“How do we forgive our fathers?”: Forgiveness and Healing in ‘Smoke Signals’

After the film’s opening fire aftermath scene, viewers are introduced more thoroughly to Arnold Joseph, who cut his hair in mourning after the fire and eventually disappeared, and to Thomas and Victor as young men: “Me and Victor? We were children born of flame and ash,” Thomas narrates. Scenes of reservation life also unfold with a quiet humor, punctuated by music: parallel scenes of Victor eating frybread with his mother, Arlene (Tantoo Cardinal, Metis), and Thomas eating dinner with his grandmother (Monique Mojica, Kuna and Rappahannock); flashback scenes of Victor and Thomas as kids and of Victor with Arnold before he disappeared; the ubiquitous rez traffic and weather reporter, Lester Falls Apart; and two women driving a car in reverse down a paved rez road.

Known as the first full-length feature film to be almost entirely written, directed, co-produced, and acted by Native Americans, Smoke Signals (1998) is a quintessential road movie that attempts to investigate the complex nature of Indigenous relationships, cultures, and contemporary realities, especially the relationship between Native American fathers and sons. On its surface, this is a story about Victor Joseph (Adam Beach, Saulteaux) a young Native man from the Coeur d’Alene Indian Reservation in Idaho who has hated his father almost all his life and is trying to forgive him. When Victor finds out early in the film that his father, Arnold, has died, he and his childhood friend, Thomas Builds-the-Fire (Evan Adams, Sliammon First Nation) embark on a journey to collect his father’s ashes. As the journey progresses, the two young men grapple with the limitations of forgiveness, even as Victor begins to heal.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vQhviwp8j38″]

At the opening of the film, Thomas (Adams) narrates over the image of a burning house: “On the 4th of July, 1976, my mother and father celebrated white people’s independence by holding the largest house party in C’oeur d’Alene tribal history. I mean every Indian in the world was there. And then at three in the mornin’, after everyone had passed out or fallen asleep on couches, on chairs, on beds, on the floor, a fire rose up like General George Armstrong Custer and swallowed up my mother and father. I don’t remember that fire, I only have the stories. And in every one of those stories, I could fly.” This last statement is said over the image of a wrapped baby being thrown out of a second story window.

As the drums and chanting rise in the background, the camera shifts to a long-haired man running and diving to catch the falling baby.  Thomas’ narration continues as we see the man gaze down at the infant: “I was just a baby when Arnold Joseph saved me from that fire and delivered me into the hands of my grandmother.”

The morning after the fire. From left: Monique Mojica, Gary Farmer, Tantoo Cardinal

In the morning, the families are gathered around the pile of ash that used to be Thomas’ house and parents and his grandmother says to Arnold, Victor’s father, “You saved my grandson’s life. . .you did a good thing.” Arnold (Gary Farmer, Cayuga) responds with tears in his eyes, “I didn’t mean to.”

This moment of tension and the sad levity brought on by Arnold’s admission that he didn’t mean to do good sets the tone for the entire film. Humor is always dancing around the edges of anger, sadness, and despair in Smoke Signals, directed by Chris Eyre (Cheyenne/Arapaho). Ten years after the release of the film, Eyre sat down for an interview with David Hofstede for Cowboys and Indians magazine. Hofstede notes that this is still his best known film. Eyre responds:

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing,” he says, with a mix of pride and resignation. “On the good side it’s a wonderful story about forgiveness, and I think in 20 years it will hold up. I’ve made several more movies since then, and I think I’ve done some better work, but Smoke Signals is still the one everyone remembers best. I wonder if I’ll be known better for a movie after that, but either way, I’m fine.”

Director Chris Eyre

As the winner of several major films awards including a Filmmaker’s Award and Audience Award at the 1998 Sundance Film Festival and winner of the Best Debut Performance from the Independent Spirit Awards, Smoke Signals has become a well-recognized, almost canonical, Native American film. It is most likely the film you have seen if you have seen a Native American film featuring the perspective, storytelling, and humor of contemporary Native peoples.

