‘Puella Magi Madoka Magica,’ Declaration Feminism

Immortality is not what makes a world better. Hope, friendship, and love do, and love is not limited by sex, gender, ethnicity, or race. Women like Homura and Kyoko can fall in love with other women like Madoka and Sayaka respectively. We have the responsibility to stand up with people like them. This series is part of the reason I try to do that and more. I hope that many others to do the same.

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Promotional material for Puella Magi Madoka Magica, featuring (left to right): Kyoko Sakura,
Sayaka Miki, Mami Tomoe, Homura Akemi, and Madoka Kaname.

 

This guest post by Matthew Abely appears as part of our theme week on Child and Teenage Girl Protagonists.

It has been said over and over again that “Religion is the opiate of the masses;”[i] that is just not fair. It is not the masses, it is the privileged and powerful, and it is not just religion that is their opiate, it is anything that provides a perpetual escape from the reality that with power and privilege comes responsibility.  Today a lot of people use anime for this.  Beloved anime like Studio Shaft’s spring 2011 series, Puella Magi Madoka Magica (Madoka Magica for short), among others, are heavily feminist.  Go online and even suggest something remotely like this, however, and a virulent few will inevitably rise to shut such thoughts down.[ii] Not this time.

Madoka Magica has a sequel film premiering in theaters,[iii] and it is high time the series’ social criticism and advocacy were recognized. It is high time many an anime received such praise. Madoka Magica, however, is the right place to start. Why is rape and violence against women such a common cross-cultural occurrence that such a term as “rape culture” exists?[iv] Why is male supremacy likewise just as common that there is a term called “patriarchy”?[v]  Why does patriarchy inevitably stratify along class, race, and related social lines (this is called “kyriarchy”)?[vi] Why would anyone institutionalize evil like this?

Madoka Magica is not a perfect response. It does answer all of the above; however, it is in its subtext only. The merchandise its creators license also objectifies the teenage cast horribly.[vii]  The series, however, is still a good place to start. It may only answer these aforementioned fundamental questions of feminist theory through symbolism and allegory. It however also does something few others works of popular fiction seem to do. It gives an idea of what to do about its answers.

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Madoka Kaname, Age: 13.

 

Madoka Kaname sees herself as nothing more than average and plain.[viii]

Until the day an entity named Kyuubey informs her that she has dormant superpowers. Magic is real, and everywhere there are invisible monsters called witches instigating traffic accidents, suicides, natural disasters, and more. Kyuubey explains that he and his species, the Incubators, search endlessly for people with dormant magic in order to offer them a contract.  He will grant a person any one wish, and in return they must let him awaken their magic and pledge to do battle with witches as magical girls. Madoka finds out, however, that Kyuubey is not telling the whole truth.[ix]

He awakens magic by placing a person’s soul in a gem, thus making each magical girl the undead. Magical girls’ powers have limits. Should they exhaust all the magic of their soul gem, they die. Witches are born whenever a magical girl dies from soul gem exhaustion. Magical girls themselves can also transmogrify into witches should they succumb to madness, despair, or choose evil. The birth of a witch releases a lot of energy; the transmogrification of a magical girl even more. The Incubators use this energy to fuel the multitude of civilizations across the Earth and universe that they rule from behind the scenes. They do not, however, use everyone as a battery. The Incubators indirectly institutionalize it so that only pubescent girls must be sacrificed.[x]

It is the most efficient way; it is all for the greater good, Kyuubey claims.[xi]

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Kyuubey and Madoka in their penultimate of many “debates.”

 

He is not the only one who does. In the United States and Canada, a man rapes a woman every minute; another man hits a woman every nine seconds; men murder 1,000 women via domestic violence a year.[xii]  The law prosecutes less than 10 percent of these men, convicting and sentencing even fewer.[xiii]  Who cares? Steubenville and Pennsylvania State have football games to win.[xiv] Roman Polanski has too many great films to make and Julian Assange too many great secrets to reveal.[xv]  Society simply cannot afford to have any of these rapists waste away in prison.  People kill or sexually enslave at least 200 million women in and around China and India since the One Child Policy began.[xvi] No matter, class warfare—the population boom—must be stopped.[xvii]  Besides, if Senator Hilary Clinton became president of the United States of America[xviii] or Doctor Wangari Maathai a member of the Kenyan Parliament[xix], their “PMS and mood swings” would destroy progress.

It is all for the greater good. It is building a better, immortal, world, Kyuubey repeats over and over again.[xx]  In this better world, however,all four of Madoka’s friends die more horribly than the last.[xxi]

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Madoka’s friends unite only in martyrdom; from left to right clockwise: Mami Tomoe, Sayaka Miki, Homura Akemi, Kyoko Sakura.

 

Mami Tomoe, weighed down by the guilt of her parents’ death, attempts to atone by being the perfect school girl, perfect host, perfect warrior, perfect mentor, and perfect leader. She stretches herself too thin; a witch gores her to death.[xxii] Sayaka Miki, upon finding out that her contract made her a zombie, thinks herself too tainted to deserve the love of her secret crush, especially when it turns out he already loves, and is loved in return, by a much more conventionally feminine girl than she. Sayaka resolves to repress all her passion and desire.  She transmogrifies into a witch.[xxiii] Kyoko Sakura uses her magic to help her preacher father convert people to his new strand of Christianity. Ashamed to have needed magic’s help, he murders Kyoko’s sister and mother, and attempts to kill Kyoko as if they were property, before hanging himself. Kyoko becomes so belligerent and cynical that her attempt to befriend Sayaka Miki, whom Kyoko finds she may actually love, backfires. Kyoko commits suicide, battling the witch she helps push Sayaka into becoming.[xxiv]

Homura Akemi comes to love Madoka Kaname. The first time they meet, Madoka is a magical girl. Madoka dies in battle. Homura wishes for the power to change this. She travels back in time, over and over again, trying to save Madoka by any means necessary, including murder. No matter whom she kills, however, Homura makes Madoka’s fate worse with each loop. Madoka dies in battle. Madoka dies and give birth to a witch. Madoka dies and gives birth to a witch that destroys the earth.[xxv]

The Incubator’s desire for immortality and demands for perfect maximum efficiency affects more than just children’s attempts to find happiness. Only the relationship between Madoka’s parents is based on collaboration and equality.[xxvi] Every other adult relationship shown is based on competition and hegemony. Madoka’s teacher is constantly dumped for being an imperfect wife.[xxvii] Madoka’s mother Junko must constantly prove her worth as a business executive by drinking hard with the big boys.[xxviii]  Their neighbors and community forced Kyoko’s family into starvation and destitution when her father’s preaching diverted from Christian dogma.[xxix]  Sayaka breaks and transmogrifies when she encounters two men on a train waxing loudly about the importance of physical and emotional abuse.[xxx]

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It is the only shown moment of direct misogyny that pushes Sayaka past her limits.

 

There are beautiful walkways, malls, cafes, schools, apartment complexes in this better world the Incubators have built,[xxxi] yet there are few if any signs that there is community.  The streets are usually deserted.[xxxii] The cafes full of empty chairs at empty tables.[xxxiii]

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Sayaka and her friend/romantic rival, Hitomi Shizuki, meeting in a “crowded” café.

 

Pedestrians do not interact.[xxxiv]

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Other people once again ignoring Madoka, Sayaka, Kyuubey, and everyone else around them.

 

Only Madoka notices it when a witch’s curse induces a mass hypnosis in the middle of a street.[xxxv]  Sayaka and Kyoko have two loud battles, one that breaks a water pipe and one on a bridge over a crowded freeway.[xxxvi] Nobody notices them. When they die, no one realizes that Mami and Sayaka are even missing until days later.[xxxvii] No one ever noticed that Kyoko still existed after her father’s suicide.[xxxviii] Three characters (Mami, Homura, and Sayaka’s crush Kyouske) all suffer from traffic accidents. No one explains them, and likewise few people notice how common suicides, accidents, natural disasters, and general strife seem to have become.[xxxix]

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Mami explaining to Madoka and Sayaka where witches lurk.

 

This better world the Incubators have built may be immortal, yet there is no reason to live in it. There is no companionship nor trust nor love. Madoka sees this; Kyuubey however, continues to insist that short of returning to being naked in caves, there is no other way to live.[xl] He, again, is not the only one.  Even in the face of impending environmental catastrophe, President George H. W. Bush stated: “THE American way of life is not up for negotiation.” [xli] This same American Life has made its people less and less happy since the 1950s, while the amount of time they work has more than doubled.[xlii]  “Let some people get rich first,”[xliii] Chinese Vice-Chairman Deng Xiaoping declared this to be the way to build a modern China.  No one suffers from as much smog as the Chinese.[xliv] Still, men like this and Kyuubey continue to insist: it is foolish to think that there is another way live well. Madoka comes to disagree.

Madoka wishes for the power to stop all witches throughout space and time from being born, and save all magical girls from transmogrifying into them. It works. Madoka ascends to godhood and recreates the universe into one where Kyuubey cannot transmogrify anyone into a witch.[xlv]

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Madoka Kaname, Goddess of Hope.

 

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Homura Akemi shares her memories of Madoka with Madoka’s brother, Tatsuya Kaname.

 

Though she sacrifices her own mortal existence and all memory that she ever existed in every mind, except Homura’s,[xlvi] she opens a door. Kyriarhcy and its ilk seem to continue to exist in the new universe that Madoka creates.[xlvii] Homura and the now reborn Mami, Kyoko, and Sayaka, however, now have the freedom and so the responsibility to fight back. The same has been true the viewers this whole time.

Madoka Kaname is not the only one who found another way. Those people so often scored as too effeminate to lead:  like Wangari Maathai, Hilary Clinton, and more–they often have as well. Doctor Maathai and the Green Belt Movement toppled a 30-year dictatorship in Kenya. Their first move: empowering communities of impoverished women to plant trees.[xlviii]  They did not win it alone.[xlix] Those who have the privilege to experience art and anime, can choose to use them like drugs, and attempt to escape from reality. We can all stay individuals relating primarily by competition, pretending this will stave off environmental collapse,[l]  or we could choose to become communities, and continue to prove to everyone, human or otherwise, that there are always other ways to live well than violent sacrifice.

