Female Characters – Page 7

Quote of the Day: Screenwriter/Director Callie Khouri Weighs In On How TV Is Friendlier to Women

Callie Khouri

In a recent interview with Salon, Academy Award-winner Callie Khouri weighed in on how TV seems to be more friendly to shows about women. Khouri (who wrote Thelma and Louise for that Oscar) is the writer and producer for ABC’s new musical drama Nashville.

Salon asked her about television telling women’s stories and Khouri responded with thoughts that articulate the difficulties in writing feature films about women (adding that “I don’t think any studio in a million years would make Thelma and Louise right now”), and how to properly write stories once you get the green light.

Salon: People who make TV also seem much more comfortable making shows for women than people making movies do.

Khouri: “Because you’re allowed. You’re allowed to make things for women on television and there’s not like … you don’t have to go through the humiliation of having made something directed at women. There it’s just accepted, whereas if it’s a feature, it’s like “So, talk to me about chick flicks.” … I just think it’s insulting that if there is something with women in it, it’s relegated to this kind of trash heap. It doesn’t matter what it is, how good it is, if there is emotion in it, it’s immediately going to be talked down to. And I’m obviously irritated by that. Probably all women are. Certainly a lot of women filmmakers are.…Anyway, I don’t want to just complain about features, but it does seem unduly hard given the number of women that exist in the world.”

On the show not being “about a catfight,” even though it starts out that way:

Khouri: “…You come at things from the place where everybody thinks they know everything about what they are seeing. And then you just slowly peel back the layers until you’ve got very complicated human beings with very different sets of problems, all of them doing something that’s impossibly hard to begin with and trying to make their place in this world. Watching two women go at it is boring. There are so many other shows where you can get that. I want it to be about something more than that.”

The depth and breadth of female characters on TV is stunning right now. Whether the female is the protagonist (Homeland, The Mindy Project, 30 Rock, Parks and Recreation, etc.) or females are strong supporting characters (Boardwalk Empire, Sons of Anarchy, etc.), women’s stories on TV are becoming much less of an anomaly.

Women on the big screen, however… well, we still see a distinct difference, as Khouri notes, between “chick flicks” and “Hollywood blockbusters.” This is why the Bechdel Test has to exist; it’s rare for a film to place value on women’s stories and anything that might, as Khouri says, have “emotion in it.”

As she goes on to observe, to properly tell women’s stories you have to “slowly peel back the layers” after presenting the audience with a stereotype. Perhaps that’s why it’s easier to do in TV — the sheer time that TV writers have to lure audiences in with character development and storytelling.

It seems Hollywood’s two hours, more or less, just aren’t enough to properly “peel back the layers.” Are women’s stories really that much more complicated than men’s? Or is the “otherness” of women just so ingrained that a writer would need a few hours to first deconstruct the stereotypes and cultural myths that the audience walks in with?

Whatever the case may be, Khouri is right. This double standard is “unduly hard given the number of women that exist in the world.” Their stories are being showcased in the private sphere of the home, but they just can’t seem to break through to the public big screen. It’s time for that to change.

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

Quote of the Day: Screenwriter/Director Callie Khouri Weighs In On How TV Friendlier to Women

Callie Khouri

Salon: People who make TV also seem much more comfortable making shows for women than people making movies do.

Khouri: “Because you’re allowed. You’re allowed to make things for women on television and there’s not like … you don’t have to go through the humiliation of having made something directed at women. There it’s just accepted, whereas if it’s a feature, it’s like “So, talk to me about chick flicks.” … I just think it’s insulting that if there is something with women in it, it’s relegated to this kind of trash heap. It doesn’t matter what it is, how good it is, if there is emotion in it, it’s immediately going to be talked down to. And I’m obviously irritated by that. Probably all women are. Certainly a lot of women filmmakers are.…Anyway, I don’t want to just complain about features, but it does seem unduly hard given the number of women that exist in the world.”

On the show not being “about a catfight,” even though it starts out that way:

Khouri: “…You come at things from the place where everybody thinks they know everything about what they are seeing. And then you just slowly peel back the layers until you’ve got very complicated human beings with very different sets of problems, all of them doing something that’s impossibly hard to begin with and trying to make their place in this world. Watching two women go at it is boring. There are so many other shows where you can get that. I want it to be about something more than that.”

—

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

Horror Week 2012: Gender Roles in ‘The Cabin in the Woods’

The Cabin in the Woods

A few months ago, the Joss Whedon-directed The Avengers was released, and there was much rejoicing. Fans seemed pleased. I saw it and enjoyed it, but I’m more obsessed with the OTHER Joss Whedon-directed film that came out this year. I loved The Cabin in the Woods and there are so many things I want to say about this movie, but for now I’m going to write about the interesting commentary on gender roles that was in the story.

WARNING: Spoilers ahead. Lots of them.

The Cabin in the Woods is more of commentary on horror films than a horror film in of itself, and the commentary comes to a head with the final scene, as the two survivors of the zombie attack confront the Director (played by Sigourney Weaver). She reveals that the five college students were selected to be killed as part of a ritual sacrifice to a group of ancient gods. Each student was meant to represent a different archetype: the Whore (Jules, played by Anna Hutchison), the Fool (Marty, played by Fran Kranz), the Athlete (Curt, played by Chris Hemsworth), the Scholar (Holden, played by Jesse Williams), and the Virgin (Dana, played by Kristen Connolly).

The five friends hear something in the basement.

Fans and critics have argued over the significance of the ancient gods and what they’re supposed to represent. I think the ancient gods are a metaphor for humanity’s deepest, darkest desires – the ugly side of human beings. This is why the final two survivors sit back and let the world end, instead of Dana killing Marty or Marty killing himself. As they say, if sacrificing people is the key to humanity’s survival, then maybe humanity doesn’t deserve to be saved. (I also think Joss really, really wanted to write at least one story where the world actually ends – there are only so many times that Buffy, Angel, Mal, or Echo can prevent the apocalypse before the writer gets bored.)

With that interpretation in mind, I started thinking about the five college students in The Cabin in the Woods and how their roles are defined by gender. The two women, Jules and Dana, are defined as The Whore and The Virgin – two opposite ends of the spectrum whose deaths are meant to serve as bookends for the others. The order of deaths is irrelevant except in the case of the women. Jules, as the corrupted Whore, has to die first, and Dana, the Virgin, has to die last, if she dies at all. As Hadley (Bradley Whitford) says, “The virgin death is optional as long as it’s last.” The female characters are defined only by their sexuality – nothing else about them really matters.