After the film’s opening fire aftermath scene, viewers are introduced more thoroughly to Arnold Joseph, who cut his hair in mourning after the fire and eventually disappeared, and to Thomas and Victor as young men: “Me and Victor? We were children born of flame and ash,” Thomas narrates. Scenes of reservation life also unfold with a quiet humor, punctuated by music: parallel scenes of Victor eating frybread with his mother, Arlene (Tantoo Cardinal, Metis), and Thomas eating dinner with his grandmother (Monique Mojica, Kuna and Rappahannock); flashback scenes of Victor and Thomas as kids and of Victor with Arnold before he disappeared; the ubiquitous rez traffic and weather reporter, Lester Falls Apart; and two women driving a car in reverse down a paved rez road.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5bctCV38FfU” title=”Victor%20explains%20how%20to%20be%20a%20real%20Indian%20to%20Thomas%20on%20their%20bus%20ride%20to%20Arizona.”]

On the bus to Arizona, Victor admonishes Thomas for being too nice and gullible, saying, “Just remember Thomas, you can’t trust anybody.” Victor’s hard edges are softened over the course of the film by Thomas’ stories, which are primarily about Arnold. Unfortunately, Thomas’ stories mostly irritate and upset Victor, bringing on hurtful memories from childhood such as the morning that Victor witnessed Arnold hit Arlene and leave. But in the end, it is Thomas’ stories and Victor’s acceptance of his father’s shortcomings that opens the space for forgiveness and healing.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_tpfO7RS7-U” title=”Arnold%20and%20Arlene%20fight%20and%20then%20Arnold%20leaves”]

Ralph Armbruster-Sandoval writes about fatherhood and forgiveness in his Spring 2008 Wicazo-sa Review article, “Teaching Smoke Signals: Fatherhood, Forgiveness, and ‘Freedom’”: “Forgiveness is not a magical panacea and those who forgive are not morally or ethically superior to those who do not. Forgiveness can potentially transform or free people from anger, hate, and rage, however. . .Victor exemplifies this process” (125).

Victor (Adam Beach) and Thomas (Evan Adams)

The moment Victor finds out from Suzy Song (Irene Bedard, Inupiat/Inuit/Metis) why that fire started all those years ago, the one that Arnold saved Thomas from, is the moment his hate begins to wither. Facts muddle memories for him and he begins to see his father in a new and more complicated light. Learning the truth eventually frees Victor from his unending grudge toward his father and his irritation with Thomas.

If you have seen this film before, consider watching it again with new eyes. It has aged well and remains relevant as a story and as an insightful piece about contemporary Native Americans. Smoke Signals is a particularly useful film to incorporate into any class where Native peoples and cultures are being discussed – students respond well to the humor and the central theme of forgiveness. The film is available for streaming on Netflix and Amazon.com.

Thomas recites Dick Lourie’s poem, “Forgiving Our Fathers,” at the end of the film and those words seem appropriate to end this review:

“How do we forgive our fathers?

Maybe in a dream

Do we forgive our fathers for leaving us too often or

forever when we were little?

. . .

Do we forgive our fathers in our age or in theirs or in their

deaths, saying it to them, or not saying it?

If we forgive our fathers, what else is left?”

 

_____________________________________

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

Father Worship and the ‘Bad Fans’ of ‘Breaking Bad’

Breaking Bad promo still.

Written by Leigh Kolb

Spoilers ahead (through “Ozymandias”)