Immortality is not what makes a world better. Hope, friendship, and love do, and love is not limited by sex, gender, ethnicity, or race. Women like Homura and Kyoko can fall in love with other women like Madoka and Sayaka respectively.[li] We have the responsibility to stand up with people like them. This series is part of the reason I try to do that and more.  I hope that many others to do the same.

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Promotional material for the series; from left to right: Mami Tomoe, Homura Akemi, Madoka Kaname, Sayaka Miki, Kyoko Sakura.

 


Matthew Abely is a recent college graduate, longtime nerd, and novice ally to intersectional feminists. When not researching, writing, or working, he can be found attending comic book conventions with friends on the United States’ Pacific Northwest and Central Coast, or exercising.


[v] Ibid.

[vi] Ibid.

[xi] Ibid.

[xiii] Ibid.

[xiv] Ibid.

[xvii] Ibid.

[xxi] Ibid.

[xxii] Ibid, 1-3.

[xxiii] Ibid, 4-8.

[xxvi] Ibid, 1-12. 

[xxvii] Ibid, 1. 

[xxviii] Ibid, 1-6. 

[xxix] Ibid, 8. 

[xxx] Ibid, 8.

[xxxii] Ibid.

[xxxiv] Ibid, 5. 

[xxxv] Ibid, 4. 

[xxxvi] Ibid, 6-7. 

[xxxvii] Ibid, 11. 

[xxxviii] Ibid, 5-9. 

[xlvi] Ibid.

[xlvii] Ibid.

[xlix] Ibid.

 

Women as Love Objects in ‘The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug’ and ‘The Lord of the Rings’

I thought a lot about why Jackson created Tauriel. He’s already messing with the events, chronology, and mythology of the books, so why didn’t he just change the gender of a handful of major characters to make them into women? Why couldn’t we have a female dwarf or two? Why couldn’t the last remaining “skin-changer” the bear-man Beorn have been a woman? Or the Brown Wizard Radagast have been a lady forest foraging force of nature? Answer: Because none of those characters have the potential to be love interests. Instead, Jackson created a throw-away character that he could shape into a love object. I am so tired of seeing women have to give up their identity, their goals, their independence, and their power for love.

Desolation of Smaug Poster

Spoiler Alert

My fellow Bitch Flicks writer Rachel Redfern recently posted a review of The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug that was insightful, and I agree with most of her points. She touches on the discomfort surrounding creating a whole new major character for the film in the form of Tauriel played by the athletic Evangeline Lilly. As a purist, I was certainly uncomfortable with the idea. I got over it. I had to admit that without Tauriel, a brilliantly capable captain of the guard for the Mirkwood elves, the film would be a dwarvish sausagefest. Redfern also highlights the ick-factor in the love triangle in which Tauriel gets enmeshed. The important thing that I’d like to add to our Bitch Flicks conversation about The Desolation of Smaug is that the representation of Tauriel brings into sharp focus the primary purpose of women within the world of Middle Earth: to be love objects for male characters.

For some context, let’s take a look at the only other two women who have a character arc in all of Middle Earth. First, there’s Éowyn, shieldmaiden of Rohan.

Éowyn is a fierce warrior who longs for the life men are allowed.
Éowyn is a fierce warrior who longs for the freedom men are afforded.

Éowyn had the biggest role of any of the women in J.R.R. Tolkien‘s beloved fantasy novel series The Lord of the Rings. The books themselves as well as the films actually chronicle her regret at not having the freedom to fight to defend her people and win honor and glory in battle as men are allowed to do. Éowyn (in both the books and films) single-handedly takes down one of the Nine, a Nazgûl, a Ringwraith. She faces off against the debilitating terror it exudes, and she wins. That is so hardcorely badass. She was hands-down my favorite character in the books.

Éowyn & Faramir gaze lovingly into each other's eyes.
Éowyn & Faramir gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes.

The twist is that Aragorn then has to save her life from the poison of the Ringwraith, and Faramir, the second son of the Steward of Gondor (and Boromir’s little brother), saves her life again by showing her how to love…i.e. how to be a woman. The fire goes out of Éowyn when she settles down and learns her place as the consort of Faramir. All her dreams of being considered an equal to men, of standing side-by-side men on a battlefield and commanding respect goes out the window because, apparently, all women really want and are good for is love and marriage.

Then we have Arwen, the daughter of Elrond and elvish princess of Rivendell. Director Peter Jackson takes a lot of liberties with this character in the film version of The Lord of the Rings. He generally made Arwen more visible (I think she’s only in two scenes in the books) and more active in that she saves Frodo from death at the hands of the Nine, which seemed cool at first, but with the introduction of the similar character of Tauriel in The Desolation of Smaug, this whole healing trope gave me pause. In The Fellowship of the Ring, Arwen uses herbs and elvish magic to heal Frodo from the poisonous wound he took from a Morgul-blade, offering up her immortality in prayer for his life.

"What Grace is given me, let it pass to him."
“What Grace is given me, let it pass to him.” – Arwen

Tauriel abandons her quest to destroy the orc infestation at their source, and she also abandons Legolas, her friend of 600 years, to perform a similar healing rite on a dwarf she’s known for a couple of days. What could be more important than friendship? More important than the personal quest that she defied her sovereign to follow? Hmm…

Jackson also plays up the tragic love story between Arwen and Aragorn to a nauseating level, making her life tied to the fate of the quest to destroy the ring. This renders her helpless and in need of saving after he’d already built her up as an elvish warrior with mad healing abilities. Arwen is divested of her prowess as well as her immortality for love. In the end, she’s simply a prize for Aragorn to claim at the end of his journey because her story is completely suspended until the dudes can rescue her…Sleeping Beauty style.

Arwen & Aragorn get all lovey-dovey.
Arwen & Aragorn get all lovey-dovey.

This brings us to Tauriel. I’m glad she was included in the storyline of The Desolation of Smaug. She’s an elegant, fierce, and brilliant warrior.

Fierce Tauriel in the heat of battle.
Fierce Tauriel in the heat of battle.

She’s strong, defiant, and makes her own choices.

Tauriel faces off against her elvish king.
Tauriel faces off against her elvish king.

I’m glad that Peter Jackson recognized that having a movie with no women in it is absolutely absurd.

Tauriel ready to let loose an arrow.
Tauriel ready to let loose an arrow.

BUT. There it is, the big but. But Jackson, like so many other male storytellers, can’t imagine a path for Tauriel that doesn’t include love. Tauriel is the love object of two male characters creating a noxious love triangle, and she, like Arwen and Éowyn, must sacrifice everything for that love.

I thought a lot about why Jackson created Tauriel. He’s already messing with the events, chronology, and mythology of the books, so why didn’t he just change the gender of a handful of major characters to make them into women? Why couldn’t we have a female dwarf or two? Why couldn’t the last remaining “skin-changer” the bear-man Beorn have been a woman? Or the Brown Wizard Radagast have been a lady forest foraging force of nature? Answer: Because none of those characters have the potential to be love interests. Instead, Jackson created a throw-away character that he could shape into a love object. I am so tired of seeing women have to give up their identity, their goals, their independence, and their power for love. And why is female love synonymous with sacrifice?

Drawing of proud, strong Tauriel.
Drawing of proud, strong Tauriel.

I can’t say how Jackson will tie it all up in his conclusion to the ridiculously drawn out trilogy of The Hobbit. Who knows? Maybe he’ll end the series with Tauriel having been instrumental, self-actualized, and above the pressures of our pitiful contemporary love culture that insists all a woman needs is love to be whole. Based on his current trajectory and track record, though, it’s not looking so hot. Sigh. It doesn’t look like a good day to be a woman on Middle Earth.

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

15 Men On A Mountain…and Evangeline Lilly in ‘The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug’

The addition of Evangeline Lilly (Lost) as Tauriel caused some concern among real LOTR fans, mostly because that character never existed in The Hobbit and no one wants to see a beloved a story messed with; but to be fair, if it wasn’t tinkered with and explored, then why go and see the film? You might as well just stay home and read the book then if you’re not interested on gaining a new perspective on the story.

Movie poster for 'The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug"
Movie poster for The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug

Written by Rachel Redfern

Spoiler Alert

The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug premiered on Friday, just in case you didn’t know. And while the film has pulled in $73.7 million and topped the box office this weekend, there have been some mixed reviews–it’s too long, too boring, too overdone, too much action, or it’s fun, it’s brilliant, it’s beautiful. The divisiveness is understandable. Tolkien is a necessary staple to any library and Jackson’s Lord of The Rings, really is a visually-stunning, incredibly acted epic series; in my re-watching of the films last week, I was struck with just how impressive the films still were, perhaps even more so now.

It makes sense that any spinoff of such a beloved and hefty series, could either be a magical dream true (hello, Stephen Colbert), or too much of a good thing.

And here, in this installment especially, there was bound to be naysayers. The addition of Evangeline Lilly (Lost) as Tauriel caused some concern among real LOTR fans, mostly because that character never existed in The Hobbit and no one wants to see a beloved a story messed with; but to be fair, if it wasn’t tinkered with and explored, then why go and see the film? You might as well just stay home and read the book then if you’re not interested on gaining a new perspective on the story. But as was the case with Game of Thrones (at least according to me, don’t get too angry), I thought that the TV show was better with some of the changes and additions to the story, especially in the fleshing out of Margery Tyrell and Shae, both of whom are far more fascinating and interesting in the show than they are in the book. Why couldn’t the same be true in The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug?

Amazingly hot, always awesome, Elves
Amazingly hot, always awesome, Elves

Tauriel is a playful Captain of the Guard whose fighting skills rival that of the great CGI scenes for Legolas; except seriously though, Lilly actually used to teach archery at summer camp. Besides that, Lilly has a beautiful poise that really is perfect for a Tolkien Elf, and while I don’t speak it so I can’t be sure, her Elvish sounded fantastic. As Lilly is a staunch fan of Tolkien she was worried about adding in a new character, but in one of my favorite quotes from 2013, stated that, “I keep repeatedly telling people that in this day and age, to put nine hours of cinema entertainment in theaters for young girls to go and watch, and not have one female character for them to watch is subliminally telling them, ‘you don’t count.’ You’re not important, and you’re not pivotal to story.”

