Female Friendship – Page 2

The Fresh Slice of Life of ‘Ackee & Saltfish’

Friendship between women has been depicted in an array of illustrious shapes in our pop culture. Who hasn’t seen the indelible images of Thelma and Louise, Cher and Dionne, Romy and Michelle, Leslie and Anne? The new kids on the block that will nestle themselves into our cultural lexicon are: Olivia and Rachel. British humor is revered and known for blending dark humor with peculiar physical comedy, but try listing at least three films off the top of your head that are focused on the Black British experience and black British humor; you’ll likely come up short. However, there’s now ‘Ackee & Saltfish,’ a witty step forward in closing the gap.

This is a guest post by Giselle Defares.

Friendship between women has been depicted in an array of illustrious shapes in our pop culture. Who hasn’t seen the indelible images of Thelma and Louise, Cher and Dionne, Romy and Michelle, Leslie and Anne? The new kids on the block that will nestle themselves into our cultural lexicon are: Olivia and Rachel. British humor is revered and known for blending dark humor with peculiar physical comedy, but try listing at least three films off the top of your head that are focused on the Black British experience and black British humor; you’ll likely come up short. However, there’s now Ackee & Saltfish, a witty step forward in closing the gap.

The Jamaican-British director Cecile Emeke forged her own path of limitless creativity – outside the mainstream media – with her honest, humoristic storytelling. Another filmmaker who created her own niche is Issa Rae, who established an successful career out of her YouTube series The Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl, that resulted in a deal with HBO for her TV pilot and a bestselling novel of the same name. While both managed to create space where the doors were closed that’s where the similarities end.

Emeke garnered the public’s attention via her “Fake Deep” poem, and through her phenomenal work on the Strolling docu-series. She has carved a safe space for young Black women and men to vent and offer their unique perspectives navigating the Western world whilst being Black. In an interview with The Washington Post, Emeke explained how she created her docu-series, saying, “Strolling was born out of a desire to capture and share intra-communal discussions within the black community in hopes of affirming others and relieving alienation. I started off capturing conversations with friends, but since Strolling has grown, the conversations have grown to include people all over the world. I’m aiming to touch every corner of the diaspora.” Those are lofty goals and it seems she’s about to fulfill them. Her work was selected by Tribeca N.O.W., which celebrates new online work of independent filmmakers, BBC Trending recently called her YouTube channel “young, British, witty and black.” The New York Times said her work was “rendered with a complexity and depth that is exhilarating to watch.” Not bad for someone who only picked up a camera at the start of 2014.

Ackee & Saltfish is set on a warm Sunday afternoon in East London where we follow Olivia (Michelle Tiwo) and Rachel (Vanessa Babirye) on their quest to find food – or to be precise – the traditional Caribbean dish Ackee and saltfish. The duo planned a lavish brunch but Rachel forgot to soak the saltfish overnight so now they’re on a serious mission to find an authentic plate of Ackee and saltfish. On their stroll through the city hilarity ensues and tensions rise when we follow the best friends on their holy quest to find their Caribbean takeaway. The short film is written and directed by Emeke.

Emeke allows the viewer to closely follow two best friends who talk about pop culture, love, classism, racism, and the world at large, but there’s no drama when it comes to boyfriends, drugs, or other redundant tropes that seem to be prevalent when it comes to modern films about the Black British experience – i.e. Adulthood, Kidulthood, Top Boy (TV).

It’s a double-edged sword when it comes to Black women and media–they are underrepresented but at the same time molded in archetypes that are damaging society’s perception of Black women. Think of the Strong Black Woman, Mammy, Jezebel, Video Vixen, and so on. What’s so refreshing about Ackee & Saltfish is that Emeke simply presents an alternative. Olivia and Rachel are two Black women who are just livin’ life.

There’s an excellent balance between the two characters. Olivia has a distinct personality: bubbly, brash, outspoken and quick with her sometimes insensitive quips while Rachel is more grounded, contemplative and not necessarily as interested in talking about socio-political issues. When Olivia is firing up about gentrification and cultural appropriation, Rachel sarcastically claps back with “Aww, did you learn some new words off Black Twitter today?” Her reaction reflects their different stances on the issues at hand. Whilst Olivia is ready to fight the status quo, Rachel succumbs to the fact that they can’t change the situation right away. For many, Olivia’s anger will seem justified but Emeke never portrays the characters being right or wrong. It’s up to the audience to form their own opinion.

Can we see Olivia and Rachel as carefree Black girls? Jamala Johns wrote in her article for Refinery29 on carefree Black girls: “By putting the word ‘carefree’ front and center, it’s making a statement that we don’t want to be solely defined by hardships and stereotypes so we can enjoy our lives as we please. Carefree should not be mistaken with careless.” So with that in mind, it’s refreshing to see Olivia and Rachel quibbling whether or not Olivia will find her own Common but they’re simultaneously aware of the issues surrounding religion, race, the social implications of gentrification in their neighborhood, and so much more. There are a couple of funny scenes where Olivia and Rachel riff off each other:

Olivia: “I want Solange to adopt me.”

Rachel: “Why?”

Olivia: “Well, think about it, Solange as a mother would be the most amazing thing in the world.”

Rachel: “Why?! How do you know that?”

Olivia: “Like, Julez is livin’. I’m trying to live with Julez.”

This and several other short scenes underline the depth of their friendship and the ease with which they talk to each other on the most mundane topics. Emeke gives us a glimpse into the private world that exists between two best friends. Often comparisons are made with the Comedy Central hit Broad City, or Pursuit of Sexiness by SNL’s Sasheer Zamata and Girl Code’s Nicole Bryer, where you also follow the lives of two 20-somethings in the big city, but you’ll find out that Ackee & Saltfish stands on its own.