“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone / Stand in the desert. … And on the pedestal these words appear: ‘My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings: / Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'”
In an analysis of the Sept. 15 episode of Breaking Bad (“Ozymandias”), Emily Nussbaum points out that she thinks Todd “looked very much like the prototypical Bad Fan of Breaking Bad: he arrived late in the story, and he saw Walt purely as a kick-ass genius, worthy of worship.” While his worship of Walt has been clear since Todd arrived on the scene, his continued worship of Walt is what makes him–and the “Bad Fans” he resembles–stand out. Ultimately, there is something fundamentally patriarchal about this kind of father worship, when we gravitate toward and are obsessed with the father figure.
After Sunday’s episode, critic Matt Zoller Seitz took to Twitter to observe
Todd and Bad Fans have that in common: they see Walt as a father figure, worthy of forgiveness and blind worship. He’s Walter White. He’s Heisenberg. He’s a bad-ass who really just has done everything for his (unappreciative!) family. 
Jesse, Todd and Walt.
Walt’s children–biological and surrogate–all represent the different types of Breaking Bad fans. 
Jesse: a lot of eye-rolling at the beginning, mistrusting yet comforted by Walt’s fatherly role, pulled in to Walt’s world fully, wracked with conflicting feelings, turns against Walt after he kills another father figure, Mike. Yet he is now, against his will, chained back into Walt’s world.  This fan didn’t ever really like Walt, but went through phases of loving him and wanting him to be the man she needed in her life. She is heartbroken, but is still stuck deep in the action. 

Todd: doting, dumb, reveres Walt. Ignores “dead kids.” See above, in re: the Bad Fan. This fan thinks everything that Walt does is for a good cause, or it’s someone else’s fault if bad things happen. This fan is almost definitely a terrible person. 

Walt, Jr. (who will probably go by Flynn forever now): shocked, desperately clinging to hope that everything will be fine, tries to blame Skyler, can’t believe that Walt could have committed those crimes–until Walt lashes out in front of him. Then Junior calls 911.  This fan thinks the best of Walt, even though she knows better. By the end of “Ozymandias,” however, she is done with Walt’s shit.  

Holly: clueless, confused, a pawn, terrified of Walt’s next move.  This fan needs someone to explain to her what happens after each episode. She feels emotionally manipulated.


Walt and his children, who we see suffer because of his actions.
These characters’ relationships with Walt highlight his devolution into something worse than Heisenberg. He lies, kills, plots against and kidnaps. He’s abusive. He’s consumed with his perceived power and greed. How we respond to him, though, is indicative of something larger in our society–a male-centric tendency to search for and cling to a father figure.
It’s not easy to hate a hero. The emotional response we have to characters tells us a great deal about ourselves, and I think for many of us, we watch Walt and want him to be someone he’s not, seeing glimmers of humanity in someone who is increasingly monstrous. Like Jesse, we know. We know how evil Walt is. But we can’t get away.
Jesse, held captive by Todd.
After “Ozymandias” aired (an episode which, by the way, is currently rated 10/10 by over 17,000 reviewers on IMDb), the Todds of the Internet scurried to Walt’s defense. Clearly, Walt is doing everything at this point to ensure that Skyler is seen as innocent, right? That phone call? 
When Walt calls Skyler, he rants at her, telling her she’s ungrateful, and always “whining and complaining,” “dragging” him “down.” He calls her a “stupid bitch” and hangs up on her. 
His entire monologue could have been lifted from the pages of reddit, or a Facebook page dedicated to hating Skyler White. (During the phone call, my husband smirked and said, “He’s basically saying everything that people say about Skyler–and he’s an abusive egomaniac,” pointing out the genius in such commentary.) 
Nussbaum says,

“But what was truly fascinating about that phone call was that if it was trolling the Bad Fan, it was also trolling me: the sort of feminist-minded sucker who took the speech at face value, for nearly an hour, until I suddenly realized, in a flash of clarity, that it was a fake-out for the police. (Skyler realized long before I did.)”