Which is exactly the attitude that is essential for progress to be made in the representations of women on film and television, and it’s amazing that Lilly was so invested in a larger goal that she was willing to tamper with one of her favorite stories. And she took even one step further; according to Lilly, she originally agreed to the part under one condition: “One condition, and they agreed to the condition, and that condition was in place for two years. The condition was I will not be involved in a love triangle. Right? Because any of you who are fans of Lost, I’ve had it up to here with love triangles.”

But then, that changed, and while Lilly, Jackson, and Phillipa Boyens (writer) all agreed that the love triangle just sort of arose naturally during filming, it was still a bit disappointing (despite Kili [Aiden Turner] being a remarkable rare mix of adorable sexiness). Twilight, Vampire Diaries, Hunger Games–all uber-famous features that are centered around a love triangle, and mostly, it’s just sort of getting old: there are others ways of portraying love than two fantastically handsome men drooling over an unreachable average woman.

An assortment of testosterone.
An assortment of testosterone.

I agree with Jackson and Lilly in their decisions to bring in a female character and wish more could have been incorporated, because at it’s core, The Hobbit is just a hairy version of Band of Brothers with a lot of mountains. And in reality, after watching The Desolation of Smaug, I tried to dream up a female version of this film, and I wondered, what would it look like? How would those interactions have changed? And it was really difficult to imagine anyone producing a film about 15 very short women of vary levels of attractiveness, traveling through a forest to kill a dragon with their queen and bossy/optimistic sorceress in tow.

Generally in film, large group female interactions, with or without world-saving levels of adventure, tend to be characterized by passive-aggressive bitchiness. And I’m at a loss for any TV show, miniseries, or film, that has ever been about an all-female group trying to save the world, much less three four-hour films about said adventure.

In all seriousness, would you go to see that movie?

 

See also at Bitch Flicks: “How Love Triangles Perpetuate Misogyny,” by Erin Tatum; “‘The Hobbit’: A Totally Expected Bro-Fest,” by Erin Fenner; “‘The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey’: The Addition of Feminine Presence During a Quest for the Ages,” by Elise Schwartz; “Gendered Values and Women in Middle Earth,” by Barrett Vann

 

My Love-Hate Relationship With Joss Whedon

It started when I was 13. Some friends and I went to see Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It sounded like a lovely idea. A movie with a cheerleader as lead for my more “girly” friends, a vampire flick with a female heroine for me and the guy friends who were dragged along on this group “date” and just wanted to see vampires. It wasn’t like we had a choice–none of us had a car, and this was the only thing playing that we were old enough to watch at the theater our parents dropped us off at. I thought it would be perfect until it occurred to me in the lobby, while procuring nachos and popcorn, that this film was devised to please everyone, and usually when movies set out to please everyone, they pleased no one. But, it was a movie, and on a hot summer day that meant air conditioning; plus, there would be vampires, a female heroine and that was all I needed to give it a try.

The cast of Dollhouse
The cast of Dollhouse

 

This is a guest post by Shay Revolver.

It started when I was 13. Some friends and I went to see Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It sounded like a lovely idea. A movie with a cheerleader as lead for my more “girly” friends, a vampire flick with a female heroine for me and the guy friends who were dragged along on this group “date” and just wanted to see vampires. It wasn’t like we had a choice–none of us had a car, and this was the only thing playing that we were old enough to watch at the theater our parents dropped us off at. I thought it would be perfect until it occurred to me in the lobby, while procuring nachos and popcorn, that this film was devised to please everyone, and usually when movies set out to please everyone, they pleased no one. But, it was a movie, and on a hot summer day that meant air conditioning; plus, there would be vampires, a female heroine and that was all I needed to give it a try.

I sat, I watched, I was stuck somewhere between annoyance and amusement that my nachos weren’t the only thing in that theater covered in cheese. It seemed like for every great thing about the movie there was something equally as bad, if not worse. Even at that age, I worried that the film would be remembered more for the five-minute vamp death rattle scene at the end than for the female lead. Being the resident cinephile, or film-loving smart ass, I tried to save the film by saying it was supposed to be campy. In my head that was the only way I could wrap my mind around what had just occurred. I worried that if the film wasn’t successful there would be no more films with strong female leads–that we would have to keep being arm candy and damsels. Everything that made her complex, easy to relate to and bad ass was turned into a joke. I left the theater feeling sad.

In the interim, there were other films with strong female leads that caught my eye. Some of them were American but most of the time, I had to turn my gaze to the art houses and screening rooms of the East Village and Lower East Side. The women I was looking for could only be found in indie and foreign films. Sure, there was the pop up complex, bad ass heroine (or antihero) here and there beaming in beauty once in a while on the big screens of the mainstream, but they were so few an far between that I could count them on one hand and very rarely did they resonate in the way the other films did. Then something different happened. Studying in my dorm for midterms, during a very crazy junior year with my brain frying and a cold brewing, I turned on my TV and on some random network, there was Buffy. Buffy 2.0. to be exact, and in all of its campy goodness I could not turn away.

Summer Glau
Summer Glau as River Tam

 

There was a woman on TV, being bad ass and somewhat complex (as complex as a teenage girl could realistically be), and I along with millions of other people ate it up. On the surface, it was beautiful and a pleasure to watch. In my philosophy studying brain it was full of conflicts, ideas and other interesting complexities. As the series progressed there was less complexity in Buffy and more complications. During the series run, much like the movie, I found that for every step forward there was a step sideways, often back. But, I couldn’t turn away. In my head I juggled with the bizarre coincidence that Buffy’s “virtue” was linked to the sanity of all the men around her. Her virginity literally turned Angel evil. It was a pattern that played out throughout most of the show. Her sexuality was a prize to be given and taken at will. It was also her downfall. She would be punished for choosing to express her sexuality, for having desires, for not being the “proper girl.” It was one of the themes that bothered me throughout the show.

When discussing how male writers and directors portray women and their “complexities,” the name that gets called out the most is Joss Whedon and his strong, complex female hero Buffy Sommers. I, for one, was always team Faith. She was way more complex and realistic than Buffy. I could relate to her. While Buffy spent most of her non-training conversations lamenting over wanting a relationship and kicking ass in between sessions of just trying to get a date, Faith was more concerned with finding herself, being independent, and if love came along, that’d be cool too. She wasn’t nice all the time, she straddled the line of morality and was okay with who she was. She was a creature of pure impulse, turning into the woman she was going to be, who never tried for perfection. Watching her evolve was fascinating. She was like Catwoman to Buffy’s Batman and I could relate. While Buffy went on to have “relationships” that mimicked the plot line of almost every Lifetime movie, Faith was content to be alone instead of settling for the sake of not being alone. She was punished with being labeled as insane for expressing her independence and sexuality.

Sarah Michelle Gellar & James Marsters as (everyone's favorite dysfunctional couple) Buffy and Spike in Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Sarah Michelle Gellar and James Marsters as (everyone’s favorite dysfunctional couple) Buffy and Spike in Buffy the Vampire Slayer

 

When the short lived Firefly and its companion movie Serenity came to us, in true to Whedon form, the “virgin” lives and is strong. The “whore” is ultimately punished for her ways and although she does manage to survive and ride off into the sunset with Mal, her redemption comes only with settling down with a man to make her honest. While I will forever love the females in power aboard the ship, they were often led astray by their desires. The message often came off as, sorry ladies you can’t have it all. Even the hard-hitting River Tam was as bad ass, complex and brilliant as they came; she was also a virgin and very broken. She had passed the age where her sexuality should be expressed. She was incapable of expressing herself, and she went insane for contact. At the end of the day, the only woman who could save herself was the one who let go of her sexual identity or any idea of companionship, and she remained isolated and broken. Despite her strength, her survival often depended on the men around her.

This trend continued with Dollhouse, where the female bodies were literally used as objects and in a way that can only be expressed as soul rape, they are forced to forget the trauma and sleep until their bodies are called upon to be used again. Yes, in some scenarios these women were called upon to be more than just a warm body in the bed of the highest bidder, only worth what someone else was willing to pay for them, but the disturbing part was that they had no choice in what was happening to them, making it akin to a psychic roofie-style rape. I’ve heard the arguments that men were kept in the dollhouse as well , or that women were in power in the dollhouse, but none of that makes the situation any less horrifying. In the end, Echo is saved by a man. She was rendered incapable of saving herself. I looked away.

Kristy Swanson, the original Buffy
Kristy Swanson, the original Buffy

 

That has always been my issue with Joss Whedon’s work. As strong as his female characters are, they’re often on some level tortured and in some ways punished for being exactly what I was looking for in a female lead on TV. They seemed unable to find completion without having a man in their lives. That is what completed them. That was how they found themselves. It was also how they were punished. Buffy couldn’t save the world until she fell in love with her series-long tormentor and almost-rapist Spike. River Tam would collapse under the weight of her own strength. In Dollhouse, all of his female characters were used as pleasure objects and shells for men, and other women were serving as their pimps. There was no end to his female characters’ suffering; their worlds just got grimmer. There was no chance for redemption. Yes, they’re all strong in the traditional sense of the word because it is such a rare thing to see in media, but they’re also all still traditional archetypes.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m happy that he keeps creating these strong female characters, I wish more male creators would do the same. Gender equality in casting, Salt withstanding, is often hard to come by. I just know that I would love it even more if he wouldn’t make them set up to fail, if he wouldn’t put them in situations where their survival is dependent upon men, or where their happiness was aligned with or subject to the men in their lives. I’m hoping that the Agents of S.H.I.E.L..D. proves me wrong in the long run, and a shift is coming now that he has proved his weight. But so far we’ve already seen one damaged woman, one about to fall prey to her romantic desires, one who lacks sexuality, and another who has been mind controlled. For a very long time Whedon was the only game in town for seeing a continuous flow of strong women in power. Now there are other options, and most of them are women writing and creating roles for other women. It has been proven that there is a market for the characters that Whedon has often said that he wants to create. I see glimpses of these women in the characters that he does portray. Now that he has reached the level that he has in his career, hopefully he will show us these women that he wishes he could have created, shown and brought to fruition as he often laments. I can’t wait to see them.