The crux of the appeal of Ackee & Saltfish lies in the humor and the familiarity. The underlying layer of authenticity simmers throughout the film when you hear Olivia and Rachel throw quips back and forth. It’s like you can see them walking past you on the street, and you catch funny snippets of an intimate conversation where you want to chime in – but instead you’ll hold your tongue. The cinematography of the film is straightforward, sometimes Emeke uses soft focus, or slow, inquisitive zooms. Emeke narrows the story down to the classic unity of time, place, and action. The core of the film is a long walk, recorded in real time and the takes create the appearance that the scenes are off-the-cuff improvised, but in fact they’re carefully scripted and extensively rehearsed. It’s cinematic strolling at its best.

Ackee & Saltfish is a short film that consists of small events, many conversations, and a lot of friendship. It is a tribute to healthy female friendship between Black women, but also a film about pop culture, gentrification, classism, race and just two girls enjoying life. The narrative is not groundbreaking. Nevertheless, the natural chemistry between the leads, the sometimes uncontrollably witty scenes, dialogues and observations and richness of details carry the film with ease.

Just like the Caribbean dish, this short film will make you thirsty and crave for more. Luckily, you can now quench your thirst since Emeke followed the short format with a five-part series on YouTube where you can follow the everyday adventures of best friends Olivia and Rachel.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rPu-DN58KuM”]

See also at Bitch Flicks: Ackee & Saltfish: There Are Other Narratives to Explore

Giselle Defares comments on film, fashion (law), and American pop culture. See her blog here.

‘Bessie’: Unapologetically Black, Female, and Queer

‘Bessie’ is one of the rare mainstream films that shows an unapologetically Black, female and queer protagonist. That alone is groundbreaking in an otherwise straightforward biopic.

Written by Lisa Bolekaja.

See-line woman
Wiggle wiggle
Turn like a cat
Wink at a man
And he wink back

Now child
See-line woman
Empty his pockets
And wreck his days
Make him love her
And she’ll fly away

Writer/director Dee Rees opens the film Bessie with the Nina Simone classic “See-Line Woman” playing as the camera takes in Queen Latifah in close-up, her face drenched in resplendent blue lighting. The color, framing and music told me from jump that the narrative would be coming from a place of womanist Blackness. Nina Simone, the High Priestess of Soul, was signifying musically the proper introduction to Bessie Smith, the woman known in her day as the Empress of the Blues.

The story of Bessie Smith has been a long time coming, and it was quite timely that she should be given her due just a few days after the passing of the Blues legend B.B. King. Most people know very little about Bessie Smith, and it is almost a given that biopics are never truly satisfying, typically following a rise to fame and falling into trouble narrative. All I wanted to know was, would Rees be true to the highly unorthodox life of Smith? Or would we be subjected to a safe narrative that tip-toed around the raunchy, bisexual and profane realness of the Bessie Smith I read about in college?

Rees kept it real. Bessie is one of the rare mainstream films that shows an unapologetically Black, female and queer protagonist. That alone is groundbreaking in an otherwise straightforward biopic. Within ten minutes of the film, we see Bessie fooling around with a male paramour whom she beats up after he gets a little too fresh for her tastes, and then we see her in bed with her longtime female lover, Lucille (the gorgeous Tika Sumpter). It comes off natural, not some forbidden plot device to be used later to create conflict. It is what it is, and Bessie doesn’t waste time fretting over it. When she jumps on a train owned by Ma Rainey (Mo’Nique) to beg for a singing job and observes Ma interacting with her own female lover who prances around comfortably topless, Ma asks her straight out, “Watchu know about it?” Bessie tells her, “Same thing you do.” And that is that.

It was very powerful to see Black queer women openly affectionate with one another, and openly sexual in private spaces, especially for that time period. Black queer women, hardly ever get to see themselves on film without the narrative making them act secretive of fearful. Throughout the viewing, I kept waiting for Bessie’s bisexuality to become a big issue with her family, her band, or even her husband (and many lovers). It didn’t.

Ma Rainey takes Bessie under her wing, teaches her the ropes and how to sing the Blues to make the audience want more. She even teaches Bessie how to dress as a man and enjoy the thrill of smoking and gambling with men dressed that way. It reminded me of the stories I read that told of private clubs where women could be gender fluid and embrace masculine expressions without fear of bodily harm from violent homophobes.

Black love in all forms is front and center, and a new love comes in the form of Jack Gee (Michael Kenneth Williams being fierce and nuanced in this role), a man who sees Bessie perform, and goes to her hotel uninvited. As Bessie lies in bed, still in her nightgown and headscarf, her brother and business partner Clarence (Tory Kittles) watching her back, Jack Gee tells her his personal stats and proclaims without haste, “I’m auditioning to be your man.” He’s bold as brass and Bessie eventually marries him, and keeps her girlfriend Lucille too.

Jack seems very much Bessie’s equal, and they do go toe to toe with their hard loving, hard fighting and hard drinking. It’s a fragile relationship that hinges on Bessie’s Achilles heel, which is a bottomless hunger that stems from the loss of a mother at an early age, and the dysfunctional relationship she has with her older sister Viola (Khandi Alexander). Viola used to lock up food in the family refrigerator and beat on Bessie. This back-story told in flashbacks is the key to Bessie’s insatiable need for more success, more money, more lovers, and more control over her family. She eventually buys a large house without telling Jack, bringing everyone (including her sister Viola and Lucille) under one roof. She ignores her husband’s complaints and forces her will on everyone. She will live the life she felt was denied her, and even brings home a little boy on Thanksgiving to be her and Jack’s son. It’s Bessie’s world and everyone is expected to fall in line and gravitate around her.