Zoller Seitz, however, thinks that Walt was acting on “impulse,” and that the phone call was “instinctive.” He asserts that Walt was “acting in tandem with Heisenberg” in this scene, doing something “chaotic and frightening, but ultimately good.” 
Walt, like Sisyphus (or a dung beetle), trying desperately to get somewhere. He’s almost pitiful again, like his underwear-clad beginnings. But he’s not.
There is clearly more at work here than Walt simply enacting a plan to exonerate Skyler or Walt just lashing out against his wife. Zoller Seitz’s multifaceted analysis of the scene is spot on, and doesn’t give Walt more credit than he deserves. (Zoller Seitz also used Twitter to take down the idea that Walt is some pure “badass genius antihero” who was just acting to protect Skyler.)
That reading–that Walt is some kind of benevolent dictator–inspires the #TeamWalt hashtag on Twitter. Walt’s motivations, intentions and actions are often unclear yet calculated. However, whenever we weigh his actions (that could keep his immediate family safe) against his words, we cannot be on #TeamWalt, hanging out with the fan-boy Todds. We can’t. 
At the beginning of “Ozymandias,” Walt orders the neo-Nazis to kill Jesse. Walt sees his life, doomed and destroyed. As they drag Jesse away, Walt growls, “Wait,” and says to him:

“I watched Jane die. I was there. And I watched her die. I watched her overdose and choke to death. I could have saved her. But I didn’t.” 

Our faces are pinched, our stomachs turn. We are horrified at Walt’s pride in this admission, and we remember that at that point in the series, we were probably still rooting for Walt. We are also disgusted with ourselves. The fact that we can see humanity in Walt isn’t wrong–that’s good writing. To stubbornly fixate on his heroism, though, is just being blind.
Breaking Bad: just like Twilight.

The look on Jesse’s face–broken and empty–reflects how we (should) feel. And just as his turmoil isn’t yet over, neither is ours. There are two more legs to the journey, two “legs of stone” to finish telling us the story of the fallen king and the decaying waste he’s left behind. If the season thus far has taught us to expect anything, it’s this: brilliant torture through perfect storytelling. We’re scared and in crisis over what to expect. We’re coming to terms with the fact that this father figure is not worthy of worship. The ride is almost over.




________________________________________________________

Leigh Kolb is a composition, literature and journalism instructor at a community college in rural Missouri. She hopes that before she retires, “Breaking Bad as Literature” is standard college fare.

Father Worship and the ‘Bad Fans’ of ‘Breaking Bad’

Breaking Bad promo still.

Written by Leigh Kolb


“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone / Stand in the desert. … And on the pedestal these words appear: ‘My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings: / Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'”
In an analysis of the Sept. 15 episode of Breaking Bad (“Ozymandias”), Emily Nussbaum points out that she thinks Todd “looked very much like the prototypical Bad Fan of Breaking Bad: he arrived late in the story, and he saw Walt purely as a kick-ass genius, worthy of worship.” While his worship of Walt has been clear since Todd arrived on the scene, his continued worship of Walt is what makes him–and the “Bad Fans” he resembles–stand out. Ultimately, there is something fundamentally patriarchal about this kind of father worship, when we gravitate toward and are obsessed with the father figure.
After Sunday’s episode, critic Matt Zoller Seitz took to Twitter to observe
Todd and Bad Fans have that in common: they see Walt as a father figure, worthy of forgiveness and blind worship. He’s Walter White. He’s Heisenberg. He’s a bad-ass who really just has done everything for his (unappreciative!) family. 
Jesse, Todd and Walt.
Walt’s children–biological and surrogate–all represent the different types of Breaking Bad fans. 
Jesse: a lot of eye-rolling at the beginning, mistrusting yet comforted by Walt’s fatherly role, pulled in to Walt’s world fully, wracked with conflicting feelings, turns against Walt after he kills another father figure, Mike. Yet he is now, against his will, chained back into Walt’s world.  This fan didn’t ever really like Walt, but went through phases of loving him and wanting him to be the man she needed in her life. She is heartbroken, but is still stuck deep in the action. 

Todd: doting, dumb, reveres Walt. Ignores “dead kids.” See above, in re: the Bad Fan. This fan thinks everything that Walt does is for a good cause, or it’s someone else’s fault if bad things happen. This fan is almost definitely a terrible person. 

Walt, Jr. (who will probably go by Flynn forever now): shocked, desperately clinging to hope that everything will be fine, tries to blame Skyler, can’t believe that Walt could have committed those crimes–until Walt lashes out in front of him. Then Junior calls 911.  This fan thinks the best of Walt, even though she knows better. By the end of “Ozymandias,” however, she is done with Walt’s shit.  

