffy” or even unfeminist. On this point, I agree with Samantha Ellis, who recently discussed the application of the Bechdel Test and why it “doesn’t always work.” She believes it is a useful tool in holding us accountable to creating complex female characters, but it should not be the only way in which we measure gender equity in film — indeed this was never its intended purpose. Ellis asserts that “sometimes women’s conversations about men are feminist”; Sense and Sensibility certainly falls under this umbrella. In the film, women’s survival is inextricably bound to marriage, when legal traditions like primogeniture prevented them from inheriting financial independence, and social propriety prevented them from earning money professionally, as Elinor so eloquently expresses to Edward (Hugh Grant):

“You talk of feeling idle and useless; imagine how that is compounded when one has no hope and no choice of any occupation whatsoever… At least you will inherit your fortune, we cannot even earn ours.”

On first glance, it may well appear that the film follows the usual trappings of the romance genre, in which the young women eventually marry the men that they love, who fortuitously possess more than ample funds to elevate them and their families from poverty, thereby “saving” them. I would argue however, that if we delve a little deeper into Lee’s adaptation it becomes clear that the sisters are not saved by the men they marry, but rather by each other, and multiple times throughout the story.

When considering which sister is the “savior” of the Dashwood family, Elinor immediately springs to mind. The opening scenes in the film reveal Elinor to be a self-contained, capable young woman, holding together a family falling apart at the seams as she navigates the grief of her mother and sisters. While the others are stricken at the loss of their father, Elinor is already pulling herself together and thinking pragmatically about their physical survival, comforting her mother and even initiating her youngest sister Margaret (Emelie Françoise) into the realities of their situation.

The importance of Elinor’s capability in this situation cannot be overstated: she is the only one of the women who fully grasps the finer details of their financial situation. In a private meeting between Marianne, Elinor, and their mother as they search for a new home, the widowed Mrs. Dashwood (Gemma Jones) suggests a small manor house, which is certainly a down-size from their expansive home Norland Park, but Elinor has to remind her that it is well outside what they can afford on their small stipend. Even after they move to the tiny Barton Cottage which is to become their home, Elinor monitors the housekeeping expenses with even greater vigilance, even cutting “beef as well as sugar” from their already meager diets. Without Elinor’s practicality, the Dashwood women may well have found themselves in even more dire circumstances.

As much as Marianne relies on her eldest sister’s good sense to ensure her immediate survival, Marianne’s spirited nature provides Elinor some respite from the gravity of the path that lays before them. Where Elinor would politely hold her tongue at their sister-in-law’s money-grubbing behavior, Marianne refuses to surrender her family home without highlighting the injustice at every opportunity. Marianne is appalled at Fanny’s request for the key to the silver cabinet for example, and rather than keeping her candid remarks between herself and Elinor, she pointedly throws the question across the breakfast table the next day: “How was the silver? Was it all genuine?” Elinor sweeps in to change the subject to something more appropriate, but one cannot help but wonder if she sometimes wished she had Marianne’s free-spirited belief in not “hiding her emotions.” Further to this point, Marianne is an important confidante for Elinor: teasing, probing and encouraging her to open up about her feelings for Edward. The confidences the sisters share when alone become an imperative cathartic release from the social restraints of the day, particularly for the propriety conscious and emotionally reserved Elinor.

The sister’s relationship, like that of any sisters, is fraught at times: their divergent attitudes towards social propriety and emotional openness sometimes puts distance between them. Marianne laments to her mother that at times she does “not understand” her sister, while Elinor privately confides to Colonel Brandon (played with the perfect combination of sensitivity, warmth and tortured sadness by the late Alan Rickman) that “the sooner [Marianne] becomes acquainted with the ways of the world, the better.” Despite her wariness of the way in which Marianne’s free behavior can “expose [her] to some very impertinent remarks,” Elinor remains unwaveringly loyal to her sister. When Marianne espies her faithless lover Willoughby (Greg Wise) across a ballroom in London, it is Elinor who is by her side, sharing in the indignity of being socially snubbed by him and his wealthy new fiancée, and it is Elinor who catches her sister when she faints (unlike that other version in which Brandon, in a cheesy “hero” shot, catches Marianne while glowering in Willoughby’s direction). In Thompson’s adapted screenplay, Elinor is there for Marianne through every indignity and public embarrassment, without agenda and in spite of her private thoughts on her sister’s past behavior.

Marianne similarly supports her sister in potentially uncomfortable social situations. Despite her public humiliation and unequivocal rejection from Willoughby by letter, Marianne leaves the sanctuary of her room and puts aside her grief to greet Edward — the man she knows Elinor is deeply in love with — when he finally visits them. Marianne’s warmth and friendliness towards him is to both make him feel at ease in their family circle, and show her support for her sister’s choice, whatever her humorous misgivings about his passionless reading and reserved nature she expresses earlier in the film. She selflessly dismisses his questions about her own health and redirects the attention to her sister, insisting “do not think of me, Elinor is well you see? That must be enough for both of us.” Little does she know that Edward is secretly engaged to the other woman in the room, Lucy Steele (Imogen Stubbs), an uncomfortable fact that only she is unaware of. At times, Marianne resents the secret she senses that lurks between her and Elinor and accuses her of hypocrisy when probed for the details of her intimacy with Willoughby: “That is a reproach from you, you who confide in no one.” Elinor replies that she has nothing to tell, but the audience knows she would share the secret if only Lucy had not elicited her vow of silence. Marianne retorts: “Nor I, we neither of us have anything to tell. I because I conceal nothing, and you because you communicate nothing.” However, when the truth comes out, Marianne rallies to her sister’s side, insisting that she for once put her own desires above those of others.