The best part of Bessie is how she handles the intrusion of the White Gaze on the storyline. Bessie’s world seems insulated from white intrusion, and this allows us to focus on the Black characters just being themselves without having to focus on the known and ubiquitous racism. Whiteness does seep in through the colorism issues that Bessie encounters with the infamous paper bag test (Black performers, even in Black entertainment spaces of the period, did not hire darker skinned Black women who were not lighter than a paper bag). White intrusion is most prominent in two scenes, one involving the Klan showing up at one of Bessie’s performances, and the other at a prominent white patron’s home.

In the Klan sequence, Bessie simply walks outside and cusses the white men out and chases them away. She doesn’t quake in her boots or shrink behind the protection of Black men. She then turns around and goes back to performing, winning over the respect of the frightened Black men and women who were prepared to run away from White terrorism intruding onto Black space. In the home of Carl Van Vechten (Oliver Platt), a controversial patron of Negro artists whom he finds crude, primitive, and folksy, Bessie turns the White Gaze (and cultural appropriation) on its head by being true to her unfiltered Blackness. When a white woman puts her hands on Bessie in an attempt to hug her and says, “I heard that you were wild,” Bessie pushes her away and says, “Get the fuck off me.” Bessie in one fell swoop refused to let the white woman turn her body into a commodity. She turns on Carl Van Vechten too when he tells her about his book Nigger Heaven. This is a tremendous sequence because Bessie doesn’t allow the White characters to hijack the narrative and center the story on Bessie having to impress Van Vechten to get something from him for her survival. Bessie doesn’t give a fuck about anyone in that room except for herself and the two lovers she brought with her. In fact, Bessie doesn’t even care what Langston Hughes (Jeremie Harris) has to say when he tries to warn her about Van Vechten’s fetishizing of Black culture and Black people.

I found it fascinating watching Hughes take in Bessie’s behavior towards Van Vechten, because Hughes had to depend on White patrons much like Van Vechten to supplement his income in order to write and survive. Bessie didn’t. She had her voice and she had regular working class Black people who came out to see her when she travelled. Eventually she made records, (there’s the hilarious moment where she goes to a Black record company called Black Swan Records and discovers the company isn’t as Black as she thought, and that she is too Black for them), and was able to gain new revenue from vinyl sales. Bessie never had to water down her personality to make White folks feel comfortable. Unfortunately Hughes and other writers of their time (like my favorite Harlem Renaissance writer, Zora Neale Hurston) had to walk a thin line of creating the art they wanted without offending Whites who funded that art. It still happens today. Recently, poet and Buzzfeed Literary Editor Saeed Jones wrote about this same issue with his recent piece Self-Portrait Of The Artist As Ungrateful Black Writer.

Bessie is a good primer movie for people who know nothing about Bessie Smith, and it is a breakthrough performance for Queen Latifah. The cast is flawless and I expect Emmy nods for Queen Latifah, Mo’Nique and Khandi Alexander. (Khandi can do anything and just be dynamite. Period.) It was a pleasure watching unapologetic Black, female, queerness. I hope HBO takes more chances on projects like this. Somebody get Dee Rees financing for a new movie stat. It is maddening to think that she hasn’t had an opportunity since Pariah in 2011 to show us her voice. She has more radical stories to tell. I can feel it.

‘Blackstone’: Stoney Women And The Many Meanings of Sovereignty

The most remarkable feature of Ron E. Scott’s Canadian drama ‘Blackstone,’ apart from its blistering probing of Kellogg’s “ugly facts” of demoralization, is how closely it links gendered oppressions with other exploitations.

(No spoilers in the comments past Season Two please, deprived Irish viewer here.)

“It is a cause of astonishment to us that you white women are only now, in this twentieth century, claiming what has been the Indian woman’s privilege as far back as history traces.” – Laura Kellogg

The writings of pioneering suffragette Elizabeth Cady Stanton reveal that the political status of Iroquoian (Haudenosaunee) women inspired her vision of gender equality. The early 20th century Oneida political activist, Laura Cornelius Kellogg, also highlighted Benjamin Franklin’s acknowledged debt to the Five Nations’ (Iroquois) Great Law in inspiring distinctive features of American democracy. Kellogg: “have you not pauperized and debauched a whole people who were not only the richest in possessions, but whose native character has inspired those of your arts and literature which contain national distinction?”

As we in Europe benefited from peace-building through federal government, and from female emancipation, those very qualities were stripped from the civilizations that birthed them. Diverse Native cultures were reimagined as a patriarchal monoculture, iconically represented by the Plains Indian Chief, while female diplomats and political activists were reinterpreted as sexualized Indian Princesses, or silenced as “squaw” drudges. Native democracy itself was destroyed by a system of wardship, that subordinated its people to a Euro-American Bureau of Indian Affairs which Kellogg slammed as a “school for sycophants.”