Dana (Kristen Connolly) will be very surprised to learn that she’s a virgin.

Still, the men don’t fare much better. Their prescribed roles are not based on how much sex they have and don’t have, but shoving them into the roles of The Athlete, The Scholar, and The Fool doesn’t give them much room to breathe, either. If you’re a woman, you can be the virgin or the whore. If you’re a man, you can be athletic or smart or funny. Complexity is not allowed.

What I find particularly interesting, though, is how the “puppeteers” (as Marty calls them) recognize that the five people they’ve selected for the sacrificed don’t easily fit into the prescribed archetypes.

Of the five, Holden is the closest to resembling his actual archetype. He’s able to calculate the distance in the gorge that Curt tries to jump on the motorcycle, and, well, he’s fairly quiet and wears glasses. He’s also ridiculously good-looking, which isn’t typical for the Scholar archetype, but other than that, he fits the role pretty well.

The athletic scholar (Jesse L. Williams) and the smart fool (Fran Kranz)

The same cannot be said for Curt and Jules. As Marty points out, “He’s a sociology major! When did he start pulling this alpha male bullshit?” The little we saw of Curt before the puppeteers started altering his personality was of a pretty intelligent young man who was nice to his friends. Similarly, Jules, a pre-med student, is a seemingly good friend who makes jokes with her boyfriend about anti-drug PSAs. But that won’t do – the puppeteers have to inject drugs into the air to make Curt more aggressive and alpha male, and they put cognition-lowering drugs in Jules’ hair dye to turn her into a dumb, overtly sexual blonde.

(On a side note, one of my favorite things about this movie is the moment where Jules comes onto Marty, calling him her old sweetheart, where he clarifies that they only made out one time. I completely expected a scene where Marty revealed his resentment towards the dumb whore who broke his heart and left him for the hot jock. Instead, Marty worried that this behavior was out of character for his good friends and seemed concerned for them. I really appreciated that Marty primarily saw Jules and Curt as his friends, and that once kissing Jules was such a non-issue for him.)

Curt (Chris Hemsworth) and Jules (Anna Hutchison) in happier times

Then there’s Dana, the so-called virgin – even though she slept with one of her professors, a fact that is mentioned in her first scene of the film. Dana’s behavior would probably be considered more “whorish” than Jules’s, as Dana is sleeping with a teacher and Jules is having sex within a monogamous relationship. But that doesn’t matter. Dana is still the virgin and Jules still the whore, because Dana is more quiet and subdued than Jules is, and American society thinks of virgins as quiet and subdued and sweet, and whores as brash and loud and more outgoing.

Finally, we have Marty, the Fool who is the first to understand that he and his friends are the victims of a conspiracy. In addition to being the most entertaining character of the five college students – because Fran Kranz is fantastic, even if he is playing a less creepy, more stoned version of Topher Brink in Dollhouse – he’s also the least subversive. Anyone exposed to a small amount of classical literature won’t be surprised to see the Fool as the smartest character of the group, which makes me feel like the puppeteers in The Cabin in the Woods all failed their English classes in high school. Still, he’s the one who throws the wrench in the plans to save the world by sacrificing a group of humans.

None of this analysis is new, but I brought it up because I want to return to my original point of the ancient gods representing our deepest, darkest desires. The ancient gods represent the ugliest traits of humanity – not only the lust for blood, but the need to categorize people into certain roles and to keep them there. We need to see men defined by one character trait and women defined by their sexual choices, and if these particular men and women don’t fit into the roles as we’ve prescribed them, we’ll make them fit. We’ll alter their personalities so they can easily fit into the Whore, the Scholar, the Athlete, the Fool, and the Virgin. And as we can see from the other countries’ failed attempt to appease the gods – including the Japanese tradition of unleashing one monster on a group of elementary school girls – this need to categorize into the Whore/Scholar/Athlete/Fool/Virgin is a uniquely American desire. The desires created by nature and nurture clash together in an ugly mix where we want to see these people killed one by one in a prescribed order.

Yeah, I really loved this movie.

The white board of monsters behind Richard Jenkins distinguishes between “witches” and “sexy witches.”

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

Horror Week 2012: Gender Roles in ‘The Cabin in the Woods’

The Cabin in the Woods

[This article was originally posted at The Funny Feminist.]

WARNING: Spoilers ahead. Lots of them.

The five friends hear something in the basement.

Dana (Kristen Connolly) will be very surprised to learn that she’s a virgin.

The athletic scholar (Jesse L. Williams) and the smart fool (Fran Kranz)

Curt (Chris Hemsworth) and Jules (Anna Hutchison) in happier times

Yeah, I really loved this movie.

The white board of monsters behind Richard Jenkins distinguishes between “witches” and “sexy witches.”

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

Horror Week 2012: ‘Absentia’ Showcases Terror, Strong Female Characters and Sisterhood

Guest post written by Deirdre Crimmins.

Though I like explosions and interesting methods of execution as much as any other horror fan, it is always great characterization and relationships that make a horror film great. Actually, great characters and their relationships are what help make any film great, but often they are an afterthought in horror films. Too often we see a group of teenagers getting hunted by a maniac, and we never know any of their names or why they were poking around that abandoned cabin in the first place. And while I do like those sorts of films — I would even argue that torture porn films should have a place in horror’s canon — it is the films that have characters I care for that haunt me for years. And should that not be the goal for any horror film?

Last year’s Absentia is just such a film. I first saw it when it was making its lauded tour of the film festival circuit, and to this day certain scenes and concepts in it still disturb me. These images grab me in the middle of my day-to-day life and make me uneasy to continue on. Absentia terrified me, which is not an easy thing to do.

In addition to actually being scary (something that an unfortunate number of current horror films avoid) Absentia also features two lead female characters, and the bedrock of the film’s plot is their relationship. These two characters, sisters Callie (Katie Parker) and Tricia (Courney Bell) are not there simply to be eye candy, or to function as the lustful objects of affection for a killer, but rather they are there because they are both strong, flawed, and painfully relatable. It does not necessarily matter that they are women, but it matters more that they are family and that writer/director Mike Flanagan has created two fully formed characters, rather than all too common caricatures.