It is not until we see Elinor open up to Marianne as she lays unconscious, begging her to live, that we fully understand that not only does Marianne’s survival depend on Elinor’s practicality and pragmatism, but Elinor’s survival equally depends upon Marianne. In the dead of night, after a day of nursing her sister and the doctor’s warning for Elinor to prepare herself for the worst, Elinor begs her sister to find the willpower to fight for her life. Emma Thompson’s performance in this moment is utterly wrenching; she runs her hand along Marianne’s leg, as if to memorize the details of her beloved sister’s body before gripping her hand. She barely contains the wall of emotion threatening to overwhelm her: “Marianne, try. Please, try. I cannot do without you. I try to bear everything else. Please, dearest. Do not leave me alone.”

The first conscious words Marianne utters after her life-threatening ordeal are, “Where’s Elinor?” which further emphasizes the symbiosis of their lives. Despite their differences and the tensions they create between them, the two sisters could not survive without the succor they provide each other by simply existing, let alone the many moments of tangible support they afford one another when life in many ways, has been unrelentingly hard on them both.

Too often, Jane Austen’s work and its various screen adaptations is dismissed as trivial or thematically narrow; a period “chick flick” chiefly concerned with the pursuit of a husband to save the protagonist and her family from poverty as a result of the evils of primogeniture. It is worth remembering however, that Austen herself was a pioneer in her day as one of the first women to earn a living by her writing. Equally unconventional was her active choice to remain unmarried, after causing quite the local scandal when she accepted and then rejected the proposal of a wealthy neighbor within a twenty-four hour period. She instead chose to live with her beloved sister Cassandra for the rest of her life. Such was the closeness of their relationship, that their mother is reported to have said, “If Cassandra were going to have her head cut off, Jane would insist on sharing her fate.”

Austen’s own experiences of sisterhood make her renderings of sisterly relationships nuanced and detailed. Her works explore the complexity and intimacy of that connection — which may make the relationship fraught at times, but no less vital. Emma Thompson’s screenplay of Sense and Sensibility depicts this beautifully, revealing through Ang Lee’s insightful direction, that the story is much more about sisterhood than it is about romance or finding the right man.

Melissa-Kelly Franklin is an Australian-born, London-based writer and director of independent short films, with an honors degree in English Literature and History. Her feminist period short film Portrait is soon to premiere at international festivals, and she has two other film projects cooking in pre-production. Updates about her work can be found at melissakellyfranklin.wix.com/writer-director/ and she occasionally tweets @MelissaKelly_F.

Manawee, ‘Mansfield Park,’ and the Limitations of Compulsory Spunkiness

If Austen’s earlier ‘Pride and Prejudice’ and ‘Sense and Sensibility’ (both written by age 23) seem to represent “unnatural prudence” by justifying and approving the Madonna’s inhibitions, then her later Emma and Persuasion both defend “natural romance.” Between proper “prudence” and regretful “romance” hovers ‘Mansfield Park’; every avenue is intolerable and every gate locked.

Written by Brigit McCone.

In the 2007 biopic Becoming Jane, Jane Austen’s relationship with Tom Lefroy is turned into a period romance, ending with Austen refusing to elope with Lefroy for the noblest of reasons and vowing that her heroines will get the happy ending she has been denied. There is a problem with that theory. James McAvoy’s passionate, mischievous Lefroy resembles Austen’s early hero Henry Tilney, of Northanger Abbey, but is otherwise far closer to the archetypal Unsuitable Suitor: Willoughby, Wickham, Crawford and Churchill. If, as the tag-line of Becoming Jane claims, “their love story was her greatest inspiration,” this suggests not the wish fulfillment of “happy endings,” but intense conflict over the Unsuitable Suitor’s incompatibility with social approval.

In Clarissa Pinkola Estés’ female spin on Jungian psychology, Women Who Run With the Wolves, she chooses the African tale “Manawee” to represent the psychological challenges of romantic union. In the story, a man’s dog must discover the names of twins before the man can marry them, avoiding distractions of the flesh to deliver the names to his master. In Estés’ reading, the dog represents the man’s instinctual self; only by recognizing (“naming”) the civilized and wild aspects of woman as dual but inseparable (“twins”), while avoiding the temptations of instant gratification (“flesh”) in favor of deep knowledge, can man qualify himself as woman’s enduring mate.

The Madonna/Whore complex defines as “Madonna” any woman who wins social approval by conforming to convention, and as “Whore” any woman who violates social convention to act on desire (capitalized to distinguish the concept from sex workers). Patriarchal ideology demands that the Whore be rejected and the Madonna rewarded, to discipline female behavior. By contrast, Jane Austen’s writing has the logic of Estés’ “Manawee” fable: the inseparable duality of Madonna and Whore. Marianne Dashwood loves Willoughby, therefore Brandon must win Marianne by protecting his Whore ward who elopes with Willoughby; Elinor Dashwood loves Edward Ferrars, therefore Ferrars must prove his loyalty to the Whore, Lucy Steele, to win Elinor; Elizabeth Bennet falls for Wickham, therefore Darcy must protect her Whore sister who elopes with Wickham; sibling-doubles Henry and Mary Crawford are dismissive of Whore Maria, therefore must be rejected by cousin-doubles Fanny and Edmund; Frank Churchill loves loyal Jane, who Whorishly defies propriety with their secret engagement, therefore Churchill appreciates Emma; Knightley loves Emma, therefore he is protective of Jane and urges Emma to stop distrusting her; Captain Wentworth shows his love for Anne Elliot by appreciating Louisa Musgrove, whose Whorish passion Anne has suppressed. The pattern is too consistent for coincidence: no hero in any Austen novel wins the heroine without protecting her Whore counterpart. The intense resistance to sexual double standards that this implies is often unappreciated, because of the propriety of its expression.