Chief Andy's Boys' Club — Chief Andy’s Boys’ Club

“If I did not believe enough of you remain staunch to our ancestral standards of truth, to stand the ugly facts that concern us now, I should not speak.” – Laura Kellogg

The most remarkable feature of Ron E. Scott’s Canadian drama Blackstone, apart from its blistering probing of Kellogg’s “ugly facts” of demoralization, is how closely it links gendered oppressions with other exploitations. Bad government is represented by the chuckling boys’ club of Band Chief Andy Fraser, who hold meetings at the Roxy Rolla strip club, joke about screwing each other’s wives, and dismiss female opponents with gendered slurs like “cow” and “bitch.” The takeover by Leona Stoney and Victor Merasty therefore represents not only a return to idealism, but to gender-balanced leadership. Blackstone explores the toxic legacy of abuse within Canada’s residential schools, in which Irish religious orders played a major role, replicating our own traumatic legacy of institutional abuse and even perpetuating linguicide and colonial stigma, despite their demoralizing impact in Ireland. “Falling under the spell” of priests in his residential school shaped Tom Fraser’s bitter resentments and resistance to taking responsibility, which he has passed on to his son, Chief Andy (who, my God, is such a better portrait of Charlie Haughey than the recent Irish biopic. Period end). Blackstone also acknowledges the crushing impact of mainstream Canada’s indifference to the “fucking waste of time” of “this Indian bullshit,” but suggests that renewal must ultimately come from within. Its villains have internalized the colonizer’s gaze to the point that they reflexively worry “this looks bad” rather than acknowledging and tackling problems, perhaps anticipating criticism of the show’s own negative portrayals.

Just as the exaggerated domestic dramas of soap operas and telenovelas offer their mainly female audiences an important forum for processing their own frustrations, so the condensed and intensified social problems of Blackstone‘s fictional reserve are not simply a negative distortion of reality, but a basis for developing discussion and self-advocacy. The series’ opening sets the tone: over confrontational images of teen drug-taking, an elder tells a creation story, evoking nostalgia for the “real Indian.” But the elder, Cecil Delaronde (Gordon Tootoosis), challenges the disconnect between theory and practice: “if you look around you, culture is on display every day. Family violence, alcoholism, drug abuse, incest, suicide, corruption… that’s our culture now.” The show’s English title grows out of black roots in Cree, embodying both continuity and linguicide. Connecting political sovereignty, mental sovereignty and bodily sovereignty, Blackstone centers women in its hopes for renewal. Stoney women are the community’s bedrock.

Chief Leona Stoney

“More schooling than usually falls to the lot of an Indian woman and more contact with Caucasian artificiality and insincerity have graduated me into what might be called a polite Indian, and the process, I sometimes think, has taken a lot out of me” – Laura Kellogg

Leona Stoney is the daughter of a deceased chief. After sobering up from youthful addictions, her father entrusted the nation’s treaty pipe to her, representing her duty to lead. Leona lives off-reserve and works in addiction counseling with urban kids that her white boyfriend, Chris, charmingly calls: “kids who are ready. Ones who’ve escaped Blackstone.” Chris voices the defeatism that Leona must confront inside herself. Like historical allotment schemes, Chris associates redemption with assimilation into the white mainstream and “escape” from an irredeemable culture. As Chief Andy’s wife, Debbie, snarks to Chris, “it’s not easy being a chief’s wife, is it?” the show implies that his patriarchal pride is as threatened by Leona’s leadership as his Euro-American culture. In herself, Leona embodies the recovery narrative that the reserve needs: she has taken responsibility for her actions, she has integrated respect for traditional culture with adaptable openness to modernity, and she has cultivated compassion.

Her off-reserve status and white boyfriend are repeatedly used to question her right to lead, but Cecil Delaronde, representing the community’s conscience, affirms “we do need someone like you. A healer, someone who’s been elsewhere.” Leona’s fictional chiefdom recalls Wilma Mankiller’s legacy (see The Cherokee Word For Water), though Leona is overwhelmed by a nightmare reserve combining issues from across Canada. Her status as an educated activist for territorial sovereignty, with one foot off the reserve, also echoes the relentless activism of Laura Kellogg, who once sarcastically described herself as “a product of almost every institution on the outside except the insane asylum and Tammany Hall.” Leona applies an addiction recovery narrative to self-government: “we can’t keep blaming Ottawa for all our problems, it’s a flawed system we have to navigate.” Faced with a revelation of child abuse, however, her defensive reaction is tragically typical: “I’ve known that man since we were kids,” before growing into a real ally for justice (sexual violence is a major theme, handled with refreshing emphasis on victim/survivor impact, though Scott’s filming of the strippers is predictably male-gazey). Leona’s struggle to keep faith with the reserve is embodied in her painfully personal struggle with her elder sister, Gail.

Gail Stoney

“If the American Nation… charges to the Indian all the demoralization it has brought upon him as his inheritance, it has heaped upon him not only plunder and outrage but the stigma of inferiority.” – Laura Kellogg

Gail Stoney is a chronic alcoholic. Where Leona embodies the reserve’s recovery narrative, Gail is Blackstone: “it’s where I belong.” Gail is sharply intelligent, sarcastically cynical, fundamentally generous and warm-hearted, with a resilient will to live, but she is also a selfish addict who combines paranoia with deeply internalized negative self-image. Michelle Thrush’s raw performance adds layers with every episode, growing into the heart of the show (plus, I would watch Michelle Thrush read a laundry list). As Leona despairs of turning the reserve around, Cecil asks, “in your counseling experience, does an addict make a turnaround overnight?” By embodying the renewal of the reserve in the personal journey of an addict, Blackstone illustrates that the perseverance to withstand setbacks, and the fortitude to resist instant gratification, are key to the entire community’s recovery. It is Cecil who most empathizes with Gail’s solitary struggle for sovereignty over herself: “please do not self-destruct… if you look really deep inside, you will find that you have your father’s strength and determination. I know it,” implying that all of her father’s qualities as chief are equally needed in this personal struggle. Whenever Chief Leona approaches Gail with assumed superiority, she is resented and rejected. Conscious of her public image, she tries to censor Gail’s problems: “everybody is watching me right now, I need you to make an effort,” which only drives Gail to give up on herself: “I quit. Save you the embarrassment.”