L-R: Callie (Katie Parker) and Tricia (Courtney Bell) in Absentia

The film starts with the reunion of Callie and Tricia. Callie is the younger, free-spirited and troubled sister, who has wandered in and out of her sister’s life since they were young. She has come to be with Tricia at a time when Tricia needs her most. Seven years ago Tricia’s husband, Daniel (Morgan Peter Brown) disappeared without a trace. No note, no body — just gone. Tricia needs Callie there for strength as she mourns. She is no longer mourning the loss of Daniel, but now is struggling with the loss of hope. Tricia has decided to finally declare Daniel as dead in absentia. Callie is eager to be at Tricia’s side as she too is trying desperately to get her life back on track.

Tricia’s decision to legally acknowledge Daniel’s death has reignited a host of emotions that she has little to no control over. She has clearly moved on in some ways, as she is nearly 8 months pregnant with the lead detective’s child, but that does not stop her from the dread and guilt of finally letting go. Tricia has taken up Buddhist meditation as a way to calm and center herself, which is a mystery to the Catholic Callie.

Though the initial circumstances of the sister’s reunion seem more like a melodrama than a horror film, the film’s plot quickly twists and turns from there with each sister confronting their own demons (possibly literally) and negotiating their levels of trust in one another.

Tricia (Courtney Bell) in Absentia

For Tricia, her biggest battle initially is that she keeps seeing Daniel. His image jumps out at her in the middle of the street, or at the back of her closet. And the Daniel she keeps seeing is not the Daniel she lost. He is gaunt, and in pain, and seems to be stalking her so that she cannot move on with her life. Each time Daniel pops up on screen, it makes you jump in fear. It is both startling, and the image itself of this disheveled, whimper of a man is disturbing. However these instances are not just the cheap jumps that would scare you in a haunted house. When Daniel is there, the camera does not flinch. Rather you get to see how painful it is for Tricia to be living in fear of these moments. She cannot escape the horror of her husband’s mysterious disappearance, and the prospect of never being able to live without him terrifies her. By watching her fright and seeing this woman who has been through so much continue to get emotionally berated that the real horror of her situation becomes clear. The horror is in Daniel’s lingering, and not in his sudden appearance.

Callie is having her own issues with the curious neighborhood she has moved to. It seems that people, and small animals, often go missing on Tricia’s street. There is a long dark tunnel just at their cul-de-sac that seems to keep calling Callie, though her instincts tell her to stay away. It is the lure of that tunnel, and what might be lurking beneath it, which is the true terror of the film.

Callie (Katie Parker) in Absentia

I cannot emphasize enough how astoundingly convincing the two lead characters are. Both actresses deliver nuanced and genuine performances as believable sisters. These two have a long and complicated history together, and their relationship cannot be summed up with a single line of dialogue. However they do communicate their relationship by how they act around one another, how they fight, and how they forgive. You feel deeply for each of them, and understand the longing they each feel to be forgiven by one another for all of the issues in their past.

While I could continue on about the remarkable characterization of Callie and Tricia, it saddens me a little bit that strong non-sexualized female characters in horror films are such a unique phenomenon. While there are plenty of ass-kicking final women in slasher films, and many smart lady doctors who help stop the spread of a zombie outbreak, it is rare to feature a realistic female friendship, or a complicated sibling rivalry, in a horror film. Both Callie and Tricia are attractive, but that is not why they are there. The purpose that they are serving goes so far beyond their gender and their bodies that the contrast to other horror vixens seems like night and day. And neither of them plays the victim, or the unnaturally stoic heroine. They are both complex, and with long histories that they carry with themselves, and impact their judgments.

Had Absentia featured the relationship between two brothers, rather than the sisters, it would still be an artfully crafted, ambitious, successful, and utterly terrifying horror film. The fact that is does feature two multi-dimensional female leads makes it that much more satisfying and original. It is one of the few recent horror films that I recommend to every horror fan, without a single reservation.

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Deirdre Crimmins lives in Boston with her husband and two black cats. She wrote her Master’s thesis on George Romero and works too much.

Horror Week 2012: The Failure of the Male Gaze in ‘The Vampire Lovers’

The Vampire Lovers | L-R: Carmilla (Ingrid Pitts) and Laura (Pippa Steel)

Guest post written by Lauren Chance.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that any fandom, genre or medium must be in want of some lesbians and lo, the so-called ‘lesbian vampire’ genre that exists as a subsidiary to the vampire mythology is here to theoretically do what all lesbian sub-genres inevitably exist for. Horror, to speak generally, is created by men for men and vampires, with their sexual connotations and otherness are arguably the finest example of the masculine expression of the dominant male — one that kills as it penetrates and, as Bram Stoker would have it, infects the mind of the innocent, virtuous and above all else, stupid female.

The lesbian vampire is something of an anomaly though. Rather than being an offshoot of an established genre, it was created alongside the mainstream vampire genre as we know it today. Carmilla, the story upon which The Vampire Lovers (1970) was based, was by no means the first example of vampire fiction, however, it was amongst the very early entries into what was to become an extremely saturated genre. It predates Dracula by twenty-five years and the lyrical ballad from which Le Fanu purportedly took influence was written by Coleridge in 1797… which does predate John Polidori’s The Vampyre — the first established vampire text — by over twenty years.

Which is a roundabout way of saying that the lesbian vampire genre arguably came first in terms of coherent narratives about vampires. But why so much context only to discuss a minor entry into the canon of vampire filmography? Purely because The Vampire Lovers, above all other films with a strong Sapphic vampire plot best embodies the unashamedly sexual aspects of the story and the spirit of intriguing intimacy that Le Fanu put into his text.

Carmilla (Ingrid Pitt) in The Vampire Lovers

In both the novella and The Vampire Lovers, Carmilla exclusively stalks female victims, showing little interest in the male characters as anything other than fodder or a means to an end; Ingrid Pitt’s Carmilla never looks quite as comfortable with the lone male in the film she interacts with in a sexual manner as she does with the various women she seduces and bites. As an acting choice it works wonders towards directing a great deal of the interest and sympathy in the film firmly towards Carmilla, rather than the largely inconsequential male lead who is filmed as a somewhat heroic lead but, as with all of the male characters, is filmed as if we should have no reason to be interested in them: there is no doubt that Ingrid Pitt and Carmilla are the stars of this film, regardless of Peter Cushing’s presence.