Holly: clueless, confused, a pawn, terrified of Walt’s next move.  This fan needs someone to explain to her what happens after each episode. She feels emotionally manipulated.


Walt and his children, who we see suffer because of his actions.
These characters’ relationships with Walt highlight his devolution into something worse than Heisenberg. He lies, kills, plots against and kidnaps. He’s abusive. He’s consumed with his perceived power and greed. How we respond to him, though, is indicative of something larger in our society–a male-centric tendency to search for and cling to a father figure.
It’s not easy to hate a hero. The emotional response we have to characters tells us a great deal about ourselves, and I think for many of us, we watch Walt and want him to be someone he’s not, seeing glimmers of humanity in someone who is increasingly monstrous. Like Jesse, we know. We know how evil Walt is. But we can’t get away.
Jesse, held captive by Todd.
After “Ozymandias” aired (an episode which, by the way, is currently rated 10/10 by over 17,000 reviewers on IMDb), the Todds of the Internet scurried to Walt’s defense. Clearly, Walt is doing everything at this point to ensure that Skyler is seen as innocent, right? That phone call? 
When Walt calls Skyler, he rants at her, telling her she’s ungrateful, and always “whining and complaining,” “dragging” him “down.” He calls her a “stupid bitch” and hangs up on her. 
His entire monologue could have been lifted from the pages of reddit, or a Facebook page dedicated to hating Skyler White. (During the phone call, my husband smirked and said, “He’s basically saying everything that people say about Skyler–and he’s an abusive egomaniac,” pointing out the genius in such commentary.) 
Nussbaum says,

“But what was truly fascinating about that phone call was that if it was trolling the Bad Fan, it was also trolling me: the sort of feminist-minded sucker who took the speech at face value, for nearly an hour, until I suddenly realized, in a flash of clarity, that it was a fake-out for the police. (Skyler realized long before I did.)”

Zoller Seitz, however, thinks that Walt was acting on “impulse,” and that the phone call was “instinctive.” He asserts that Walt was “acting in tandem with Heisenberg” in this scene, doing something “chaotic and frightening, but ultimately good.” 
Walt, like Sisyphus (or a dung beetle), trying desperately to get somewhere. He’s almost pitiful again, like his underwear-clad beginnings. But he’s not.
There is clearly more at work here than Walt simply enacting a plan to exonerate Skyler or Walt just lashing out against his wife. Zoller Seitz’s multifaceted analysis of the scene is spot on, and doesn’t give Walt more credit than he deserves. (Zoller Seitz also used Twitter to take down the idea that Walt is some pure “badass genius antihero” who was just acting to protect Skyler.)
That reading–that Walt is some kind of benevolent dictator–inspires the #TeamWalt hashtag on Twitter. Walt’s motivations, intentions and actions are often unclear yet calculated. However, whenever we weigh his actions (that could keep his immediate family safe) against his words, we cannot be on #TeamWalt, hanging out with the fan-boy Todds. We can’t. 
At the beginning of “Ozymandias,” Walt orders the neo-Nazis to kill Jesse. Walt sees his life, doomed and destroyed. As they drag Jesse away, Walt growls, “Wait,” and says to him:

“I watched Jane die. I was there. And I watched her die. I watched her overdose and choke to death. I could have saved her. But I didn’t.” 

Our faces are pinched, our stomachs turn. We are horrified at Walt’s pride in this admission, and we remember that at that point in the series, we were probably still rooting for Walt. We are also disgusted with ourselves. The fact that we can see humanity in Walt isn’t wrong–that’s good writing. To stubbornly fixate on his heroism, though, is just being blind.
Breaking Bad: just like Twilight.

The look on Jesse’s face–broken and empty–reflects how we (should) feel. And just as his turmoil isn’t yet over, neither is ours. There are two more legs to the journey, two “legs of stone” to finish telling us the story of the fallen king and the decaying waste he’s left behind. If the season thus far has taught us to expect anything, it’s this: brilliant torture through perfect storytelling. We’re scared and in crisis over what to expect. We’re coming to terms with the fact that this father figure is not worthy of worship. The ride is almost over.