In moments like this, Leona’s silencing and dismissive attitude to Gail almost echoes Chief Andy’s treatment of the entire reserve. Leona also struggles to take her own advice and forgive her alcoholic mother. Complexities like this elevate Blackstone above a simplistic battle between good and evil. The enemy is within, and right next door. Leona is urged to neglect Gail by sympathetic characters, because she has “bigger problems”. Yet, if a community is a collection of individuals, what problem can be bigger than any individual’s deepest crisis? As Leona is praised for her counseling skills, she says, “there’s a lot of need for it here. Our previous chief didn’t see it as a priority,” before the show cuts to Gail’s secret drinking, that Leona herself cannot see as a priority. As Gail collapses in a ditch, the song “I Won’t Be There For You” plays. Saving Gail requires nothing but the deepest love and solidarity, to believe that Gail is capable of saving herself. Gail demands that onlookers face her pain and loss, leaving the noose which hung her daughter, Natalie, to confront Andy “every time he drives by in his fancy truck.” As Leona counsels, over a montage that includes Gail’s hospitalization and Andy’s painful relationship to his father, “what we’re trying to do here is to locate that point of brokenness. Start to find a connection to ourselves again. So we can start to be who we were truly meant to be.” Keeping faith and believing in Gail’s potential is an emotionally bruising challenge, but it is the heart of the show’s opening season.

Natalie Stoney

“They don’t know us; they don’t know what it means to be killed alive.” – Laura Kellogg

Natalie Stoney haunts Blackstone, as Laura Palmer haunts Twin Peaks. For her mother, Natalie represents the guilt of Gail’s neglect, as well as her own possible doom. Natalie’s ghost becomes the taunting voice of Gail’s negative self-image, as Tom Fraser will be for his son Andy, or as boyfriend Chris voices Leona’s urge to abandon Blackstone. For Leona herself, Natalie’s suicide is her catalyst to submit to the duty of leadership. Leona fights to challenge the social narrative that victims like Natalie are inevitably doomed: “they are not ghosts. They are children.” As a ghost, Natalie makes the trope of the “vanishing Indian” into a visible presence to be resisted. As played by Roseanne Supernault, star of Jeff Barnaby’s Rhymes For Young Ghouls, Natalie is as smart, fundamentally sweet and sarcastic as her mother. Though rape was the catalyst for Natalie’s suicide, her filmed interview with Victor, before the rape, points to deeper issues. As Victor approaches, a drugged-out Natalie slurs “you wanna fuck me too?” already understanding sexual exploitation as her only value, or her inevitable treatment. When asked about her dreams for the future, she mumbles “what future?” Her rape was an unjustifiable assault on her bodily sovereignty, but her suicide is a choice to surrender that sovereignty, inspired by this internalized sense of futurelessness. Believing that any group is inevitably doomed, whether that belief is triumphalist or pitying, is an act of psychological violence against them. Chief Andy may try to appropriate Natalie’s silenced body, to point the finger at “victimization by an apathetic, indifferent administration in Ottawa” in his neverending search for funds, but on Blackstone, Natalie will speak for herself.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Osr4GmPsmQ”]

Acing the Bechdel, confronting rape apologism, modeling female leadership… in just the trailer

Blackstone is available to watch on hulu

Brigit McCone is mad that hulu is unavailable in Ireland and hopes Blackstone gets a distribution deal with TG4. She writes and directs short films and radio dramas. Her hobbies include doodling and telling people to check out the carvings of Susan Point.

Touching Friendship in ‘Marie’s Story’

‘Marie’s Story’ dramatizes the real-life biography of Marie Heurtin, a deafblind girl who was taken in by a convent in the late nineteenth century. It’s an intimate portrayal of an unusual relationship between two young women.

Written by Max Thornton.

The relationship between Christianity and disability is complex and many-sided, encompassing stigma and pity, aid and condescension, systematic exclusion and the creation of refuge spaces – and it’s not just an academic concern for scholars of religion. Societies that took shape under the influence of western Christianity still reflect and perpetuate Christian philosophical and ethical ideas, both in cultural attitudes and in policy and law. Disability is no exception. Levitical purity codes, New Testament healing narratives, and Augustinian theology of original sin all contribute to the mishmash of ableism that pervades twenty-first century US culture.

Disability scholars and cultural critics are doing some terrific work to examine and dismantle ableism. Some of my favorites include Andrew Pulrang at Disability Thinking (and his podcast, Disability.TV), the Disability Visibility Project, and the BBC’s Ouch podcast. You don’t have to spend long reading disability criticism to learn that one of the most hated forms of disability representation in popular culture is inspiration porn. The late, wonderful, deeply mourned Stella Young put it like this:

marie's-story-inspiration-porn — Ugggghhhhh

“[In inspiration porn] we’re objectifying disabled people for the benefit of nondisabled people. The purpose of these images is to inspire you, to motivate you, so that we can look at them and think, ‘Well, however bad my life is, it could be worse. I could be that person.’ But what if you are that person?”

Hollywood in particular loves inspiration porn, to that point that watching a movie about a disabled person is a source of dread for anyone who cares about disability studies. Will the disabled person be a precious angel, too good for this sinful earth? Will they exist primarily to teach the non-disabled protagonist a lesson? Will they be a bitter cripple who gradually triumphs over this dreadful tragedy? Will I throw up in my mouth?