 


Shay Revolver is a vegan, feminist, cinephile, insomniac , recovering NYU student and former roller derby player currently working as a NY-based microcinema filmmaker, web series creator and writer. She’s obsessed with most books , especially the Pop Culture and Philosophy series and loves movies and TV shows from low brow to high class. As long as the image is moving she’s all in and believes that everything is worth a watch. She still believes that movies make the best bedtime stories because books are a daytime activity to rev up your engine and once you flip that first page, you have to keep going until you finish it and that is beautiful in its own right. She enjoys talking about the feminist perspective in comic book and gaming culture and the lack of gender equality in main stream cinema and television productions.. Twitter @socialslumber13

 

The Women of ‘Thor: The Dark World’

Superhero movies often get better in their sequels because the repetitive and time-consuming business of an origin story has already been taken care of. Some of the greatest beneficiaries of this greater narrative freedom are the secondary characters, a group which, because these are comic book movies, generally encompasses every female character.

And yes, the women are for the most part given More To Do in Thor 2. But is it any more satisfying for the feminist viewer? Read more to find out.

Superhero movies often get better in their sequels because the repetitive and time-consuming business of an origin story has already been taken care of. Some of the greatest beneficiaries of this greater narrative freedom are the secondary characters, a group which, because these are comic book movies, generally encompasses every female character.

And yes, the women are for the most part given More To Do in Thor 2. But is it any more satisfying for the feminist viewer? Read more to find out. Spoiler alert #1: Not Really. Spoiler alert #2: There are spoilers for the film in this review.

Jane Foster could feel it. She was perfect.
Jane Foster could feel it. She was perfect.

 

Jane Foster Goes All Black Swan on Us

I know next to nothing about the character in the comics, but I really like Natalie Portman’s Jane Foster. I love how passionate she is about her work (possibly because I married a scientist). And Natalie Portman, with real life academic bona fides, brings invaluable credulity to her role as a brilliant astrophysicist. She also pulls off the character’s social awkwardness convincingly and endearingly, despite “good at science, bad at people” being something of an overdone trope. And my favorite thing about Jane Foster is how embarrassed she is by her romance novel-esque love affair with a godlike superhero from another realm. But while her character was nicely three-dimensional in the first Thor, she wasn’t given much in the way of plot.

So in the sequel, Jane gets plot, but it’s only by coincidentally being possessed by the MacGuffin (some kind of universe-destroying energy called the Aether). This results in her having some self-defending superpowers which are barely called into play (less action than Pepper Potts got with her temporary superpowers in Iron Man Three), and a handful of spooky moments where her eyes turn dark and she grows feathers out of her back. We don’t actually get to know how Jane FEELS about this potentially fatal possession, though. It’s clearly just a plot device to get Jane to Asgard, and a waste of an opportunity for real character development.

Also, that “for New York” face slap she gave Loki in the trailer? Much less effective in the actual film because it comes well after a DOUBLE face slap for Thor for not calling her when he was on Earth to save New York. If I think about that any longer I will actually have a stroke, so let’s move on to…

 

Rene Russo as Frigga
Rene Russo as Frigga

 

Frigga? More Like Fridge-a

Even though I watched the original (or two-thirds of the original before I fell asleep, no slight on the film, just a side effect of a busy week) on Friday night, I can’t remember what Frigga, mother to Thor and Loki and Queen of Asgard, did in the first movie other than provide the audience with a pleasant moment of, “Hey, Rene Russo!” and offer the camera concerned looks.

It’s not much better for our Queen in Thor 2. She gets one good tactical move and around thirty seconds of “see, strong women!” swordplay before getting killed off by the main baddie, all the better to fuel Thor’s  broodiness. Loki clearly had a stronger bond with Frigga, but the only way we see her death affect him is when he rages out in his prison cell. Which, you know, he probably does when he has a stubborn tangle in his hair, so it’s not all that compelling. With the actually dramatically interesting parts of Frigga’s death left unexplored, it feels all the more egregious a case of the character being fridged.

 

Sif
Jaimie Alexander as Sif

 

Sif, also present.

Sif actually gets LESS to do in this movie, and a couple of suggestive edits imply she’s in one corner of a love triangle with Thor and Jane, which I could SERIOUSLY do without (although my Thor expert Ben tells me that in some runs of the comics, Sif loves Thor “big time”). But if they MUST go down that path, at least let us have some meaningful dialogue between her and Jane during their escape from Asgard.

I also get sad when Sif is on screen because she makes me want a Wonder Woman movie even more, but that isn’t Marvel or Jaimie Alexander’s fault, so let’s move on.

 

Kat Dennings as Darcy
Kat Dennings as Darcy

 

And Kat Dennings as “Darcy”

Kat Denning’s Darcy is a Miracle Whip character: you either love her or hate her. She worked better for me in the first film, partially because the atrocious sitcom 2 Broke Girls pretty much has the same effect on Kat Denning’s signature shtick as sunlight does on Miracle Whip. Nevertheless, Darcy made me laugh, she helped the film pass the Bechdel Test by leaps and bounds, and, best of all, she reacted to the absurd goings-on the way a normal person would. I wanted to stand up and cheer when she called the police after Jane went missing from a creepy abandoned building, because that is what normal people would do, even when it seems pretty clear she’s missing because she’s in another realm, because there’s no 999 for that.

Even though I realize Darcy isn’t for everyone, I do wish there were more characters like her in the Marvel universe. By which I mean interesting, well-developed human civilian characters. So keep the Darcys coming, Marvel, and try to make some of them people of color, wouldya?

 

Thor 2's take on women: partly cloudy, some showers
Thor 2‘s take on women: partly cloudy, some showers

 

In conclusion? Thor 2 isn’t TERRIBLE to its women, even though it isn’t exactly great. Moreover, the treatment of women in the movie is good enough that it doesn’t detract much from the rest of the film, which is for my money very enjoyable and a substantial improvement on the (already pretty good) first installment.  It’s definitely worth seeing–at least so I have more people to talk to about it.
 

We’re the Weirdos: Female Power for Good and Evil in ‘The Craft’

The Craft presents a lesson that coming-of-age films don’t typically make a point to show. A ballot is cast for prom queen or SAT prep sits on the horizon with college days looming, a girl must get a boy to like her, losing her virginity in the process. But this film is about serving the self—the craft of empowering oneself to surmount the archaic persecutions against women—taking back the threat of female power. But like a genie in a bottle that allows three wishes, this craft must be practiced and understood, respected completely before it can be outwardly used, or else it will perpetuate transgression.

The Craft poster
The Craft poster

 

This guest post by Kim Hoffman appears as part of our theme week on Cult Films and B Movies.

There are countless teen films with themes that focus on the ways young females work with, and then eventually against each other, for the sake of a number of factors: their place in a social hierarchy, a jealous feeling, or in summation, an overall insecurity they are plagued with because they’re sixteen and they haven’t yet developed a sense of self-awareness outside of their high school cafeteria.

What I’ve always welcomed in The Craft was the idea that a group of girls could be simultaneously contributing to the ongoing high school drama they’re faced with each day, while nurturing their powers on a higher plane that none of their peers could possibly grasp. Earth, air, fire and water—the four corners of the world, but incomplete without a fourth girl until character Sarah (Robin Tunney) begins attending her new Catholic high school and develops a friendship with the school witches.

The group needs a fourth
The group needs a fourth to be complete.

 

In elementary school, slumber parties with girlfriends typically involved the game “Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board.” It was a bonding experience between us girls that didn’t quite mean we believed we could actually make one another float, or invoke a spirit to talk to us through a candle or the Ouija board, but perhaps that very hyper-adolescent female clout was a presence in itself, an ember growing hotter within us, if we dared pay attention. Boys in class picked me on—one called me “Casper” because I was so pale. I was living in Florida at the time and all of the other girls were tan and flirted with boys by dumbing themselves down. I didn’t subscribe to that diluted mindset. I was determined, even as a confused pre-pubescent girl with a deep shyness in me, to move to the beat of my own drums, however weird others thought I was.

The understood leader of this teenage coven in The Craft is Nancy (Fairuza Balk), a girl who stands up to the likes of other mean girls in teen drama history like the most cruel of Heathers or Rose McGowen’s unapologetic lipstick machine Courtney Shane in Jawbreaker. Next to Nancy are Bonnie (Neve Campbell) and Rochelle (Rachel True). Bonnie is scarred with terrible marks on her back, causing her to be shelled and quiet, uncomfortably covered up so no one can see her, fraught to feel beautiful. Rochelle, an African American athlete with a sweet and open disposition, puts up with torment from a girl named Laura Lizzie (Christine Taylor), a popular blonde who makes terrible racial slurs at her. Nancy and her mother live in a dilapidated trailer with her sickening and habitually abusive stepfather. There’s a feeling hanging in the air when Sarah begins to show signs of telekinetic power; the girls know their coven could be complete and that their powers joined could change everything they can’t currently control.

The coven is complete
The coven is complete

 

After popular boy Chris (Skeet Ulrich) asks Sarah out on a date and she agrees, she’s angry to find out that the following Monday at school, a terrible rumor has been spread about her and Chris having sex on that date—despite the fact that they absolutely didn’t. As a result, the three other girls approach her with an idea, a spell. They cast a spell to make Chris do whatever Sarah says. And it works. He’s now following her around like a lost puppy, and Sarah’s slut-shaming rumors are put to rest. It’s a moment of reckoning, wherein a bad school rumor at the hands of a guy is twisted to his disadvantage, causing him to be the weak, demure one that he attributed to Sarah, banishing his ego and putting Sarah in power. But is it power for women, or is it power modeled after male dominance?

Now fueled with delight, greed and confidence, the coven is a complete dynamic troop, marching through the hallways in their Catholic school-girl uniforms, evoking a new brand of strength that makes their school mates fear them even more, which they love and welcome. Nancy’s face says, “Look at me, I dare you.” It’s the high point in the film for these girls, as they’ve joined their powers to reclaim their place, to restore their souls—but as quickly as that power is recognized, they begin to misuse it for revenge—a yin yang of dark and light that must bring chaos if used too recklessly.