The Vampire Lovers was the first of the Karnstein Trilogy and as time went on the lesbian subtext dwindled significantly despite the second film also being based on Carmilla, however, there is a very telling difference between Yutte Stensgaard’s almost indifferent attitude to the other women in the cast and eventually her love for a human man in Lust for a Vampire (1971) and the loving, tender way Ingrid Pitt approaches her three primary victims. Pitt’s Carmilla caresses them in their beds, kisses them with obvious intention, undresses them and gazes adoringly at her chosen prey until it is hers. The girls are shown reclining, receptive, vulnerable, eternally dressed in white at night and pastel colours during the day. Laura is peaches and cream English, perfect and untouched and within the first twenty minutes of the film we see in a microcosm how Carmilla operates. She finds a way into Laura’s home, befriends her, touches her as a lover would and then begins to slowly drain the life out of her: mostly, it has to be noted, by biting her breasts. Their bond is such that the male characters don’t even register that it could be problematic. Laura’s father comments that “Laura seems devoted to her [Carmilla].” At the first grand ball where Carmilla first spots Laura, Karl dismisses his intended’s suggestion that the mysterious woman is interested in him and instead insists “Nonsense, she’s looking at you.” No one ever comments upon why Carmilla is looking at Laura. As Laura deteriorates though her reliance and devotion to Carmilla, or Mircarla as this household know her, begins to cause strife amongst the men, her father and the Doctor are helpless in the face of Laura’s bond with Carmilla.

L-R: Carmilla (Ingrid Pitt) and Laura (Pippa Steel) in The Vampire Lovers

It is interesting that there is no indication that Laura holds any lasting interest for Carmilla. The vampire moves on with her mysterious – and never explained – Aunt/Countess and is soon in place in the household of Laura’s long-distance friend, Emma. Carmilla’s cycle begins again.

L-R: Emma (Madeline Smith) and Marcilla (Ingrid Pitt) in The Vampire Lovers

The film can be neatly cut up into three sections. The first is Laura’s and the final section involves the male characters delving into the Karnstein history and trying to discover Carmilla’s tomb. However, the second section, by far the most engrossing, is very curious in that it could quite easily come from any romance. As with Le Fanu and Carmilla’s predecessor, Coleridge’s Christabel, there are fewer mentions of vampiric activity and Carmilla’s affection for Emma are much more dominant in the narrative than her true nature. What makes The Vampire Lovers such an intensely curious film is that one would imagine the lesbian scenes would be exploitative and, if not crude, then certainly unnecessarily over-the-top. However, this is not the case and I respectfully doff my cap at Hammer Horror and director Roy Baker.

The usual calling cards of Hammer Horror are straightforward: a fairly basic plotline, a “repertory”-esque cast of actors, interchangeably buxom women who meet theoretically grisly but aesthetically titillating ends and the sense that the whole thing is one big joke that everybody, from the actors to the audience are in on. Now, please don’t misunderstand me. This author loves a bit of nonsensical horror romping as much as the next discerning viewer. But there’s no getting around the fact that the Hammer productions were not great works of art; they could in fact be better described as a kind of soft-core horror pornography, filled with fire-engine red blood and more nudity that one would strictly need in a story that was ostensibly about a preying vampire. And yet the two most notably sexual scenarios in the film are directed with a great deal of grace and merit. In both situations Ingrid Pitt has long since lost any clothes she began with (at no point does she ever seemed perturbed about her general state of undress) and Carmilla is preparing to utterly seduce someone.

The Vampire Lovers

There is a softly lit air of concealment to the first scene and a rather more obvious silhouette to the second, however, it would be difficult to argue that though the scenes are sexual in nature, they aren’t presented through the “male gaze.” These women aren’t entering into carnal pleasures that they inexplicably have every knowledge of already and are therefore able to put on a show for the gratification of others; indeed the appreciation of Carmilla is seen in the faces of the female characters and it is with tentative exploration that they approach the mysterious woman.

Mme. Perrodot (Kate O’Mara) in The Vampire Lovers

Arguably, as with any interpretation of vampire texts, one could say that Carmilla is preying upon victims who simply don’t understand what is happening to them. The taking of blood by an unnatural source from a girl on the cusp of womanhood who, tellingly, has no mother to guide her through puberty is a parallel too obvious to explore at length. But one could argue that when Carmilla kisses Laura, her intended victim perhaps doesn’t notice that there is anything extraordinary in the embrace and thus succumbs to it. On the other hand Emma can have been left in very little doubt of Carmilla’s intentions when the vampire declares her love and insists, “I don’t want anyone to take you away from me.” There is emotion behind Carmilla’s desire for Emma that does not simply extend to the carnal and Pitt and Baker use every opportunity to fill the screen with longing looks and claustrophobic framing of the two women — Emma and Carmilla are never especially far from each other.

Inevitably though Carmilla must die. But, as befitting of The Vampire Lovers, in which a multitude of things regarding Emma and Carmilla’s intimate relationship are allowed to go unsaid and unmentioned by the other characters, there is the clear suggestion that Emma is not entirely rid of Carmilla’s influence. At the moment of the vampire’s final death, Emma is languishing in her bed, having been saved by Karl and despite her safety, she cries out in horror when the final blow is struck.

Emma (Madeline Smith) in The Vampire Lovers

It is very telling that the final moment in the film is a hint that the deep nature of their relationship is something the men cannot sever and neither can they entirely take Emma away from Carmilla now that she has had her. The lesbian vampire sub-genre as we know it today has suffered serious set-backs since The Vampire Lovers, which seems a thoroughly unlikely thing to say when one considers that it was made over forty years ago now. However, there is a single-mindedness to Pitt’s Carmilla that makes her enthralling for the audience and a certain tone of her performance that lifts the character out of being gratuitous with her lusts and desires. She wants Emma and she intends to have her, there is no debate over what the men think of the situation, no snide jokes that are there entirely to belittle the female relationship. In portraying the men as being entirely ignorant, Baker allows the audience to see the relationship from Carmilla and Emma’s perspective. Their touches are not always sexual, but sensual instead, the kisses not entirely chaste but always intimate and above all else the love Carmilla has for Emma is entirely between them with no one else ever being aware of it.