________________________________________________________

Leigh Kolb is a composition, literature and journalism instructor at a community college in rural Missouri. She hopes that before she retires, “Breaking Bad as Literature” is standard college fare.

Women of Color in Film and TV Week: A Girl Struggles to Survive Her Chaotic Homelife in ‘Yelling to the Sky’

Written by Megan Kearns.

Yelling to the Skystruck a visceral chord with me. I related to it in a way I often don’t with films. I’m not a biracial woman growing up impoverished, who turns to selling drugs as a means of survival. But I grew up with an absent father and a single mother struggling with mental illness, feeling trapped by my surroundings, desperate to break free. 

All the actors give stellar performances in this emotionally raw and gritty film. Zoe Kravitz in particular captivates with a nuanced, powerful performance as the smart, struggling Sweetness O’Hara, trying to survive in a whirlwind of turmoil. Sweetness and her older sister live in a troubled home with unstable, unreliable parents: their white father, an alcoholic and their African-American mother who suffers from mental illness.

Yelling to the Sky opens with a jarring scene. Sweetness is getting bullied and beaten up in the street by her classmates. Latonya (Gabourey Sidibe) taunts her for the lightness of her skin and her biracial heritage – briefly raising complex issues of race and colorism. But she’s rescued by her older sister Ola (Antonique Smith in a scene-stealing powerhouse performance) who we see, as the camera eventually pans out, is very pregnant. This juxtaposition of a brawling pregnant woman, a fiercely protective sister, makes an interesting commentary on our expectations of gender.

Sweetness’ unpredictable father Gordon (Jason Clarke) vacillates between affectionate charisma and volatile violence and rage. He verbally and physically abuses every woman in the household. He tries to make amends for his deplorable parenting later in the film. But since he’s caused so much trauma, it might be too late for forgiveness.

Unfortunately, we never really learn about Sweetness’ mother Lorene (Yolanda Ross) who seems numbed by medication and/or depression beyond Sweetness asking if she was hospitalized in a mental institution when she “went away.” I wish the film had explored more of their relationship.

While I was disappointed the film didn’t explore mother-daughter relationships, it does show the bonds of sisterhood. The relationship between Sweetness and Ola is my favorite part of the film. We see the girls joke, play, challenge and comfort one another. Both rely on one other for support. Ola leaves home to live with her boyfriend, leaving Sweetness to fend for herself alone. But she’s not the only one trapped. Months later, Ola must return home with her baby, now a single mother. Her dreams of escape nothing but nebulous memories.
Yelling to the Skyis a searing portrayal of one girl’s pain. Of her frustration at being confined and trapped in a world not her choosing. Sweetness doesn’t focus on her education or her future. She deals with the immediacy of her pain. She starts selling drugs as a way to make money. She numbs herself with drugs, alcohol and surrounding herself with a cadre of bullies and drug dealers. Sweetness desperately yearns to escape. But where to? Where can she go?

Mahoney said she wanted to evoke feelings of claustrophobia when Sweetness spent time at home. And she succeeds beautifully. You feel just as trapped as Sweetness, chained by loneliness, fear and desperation. When she’s out in the streets, it feels frenetic with drunken stupors, drive-by shootings and drug deals gone wrong.

Zoe Kravitz as Sweetness O’Hara in Yelling to the Sky

Is the film perfect? No it definitely falters at times. I wish we had learned more about each of the characters. It feels very much like a snapshot, a voyeuristic peek through the window into their messy and complicated lives. Just when you’re lured in, the window abruptly closes. But the biggest flaw? I wish it had more deeply explored the issue of race without resorting to stereotypes.

A painful history of colorism and skin shade hierarchy— dark vs. light skin — exists amongst black women. When the media portrays black women, we often see women with lighter skin, straighter hair and more Caucasian features. Both L’Orealand Ellephotoshopped black to make their skin appear much lighter. The media often whitewashes black women, continually perpetuating the unachievable attainment of the white ideal of beauty. “The myth of black beauty” and the preference for lighter black skin can be traced back to slavery.