The girls perform a healing spell on Bonnie, who only wishes for her scars to be gone. At her next doctor’s appointment, Bonnie, her mother and the doctors are stunned to find out that when they peel back her bandages, her back is completely healed. The next day at school, Bonnie walks in with a new outfit, a new attitude, and an outward vivaciousness that all can see. Of course, the boys take notice—but this is about Bonnie, for Bonnie, and no one else. Simultaneously, Rochelle is handling Laura Lizzie, who is still taunting her in the locker room. Over the course of a few days, Laura finds her hair is beginning to fall out in her hairbrush and in the shower—and it’s only becoming more and more atrocious.  Finally, Nancy causes her stepfather to have a heart attack and die. She and her mother are left with a booming inheritance and can move out of the trailer into a swanky new high-rise condo.

The Smiths’ iconic “How Soon Is Now?” echoes in the background, and the girls, who call upon a deity named Manon, host a ritual in attempt to invoke the spirit within them. What they don’t realize is that Nancy has a plan to take Manon into herself completely, a dark power that the woman at the magick shop they frequently steal from knows is not the kind of magick that amateur witches should mess with without proper practice. The crone shop owner however recognizes Sarah is different from Nancy and the others, a consciousness that rises above the girls who have impulsive, quick-tempered intentions.

Inside the traditional current of teen film subtext in which we root for the new girl/the odd girl out/the girl with the chance to teach something/the girl who has been influenced by the luster of a life she is told will make her more popular, Sarah must defeat the soul-sucking people who seek to make her an object. We root for her because we see what she can’t see yet, and we know that something terrible might have to take place in order for her to come to fully developed realizations that push her into making important choices. This isn’t about making an A; it’s about making sure you aren’t burned at the stake for your high school to witness.

The Craft presents a lesson that coming-of-age films don’t typically make a point to show. A ballot is cast for prom queen or SAT prep sits on the horizon with college days looming, a girl must get a boy to like her, losing her virginity in the process. But this film is about serving the self—the craft of empowering oneself to surmount the archaic persecutions against women—taking back the threat of female power. But like a genie in a bottle that allows three wishes, this craft must be practiced and understood, respected completely before it can be outwardly used, or else it will perpetuate transgression.

The mystery of women, our cyclic connection to the moon, to medicine, math, written words—it has all been condemned and misappropriated as voodoo, black magick, devil worshipping, witch work. To many, witch means bitch. Bitch means witch. What is unconventional is evil. But ego is genderless, and it feeds a darker realm. The people who attack and target Sarah, Nancy, Bonnie and Rochelle represent that gender-neutral aspect that aims to banish female power. The age that is dawning doesn’t require school texts and chalk boards. The real war taking place requires ritual books and goblets filled with blood and wine, you know—typical high school material.

However, Sarah’s spell eventually backfires when Chris tries raping her at a party because he will stop at nothing to be near her and can’t wrap his head around these feelings he can’t part with. Nancy saves Sarah by throwing Chris out of the window with her powers, and he is killed. Despite the harm he has caused, Sarah is mostly just scared of Nancy now. It’s a turning point in the film when the roles shift and the people against them are not the ones to be feared—it’s the girls themselves that have to come face to face with their own shadows.

Nancy
Nancy

 

After Sarah tries casting a binding spell against Nancy to prevent her from causing harm against herself and others, the girls turn on Sarah. As a real life outcast who was banned from my own in-crowd group of girl friends in middle school, I see this as a blessing in disguise for girls who are meant for bigger things. It’s a calling of sorts—a low hanging cloud that beckons you away from cliques, from being another follower, from believing in something just because someone tells you its real. What about believing in you? Sarah has had the power all along—Nancy knew it. So she muddled Sarah down in the hopes she could overcome her and maintain what would only ever be a false sense of supremacy. All Queen Bees are only as strong as their weakest link; they can’t survive alone.

In the final act, Sarah and Nancy come head to head, Nancy filling up Sarah’s house with snakes and creepy crawlers, attempting to influence Sarah to commit suicide—the ultimate female betrayal in which Sarah’s death is the only means for Nancy to move forward. Motivated by life and a true sense of power that musters itself back to the surface, Sarah defeats Nancy and thereafter Nancy is sent to a mental hospital. We’re left with a few lingering feelings and questions. Most prominent is the feeling that good can defeat evil and that female power is strongest when the belief is in oneself, not what they’re told to follow. But what does this say about a coven of women? Can women work together without turning on each other? What factors would dispel women from competing over control and success? Is The Craft a lesson in the art of witchcraft, or is it a deeper lesson in the very real and everyday transformation we make from girls to women?

 


Kim Hoffman is a writer for AfterEllen.com and Curve Magazine. She currently keeps things weird in Portland, Oregon. Follow her on Twitter: @the_hoff.

 

A Study in Contrasts: ‘The Hunger’

Perhaps for the movie’s purposes, that doesn’t matter: the story seems to be far more driven by the desire to create an artistic film, rather than an intellectually/ethically/scientifically engaging narrative. The scientific aspect for example—the part of the film I found personally most engaging, that it is possible to tamper with the natural life-cycle, halting the aging process in its tracks—is touched upon but it seems, at least to me, to be more of a plot device for bringing Sarah into Miriam’s life than an attempt to explore an ethically challenging issue. The biology behind Miriam’s present state and the fate of her lovers is similarly irrelevant.

Bauhaus
John Blaylock in the opening scene, set to music by Bauhaus

 

This guest post by Amanda Civitello and Rebecca Bennett appears as part of our theme week on Cult Films and B Movies.

The Hunger, the 1983 art-house vampire flick by director Tony Scott, is perhaps the definition of “cult film,” with its plot, characterization, soundtrack, and costuming skirting the line between camp and Art. It might not be an especially good movie, despite its all-star cast – Catherine Deneuve stars as the immortal vampire, Miriam; David Bowie plays her centuries-old lover John; Susan Sarandon stars as Sarah, a scientific researcher who becomes Miriam’s new love interest – but it’s frequently beautiful and grotesque, often at the same time. It is, after all, a lavish vampire movie whose vampires are educated, cultured, and well-traveled, but definitely not “vegetarian.” Miriam and John live in a luxurious New York City townhouse decorated with antiquities that serve as a kind of timeline of her existence; she, after all, is an ancient Egyptian. John is a far more recent development (the 18th century) in her life, for the curse of Miriam’s existence is that those whom she turns enjoy an extraordinarily long lifespan, but are not immortal. Over the course of the film, we realize that John’s accelerated aging has put Miriam on the search for a new lover, so that she will not be alone when he finally expires. Dr. Sarah Roberts, a gerontologist, enters Miriam’s life at the perfect time. Ultimately, The Hunger succeeds as a work of visual art but fails on its narrative: rather than engage with the ethical issues raised by ancient vampires living and hunting in contemporary New York, it often refrains from exploring these complex tensions, privileging the visual over the story, making for a rich picture whose story falls flat. For those looking for a “classy” vampire movie for Halloween, this might be it – but be warned, art-house or not, The Hunger is incredibly bloody.

Bowie
David Bowie as John Blaylock

 

[RB]: The first thing that strikes me in watching the film is the interesting juxtaposition between the contemporary (1980s) and the classical. You see this in the soundtrack, of course, but also in the costuming and the set design. The Blaylock townhouse, for example, is filled with a seeming hodgepodge of antiquities and yet its inhabitants are thoroughly modern.

[AC]: I think it makes sense to approach the film this way, because it’s most successful as an audio-visual experience; it’s far less successful as a story. Let’s start with the music, because that’s something that almost overwhelms the film itself. The soundtrack is really beautiful in its blending of classical work (Ravel, Délibes, Allegri) with the original soundtrack by Howard Blake, and the occasional contemporary popular work.

Miriam
Catherine Deneuve as Miriam Blaylock

 

[RB]: And this is most effective when there’s more than one kind of contrast. For example, the scene in which the aging John attempts to feed is backed by upbeat hiphop but set within a vintage-looking space, with archways and pillars. Alongside the presence of the beatbox and rollerblades, there’s this fairly antique vampire attempting to murder someone for sustenance. Tony Scott reinforces and even exploits our natural tendency to compare and contrast in the way the scenes are constructed.

[AC]: And there’s the contrast between Miriam and John’s cultured daytime existence and the primal, animalistic nature of their nighttime excursions. I think the soundtrack is used really effectively to that end. Consider the love scene between Miriam and Sarah – which is largely responsible for the film’s cult status. It begins with an impromptu concert in which Miriam plays Délibes’s “The Flower Duet,” from the opera Lakmé, and then, as they go to bed, changes to a vocal performance of the duet. It’s a beautifully romantic, soft love scene, set as it is against such a heady, operatic song. And then Miriam removes the cap from her ankh pendant, and suddenly there’s blood – and through it all, the soundtrack continues with the duet.

Rollerblading
Rollerblading through the archways

 

[RB]: This is also the case when John murders Alice, one of their music students. She’s playing a beautifully haunting piece of music which continues even as John slits her throat. There seems to be a persistent juxtaposition of the horrific and bloody against the beautiful, such as during the love scene between Sarah and Miriam. The movie’s costuming is similarly effective. As well as simply serving to emphasise just how divine Deneuve truly is, there’s something of a vintage feel to her clothing which reiterates what we already know about her character—that Miriam is a centuries old vampire. I think it’s worth comparing Miriam and Sarah to make this distinction. Sarah is consistently dressed in distinctly modern clothes—androgynous suits and cotton t-shirts. Miriam, on the other hand, though hardly decked out in the eighteenth century garb we see in the flashback to the beginning of Miriam and John’s time together, seems to be somewhat inspired by the elegance of the 1940s.