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Lauren Chance has a Masters in English Literature and lives in London, carefully avoiding that horrible and impossible moment when one grows tired of the City and existence at the same time. She had written on Daphne du Maurier most recently and a number of other things during her colourful experience at Queen Mary, University of London. She is particularly interested in biopics at the moment and hopes one will shortly be made about Ingrid Pitt. You can follow her tumblr at http://crackalley.tumblr.com/.

Too Many Hitchcocks

Sienna Miller and Toby Jones in HBO’s The Girl

1997 had volcano movies. 2000 had Mars movies. 2006 had magician movies. 2012 has Hitchcock movies.

The Girl, premiering tomorrow on HBO at 9PM, stars Toby Jones as Hitch, Imelda Staunton as his wife Alma, and Sienna Miller as Tippi Hedren. Hitchcock, opening in limited release November 23rd, stars Anthony Hopkins as the title character, Helen Mirren as Alma, and Scarlett Johansson as Janet Leigh. Having only seen the trailers, it is my suspicion that the close proximity of these movies’ releases will sabotage the artistic impact of both films.

Based on Donald Spoto’s book Spellbound by Beauty, The Girl centers on Hitchcock’s obsession with and harassment of Tippi Hedren as he worked with her in The Birds and Marnie. It is a dark and unpleasant story, where the director is clearly depicted as a creepy antagonist:

And while “it’s not TV, it’s HBO,” The Girl debuts in the shadow of its theatrical release twin, Hitchcock. Toby Jones yet again plays the also-ran version of the lead actor in a biopic, six years after his take on Truman Capote in Infamous was eclipsed by Philip Seymour Hoffman’s Oscar-winning turn from the previous year. For me, the biggest “this is only a TV movie” black mark is the casting of “We wanted X, but we got” Sienna Miller as Tippi Hedren.

But The Girl may well get its revenge on the flashier Hitchcock by undermining its depiction of the Master of Suspense as a lovable maverick; eccentric, sure, but far from diabolical:

It’s awkward to watch these trailers together, especially with the one for Hitchcock taking multiple opportunities to ogle ScarJo T&A and closing with a zinger about large breasts. I’m wagering that uncomfortable disconnect will be only more noticeable when comparing the two actual films. So while Hitchcock gets the bigger stars and better buzz, The Girl may pull the red carpet out from underneath it.

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Robin Hitchcock (no relation) is an American writer living in Cape Town. She has been grumpy for years that the adjective form of her last name is already taken.

‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting’: Unexpected Gem

Elizabeth Banks and Brooklyn Decker in What to Expect When You’re Expecting

What to Expect When You’re Expecting was [excuse the hack writing here, it’s unavoidable:] not what I expected. I expected it to be another He’s Just Not That Into You: an insipid, generally obnoxious star-studded ensemble piece loosely inspired by a bestselling cultural touchstone of a nonfiction book. Instead, it is an entertaining, surprisingly touching star-studded ensemble piece loosely inspired by a bestselling cultural touchstone of a nonfiction book.

One of the best things about What to Expect is that it never attempts to universalize pregnancy or parenting. The five semi-connected expecting couples in the film all have different conception stories (from an oops one night stand, to getting lucky after years of infertility, to choosing adoption) and pregnancy experiences (from Brooklyn Decker’s walk-in-the-park pregnancy with twins to lactation advocate Elizabeth Bank’s hormone-fueled emotional breakdown to [spoiler alert!] an astonishingly sensitive depiction of miscarriage). While the film unfortunately depicts an Atlanta that knows no gays and is largely white, it at least partway makes up for its lack of demographic diversity by exploring a rich diversity of experience.

“Dudes Group” of fathers in What to Expect When You’re Expecting

I was also very happily surprised by the depiction of fatherhood in What to Expect When You’re Expecting, especially after seeing the bit in the trailer where a group of dads pushing strollers slo-mo walk to Biggie’s “Big Poppa.” I expected this plotline to be another iteration of “men doing ladywork: HILARIOUS!” But the “dudes group” is celebrated, not mocked, for embracing fatherhood, and while the group has a code of “no judging” when they share such parenting mishaps as “last week, my kid ate a cigarette”, the dads are not depicted as incompetent impostors in a woman’s world. They’re equal partners in parenthood.

And best of all, What to Expect When You’re Expecting is genuinely funny and emotionally affecting. It’s sort of unfortunate that the movie features a lot of humor bizarrely specific to the 2012 zeitgeist, from food truck rivalries to autotuned remixes of public breakdowns; because the movie could be, like the book of the same title, something of a perennial classic for expecting parents. But What to Expect When You’re Expecting makes up some points by also including some of the best things about the 2012 cultural moment: scene-stealing Rebel Wilson and shirtless Joe Manganiello.

Shirtless Joe Maganiello is one of the best things about living in 2012.

Women and Gender in Musicals Week: James and the Giant Peach

This review by Libby White previously appeared at Bitch Flicks as part of our series on Animated Children’s Films.

Based on the book by Roald Dahl, James and the Giant Peach has been a favorite movie of mine since childhood. After all, what kid wouldn’t love a cast of singing and dancing insects?

(Before I go into a review of the movie, I must state that I have never read the book, and do not know how closely the movie follows. Any comments I make are on the film alone, not the book.)

Directed by Henry Selick, the story revolves around a boy named James, who after the death of both parents, ends up a slave to his two cruel aunts, Sponge and Spiker. After an encounter with a strange man promising him “marvelous things,” James receives a bag of magical sprites, (crocodile tongues boiled in the skull of a dead witch for 40 days and 40 nights, the gizzard of a pig, the fingers of a young monkey, the beak of a parrot and three spoonfuls of sugar to be exact), that inadvertently end up planting themselves within a barren peach tree. An enormous peach sprouts from the tree at contact, which James later escapes into, turning into a claymation version of himself. Alongside a band of personified insects, the group sail across the ocean on the peach, encountering various trials as they head towards their destination in New York City.

The aunts, Sponge and Spiker, are two of the worst people to ever grace the silver screen, with their terrible abuse of young James setting the stage for the adventure ahead. They serve as the main antagonists of the story, chasing James across land and sea to recapture him.