Sense and Sensibility‘s Marianne is particularly fascinating in this light. Her binary with Brandon’s Whore ward establishes Marianne as Madonna, and therefore entitled to count as heroine. Her binary with super-Madonna sister Elinor, however, establishes Marianne as Whore, flaunting social conventions by writing to Willoughby and flirting openly. By centering dual Madonna and Whore heroines, Austen foregrounds the internal conflict over the love plots. Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick’s “Jane Austen and the Masturbating Girl“ points to convincing parallels between Marianne’s characterization and the symptoms of female masturbation pathologized as “hysteria” by that era’s medical literature. I’m skeptical, however, of Sedgwick suggesting eroticism in the tension between Marianne and Elinor, rather than drama of the divided self. Elinor’s romantic pain over Ferrars is exactly equal to Marianne’s over Willoughby; she attacks Marianne for daring to express what she herself suppresses, then mourns over Marianne’s fevered body as an inseparable part of herself. As Austen’s final completed novel, Persuasion, declares: “one half of her should not be always so much wiser than the other half.”

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_D8pg1O8giQ”]

Emma Thompson gets this book

Andrew Davies, one of the most successful adaptors of Austen, has stated repeatedly that he believes elements of sex and love, even when pushed to the background by propriety, are always important (and faces Janeite wrath for this insight, as in this post dismissing the Whore as an irrelevant “bratty teenager.” As if women were all fine ladies, instead of rational creatures) Davies famously modernized the sexual tension of Pride and Prejudice by adding scenes of Colin Firth bathing and fencing. His version of Northanger Abbey explores the sexual overtones of Gothic horror to portray Catherine Morland’s craving for thrill and exploration as basically sexual curiosity, while JJ Feild’s Henry Tilney does justice to the ideal hero as playful liberator (is there a petition for JJ Feild, James McAvoy or Tom Hiddleston to play all future incarnations of Willoughby, Wickham, Crawford, and Churchill?).

Austen’s own relationship to the Whore is conflicted: Lydia Bennet is foolish for eloping with Wickham, but we’re encouraged to despise Mary’s smug moralizing over woman’s irretrievable virtue. Austen’s early Lady Susan stars a wickedly anarchic Whore, who flaunts society’s ageism and sexual propriety, like a slightly tamer Marquise de Merteuil but without real punishment (summon Diablo Cody to adapt!). Emma marks the full repentance of the Madonna for her self-righteous enforcement of social values. Persuasion lets the Unsuitable Suitor hold the Madonna accountable: “I could think of you only as one who had yielded, who had given me up, who had been influenced by anyone rather than by me.”

We prefer our Austen heroines spunky but not subversive. Elizabeth Bennet is the fan favorite, a spitfire Madonna, mistaken in her judgments but never “one who yielded” to social pressure, nor one who “forgot herself” (i.e. forgot social pressure) by eloping. In Becoming Jane, Anne Hathaway plays Austen herself as just such a spunky tightrope-walker. She would never just “give Lefroy up,” but martyrs herself nobly for his starving siblings. That Lefroy went on to marry elsewhere (whether he named his daughter after Jane or not), rather than waiting until he had independent means to win her, thus reflects poorly on his faithlessness alone. Our heroine is above reproach. The problem with such spunkiness, and the fantasy of social immunity it represents, is that it trivializes social pressure. Spunky heroines suggest any female failure be blamed on their lack of bootstrapping pluck, rather than on crushing social systems. From a patriarchal perspective, Pride and Prejudice, which Austen herself considered “rather too light,” is the most comforting of her novels: dominant ideology is never confronted because the patriarch just happens to be wryly wise, the Eligible Suitor just happens to be desirable and the Unsuitable Suitor just happens to be “one of the most worthless young men in Britain” (though it’s made clear that Elizabeth would heed Aunt Gardiner and reject him regardless).

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y7f_wLH3RMw” title=”Andrew%20Davies%20presents%20%27The%20Strange%20Case%20of%20Lizzy%20Jekyll%20and%20Lydia%20Hyde%27″]

Andrew Davies presents ‘The Strange Case of Lizzy Jekyll and Lydia Hyde’

Replace noble Darcy with foolish Rushworth, cynical Wickham with impulsive Crawford, and you have the brooding beast that is Mansfield Park, Austen’s most conflicted masterpiece. Instead of Dashwood duality, there are three sisters in the older generation: Lady Bertram married for prestige and became a pointless, pampered shell; Mrs. Price married for passion and became enslaved to her husband in crushing poverty; childless widow Aunt Norris is a nightmare spinster, channeling sexual frustrations and social resentments into interference in others’ lives. Against this universal failure, the younger generation struggles for happiness. Maria tries to choose Rushworth’s prestige, but revolts and pursues passion with Henry Crawford, before being dumped and joining Aunt Norris in hellish spinsterhood. Fanny is paralyzed by danger on all sides and favors her safely protective cousin, who actually craves Mary Crawford’s rebellious fire. Mansfield Park’s romance cannot be dismissed as insipid cousin-love; it offers real passion with the Crawfords, before tearing it apart through inhibitions and internalized whorephobia (if you liked Pride and Prejudice, you’ll LOVE Inhibitions and Internalized Whorephobia!). Though Henry has been amusingly described as the “original Nice Guy” for refusing to acknowledge Fanny’s lack of interest, what fascinates is Austen using her full powers to make us root for Henry, before mercilessly ripping him away. Henry is the hero who fails; he has “the open-hearted, the eager character” so prized in Persuasion, but he fetishizes a purity he cannot possess and disdains the love that sacrificed everything for him. Henry tantalizes with the promise of mental and sexual liberation, but his double standards turn his promise into Dead Sea fruit.