[AC]: The Hunger is one of those films in which Deneuve was exclusively dressed by Yves Saint Laurent (another is Indochine). Sarandon was not. There’s such a contrast in the design and aesthetics of their clothes; using YSL sets Deneuve apart from everyone else, who wear whatever the wardrobe department rustled up. Miriam’s distinctive look – a big part of what Sarandon’s character deems “European” – is in large part the YSL look. YSL is for the modern, classically elegant, powerful woman – and I think that’s basically Miriam’s character, in a nutshell. That’s important when you’ve got Miriam, dressed to the nines in YSL suits and veiled hats, prowling a nightclub for unsuspecting people to murder. Because she’s wearing clothes that are identifiably YSL – and that don’t exist as “costumes” – the film is able to reinforce that contrast between Miriam’s refinement and animalism while emphasizing her modernity. She might be a glam vampire, but she’s not an Elizabethan caricature.

Classical music
Miriam, John, and their young music student, Alice

 

[RB]: You learn something new every day! YSL or not, I do still think that Miriam’s costumes serve to emphasise the fact her “otherness” for lack of a better word, as well as the rather dangerous brand of elegance and sensuality which draws people like John and Sarah into her web.

[AC]: I think the film encapsulates that attraction really well, but is confusing on other points. I haven’t read the novel (or its subsequent sequels), but I think part of the reason why the story fails is because it doesn’t elaborate on the novel’s ideas about the nature of vampirism, which takes a sci-fi approach. In the novel, Miriam wasn’t ever human; she’s a different kind of species that resists aging and is very hard to kill. She learns that she can transfer some of her traits, like an extended lifespan, to a lover by sharing blood. This explains why her lovers can’t be turned completely, and why they hover as empty shells. The central premise of the film doesn’t really make sense without this justification. If you approach the film with more traditional vampire lore in mind, you’re searching for a reasonable explanation for why the lovers she turns don’t turn all the way – and moreover, you have to try to work out how Miriam managed to get the way she is. The novel’s reasoning makes far more sense.

Club dudes
The Manhattan nightclub John and Miriam frequent in order to hunt

 

[RB]: Perhaps for the movie’s purposes, that doesn’t matter: the story seems to be far more driven by the desire to create an artistic film, rather than an intellectually/ethically/scientifically engaging narrative. The scientific aspect for example—the part of the film I found personally most engaging, that it is possible to tamper with the natural life-cycle, halting the aging process in its tracks—is touched upon but it seems, at least to me, to be more of a plot device for bringing Sarah into Miriam’s life than an attempt to explore an ethically challenging issue. The biology behind Miriam’s present state and the fate of her lovers is similarly irrelevant.

[AC]: One thing that I really wish the film had actually addressed is the tension of Miriam’s existence. We know that the fact that she’s condemned a parade of lovers to a miserable half-life, locked away in steel coffins but still “conscious,” tortures her. She actively looks to science to extend John’s life by following Sarah’s research; when it becomes apparent that he has declined beyond all hope, she mourns. And yet, she still turns her attention to someone new. Why?

Miriam and John in the club
Miriam and John in the club

 

[RB]: I suppose as distraught as Miriam might be by the loss of John and her many other lovers, loneliness would be worse. She loves her companions, but it would be worse to exist alone rather than remain faithful to the memory of what they once were and mourn perpetually. Or perhaps it simply serves to drive the narrative forward!

[AC]: And what does that say about her as a character? On the one hand, while it isn’t anything new to see a female villain, Miriam has a conscience. It’s almost as if she can’t help herself.

[RB]: I think it’s significant that she’s motivated by that fear of loneliness. After all, her former lovers are all trapped in those steel coffins because she cannot bear to kill them and end their suffering. It’s incredibly selfish – as is her plan to turn Sarah – but incredibly sad as well.

Miriam mourning
Miriam in mourning for John

 

[AC]: I have to say, I really despise the ending (in which her former lovers extract their revenge on Miriam, helping Sarah to make Miriam like them), because it doesn’t make sense. In the DVD commentary, Sarandon says, “All the rules that we’d spent the entire film delineating, that Miriam lived forever and was indestructible, and all the people that she transformed [eventually] died, and that I killed myself rather than be an addict [were ignored]. Suddenly I was kind of living, she was kind of half dying… Nobody knew what was going on, and I thought that was a shame.” And I think she’s right. Beyond being implausible in a narrative sense, the ending basically rewrites everything we’ve come to know about Sarah. I think it would have been a more satisfying end to the film to have seen Miriam in London, alone at her piano or, alternatively, with a new lover. It would have been a far more powerful statement for Sarah to have killed herself, and for the final scenes to show Miriam facing the prospect of eternity alone.

 


Amanda Civitello and Rebecca Bennett are the two halves of a very happy couple who became close while collaborating on this review of Sleepy Hollow, which probably makes them the first Bitch Flicks couple. Together they founded and edit Iris | New Fiction, a new, nonprofit literary magazine of fiction, poetry, and visual art for LGBTQ+ teens and their allies. Catch up with Amanda at her site and twitter, and say hi to Rebecca on twitter.

 

‘Sleepy Hollow’s Abbie Mills: a New and Improved Scully

I fell for Sleepy Hollow hard and fast, despite having little confidence in its actual quality or prospects of maintaining its storytelling momentum going forward. I am an easy mark for this show: The X-Files was my first favorite tv show (not counting Fraggle Rock and She-Ra, I guess), so a supernatural drama about a misfit obsessive man and his practical partner somewhat reluctantly along for the ride is catnip to me. But even I realize Sleepy Hollow could easily collapse under the weight of its own ridiculousness, what with the reanimated Revolutionary War soldier chatting with his dead witch wife across the veil and fighting demons and attempting to prevent the apocalypse (the Headless Horseman is actually DEATH, rider of a pale horse). Thankfully, Nicole Beharie as Abbie Mills is there to ground this in reality.

Nicole-Beharie-of-Sleepy-Hollow
Nicole Beharie as Abbie Mills in Sleepy Hollow

I fell for Sleepy Hollow hard and fast, despite having little confidence in its actual quality or prospects of maintaining its storytelling momentum going forward. I am an easy mark for this show: The X-Files was my first favorite tv show (not counting Fraggle Rock and She-Ra, I guess), so a supernatural drama about a misfit obsessive man and his practical partner somewhat reluctantly along for the ride is catnip to me. But even I realize Sleepy Hollow could easily collapse under the weight of its own ridiculousness, what with the reanimated Revolutionary War soldier chatting with his dead witch wife across the veil and fighting demons and attempting to prevent the apocalypse (the Headless Horseman is actually DEATH, rider of a pale horse). Thankfully, Nicole Beharie as Abbie Mills is there to ground this in reality.

While Lt. Abbie Mills is clearly “the Scully” (she’s even a foot shorter than her co-star Tom Mison, resulting in many an arched-neck conversation), Sleepy Hollow makes some beneficial adjustments to the archetype. First: Abbie is the one with the Mulder-esque childhood trauma related to the overarching mystery. And while Abbie was in denial about her bizarre experiences most of her life, even refusing to corroborate her institutionalized sister Jenny’s honest account of the events, she’s not pigeonholed as being “the skeptic” despite seeing paranormal occurrences with her own eyes. We’re seeing Abbie come to accept that the impossible happens and that she has a vital role in it, but with a healthy dose of “REALLY?” and “WHY ME?” tossed in to counter Ichabod Crane’s obsessive mission-focus.

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Abbie Mills and Ichabod Crane in Sleepy Hollow

Abbie is by far the most-realized character after these first few episodes. And Nicole Beharie’s performance deserves much of the credit. She sells the contradictions inherit in a practical, no-nonsense police officer who nevertheless accepts an undead relic from the 18th century who calls her “Leff-tenant” and won’t change out of his colonial clothes as her new partner. Beharie has the charisma that makes you want to root for Abbie even though she’s done bad things, like abandon her sister or spell her name with an “i-e” instead of a “y.” And her smile is a ray of sunshine reflected in a newborn baby’s eye and voice is the sound that angel’s tears make when they fall on rose petals. (In case you haven’t noticed, I kind of have a crush on Nicole Beharie.)

Seeing a great female character emerge on a new TV show is always a thrill, but it’s extra wonderful to have another woman of color as a complex lead character on a successful series. Nicole Beharie, to her credit, has been vocal about the significance of her casting. She told Essence:

“I’m 5’1’’ and an African American woman. I just didn’t think anyone would hire me to play the cop. There’s a certain demographic of girls who look the same in every action piece and I didn’t think that that was going to be me. I’ve always been a big sci-fi person. I love fantasy, so when the opportunity presented itself I wanted to take a shot at this. Getting to hold a gun and running away from witches and incantations…  I keep hearing some people saying like ‘Yes, you’re the Black person who doesn’t die.’”

Even better, Beharie isn’t the only person of color in a sea of whiteness on Sleepy Hollow. Orlando Jones, having apparently paid his debt to society for appearing in all those Make 7 Up Yours commercials back in the early aughts, plays Abbie’s new boss; Nicholas Gonzales plays Abbie’s coworker and former flame, and John Cho has a recurring role as another undead pawn in the apocalypse saga.  And of course Abbie’s sister Jenny Mills, played by Lyndie Greenwood, is emerging as one of the most interesting side characters, a Sarah Connor-esque figure committed to affirming the unbelievable truth that’s had her labelled insane for most of her life.

jennymills
Lyndie Greenwood as Jenny Mills

Sleepy Hollow may end up being another preposterous supernatural melodrama I have to be embarrassed about obsessing over, but Nicole Beharie as Abbie Mills gives me hope the series could turn out respectable quality product. Or at least launch Beharie to superstardom. She deserves it.

 

‘The Brass Teapot’: A Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy

The Brass Teapot is a black comedy with a premise straight out of Aesop or The Twilight Zone: a struggling young couple come to own a teapot that generates cash in exchange for pain. How much hurt will they inflict on themselves and others for money?

The Brass Teapot
Juno Temple and Michael Angarano in The Brass Teapot

The Brass Teapot is a black comedy with a premise straight out of Aesop or The Twilight Zone: a struggling young couple come to own a teapot that generates cash in exchange for pain. How much hurt will they inflict on themselves and others for money?

John and Alice Macy (Michael Angarano and Juno Temple) are a young married couple clearly in love despite their relatable 20-something struggles to find employment and manage their finances. The teapot comes into their lives after Alice steals it from the site of a minor car accident (rigged by the previous owner of the teapot to generate a payday on the drivers’ pain). She discovers the teapot’s powers after accidentally burning herself with a curling iron, and continues to injure herself until they have enough to pay the bills and then some.