The Aunts are horrific caretakers; starving, beating, and emotionally abusing James relentlessly. Mind you, this is a movie for children. And like in most children’s movies, the Aunts’ outward appearance reflects their inner evil. Both women are made to look terrifyingly cruel and yet simultaneously clown-like, dressed in orange-red wigs and slathered on make-up. During their first 20 minutes on screen, the two women participate in dozens of morally reprehensible practices, everything from shameless vanity to verbally attacking a woman and her children.

The fact that the villains are female does not bother me, nor that they are portrayed as greedy, selfish people. After all, women are just as capable as men of committing child abuse. However, while the style of the movie is very dark and Tim Burton-esque, I can’t help but wish that the Aunts’ appearances were not related to their evil. Too often in the world of children’s movies a villain need only be identified by their ugly appearance, as if that is a symptom of inner ugliness. Just look at most Disney movies from the past century!

The women’s abuse of James was also very dramatic and purposeful, most likely so that the children watching the movie could understand James’ need for immediate escape. The film could have used the Aunts as an opportunity to delve into the other types of child-abuse, but instead meant to focus on the strong atmosphere of fantastical adventure. (With a story that involves death by Rhinoceros, skeleton pirates, and mechanical sharks, it is easy to understand why the people themselves are wildly unrealistic. The world itself is wildly unrealistic.)

Transformed by the sprites themselves, James finds a group man-sized insects living within the giant peach, each with a unique personality that relates to their species. There is a smart, cultured grasshopper; a kind, nurturing ladybug; a rough-talking, comedic centipede; a neurotic, blind earthworm; a poetic, intelligent spider; and a deaf, elderly glowworm.

The spider, glowworm, and ladybug are all female, each very different and yet immensely likeable. It’s great to see several types of female personalities represented, though perhaps they are a little clichéd. Miss Spider is the typical sensual seductress, the Ladybug a doting mother-figure. The glow-worm has no real part except serving as a lantern inside the peach, and occasionally mishearing a phrase for laughs.

James: “The man said marvelous things would happen!”

Glowworm: “Did you say marvelous pigs in satin?”

Miss Spider in particular is a great female character; strong, smart, and willing to stand up for herself and those she cares about. Despite her reputation as a killer and cave-dweller, she repeatedly defends James and wards off the assumptions the other insects have made-about her. From the moment she is introduced in her personified form, you can’t help but like her. She doesn’t take anyone’s crap.

Ladybug comes off as an older, traditional woman, complete with a flowered hat and overfilled purse. She is kindly, though strict about manners and being polite. When describing what each bug hopes to find in New York City, Ladybug is most concerned with seeing flowers and children. And while Ladybug does resemble an Aunt of mine to disturbing proportions, I felt like she had no purpose in the story other than to serve as James’ replacement mother/grandmother. While the other insects are having swashbuckling adventures and near death experiences, Ladybug is just scenery, screaming and cheering in the correct places. Which is odd, because every insect has a large amount of screen time devoted to their stories and transformation, minus the glowworm and ladybug. Both female characters. In the end, it was James, Miss Spider, Centipede, Earthworm, and Grasshopper who repeatedly saved the day. Ladybug was just there to reassure James of himself whenever fear or doubt overtook him.

Despite this unfortunate exclusion, I still would highly recommend the film to anyone who is interested. It is visually stunning, undoubtedly original, and teaches a lesson about family that is quite touching.

From a feminist perspective, my favorite thing about the film is that it doesn’t pay any attention to sex at all. At no point are the Aunts’ criticized for being a disappointment to the name of maternal women. At no point is Miss Spider treated differently because she is female. No, almost every character has an inner and outer struggle, each reaching a defining moment in the plot where they must test themselves to save those they love. Together, the insects and James form a makeshift family, each working equally with one another to build a happy life in their new home. (And the boy who plays James is too cute for words, all his emotions and inner growth come off as genuine. You can’t help but cheer for him as he finally stands up to his aunts.)

Overall, James and the Giant Peach is an excellent movie, and I would suggest it to any parent or person who likes stories of adventure and fantasy. Any warnings I would give would refer only to the dark nature of the beginning of the film, and to any people who may be afraid of giant, rampaging rhinoceroses.

———-

Libby White is a senior at the University of Tennessee, studying Marketing and Spanish full-time. Her parents were in the Navy for most of her life, so she got to see the world at a young age, and learn about cultures outside her own. Her mother in particular has had a huge influence on her, as she was a woman in the military at a time when men dominated the field. Her determination and hard-work to survive in an environment where she was not welcomed has made Libby respect the constant struggle of women today.

Women and Gender in Musicals Week: Female Friendship, Madonna/Whore Stereotypes and Rape Culture in ‘West Side Story’

[Trigger warning: for discussion of rape] | Spoilers ahead

West Side Story is one of my absolute favorite musicals. I adore the catchy lyrics, the breathtakingly exquisite choreography and cinematography, the heartbreaking love story. A modern Romeo and Juliet taking place in New York City amongst two rival gangs — one white, one Puerto Rican — it tackles racism, bigotry, murder and teen angst. But many audiences overlook the film’s portrayal of gender, female friendship and rape culture.

Anita and Maria are dear friends who confide in each other. Two strong women who know what they want and aren’t afraid to speak their minds. Rather than the film pitting the two women against each other, they support one another. But as awesome as this is, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re witnessing a Madonna/whore dichotomy in female archetypes.

Maria is sweet and naïve. When Tony first meets Maria, he asks her if she’s joking. She responds, “I have not yet learned how to joke that way.” Her brother Bernardo and Anita try to shield her from trouble as people view her as pure and virginal. Reinforcing this imagery, we see Maria pray in front of the Virgin Mary and in “Maria,” Tony sings “say it [her name] soft and it’s almost like praying.” But Maria tries to resist the label of purity as she tells her brother a white dress is for babies.

In stark contrast to Maria, Anita is opinionated, savvy, charismatic and flamboyant (and clearly my favorite character!). Outgoing and gregarious, she wears colorful frocks, as opposed to Maria’s white gowns. As much as I love her, Anita reinforces the feisty Latina harlot stereotype. Of course the depiction of race is problematic as the film employed brownface make-up for its Latino/a characters.