While light-skinned biracial and black women possess privilege, they may also face a backlash and be deemed not “black enough.” While the jarring opening scene of Yelling to the Sky certainly alludes to this, it is never explored further. Instead, the film resorts to racial stereotypes: “dark(er)-skinned black people are mean and like to victimize light(er)-skinned black people,” “girls/teenagers/women who are “authentically” black are bad” and “interracial relationships are dysfunctional.”

I cringed seeing Sidibe depicted as the dark-skinned, mean, overweight bully terrorizing a lighter-skinned petite girl. When the roles reverse and Sweetness beats the shit out of Latonya, I get the sense that it should feel like vindication for her earlier torment. But it feels empty and hollow. But maybe that’s the point, that retribution and violence are empty and hollow. As this is a semi-autobiographical film, perhaps these circumstances transpired in writer/director Victoria Mahoney’s own life, especially as she’s a biracial woman. But as these racial stereotypes occur over and over in media, it would have been great to have them deconstructed or not appear at all.

We don’t see enough female protagonists, women of color in film or female filmmakers of color. We don’t see enough films exploring issues of gender and race. And we should. In an interview, Mahoney (a promising new filmmaker who is certainly one to watch) shared her inspiration for the film:

“Stemming from my teenage obsession with Chekov’s Three Sisters and a connection to the theme of “manufacturing illusions in order to sustain day to day life.” I related on a gut level to the notion of joy and opportunity, existing elsewhere while in the same breadth knowing it was a lie. The illusion of “one day it’ll be different” is what kept me alive and smashing that illusion might’ve been my death. Putting this film out is important because (yet another generation of) young people are facing the exact same isolation, confusion, neglect, inquiry, desire, and heartache. All these years later, there’s little to no progress or solution. Adults have become freakishly focused on ‘self’, so much so, that we’re failing our responsibilities to participate and aid in the development and advancement of young people’s spiritual and intellectual growth.”

This is what I related to and why I’m so thankful for Yelling to the Sky. I may be a white woman and I may not have made the same choices Sweetness made, but it showed me I wasn’t alone. It felt cathartic watching.

My childhood existed of treacherous terrain to navigate. My mother was preoccupied by her own problems. I never knew what I was walking into when I went home. So I focused on the future. I clung to the hope that one day things would be different. That was the sole reason I survived. It’s the one thing that kept me going. While my mind was fixated on the future, my actions were grounded in the present. Like Sweetness, I skipped classes and almost didn’t graduate high school for I wanted to numb my pain. It’s this delicate dance of present angst and future hopes that Mahoney captures so well.

Sure, some people may find Yelling to the Sky bleak or hopeless. It’s heartbreaking to watch Sweetness spiral out of control. Sweetness clamors to escape, to break free. Yet there’s nowhere to go. Echoing real-life, the film ends with ambiguity and uncertainty. You don’t know how her life will turn out. Sweetness’ story – her struggle to survive amidst the chaos swirling around her, desperate to cling to any semblance of community – is one worth telling. And it’s one we don’t see often enough.