One of the most symbolic scenes occurs with Fanny stuck on a bench, watching Maria strain for liberation from fiancé Rushworth’s grounds. Rushworth runs for the key to properly release her, but Henry proposes dodging the iron gate: “I think it might be done, if you really wished to be more at large, and could allow yourself to think it not prohibited.” A locked garden was a medieval allegory for virginity. We can read similar symbolism into Louisa Musgrove’s ruinous leap in Persuasion, which says of heroine Anne: “she had been forced into prudence in her youth, she learned romance as she grew older: the natural sequel of an unnatural beginning.” If Austen’s earlier Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility (both written by age 23) seem to represent “unnatural prudence” by justifying and approving the Madonna’s inhibitions, then her later Emma and Persuasion both defend “natural romance.” Between proper “prudence” and regretful “romance” hovers Mansfield Park; every avenue is intolerable and every gate locked.

Bringing us to Patricia Rozema’s 1999 adaptation, Mansfield Park. In the book, the patriarch Sir Thomas’ trip to the West Indies is an excuse for his family to flirt freely, but Rozema confronts the implication that Sir Thomas is a slaver; his character is given a darker edge, while his eldest son is not feckless but traumatized by flashbacks of slavery. Rozema’s Mansfield Park can thus be compared to Mira Nair’s Vanity Fair, which uses Bollywood influences to foreground the colonized India merely mentioned in the book, or Andrea Arnold’s confrontation of racism in Wuthering Heights. It is notable that Austen chose to make her patriarch a slaver, particularly since the novel is commonly read as defending the Park’s “traditional values” against the modernizing Crawfords. In the book, Fanny’s question about the slave trade meets “such a dead silence,” while the estate shares the name of Lord Mansfield, the 18th century Lord Chief Justice who set a legal precedent for abolition. Rozema’s choice to highlight slavery’s implications is bold and refreshing, but her film frustrates with its compulsory spunkiness.

Rozema admits that she finds Fanny “annoying” and was trying to empower her by making her a “wild beast” and witty writer. Giving the lower class heroine a satirical tongue must have seemed like a good strategy for criticizing patriarchal values. But the spunky woman is gender’s Uncle Tom; her psychological immunity to suffering ultimately lets viewers off the hook. If you’re going to confront slavery in your radical Austen adaptation, you must equally confront the psychosexual torture of the Madonna/Whore complex. Instead, Rozema offers a stale reheating of Pride and Prejudice‘s comfort food: Fanny’s a smirking Elizabeth, Edmund’s a duller Darcy and Maria’s a bitchier Lydia. A really radical adaptation would treat Maria’s passion and confusion with the sympathy of Kate Winslet’s Marianne. A really radical adaptation would make Crawford the sexually magnetic center, giving Fanny the painfully paralyzed inhibition of Celia Johnson in Brief Encounter.

Mira Nair, Andrea Arnold, and Patricia Rozema are pioneering re-imaginings of classic literature, that confront our colonial past. But there can be no definitive adaptation of Mansfield Park, or confrontation of our patriarchal past, until we’re ready to get uncomfortable about sexual repression. Couldn’t Emma Thompson and Ang Lee take a crack at it?

[youtube_sc url=” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LaiSsbu3Yv4″]

Patricia Rozema does not get this book.

Brigit McCone was Team Crawford in her naive youth. She writes short films and radio dramas. Her hobbies include doodling and promising this will be her last Austen article.

‘Saving Mr. Banks’ is More Than Just a Spoonful of Sugar

This piece by Jarrah Hodge is cross-posted with permission from her blog, Gender Focus.

When I saw Disney was making a movie about Walt Disney convincing P.L. Travers to sign over the rights to Mary Poppins, I was expecting to come away at least slightly annoyed. As much as I adore Emma Thompson, who plays Travers, I thought this was going to be a story about a stubborn artist who’s convinced by the magic of Disney to stop being so uptight.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t quite that simple and I found a lot to like about the movie, Saving Mr. Banks.
First off, both Disney and Travers are portrayed as complicated and imperfect human beings, though obviously she’s got more serious issues to resolve here than he does. The film moves back and forth between her trip to Los Angeles to see Disney, having been pushed into it by financial need; and her childhood in Australia struggling with an alcoholic, big-dreaming father (Colin Farrell).
And the film pokes fun at the whole candy-coated Disney empire, mostly through Thompson as a delightfully bitter, acerbic, stiff Travers, who’s appalled at the mountains of cakes and donuts brought in for lunch and the way her hotel room is crammed full of stuffed Disney cartoon characters.

Second, the supporting actors, particularly the women, are outstanding. Ruth Wilson plays Travers’ mother in her flashbacks and every single facial expression and word out of her mouth shows her internal conflict and struggle to get by taking care of three children and worrying about her husband. Disney’s female staffers–Kathy Wilson as Tommie and Melanie Paxson as Dolly–also make a lot out of their relatively small roles.