I approached Marie’s Story with less trepidation than usual, though, both because it’s a small French film rather than slushy Oscar-bait, and because the titular Marie is played by a Deaf actress, the talented young Ariana Rivoire. For the most part, thankfully, my confidence was well-placed.

Marie’s Story dramatizes the real-life biography of Marie Heurtin, a deafblind girl who was taken in by a convent in the late nineteenth century. The convent educated deaf children, but felt ill-equipped to teach a deafblind child who had no communication skills – until one very determined nun, Sister Marguerite, insisted on giving Marie a chance.

So far, so Miracle Worker, and in the early stages the film certainly hits a lot of beats familiar from popular narratives of Helen Keller’s life: the terrible fights with the strong-willed mentor, the transformation from wildling to neatly-coiffed well-mannered young woman, the come-to-Jesus moment of language comprehension. What’s distinctive about Marie’s Story is its convent setting and the normalization of the deaf environment (how many movies have you seen that pass the Bechdel Test in sign language as well as spoken words?).

Wisely, given popular Christianity’s reprehensible enthusiasm for the doubly nauseating Inspiration Porn With Added Jesus, Marie’s Story treads lightly around the religion aspect. No miracle healings or trite theodicies here – the most explicitly theological sequence in the film is a conversation around mortality, when Marie asks in frustration: “Who is God? Where is he? I can’t touch him.” The film as a whole functions as a panentheistic affirmation that she absolutely can touch God: despite Christianity’s emphasis on sight and sound as the primary senses for divine encounter, Marie’s alternative embodiment is the locus for divine encounter through touch and scent. From the opening sequence, in which Sister Marguerite climbs a tree and, looking for all the world like The Creation of Adam, extends a hand to a frightened Marie, this film stresses the power of bodily touch.

The film doesn’t entirely escape certain inspiration porn pitfalls, primarily in voiceovers of Sister Marguerite’s diary entries where she gushes about how much she’s learned from Marie and describes Marie’s transformation in weird racialized and colonial terms of “savagery” and “imprisonment.” However, Marguerite’s own chronic illness keeps the relationship from being too one-sided. It’s in the final third that the film really shines, as Marie develops agency and character of her own, even tending to Marguerite just as the nun had previously cared for her. In perhaps the most moving sequence, Marie teaches her parents how to greet her in sign language, with Marguerite translating and facilitating but never speaking for or over Marie.

Ultimately, this is not a film about Saint Sister Marguerite and her noble civilizing mission to help a poor deafblind girl. Instead, it’s an intimate portrayal of an unusual relationship between two young women (watch for a scene where they lie in a meadow together like Bella and Edward), a quietly beautiful story of faith and female friendship.

Max Thornton blogs at Gay Christian Geek, tumbles as trans substantial, and tweets at @RainicornMax. He studies theology, disability, and gender, and gets really excited when they all come together.

The Best Mates You’ll Ever Have: ‘Misfits’ the TV Series

I caught up on the series and decided that hands down, it’s one of the best genre TV shows around. It’s a success not because of the kooky Sci Fi aspects of the show, but because of the diversity of the characters in race, class, and language, and also the engaging representation of women. The characters all start off as archetypes in the beginning of the series, but slowly over the course of the first season, layers are revealed and the audience grows to love each misfit for being the messy and vulnerable people they really are.

I was introduced to the British TV show Misfits by accident in 2012. In the parlance of my inner voice, the show became “my shit.”

I couldn’t believe I’d never heard of the Misfits show before. Moi, who was so on top of the smart Sci Fi British flick Attack the Block the previous year. Yours truly who was always looking for cool Sci Fi movies and TV shows from other countries–especially if they had people of color in them. I was kinda miffed with myself, especially since Misfits had been around since 2009. Not only had I missed it, but my ass was really late on the come up too. The shame!

Alisha (Antonia Thomas), Curtis (Nathan Stewart-Jarrett, Kelly (Lauren Socha), Nathan (Robert Sheehan), and Simon (Iwan Rheon)

At the start of the series, Curtis (Nathan Stewart-Jarrett), Alisha (Antonia Thomas), Kelly (Lauren Socha), Simon (Iwan Rheon), and Nathan (Robert Sheehan), all have committed minor offenses that have made them delinquents who must perform community service for a local community center. Forced to wear loud orange jumpers, they are required to serve out a term of about three months under the guidance of a probation officer. Most of their service work is picking up dog shit from the streets, helping elderly citizens, or collecting trash and debris at various assigned locations. Most times the misfits sit around bitching on the roof of their community center, trying to figure one another out. It becomes clear who the archetypes are early on.

Curtis is the local track star, accustomed to getting girls with his athletic prowess. Alisha is the typical gorgeous girl who every guy wants, and spends a lot of time fluffing her curls, or putting on make-up. (What isn’t typical about her from my Black American perspective is that this Black girl is the ultimate hottie for all the boys and men near her, Black, white, Indian, Asian,etc). Kelly is the tough girl from the wrong side of the tracks, ready to fight anyone who she thinks makes fun of how she talks (a class giveaway) or infers she’s just a chav. Simon is a socially awkward introvert. Nathan, the comic relief of the series, has a “live for today” attitude that annoys everyone. They are truly misfits among themselves, and in normal circumstances, would never choose to be around one another.

While performing their community service outdoors, they are assaulted by a freak thunderstorm that hurls fist-sized hail stones down upon them. Unable to reach the indoor safety of the community center, they are all zapped by lightening. Surviving the preternatural lightening strike, the crew discovers that they each have developed unique powers. They have to master them quickly because as the show progresses, these powers will help save them from other victims of the freak storm. Victims who become antagonists. Victims who use their unusual powers to bring crisis, chaos, and even death for some of the misfits.