Anita proudly asserts her sexuality, eagerly singing about how she’s “gonna get her kicks” and “have a private little mix” with her boyfriend Bernardo in “Tonight.” The chemistry and banter between Anita and Bernardo reveal their tender feelings for one another. But their relationship is framed in sexuality. Even though Maria and Tony sleep together, their relationship is constantly surrounded by dreamy words of love, commitment and wedding imagery. While Anita sings about sex in “Tonight,” Maria croons about seeing her love and how the “stars will stop where they are.” It’s as if there’s a right and a wrong way to portray female sexuality.

Throughout the film, pragmatic cynic Anita tries to protect idealistic dreamer Maria. She expresses her worries about her dating Tony at the bridal shop. Later, in “A Boy Like That,” Anita warns Maria to stay away from him as he “wants one thing only” and “he’ll kill her love,” like he murdered hers. But Maria’s buoyant hope stave off Anita’s concerns.

It’s interesting how other characters treat women in the film. In “America,” the Sharks sing about the xenophobia and racism they experience while the women sing about their aspirations and the promise of a better life in NYC. One of the Jets exasperatedly wonders why they’re fooling around with “dumb broads.” To which Graziella retorts, “Velma and I ain’t dumb.” Anybodys is the tomboy who desperately longs to be in the Jets. She hangs around the guys, spits on the ground and insults women, and sees the male gender as far more desirable. But rather than depicting gender variance or even a trans character, the Jets view Anybodys as a defective female. Some of the Jets taunt her that no one would want to sleep with her. Because apparently to them (and patriarchal society at large), a woman’s status resides only in her beauty, sexuality and desirability.

While gender relations are far from perfect, the Sharks and their girlfriends debate equally. But the Jets seem to view women as nothing more than objects. This objectification continues in the assault and attempted rape of Anita.

Maria begs Anita to give a message to Tony at Doc’s drug store. Anita reluctantly does so. When she arrives, she encounters violence at the hands of the Jets. In Aphra Behn (of Guerilla Girls)’s Gender Across Borders article, she disparages the ’09 Broadway revival as it turns the assault and “mock rape” of Anita into a real rape with the unzipping of A-rab’s pants:

“Why does everyone from Broadway to High School stage this scene as a fully realized rape scene? Because rape culture does not allow us to see it as anything but such a scene.”

Behn may be right that this scene reinforces rape culture. But she’s completely wrong attempting to differentiate between a mock rape and a real rape. Rape is rape. Period.

I always interpreted the film version of West Side Story displaying assault and attempted rape. If Doc hadn’t stepped through the door and intervened, Anita would have been raped. Does it really make it better that the Jets were pretending to rape? Or that they were prevented from committing rape? No, no it doesn’t.

Behn states the original stage direction was to assault Anita and treat her like an object, not a sex object. But rape is not a sexual act. It’s an act of power. The Jets feel powerless over the death of Riff, their friend and leader. Being young, they’re tired of everyone telling them what to do, how to feel and behave. When Anita enters Doc’s drug store, she materializes into an outlet for their frustration and pain. As the Jets hold racist views, they see Anita, as a Latina, an other — an object to overpower

The Jets verbal and physical harassment and attempted rape disgust and disturb the audience. When Rita Moreno filmed that scene, she broke down and sobbed for 45 minutes for it reminded her of past pain, anger and trauma, including an attempted rape. This scene portrays the ramifications of patriarchy, racism and rape culture. It shows how society normalizes violence against women.

Anita’s anger, hatred and shame at the boys for what they’ve done to her ultimately causes the tragic ending. Her lie — that Chino murdered Maria — causes Tony to run around screaming for Chino to kill him too, which he does. Tony’s death causes hatred to fester inside Maria, corrupting the ingenue. Rather than evoking sympathy for an assault survivor, it seems we the audience are supposed to be angry at Anita for her treachery.

Anita is considered most people’s favorite character. And in my opinion, rightfully so. She’s a badass. While audiences continually embrace the role of Anita — awarding an Oscar to Rita Moreno, a Tony to Karen Olivo in the ’09 revival — it appears the film tries to vilify her, a cautionary warning to women. Women can be good and nice, like Maria, or sexually assertive and ultimately manipulative liars destroying lives, like Anita.

Women are supposed to choose the “right” kind of woman to emulate or suffer dire consequences.

Women and Gender in Musicals Week: Accidental Feminism in ‘Mary Poppins’

Julie Andrews as Mary Poppins

“Practically perfect in every way,” declares Mary Poppins, the quirky, assertive and indomitable nanny played with effervescence by stage and screen legend Julie Andrews. For me, that quote could pretty much sum up not only our protagonist but the film itself.

I’ve been watching Mary Poppins ever since I was about 8 years old. I was forever drawn to books and movies with strong, intelligent and outspoken female characters. And Mary Poppins is no exception.

Mary Poppins is kind yet stern, possessing a cheerful disposition. Playing games and singing songs, Mary Poppins is the nanny of Jane and Michael’s dreams. She takes them on fantastical journeys into chalk pictures, dances on the roofs of London with chimney sweeps and holds tea parties on the ceiling. Singing about spoonfuls of sugar, she teaches the children how to infuse fun into chores and the value of a positive perspective. She provides the guidance, attention and nurturing they both crave from their parents, especially their father.

Beyond a strong and charismatic female protagonist, one of the most memorable feminist scenes? Well of course I’m talking about Mrs. Winifred Banks (Glynis Johns) belting out the song “Sister Suffragette.” When I was young I didn’t realize until I heard this song — and heard that “Mrs. Pankhurst has been clapped in irons again” — that women had to fight for the right to vote.

Mrs. Winifred Banks (Glynis Johns)

“We’re clearly soldiers in petticoats,

Dauntless crusaders for women’s votes!

Though we adore men individually,

We agree that as a group they’re rather stupid.

Cast off the shackles of yesterday!

Shoulder to shoulder into the fray!

Our daughters’ daughters will adore us

And they’ll sing in grateful chorus,

“Well done, Sister Suffragette!”