– Spoiler alert –

Third, while I wouldn’t call it a feminist film on the whole (there’s not a single person of colour to be found, and ultimately it’s still about a woman whose life is defined by men), there are some feminist scenes. In one, Disney asks his staffer, Tommie, to help him decipher what’s really going on with Mrs. Travers.
“You’re a woman, aren’t you?” he asks. Tommie basically responds that he’s wrong to think all women have some innate inability to decipher one another, and he’s wasting his time trying to figure out Travers.
In another scene Travers gets angry at the writers for making Mrs. Banks a suffragette. The choice to portray Mrs. Banks as a suffragette has been debated by feminists. Some see the very mention of the suffrage movement as feminist, while others (including myself) see the ending, where Mrs. Banks gives up her “Votes for Women” sash for her kids’ kite tail, as a refutation of women working and campaigning outside the home.
In Saving Mr. Banks, the writers tell Travers they felt they needed Mrs. Banks to have a “job” or occupation outside the home to justify there being a nanny there. One of the songwriters outright says he feels Mrs. Banks is neglectful. But Travers snaps at them that “being a mother is a job. It’s a very hard job.” The audience knows she’s talking about her own mother as much as Mrs. Banks, and it’s a really poignant moment to see that solidarity.
Oh! And the film actually passes the Bechdel Test, since Tommie and Dolly talk about Travers’ temper, and Travers talks to Dolly about the ridiculous food she keeps bringing in.
On the down side, I found the use of flashbacks a bit over-done, like we were being spoon-fed all the connections. That said, the visuals and acting were enough to keep you hooked in.
There’s a satisfying ending but thankfully it’s not overly simplified or magical. Travers might be satisfied with the new ending that redeems the character of Mr. Banks (and thus her father), but she’s still never going to approve of everything about the movie, especially not the silly, cartoon dancing penguins.
Overall, if you’re looking for a film to see over the holidays, you could do a lot worse than Saving Mr. Banks.

[youtube_sc url=”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ec8pPQDIOfg”]

Jarrah Hodge is the founder of Gender Focus, a Canadian feminist blog. Jarrah also writes for Vancouver Observer and Huffington Post Canada and has been a guest blogger on “feminerd” culture for Bitch Magazine Blogs. Hailing from New Westminster, BC, she’s a fan of politics, crafts, boardgames, musical theatre, and brunch.

Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

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

Review: ‘Mandela: Long Walk To Freedom’ Anchored by Strong Performances by Nijla Mumin at Shadow and Act

The Best Part of “Catching Fire” is What it Says About TV News by Sarah Mirk at Bitch Media

5 Hilarious Web Series That Were Created By Women by Shannon Iggy at Bust Magazine

The Book Thief: Stealing Hearts and Minds by Natalie Wilson at Ms. blog

For Every Woman Working in the Film Industry, There are Five Men by Sarah Mirk at Bitch Media

Kathleen Hanna and ‘The Punk Singer’ Director On New Doc, Riot Grrl and Why People Hate on Feminism by Bryce J. Renninger at Indiewire

Infographic: Gender Inequality in Hollywood (It’s Worse than You Think) by Inkoo Kang at Women and Hollywood

Emma Thompson Calls Out Hollywood Sexism in Ten Different Ways at THR Actress Roundtable by Inkoo Kang at Women and Hollywood

MHP’s Black Feminism Reading List by Melissa Harris-Perry at msnbc

Black Women, White Women and the Solidarity Question by Janell Hobson at Ms. blog

Top 12 Feminist Reasons to Be Thankful This Year by Melissa McGlensey at Ms. blog

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

5 People Who Should Host the Oscars At Some Point

When Seth MacFarlane was picked to host the 2013 Academy Awards, my esteemed colleague Robin Hitchcock wrote a list of preferable hosts, including the Oogieloves, the Romney sons, and Jennifer Aniston handcuffed to Angelina Jolie. I share many of Robin’s criticisms of him and his mean style of comedy that continually marginalizes already-marginalized people. Occasionally, his jokes can make me laugh very hard (such as the “Fuck You, Thunder!” song from Ted), but those occasions are increasingly rare. I also can’t understand the logic behind picking MacFarlane even from a ratings standpoint; are fans of Seth MacFarlane’s comedy really going to tune into the Academy Awards instead of Seth MacFarlane’s animated shows that air at the same time? Even if the episodes are reruns that night?

A rare inspired bit of MacFarlane comedy

Anyway, MacFarlane’s hosting is a done deal, and I’m going to watch the ceremony no matter who’s hosting. Who knows? Maybe he’ll be a pleasant surprise. For future ceremonies, though, I’d like to see the Academy stop trying to appeal to a younger demographic (remember that disaster with James Franco and Anne Hathaway?) and stick to picking people who will just do a good job. Here are my suggestions for future Oscar hosts, presented in no particular order.

1. Tom Hanks
I would love for the Academy to break its pattern of picking straight white guys, believe me, but I’ll make an exception for Tom Hanks, because Tom Hanks needs to host the Oscars.Tom Hanks is a national treasure. He’s a very good actor, personable, hilarious, and willing to take the piss out of everyone and everything, especially himself. I still remember Steve Martin’s joke from his first hosting gig: “There’s been an update in the plot to kidnap Russell Crowe, and all I have to say is – Tom Hanks, I’m very ashamed of you.” Martin’s joke was funny enough on its own, but then the camera cut to Hanks in the audience looking shame-faced and mouthing, “I’m sorry,” which made it hilarious and memorable.

Also, he did slam poetry about Full House on Jimmy Fallon’s show.