And talk about powers.

Curtis, who has deep regrets about his failed track career, now has the ability to go back in time and change history.

Alisha, known for having casual sex without regards to the feelings of her partners, has the power to make anyone desire her sexually by simply touching them. Even if she isn’t attracted to them. She can no longer experience the joy of human contact in any form.

Kelly, who was always conscious and on edge about how she thought people viewed her, can now read minds. She gets to hear exactly what people think about everything.

Simon, who already felt invisible and overlooked by people, literally becomes invisible at will.

And Nathan, the class clown and bothersome trickster who lived in the moment? He doesn’t have a power. Envious of the others, he spends the entire first season trying to figure out what his power could be. Eventually he dies at the end of the season. No worries though. We learn with Nathan that he’s an immortal. Great. The most annoying character will last for eternity.

The rest of the series and consecutive seasons (five in all), follow their trials and tribulations, and if this had been a lesser show, probably wouldn’t have held my interest after a couple of episodes. But the characters are so rich. And there’s lots of sex, drugs, dance raves, fantastic background music, and the best romantic pairing of two unlikely people. There’s no way this show could fail me. And did I mention lots of sex?

Kelly (Lauren Socha) and Alisha (Antonia Thomas) share a little girl time.

My favorite aspects of the show (besides the sex positivity) are the growth of the characters and the depictions of the women. What intrigues me about Kelly the tough girl, and Alisha the hottie, is the reversal of the depiction of white and Black female characters. Know this: had Misfits been an American show, Kelly, the white female, would have been the desired woman with the apex standard of beauty. Alisha would be portrayed as the toughie, the strong black woman from the wrong side of the tracks. It is so refreshing to see a Black woman centered as beautiful to all men on TV. (I must point out that Alisha walks a thin tightrope of the Jezebel trope that haunts Black women in the media. But her character arc supersedes my Jezebel concerns later in the series.)

Misfits introduces a lot of Black female minor characters who we meet in various episodes, all of them (except for one who has beef with Kelly in an early episode) are centered as beautiful and desirable by all men. To white women, and non-Black women of color, this may not seem like a big deal, mainly because white female beauty standards across the globe are heavily touted as the ideal—straight hair, thin lips and nose, slender body, and light-colored eyes. Black women the world over spend billions trying to attain a white standard of beauty. (Hair weaves and relaxers, skin bleaching creams, rhinoplasty etc.) On Misfits, Black British women of all hues, body types, and hair textures, are treated as equally desirable as their white counterparts. I watched the show thinking, “Man, the creators of this show have love for the sisters.” This was happening in 2009 when Misfits debuted. In America, it was not until Scandal came on the scene in 2012, that there was a sexy lead Black female being fought over by men (especially non-Black men) on a major TV network. Sleepy Hollow and Gotham have joined the mix in 2014 bringing much attention and centering the beauty of actresses Nicole Beharie, Lyndie Greenwood, and Jada Pinkett-Smith. But Misfits was doing this on the regular since 2009.

Black Girls Are Magic. Alisha (The Flawless Antonia Thomas)

Kelly is a treat for me also because for one thing, she is what the old-timers call a broad. Not necessarily a lady, or a bitch, but a woman who can handle her own. Kelly is bawdy, boozy, and will knuckle up on a dude with a quickness. She’s a working-class plain Jane on the surface, but will curse you out with English slang, break into a building if she needs to without skipping a beat, and smoke you out with some herb if you need to talk it out. She’s built like a Rubenesque Goddess, and yeah, her bra may not fit properly with all that thickness, but she cleans up swell when she needs to, and she’s loyal to her mates. A boss chick who will ride or die for the misfit crew. And I love her for it. Her beauty comes from inside and through her actions. She’s not a Mary Sue, nor side-kick babe. Both Kelly and Alisha are treated as equals among the male characters, and their leadership at various times has saved them from the bad guys. As Season 3 commences, Kelly and Alisha are unlikely friends for life. Their bond is genuine. And the men grow from viewing them as possible sexual conquests to one of the homies.

My Gangster Goddess, Kelly (Lauren Socha)

My favorite Misfits. Alisha, Kelly, and Simon. — My favorite Misfits: Alisha, Kelly, and Simon.

Misfits plays with gender roles in Season 3. The crew loses their powers, but are given the opportunity to acquire new powers from a “power dealer.” After losing his time-traveling skills, Curtis gains the power to change his sex at will. He uses it to run track again, but this time on a Women’s team. He names his female self “Melissa” and strikes up a friendship with a fellow female runner. After having sex with the female teammate, as a man (and as a woman later) he soon discovers that the sexual prowess he thought he had was really bad self-serving sex. He also learns inadvertently as Melissa, that he’s a whiny chap that needs to grow up and get over is track star past. What’s a guy to do? He starts self-pleasuring himself as a woman to learn how to really make love to a woman as a man. When Simon asks Curtis if he’s a lesbian, Curtis replies, “I don’t think there’s an official term for this shit.” I want to tell him, “Yes love, it’s called being free and genderfluid.” There’s an honesty here that is refreshing. We are a part of Curtis/Melissa’s discovery of non-gendered sexuality. Curtis masters autoerotic pleasure to become a better lover. And much like Dustin Hoffman in Tootsie, Curtis becomes a better man by being a great woman. Of course, things get a little wonky when Curtis gets himself pregnant!

Venus as a Boy. Curtis is about to gender swap.