A lot of the first act of the movie treads dangerous waters by depicting self-harm and quasi-consensual partner violence and BDSM sex with a decidedly lighthearted and quirky tone set by director Ramaa Mosley. I can easily see this triggering some people. I was able to buy into it as twisted dark comedy, but your mileage may vary.

Of course the teapot’s cruel bargain becomes more and more vicious. Alice and John find diminishing returns on their own pain, so they bring the teapot around others in pain (cue hijinks like crashing a maternity ward). Then they have to turn to emotional pain, and so they lay all their cruel thoughts and marital indiscretions out on the table to make rent. Finally they contemplate inflicting violence on others to keep the teapot’s magic going.

The Brass Teapot
John and Alice and their rewards from the teapot

There is so much in The Brass Teapot that makes it sound like the movie will be painful (appropriately enough) to watch. There are plenty of things to cringe at even if you can get past the pitfalls of the premise. The film unfortunately employs some racist caricatures, like poor Stephen Park as Dr. Ling, who attempts to save the Macys from the teapot by employing his ancient Chinese wisdom, as well as a bizarre subplot about the Hasidic nephews of the previous owner (who do at least bring about one hilarious joke toward the end of the film). The Brass Teapot dabbles in class commentary (Alice and John are middle class kids unable to capitalize on their privilege, and we see that their high school social circle has divided into the haves and the have-nots), but it is never properly developed as the plot focuses on the more simple moral questions presented by the teapot.

Given some of these sensitivity shortcomings, I became particularly worried as the plot carried forward that Alice was going to become the Eve to John’s Adam and he was going to be the innocent man seduced by her greed. Fortunately I think The Brass Teapot sidesteps that trope. While Alice is usually the one to raise the stakes to get more money out of the pot, she also pulls back in at least one crucial scenario where John was ready to bring the pain. The character works because Juno Temple balances her admirable willingness to play an unsympathetic character with her ample charisma, so you end up at least being willing to continue to watch Alice on screen if not outright liking her.

Overall, I feel The Brass Teapot demonstrates the value of commitment in storytelling. Even when it is to the film’s potential detriment and the alienation of its audience, this movie doesn’t shy away from the horror of its premise. I found myself completely in this movie’s grip, absolutely believing that anything might happen as the stakes got higher and higher, while somehow still able to root for the characters and laugh at the comedic moments. It is the kind of movie I’d enthusiastically recommend if I thought my experience was universal, but I realize this movie is probably—oh no, someone please stop me, don’t let me say it—not everyone’s cup of tea.

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Robin Hitchcock is an American writer living in Cape Town, South Africa, and she is terribly sorry for that last sentence.

Older Women Week: Charlize Theron: Too Hot to Be Wicked?

Film poster for Snow White and the Huntsman
This is a guest post by Katherine Newstead.

When I first heard that Charlize Theron was going to play The Wicked Queen in Snow White and the Huntsman (Sanders, 2012) I thought this was completely ridiculous; Theron is way too young and, frankly, way too hot. However, that was kind of the point.

Ravenna, aka The Wicked Queen, Theron’s character, bases her whole existence on maintaining her beauty and youth and stands as a symbol for women’s supposed fear of ageing and anxiety toward the ageing female body.

Charlize Theron is the Queen of Wicked Hot
In a scene toward the beginning of Snow White and the Huntsman, during Ravenna’s and the King’s wedding night, she tells of how she has replaced his old (emphasis on the “old”) Queen, and how, in time, she too would have been replaced. Thus, Ravenna speaks of the “natural” cycle of youth replacing age and appears to blame patriarchy for this situation, as men “toss women to the dogs like scraps” once they have finished with them.
“When a woman stays young and beautiful forever, the world is hers.”
Mirror, Mirror … er, not on the wall
Ravenna truly believes that the maintenance of age guarantees success. And why not? How many anti-ageing adverts will be shown on television today, promoting the latest magical cure for the horrors of ageing. Such adverts have been labelled as responsible for cultivating a new trend for female narcissism as a form of liberation and emancipation yet, as Douglas writes, it is not patriarchy that women blame for the flaws and disappointments that they see in themselves, but themselves (1995).

What is the most obvious symbol of narcissism? A mirror, naturally. And who has a mirror? The Wicked Queen; I see a connection forming. Ravenna’s somewhat obsessive relationship with her mirror is what ultimately becomes her downfall, not her relationship with Snow White. It is the mirror that goads her, telling her that she is not the most beautiful woman in the land; that would be Snow White, who never looks in the mirror and therefore isn’t haunted by the need to find, and ultimately destroy, perfection. As Waugh states:

Mirrors offer an illusory image of wholeness and completeness, the promise of the security of possession, but they too are agents of oppression and control, enticing us with their spurious identifications. (1989:12)

See, this is what happens when you don’t moisturise
 
Thus, Ravenna’s narcissism is fuelled by her mirror, which has a male voice (funny, that), and reflects (literally) the views of society, a society that is told time and again that to be successful and like, wanted, you have to appear young and beautiful.

So, oppressed by the chidings of the man in the mirror, Ravenna tries to ensure that she remains the most beautiful woman of all, and God help you if you get in her way. Ravenna literally sucks the life force out of any young woman in her path, perhaps a tad symbolic? You may be young and beautiful, but your anxieties about your rapidly ageing body — *points at Ravenna* — will eventually suck all the goodness out of you. Not to mention the years of hard work you’ll no doubt face, what with menstruating, having babies, getting paid less than anyone with a penis … I digress. 

But, seriously, Ravenna stands like a team mascot for post-feminist discourse on doing it for yourself, looking out for number one, revelling in your new found ability to look hot — at whatever the cost — and mow those bitches down who dare get in your way. Oh, and the whole thing about women becoming invisible once they reach a certain age and being overlooked by a society that sees them no longer economically viable? Yeah, Ravenna is far from invisible, what with all the shouting, killing, turning into a murder (right?) of crows. It’s like she’s saying, “HELLO? I’m still here, I still exist. I can be beautiful (and economically useful to society) toooooooooo!”
Charlize Theron in Snow White and the Huntsman
Yeah, so Charlize Theron as The Wicked (though not so old) Queen? PERFECT casting. Wish I’d thought of it myself.


Bibliography

Douglas, S. (1995) Where the Girls Are: Growing up Feminine with the Mass Media, Times Books: United States.

Waugh, P. (1989) Feminine Fictions: Revisiting the Postmodern, Routledge: London.


Katherine Newstead is a 27 year-old Film Studies postgraduate, from the University of Exeter. After completing her Masters dissertation on the representation of girlhood in the Disney fairy tale, she has returned to the University of Exeter to write her PhD thesis on the “Othering” of older women in the contemporary cinematic fairy tale.

Why We Need More Women Filmmakers: A Review of ‘Legend of the Red Reaper’

Movie still from Legend of the Red Reaper

This is a guest post by Aphrodite Kocięda. 

When actress Tara Cardinal initially approached me and asked if I could write a review for her new film, Legend of the Red Reaper, I was a bit hesitant. I have never really been fond of films that are hyper-masculine and assume that they’re automatically progressive because they cast one woman as a lead in a “strong” position without changing the overall framework. In fact, many films replace their protagonist men with women who are doing the exact same hyper-masculine shit and assume they should automatically get brownie points for casting a vagina.

However, I was thoroughly surprised by Legend of the Red Reaper because Cardinal’s character, Aella, broke through stereotypical representations of women in action films. In fact, I found myself enamored with Aella and her ability to transform trite traits associated with strength into something progressive. She wasn’t afraid to be “feminine” and “masculine” simultaneously. Aella is not hypersexualized or deemed “incompetent” because she is a woman. She is a multi-dimensional, complex character who transcends the normative ideas of femininity and masculinity.
Tara Cardinal as Aella in Legend of the Red Reaper
Legend of the Red Reaper is a fantasy/action film that centers on the tensions between demons, humans, reapers, and witches. Reapers are half human and half demon and are protectors of humans. Cardinal’s character, Aella, plays a reaper who is destined to save the human race, and her journey is complicated by love, familial conflict, and identity issues. Cardinal is both the director and producer of the film which might explain why Aella’s character is so progressive. Additionally, Cardinal does all of her own stunt and sword work.

Aella doesn’t fit into any of the cliché tropes for women that are routinely reproduced in mainstream films. For example, Aella is in love with a man named Eris who is a human—someone who she could never be with because she is a reaper. A young townswoman named Indira attempts to gain the attention of Eris and wants to marry him. Aella, however, does not exact revenge upon Indira. In fact, at one point, Aella saves Indira’s life. Aella actually gives up Eris so that he can marry Indira. This was very different from the clichéd narratives centering on women’s relationships in other mainstream films where women fight and focus all of their energy on ruining each others’ lives. Aella respectfully steps out of the picture without any conflict.
Movie still from Legend of the Red Reaper
Aella’s battle scenes also transcend stereotypical representations. During one scene in particular, Aella fights off more than four men with her sword in one hand while holding a crying baby in the other. I have N-E-V-E-R seen this before. All too often, film writers and producers assume that in order to showcase women in masculine positions, they must strip women of any semblance of womanhood, which is problematic. Therefore, I thought it was a smart move on behalf of Cardinal to show this. Unlike other films that feature women in lead fighting roles, Aella was not sexualized, nor was she attempting to emulate a man.

For me, this is what art and film are supposed to be like. Oftentimes films can reproduce patriarchal values that make it that much more difficult for women to see a good film. Women are not granted the privilege of imagining themselves in roles that transcend patriarchy and white supremacy. All too often women are cast as one-dimensional background nameless beings, or topless random women who are mere accessories to a multidimensional man. Legend of the Red Reaper allowed me to escape my reality and provided me with a chance to finally imagine a narrative beyond the confines of my social reality. As bell hooks says, “…we do not need more art to give us shit. Art should and can be the place where we are given an alternative, a redemptive vision.”