Tom Hanks is a likable guy, and his humor is very surprising and unpredictable without being obnoxiously “edgy” in a “look at me, I’m so edgy because I’m un-PC!” way. Make it happen, Academy.

2. Emma Thompson

Homer Simpson once said about Daniel Craig, “Is America ready for a British James Bond?” (Oh, Homer. Never change.) Others may have a similar question about Emma Thompson: “Is America ready for a British Oscar host?” Well, this American is. Emma Thompson is a multi-talented, classy lady, a renowned actress (and my personal favorite). Sometimes people forget how funny she can be. If you need a reminder, check out her Golden Globes acceptance speech for Sense and Sensibility, where her speech was written in the style of Jane Austen.

Sure, Jane Austen-related humor isn’t going to appeal to every Oscar viewer, but Thompson is versatile in the type of comedy she can do (and has done). She’s charming and witty, and she’d probably completely outclass the joint, which is why the Academy would never pick her, but they should.

3. Neil Patrick Harris and Jane Lynch

Two obvious choices, as they’ve both hosted award shows in recent history, but why not have them host together in an awesomely funny LGBTQ duo? They both know how to sing and dance, they had comic chemistry in the one episode of Glee they did together, and their stars are both on the rise without any sign of stopping.

I want to see this pair in action. Harris is halfway to a hosting EGOT already (if there were such a thing), and I still laugh when I remember this joke from Lynch at the Emmys: “People have often asked me why I’m a lesbian. Ladies and gentlemen, the cast of Entourage!”

4. Samuel L. Jackson

Everyone likes Samuel L. Jackson. If I meet a person who dislikes Samuel L. Jackson, I automatically find that person untrustworthy. I haven’t seen him in any kind of hosting capacity, but he’s got a great sense of humor and natural charm, and he’s one of the few potential Oscar hosts that could appeal to the stuffy Academy snobs and the populist youth demographic the Academy desperately courts every year.

Also, consider this: if Samuel L. Jackson hosts the Oscars, we can have a montage of Samuel L. Jackson movies at some point, because why not? (Side note: he totally should’ve been nominated for Django Unchained, by the way.)

5. The Muppets

You think I am kidding. I am not. I don’t care if the pupeteering logistics would make this difficult. Kermit would be the best host ever, Miss Piggy could try to steal attention from the other actresses, Fozzie could write all of the awards patter, and Gonzo can choreograph stunts and chicken dance numbers set to the Best Original Score nominees while Statler & Waldorf heckle them. We can even have the Sesame Street Muppets make an appearance so there can be an actual Oscar at the Oscars.

This needs to happen.

Lady T is an aspiring writer and comedian with two novels, a play, and a collection of comedy sketches in progress. She hopes to one day be published and finish one of her projects (not in that order). You can find more of her writing at The Funny Feminist, where she picks apart entertainment and reviews movies she hasn’t seen.

5 People Who Should Host the Oscars At Some Point

A rare inspired bit of MacFarlane comedy

1. Tom HanksI would love for the Academy to break its pattern of picking straight white guys, believe me, but I’ll make an exception for Tom Hanks, because Tom Hanks needs to host the Oscars.Tom Hanks is a national treasure. He’s a very good actor, personable, hilarious, and willing to take the piss out of everyone and everything, especially himself. I still remember Steve Martin’s joke from his first hosting gig: “There’s been an update in the plot to kidnap Russell Crowe, and all I have to say is – Tom Hanks, I’m very ashamed of you.” Martin’s joke was funny enough on its own, but then the camera cut to Hanks in the audience looking shame-faced and mouthing, “I’m sorry,” which made it hilarious and memorable.

Also, he did slam poetry about Full House on Jimmy Fallon’s show.

3. Neil Patrick Harris and Jane Lynch

5. The Muppets

This needs to happen.

Lady T is a writer with two novels, a play, and a collection of comedy sketches in progress. She hopes to one day be published and finish one of her projects (not in that order). You can find more of her writing at www.theresabasile.com.

Will ‘Brave’s Warrior Princess Merida Usher In a New Kind of Role Model for Girls?

Brave‘s Merida (Kelly MacDonald) via Disney Pixar

Originally published at Fem2pt0.

I loved Brave.

I literally did a happy dance the moment I heard Pixar would feature a female-centric film. Out of their 13 movies, Brave marks their first female protagonist. Pretty shameful. But hey, they finally got their act together and created a kick-ass heroine. But will Merida spark a new kind of role model?

Merida (Kelly MacDonald) is a feisty Scottish highland princess. Her mother, Queen Elinor (Emma Thompson – is there nothing she can’t do??), wants her to be poised, articulate, and reserved – a proper princess. Merida wants none of that. A fierce archer, echoing Hunger Games’ Katniss Everdeen, she would rather ride horseback and explore. Her mother wants her to obey the rules and follow tradition. Merida wants the freedom to create her own destiny.

When we see a female lead, they’re usually the only girl or woman, surrounded by dudes as friends or love interests. We rarely see women working together in films, particularly children’s films. Yes, Queen Elinor wants Merida to get betrothed in an arranged marriage. But Merida defiantly rebels against this tradition. There’s no love interest. No romance. No winning the affection of a man. Instead, Merida competes for her own hand in marriage.

Passing the Bechdel Test, Brave captures the loving yet sometimes contentious relationship between mothers and daughters. Director Brenda Chapman was inspired to create the story by her own relationship with her daughter. Often in children’s films, the mother is absent or dead. As if the daughter just sprang from her father the way Athena emerged from Zeus. Now I’m all for single parents. I was raised by a single mom. But it’s disturbing we don’t see mothers. Queen Elinor was never villainized. Both Merida and her mother just want to be heard.