Interestingly, this bastion of film feminism occurred accidentally. Glynis Johns thought she was the one getting the role of Mary Poppins, not Julie Andrews. In order to assuage her potential furor over this fuck-up, Walt Disney told Johns that she had a phenomenal solo. To cover his ass, Disney called up songwriters Robert B. and Richard M. Sherman and said (while Johns was in earshot) that she couldn’t wait to hear the song. The Sherman Brothers quickly researched women’s movements in 1910 England, and wrote “Sister Suffragette” so Johns could hear the song after her lunch with Disney.

But why did the Sherman Brothers alter the homemaker into a women’s rights activist? Supposedly they needed to concoct a reason Winifred would be away from her children that would make a nanny necessary. So they made her a suffragette, making the movie accidentally feminist. Regardless, it taught many children — me included! — the struggle women endured.

Now, there are a lot of reasons to question Mary Poppins as a feminist film.

Carried on the winds by her umbrella, Mary Poppins differs from other nannies portrayed in the film by her fun whimsicality. But her beauty also sets her apart. We see Mary Poppins gazing at her reflection, powdering her nose, and bearing comely rosy cheeks. She is immediately associated as “good” due to her attractiveness.

The film showcases Winifred’s strength to advocate for women’s rights, saying that women will no longer be subservient. Yet that’s precisely what she is with her husband.

Mrs. Winifred Banks (Glynis Johns)

George Banks (David Tomlinson) fancies himself “a king astride his noble steed,” envisioning his house a patriarchal castle and calling it “the age of men.” He haughtily berates his wife’s choice of nannies, all of who have been “unqualified disasters,” to which she promptly agrees. So George decides to take matters into his own hands and hire a proper nanny. Winifred continually tries to voice her children’s concerns, pointing out that their attempts to help or that they need kindness and understanding. And George continuously puts her down. The personal is political. Yet Winifred doesn’t seem to comprehend that.

In Caitlin Flanagan’s fascinating New Yorker essay on Mary Poppins she asserts:

“In six minutes of film time, Mrs. Banks is changed from a balls-out feminist — ‘No more the meek and mild subservients, we!’ — to a surrendered wife. ‘I’m sorry, dear,’ she says. ‘I’ll try to do better next time.’”

And it’s true. All her feminist badassery seems to unravel the minute her husband strolls through the door. While Winifred remains assertive in her public life, fighting for “political equality and equal rights with men,” in her personal life she speaks her mind yet obediently acquiesces to her domineering and controlling husband’s every whim.

But Winifred steadfastly continues with her suffrage activism even though she knows “the cause infuriates Mr. Banks.” But if she really let him control her, she would abandon women’s rights altogether. Winifred doesn’t cast aside her convictions merely because her husband doesn’t approve of women’s rights. She continues to fight for suffrage.

Some have criticized and admonished her as a mother for neglecting her children in order to attend meetings and protests. I call bullshit. Yes, she’s flighty. But I say her advocacy bolsters her motherhood. She continues to advocate for women’s rights, trying to make the world a more equitable place for her daughter and son.

While Winifred talks about Mary Poppins to her husband, and how she positively impacts the children’s lives, the two women never speak to one another. Really? They never talk to each other once?? Bechdel Test fail. Weird, especially considering how both Winifred, in hiring nannies and helping preserve the household trinkets during Admiral Boom’s cannon blasts, and Mary Poppins, as a caretaker to the children, occupy domestic spheres.

Julie Andrews as Mary Poppins

With George’s job in banking and Winifred’s suffrage protests, each gains happiness outside the home. But Mary Poppins whole purpose revolves around the home. She flits from household to household healing dysfunctional families. But what about her personal life? We never really know what makes her happy. While she admirably makes her own decisions always on her own terms, Mary Poppins’ maternal role is strictly to serve others.

Even in the end, when she’s about to leave with the changing wind, her talking umbrella complains that the children never even said goodbye. While she clearly cares for Jane and Michael and her parting is bittersweet, Mary Poppins seems content. She’s finished her job and now she can go. Is that the lesson here? That we should sacrifice our own desire and always serve others? That goals other than family and home are detrimental to personal growth and happiness?

Walt Disney considered the song “Feed the Birds,” his favorite song, the cornerstone of the movie. Mary Poppins sings about the merits of charity and the generosity of love. It’s this song that helps nudge Mr. Banks changed perspective from emotionally detached and controlling to warm and loving. And charity is certainly a noble trait. But is this subtly reifying traditional gender roles? That men are brutish while women are gentle and nurturing?

Jane Banks, Mary Poppins, Michael Banks

In the beginning of the film, George revels in patriarchy. But Mary Poppins challenges his long-held beliefs with her frivolity and refusal to explain herself. By the end, George realizes the value and importance of spending leisurely time with his family. Sadly, it’s not suffrage or feminism that spur him to realize the folly of treating his family like servile subjects. It’s not even a woman — not Mary Poppins, not Jane his daughter or Winifred his wife — who ultimately causes George’s transformation. Bert’s discussion of toiling away at work (“grind, grind, grind at that grindstone”) while childhood and time slip away “like sand through a sieve” tips George’s metamorphosis.

You could argue that Mary Poppins’ brand of feminism, her outspoken assertiveness, truly changes all their lives. But George still couldn’t trust a woman’s words. He needed a man to reinforce her advice.

Many have complained about the “perceived anti-feminist ending,” that Winifred gives up fighting for women’s rights because she attaches one of her “Votes for Women” sashes as the kite’s tail. Author P.L. Travers notoriously despised the film, for its animated sequences and for making Mary Poppins character less strict. But she also supposedly hated its anti-feminist ending.

The Banks Family

But I never saw it this way.

In the beginning of the film, Winifred gives out various sashes to Ellen the maid, Mrs. Brill the cook and Katie Nana. So clearly she possessed extras. Why assume she was automatically giving up feminist activism? Since George abhorred suffrage, I saw Winifred’s public display of her sash as a union of the personal and the political. She was bringing feminism into her family rather than merely advocating for equality politically. She was no longer hiding her identity. Finally, Winifred let her feminist flag fly. Literally.

Portraying a suffragette and an outspoken female protagonist, Mary Poppins possesses brilliant moments of feminist clarity. How many other musicals contain overtly feminist songs advocating gender equality and sisterly solidarity? While it simultaneously seems to reinforce the traditional gender roles it initially rails against, the movie forever reminds me of the need for women to speak their minds and fight for their rights, in politics and in the home.

It may not be “practically perfect” after all. But it’s pretty damn close.