Aph Kocięda is a graduate student at the University of South Florida in Communication. She also holds a B.A. in Women’s and Gender Studies. You can find Aph on Vegan Feminist Network

The Women of ‘Man of Steel’ and the Toxicity of Hyper-Masculinity

Amy Adams as Lois Lane in Man of Steel

 

Written by Megan Kearns.
I’ve never been a huge fan of Superman. Sure I grew up watching and liking the Christopher Reeve films. And I sure as fuck am NOT a fan of Zack Snyder and his frequent faux female empowerment, despite his protestations to the contrary. But I do adore Lois Lane. An intrepid, fast-talking, driven reporter? How could I not?
Lois has had many incarnations: feminist women’s libber, lovelorn damsel in distress, tough business woman. And she’s often a mélange of these traits. She has an extensive feminist history and “she has always reflected conflicting attitudes toward women, especially talented, independent women.” Throughout her history, it seems Lois has always been a crystallization of a woman immersed in a world dominated by patriarchy and sexism. So does Man of Steel give us “a Lois Lane we deserve?”
Lois is a smart, spunky, hard-hitting, Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist. In her first scene in Man of Steel, when there’s some bro-tastic bullshit being spewed, Lois replies, “Now that we’re done having a dick measuring contest.” Fuck yeah!! Love this Lois! When Lois is shown her Spartan quarters at a military outpost in the Arctic, she questions, “Where do I tinkle?” Did Lois really use the word “tinkle?” Since it was juxtaposed after her awesome “dick-measuring” throwdown, I believe it’s intended as a subtle commentary on how society views women as weak, coddled and needing lots of amenities. But who knows, maybe I’m giving the film too much credit.
Lois writes a story about the mysterious stranger who saves her in the Arctic, believing he is not of this world. When her editor Perry White (Laurence Fishburne, the first African-American to play the role…and sadly one of the few people of color in the film, which is a shame considering “Superman’s identity as a transnational adoptee”), won’t publish her story, she persists and leaks it to an online site. Lois refuses to let anyone get in the way of her career. And that’s incredibly admirable.

In the Superman films with Margot Kidder and Christopher Reeve, Lois is a better reporter than Clark. He can type faster but she’s a shrewd investigative journalist. He has the brawn while she has the brains. But both share a morality: he wants to save people in danger; she wants to tell stories to inform the public and expose injustice. Because of this, both are fairly equal despite Superman’s superhero, god-like powers. There’s an interesting change in Lois’ role in Man of Steel. In the comics and previous films, Lois suspects but doesn’t know Clark is Superman, or if she does know, Clark erases her memory of his true identity. But here she discovers the truth early on. It puts the two characters on more equal ground.

Lois (Amy Adams) in Man of Steel
 Producer Deborah Snyder says Lois and Superman in Man of Steel save each other – he saves her physically while she saves him emotionally. Does that sate my need for equality? Notsomuch. Yes, it’s a step in the right direction. Yet it makes me uneasy as it relegates men and women to stereotypical gender roles. That men handle the “tough stuff,” while women the touchy-feely world of emotions.
I like that Lois makes up her mind and has an insatiable curiosity and is career-driven. Yet her life still revolves around Superman. Now some people will argue with me saying, “But the movie is named Superman, NOT Lois Lane!” Yeah, I know. I don’t give a shit. I want women in films to have their own personalities, their own lives, their own identities. Of course Lois’ path is intertwined with Superman’s or she wouldn’t even be in this film. But why must women continuously be reduced to damsels in distress, sidekicks or love interests? Wielding a gun or throwing a punch, isn’t automatically synonymous with power or agency.
Some will argue that Lois fights, playing a pivotal role in defeating General Zod. And she does. But it’s not her ingenuity or skills that enable her achievements. It’s Superman’s daddy via fancy hologram-consciousness instructing her how to defeat Superman’s enemies. Okay, so she can carry out orders. Is that really an improvement? It’s not her ingenuity or intelligence. And of course Lois still remains the love interest and frequent damsel in distress.
Faora (Antje Traue) in Man of Steel

What about Faora, Superman’s female Kryptonian, man-hating (in the comics) nemesis? She kicks some serious ass with a compelling fighting style. And it’s awesome. But again, she merely follows Zod, a dude, serving as his second in command. Why couldn’t she be in charge as the head villain? While she doesn’t have much personality, she does have an interesting exchange with Superman when she tells him he will always lose because he suffers the flaw of morality which she and her brethren have evolved past.

I initially thought this would be an annoyingly bro-tastic film with guidance and support strictly coming from the men in Clark/Kal-El’s life. But women play an equal role in the film. Unlike Star Trek Into Darkness where women remain mostly invisible or as sex objects, we see women in the military, women journalists besides Lois, and women on Krypton in leadership positions. “All of this may seem relatively minor, but it is rare for superhero movies to feature females in important, non-sexualized, non-damsel-in-distress roles.”

What is interesting though is Man of Steel’s commentary on masculinity. Throughout the film, Clark/Kal-El must wrangle with his emotions of identity and belonging. He wants to help people but his father keeps telling him he must hide his powers for people fear what they don’t understand, further underscoring the themes of immigration and xenophobia. When Clark is a young boy, he gets bullied. But he doesn’t fight back; he merely endures. He tells his father he wanted to hit the boy. His father nods and says that part of him wanted him to hit the bully. His father inquires, “But what would that accomplish?” When Clark is much older, traveling around and bouncing from job to job in anonymity, he again encounters a bully objectifying a female co-worker. He endures the bully’s taunts and walks away. There’s a continually dueling masculinity happening on-screen — a mature, calm and rational male who turns the other cheek and a toxic, aggressive, hyper-masculine male vying for supremacy.

Clark/Kal-El (Henry Cavill) and Martha Kent (Diane Lane) in Man of Steel

Both sets of parents — Jor-El and Lara Lor-Van and Jonathan and Martha Kent — influence their son. Man of Steel shows how Clark/Kal-El benefits from the influence of both his adoptive and biological father and mother. Although it would have been nice to see Lara’s consciousness in the Fortress of Solitude, not just Jor-El. Through much of the film, it’s Jor-El and Jonathon Kent providing guidance. But Martha Kent provides as strong an impact on Clark. She teaches her son to silence all of the chaos in his mind (brought on by his superpower senses of hearing, sight and smell), to focus only on the sound of her voice. In a genre that often features “absent mothers,” it’s great to see the power of motherhood here.

By showcasing the strength of his bonds with his father and mother, the film asserts that men need both feminine and masculine spheres in their lives. Superman finds inner peace when he learns of his past and when Lois believes in him. The men in Clark/Kal-El’s life teach him outer strength while the women in his life teach him inner strength.

The message underscoring the film is choice. That we can choose our destiny, choose the lives we lead. I found this especially compelling considering 2013 is shaping up to be the worst year for reproductive rights and the film’s subtle reproductive justice theme as Jor-El and Lara defy the laws of Krypton to conceive Kal-El/Clark. They choose to defy the eugenics of their society and have a child who can choose his own path, not merely follow the one laid out for him by society. They also choose to jettison their child to Earth in order to save his life. While we get to see Jor-El in all kinds of action scenes, Lara is the one who chooses to push the button launching Kal-El when her husband is threatened. By the end of Man of Steel, Superman must make a choice. He must choose Krypton or Earth. And he ultimately decides through a surprising violent act that runs counter to Superman’s moral code. When he breaks down because of his decision, Lois is there to comfort him.

Lara Lor-Van (Ayelet Zurer) in Man of Steel

While I liked it and it’s by far my favorite Snyder film (although trust and believe, that’s not saying much), it’s kind of a mess with tissue-thin characters and not being able to decide what it wanted to be. While it’s “criticial of hyper-masculinity and the violence it engenders” and “condemns sexual objectification and harassment of women,” the film’s last third contained such an onslaught of non-stop violent action it seems to contradict the theme of the perils of violence and aggression. Yet it’s nice to see a film argue that “choice saves the world.”

What does this mean? That men should choose to be gentle? That they should connect with femininity? That men should choose to use violence only when “necessary”? Perhaps it means that men don’t have to be aggressive bullies. They can choose another way as restraint, compassion and tenderness don’t strip men of their masculinity.

While it’s fantastic Man of Steel reinforces the importance of both femininity and masculinity and attempts to deconstruct hyper-masculinity, it’s unfortunate that the film still says women’s lives revolve around men through its failure of the Bechdel Test. Yeah, I don’t really count one-sided conversations of journalist Jenny saying to Lois, “Come see this,” or Faora instructing Lois about her breathing device. What’s annoying is that these conversations could have been fleshed out, along with the discussion between Martha Kent and Lois who talk to each other…but of course about Superman.

Some have hailed Man of Steelthe most feminist action film of the year.” Yes, it depicts women in various roles, boasts an intelligent female love interest and a kickass female villain, and questions toxic hyper-masculinity. Despite all its strides, can a film truly be feminist if it ultimately revolves around dudes?

Superman (Henry Cavill) and Lois (Amy Adams) in Man of Steel
I’m getting really fucking sick and tired of complaining about blockbuster films, particularly superhero films. I love this genre. I love comic books, sci-fi and action films. I want so desperately to have these films be awesome. And feminist. Which would make them even more awesome.
While we’re seeing more women-centric blockbusters like The Hunger Games, Bridesmaids, Twilight and the upcoming The Heat, we desperately need more, especially women in superhero movies (Wonder Woman, She-Hulk, Black Widow, etc, etc, etc). Hollywood has “pretty much entirely devoted itself to telling men’s stories.” It seems like filmmakers are kinda sorta beginning to listen to audiences’ desire for more empowered women on-screen. Yet I’m continuously annoyed that even when filmmakers claim their female roles will be more proactive or empowered, their attempts at appeasement still fail. They still don’t get it.
Some filmmakers and studios think merely increasing the number of women, featuring a female sidekick, or giving a woman a gun solves everything. How about some real empowerment? How about seeing complex female characters with agency? How about we see their perspective, hear their voice and see their struggles?
Man of Steel gets so many things right. Yet it still fails to portray nuanced female characters with agendas of their own who don’t exist to aid in the self-actualization of the men in their lives — roles Lois, Martha, Lara and Faora all serve. It’s a shame especially when you have an iconic feminist female role already embedded in the story.