Merida (Kelly MacDonald) and her mother Queen Elinor (Emma Thompson)

Something else unusual — something that shouldn’t be strange – you see Merida eat apples. Now, women and girls obviously eat. But you don’t normally witness female characters eating. Due to the media’s policing of female bodies, women and girls have an antagonistic relationship to food. Granted, Merida is still thin. But at least she’s athletic…and eating.

Chapman said she “wanted to give girls something to look at and not feel inadequate.” We’re told as girls and women we’re not pretty enough. We must lose weight or gain weight. We constantly have to control our bodies and ultimately ourselves.

Hair showcases the women’s identities. Merida’s unruly but gorgeous crimson hair symbolizes her rebellious spirit. When her mother dresses her to meet her suitors, she shoves Merida’s hair under a cap. While Merida struggles to loosen at least one curl. Merida doesn’t want to be groomed, perfect or pretty. She wants to be free like her curls. Merida also rips the seams of her confining dress in order to shoot her bow, symbolically breaking free from constrictions and defying tradition. Originally, Queen Elinor’s hair was groomed in thick braids. By the end of the film, her hair flows free and she’s riding a horse with Merida, symbolizing the loss of her rigidity.

Is Brave reducing women and girls to their physical appearances? No, I don’t think so. Instead, by utilizing visual cues (although sometimes the symbolism is a little too on the nose), I think Brave showcases the constraints of gender norms and patriarchy. And more importantly, how we need to break free. Being true to yourself, voicing your opinion and going after your dreams – these are the messages little girls (and boys) need to hear more often.

Is Brave perfect? No. It devolves into a lot of slapstick humor, not really my thing. But the legions of kids attending the 10pm Saturday night showing (really? Isn’t it past their bedtime?) emitted fits of giggles. I also wasn’t thrilled with the gender stereotypes. I appreciated King Fergus (Billy Connolly) and Queen Elinor’s marriage dodged chauvinism and was fairly egalitarian. But men fight and behave buffoonish while women are supposed to be reserved and docile. Both were leaders – the King in battle, the Queen respected in negotiations – but in their gendered spheres. But perhaps that’s the point. It conveys the tradition of patriarchy and how we need to shatter these gender tropes.

But my biggest problem? Brave is still a fairy tale and Merida is still a princess. Are we ever going to get away from princesses? Ever??

Why must we still package female characters for girls in this princess box? Princess culture has saturated – no, make that dominated – our society. Little girls are obsessed with princesses, tiaras, girlie-girl hues of pink and ball gowns.

In her fantastic book Cinderella Ate My Daughter, Peggy Orenstein dissects princess culture and its insidious message of hyperfemininity, sexualization of girls, rescue fantasies and obsession with finding Prince Charming. While princesses don’t necessarily lead to passive girls, they cause girls to feel – not that they can have it all – but that they must be everything to everyone. It’s this pressure of perfection which weakens their self-esteem.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with little girls wanting to look pretty and wear fun clothes. And of course everyone wants to feel special. But it’s problematic princesses are the only role models little girls see in media. Princess culture ultimately objectifies girls, telling them their self-worth lies in their beauty and ability to snag a man.

It’s a huge problem Pixar’s first female protagonist must still be a princess. Don’t get me wrong. Merida is a badass warrior princess who’s defiant, caring, brave and smart. And that’s awesome. But we need to eventually diverge from this princess paradigm and showcase more diversity in female characters.

In her groundbreaking book Enlightened Sexism, Susan J. Douglas deconstructs warrior women in media. They appeal to many of us because they offer a strong female narrative with powerful, intelligent, assertive women. They challenge patriarchy. But Douglas argues that while they transgress gender roles, they simultaneously conform. Yes, they kick ass. But they must look thin, feminine and sexy while doing it.

With the rise of the warrior princess, a fusion of two female archetypes, I hope Brave bridges the old princess movies with a new narrative for girls. Thankfully, Merida herself challenges the princess label and notion of perfection. She’s outspoken, independent and opinionated. We see Merida make mistakes and figure out solutions herself. While she gets help, no one rescues her. Merida doesn’t want to be told how to look, who to marry, or how to behave. She wants to make her own choices. But I worry Hollywood will simply reinforce and perpetuate the princess paradigm, leading to female protagonists who appear empowered but aren’t really.

Brave is absolutely wonderful. Touching and sweet, it brought me to tears, my personal barometer for a great film. And it’s a huge step in the right direction.

A film that reads as a condemnation of patriarchy, I hope Merida leads to different kind of heroine; a truly empowered one. We need to see intelligent and emotionally strong female characters. Who possess career goals and go after their dreams. Who aren’t objectified and whose lives don’t revolve around finding a man.

Now if only girls (and boys) could see more female characters on-screen who shed the princess persona.

Oscar Acceptance Speeches: Honoring Other Women

One of the things I’ve always loved and admired about the award acceptance speeches by women is how often they mention other women. Kate Winslet, accepting her Oscar for The Reader, joked, “I don’t think any of us can believe we’re in a category with Meryl Streep.” And Sandra Bullock, accepting her Oscar for The Blind Side, turned to each of her fellow nominees one by one and congratulated them. It’s something we rarely see from the men who win awards, and I admire that women openly acknowledge the necessity of sisterhood, especially during a male-dominated event (like any awards presentation for film, ever) that so often neglects the contributions of women. Here are a few of my favorites from the past twenty years of Oscar Acceptance Speeches for Best Actress and Best Supporting Actress:

1992: Jodie Foster, winning Best Actress for The Silence of the Lambs

This has been such an incredible year. and I’d like to dedicate this award to all of the women who came before me who never had the chances that I’ve had, and the survivors and the pioneers and the outcasts; and my blood, my tradition. And I’d like to thank all of the people in this industry who have respected my choices and who have not been afraid of the power and the dignity that that entitled me to … And thank the Academy for embracing such an incredibly strong and beautiful feminist hero that I am so proud of.