In Appreciation of Fathers Who Have Daughters

Joel and Heather, New Year’s
Releasing Balloons for Joel
On Wednesday, May 25th, my brother-in-law committed suicide. (Yes, I know the obituary says he died on March 25th, and if Joel were here, we’d be laughing our asses off at that completely unacceptable typo. He’d be like, “Did the funeral home seriously screw up my date of death?”)
The real tragedy, though, is that he left behind his wife—my younger sister, Heather—and three amazing daughters: Sophia, age 6; Chloe, age 4; and Penelope, age 2.
Joel and Penelope
I’ve wondered if Bitch Flicks is really the right place to talk about something like this. And I’ve decided it is—because Joel was a huge fan of Bitch Flicks. He constantly encouraged me to keep writing, even when our site was in its baby stages with no real traffic to speak of, and some of my favorite conversations with Joel surrounded how films, particularly the animated crap Disney and Pixar churn out, impact his daughters.
Joel and Heather and I (and my whole family) grew up in Middletown, Ohio (which recently made the Forbes top ten list of fastest dying towns). To say it’s a conservative town is like saying George Bush was a shitty president—I mean, duh. Joel was a self-proclaimed jock-type who went to a conservative, Christian high school (he and my sister were high school sweethearts), and who never really thought much about women’s lack of equality—until he became the father of three girls.
Heather and Joel
He called me often with stories about his language slip-ups. Once, he said he and Sophia were discussing the origin of mankind. (Because she’s 6 and a genius and wants to know about these things.) So Joel talked to her for a while about evolution, and summed it all up with, “Basically, man has been around for a long time.” Sophia looked at him and said, “Daddy, how long has woman been around?”
I love that. Because when he told me that story, he felt actual shame and became even more conscious of how those little things were a huge deal in the way his girls thought about themselves and their place in the world. As a result of his awareness, the girls and I often have conversations about the movies they watch—with Sophia saying things like, “Why are there so many boys in this movie?” and Chloe asking, “Why does a boy save Coraline at the end?”
Joel and Chloe
Chloe and Sophia Sleeping Last Night
They think critically about gender and representations of girls and women in the media (at ages 6 and 4), and that’s because of Joel, who was such a wonderful dad to those girls, and because of their mom, Heather.
In fact, Heather just told me about an adorable interaction. Chloe was riding in the car with her and said, “I have a girlfriend at school. And I want to marry Kelly Clarkson when I grow up. She’s a girl too, though.” Heather said, “Honey, by the time you’re old enough to get married, you’ll be able to marry a girl if you want to.”
Then, when I was in Ohio for Joel’s memorial service, Chloe told me she had a boyfriend (but that “it’s a secret to him”—omgcuteness). I said, “That’s awesome, but what about your girlfriend?” And she said, all exasperated, “I have a boyfriend and a girlfriend.” I can’t tell you how happy it made me that she spoke to me like I was a complete dumbass for asking her that.
Joel and Sophia
Penelope, who’s 2, just runs around like a rambunctious toddler and is inevitably dirty and messy and muddy and scraped and fearless, and that, too, is a credit to her parents, who have never encouraged their girls to sit up straight and keep their legs closed and say please and thank you and smile and all that other crap girls are supposed to learn when they’re little. Sure, Penelope likes to sleep with her baby doll, but she also likes to sleep with her shoes (seriously) and her books and the occasional pair of 3D glasses (WTF).
In one of the last email correspondences Joel and I had, he wrote:
Sophie and Chloe Meeting Penny

“I have learned so much from you; you have completely changed my worldview, and that has helped me be a better father to my three daughters and recognize the hurdles they will face as they grow into their adult selves. I want to say thank you for that.”

One of the things that upsets me most is that I’m not sure I ever really expressed to Joel how much I respected and appreciated him, especially as a father to three daughters. He didn’t treat them like “girls” … he treated them like kids. If Chloe wanted to watch Handy Manny all morning, he bought her a Handy Manny toolkit and pretended things were broken in the house so that she could “fix” them with Squeeze (the name of Manny’s wrench) and Turner (the name of Manny’s screw driver).
Penelope’s Collage
Heather and The Girls on Halloween
Joel had a ton of experience in that realm because he was a stay-at-home dad for two years (and believe me, the two of us had many conversations about the bullshit, outdated ideas surrounding gender roles, particularly those pertaining to the domestic sphere). Sophia, Chloe, and Penelope worshipped their dad, and I know when they get older, they’ll struggle to understand his suicide. But right now, they’re at home with their mom, making picture collages of Joel, and celebrating Father’s Day.
Girls, I want to tell you how much Daddy loved you. And Heather, I want you to remember, always—you were the love of Joel’s life.
So, Happy Father’s Day, to all the dads out there who teach their daughters that they’re important, and who learn from their daughters, too.

An account has been set up in Joel’s name, for his three daughters, if anyone would like to donate.