1993: Emma Thompson, winning Best Actress for Howards End

And finally I would like, if I may, to dedicate this Oscar to the heroism and the courage of women, and to hope that it inspires the creation of more true screen heroines to represent them.

1997: Frances McDormand, winning Best Actress for Fargo

It is impossible to maintain one’s composure in this situation. What am I doing here? Especially considering the extraordinary group of women with whom I was nominated. We five women were fortunate to have the choice, not just the opportunity, but the choice, to play such rich, complex female characters. And I congratulate producers like Working Title and Polygram for allowing directors to make autonomous casting decisions based on qualifications and not just market value. And I encourage writers and directors to keep these really interesting female roles coming, and while you’re at it, you can throw in a few for the men as well.

2001: Julia Roberts, winning Best Actress for Erin Brockovich

I would like to start with telling you all how amazing the experience of feeling the sisterhood of being included in a group with Joan Allen and Juliette Binoche and Laura Linney and Ellen Burstyn for these last weeks has been. It’s just felt like such a triumph to me to be in that list. My name starts with “R” so I’m always last, but I still love the list.

2002: Halle Berry, winning Best Actress for Monster’s Ball

This moment is so much bigger than me. This moment is for Dorothy Dandridge, Lena Horne, Diahann Carroll. It’s for the women that stand beside me, Jada Pinkett, Angela Bassett, Vivica Fox. And it’s for every nameless, faceless woman of color that now has a chance because this door tonight has been opened.

2006: Reese Witherspoon, winning Best Actress for Walk the Line

A very special thank you to Jim Mangold who directed the film and also wrote this character who is a real woman who has dignity and honor and fear and courage. And she’s a real woman, and I really appreciate that. It was an incredible gift that you gave me, so thank you … And I want to say that my grandmother was one of the biggest inspirations in my life. She taught me how to be a real woman, to have strength and self-respect, and to never give those things away.

2007: Helen Mirren, winning Best Actress for The Queen

Now, you know for fifty years and more Elizabeth Windsor has maintained her dignity, her sense of duty, and her hairstyle. She’s had her feet planted firmly on the ground, her hat on her head, her handbag on her arm, and she’s weathered many, many storms. And I salute her courage and her consistency, and I thank her, because if it wasn’t for her, I most, most certainly would not be here.

2010: Sandra Bullock, winning Best Actress for The Blind Side(read our review)

I would like to thank the Academy for allowing me in the last month to have the most incredible ride, with rooms full of artists that I see tonight and that I’ve worked with before and I hope to work with in the future, who inspire me and blaze trails for us. Four of them, that I’ve fallen deeply in love with, I share this night with and I share this award with. Gabby, I love you so much. You are exquisite. You are beyond words to me. Carey, your grace and your elegance and your beauty and your talent makes me sick. Helen, I feel like we are family, and I don’t have the words to express what I think of you. And Meryl, you know what I think of you, and you are such a good kisser …

But there’s so many people to thank, not enough time. So I would like to thank what this film was about for me, which are the moms that take care of the babies and the children no matter where they come from. Those moms and parents never get thanked. I, in particular, failed to thank one. So, if I can take this moment to thank Helga B. for not letting me ride in cars with boys till I was eighteen, ’cause she was right; I would’ve done what she said I was gonna do. For making me practice every day when I got home, piano, ballet, whatever it is I wanted to be. She said to be an artist you had to practice every day. And for reminding her daughters that there’s no race, no religion, no class system, no color, nothing, no sexual orientation, that makes us better than anyone else. We are all deserving of love.

So, to that trailblazer who allowed me to have that, and this [referring to the Oscar], and this, I thank you so much for this opportunity that I share with these extraordinary women, and my lover Meryl Streep. Thank you.

2010: Mo’Nique, winning Best Supporting Actress for Precious: Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire (read our review)

First, I would like to thank the Academy for showing that it can be about the performance and not the politics. I want to thank Miss Hattie McDaniel for enduring all that she had to so that I wouldn’t have to.

Oscar Acceptance Speeches, 1993

Leading up to the 2011 Oscars, we’ll showcase the past twenty years of Oscar Acceptance Speeches by Best Actress winners and Best Supporting Actress winners. (Note: In most cases, you’ll have to click through to YouTube in order to watch the speeches, as embedding has been disabled at the request of copyright owners.)

Best Actress Nominees: 1993

Catherine Deneuve, Indochine

Mary McDonnell, Passion Fish
Michelle Pfeiffer, Love Field

Susan Sarandon, Lorenzo’s Oil

Emma Thompson, Howards End

Best Supporting Actress Nominees: 1993

Judy Davis, Husbands and Wives

Joan Plowright, Enchanted April

Vanessa Redgrave, Howards End
Miranda Richardson, Damage
Marisa Tomei, My Cousin Vinny

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Emma Thompson wins Best Actress for her performance in Howards End.

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Marisa Tomei wins Best Supporting Actress for her performance in My Cousin Vinny.

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Click on the following links to see the nominees and winners in previous years: 1990, 1991, 1992