I'm coming out! Melissa, a.k.a Curtis (played by Kehinde Fadipe) — I’m coming out! Melissa, a.k.a Curtis (played by Kehinde Fadipe)

With all the fun, zany, and often poignant things that happen to all the characters on Misfits, my favorite character out of the bunch is Simon. Simon has the most dramatic character arc, literally doing a 180 degree turn from when we first meet his shy, bullied, and often sketchy behavior in Season 1. He has a good heart, but lacks the confidence to be the true leader he really is deep inside. Hands down, he has the best genre love story I’ve seen in awhile. His transformation and how it happens is based on his love affair with Alisha. Trust me when I say, you will root for these two unlikely lovers to be together forever. Simon sees Alisha’s inner beauty, and Alisha sees his inner strength of character. It is real true love, and how it’s handled in Misfits is brilliant.

My boo. Simon (Iwan Rheon) — My boo: Simon (Iwan Rheon)

True Love, Simon and Alisha. (Iwan Rheon and Antonia Thomas) — True love: Simon and Alisha (Iwan Rheon and Antonia Thomas)

Sadly for me, there were major cast changes in Seasons 4-5. All my favorite characters were gone, replaced with new faces and new powers. The fun continued, but it was harder for me to enjoy because I was so invested in the original cast. I missed the sisterhood of Kelly and Alisha, and I especially missed the surprising and sweet Simon/Alisha romance. With mates like these, you want to hand out at the pub forever. Trust me. Go watch it now. You won’t regret it.

Freak lightening storm that started it all.

I even learned to love snarky Nathan (Robert Sheehan)

Female Friendship: The Roundup

Check out all of the posts for our Female Friendship Theme Week here.

Pretty Little Friendships by Victor Kirksey-Brown

I don’t know if the writers portray this type of friendship and steer away from many of the harmful female friend tropes on purpose, or if it’s just because there’s no way to fit them in with all the other crazy shit that’s going on, but the strong and positive friendship these girls share is one of the reasons I enjoy Pretty Little Liars.

“I’m a Veronica”: Power and Transformation Through Female Friendships in Heathers by Alize Emme

A snappy dark comedy set in a high school bubble, Heathers touches on difficult subjects including murder and suicide, and nonchalantly addresses major social issues like female friendship and power. The friendships we are introduced to steer every aspect of the story as it progresses and bring us into a world where female characters aren’t just cardboard cutouts but multidimensional, seriously flawed, and sinfully interesting young women.

It Takes Two for Friendship by Laura Money

To me, this movie is all about a deep female friendship. Yes, it is a bit narcissistic on the surface – instantly falling in love with someone who looks just like you – but it really captures the essence of friendship, connection, and trust. Alyssa and Amanda realise that they look alike on their first meeting but soon understand that they are also both deeply unsatisfied with particular elements in their lives.

“She’s My Best Friend”: Friendship and the Girls of Teen Wolf by Andrea Taylor

The girls of Beacon Hills, especially Allison and Lydia, are loyal, dedicated friends. They help each other out and they encourage each other. They stand up for each other. They’re best friends with all the complexities that relationship implies. There are better, or at least more consistent, examples in media to turn to, but the perfect moments of female friendship in Teen Wolf mean a lot to me.

You’ll Never Walk Alone: Heavenly Creatures and the Power of Teenage Friendship by Caroline Madden

Peter Jackson shows the girls interacting and playing in these worlds. “The Fourth World” is a beautiful garden. Borvonia is a dark and delightfully wicked world of castle intrigue and courtly love. Seeing the girls in the worlds they’ve created demonstrates the extent of the fantasies and the pleasures their imaginative and playful friendship brings. Pauline and Juliet have an intense friendship; they don’t want anyone to stand in their way of spending time together or stop the joy that it brings for them.

Why This Bitch Loves the B— by Mychael Blinde

I avoided Don’t Trust the B— in Apartment 23 for quite a while; at a cursory Netflix glance it looked like anti-feminist tripe featuring catty women pitted against each other in a false dichotomy of “nice” and “bitch.” Then I watched it.

I could not have been more wrong.

The Queer Female Friendship of Frances Ha by Sarah Smyth

For Frances Ha is not a film where “boy-meets-girl,” and there is definitely no diamond ring. The love story of Frances Ha is between the titular character, Frances (Greta Gerwig) and her best friend, Sophie (Mickey Sumner), and it is precisely this friendship between two women which questions, resists, and challenges the definition of love posed by the (primarily) heterosexual and (almost always) heteronormative romcom genre.

I Married a Monster: Female Friendship in The Other Woman by Chantell Monique

Instead of hating and seeing each other as competition, the women form a bond, increasing their woman-power. Kate decides that she wants to make Mark pay for his unfaithfulness saying, “I want him to have to start over,” but she’s afraid she doesn’t have the killer instincts to do it. Her new friends step in, telling her that she does and that if they work together, they can get their revenge.

In Spite of Mean Girls: The Radical Vision of Pretty Little Liars by Jessica Freeman-Slade

In her bestselling collection ‘Bad Feminist,’ Roxane Gay starts the listicle entitled “How to Be Friends with Another Woman” with this as the very first item: “Abandon the cultural myth that all female friendships must be bitchy, toxic, or competitive. This myth is like heels and purses—pretty but designed to SLOW women down.”

Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion: Bosom Buddies Against The World by Emma Kat Richardson

While there’s quite a bit that’s frivolous about Romy and Michele – the film’s tagline is “The Blonde Leading the Blonde” – there is also, much more importantly, the heartwarming love story at the film’s creamy center. But this love has nothing to do with the complications and disappointments that romantic relationships can bring; rather, it’s what the Greeks called agape, or a deeply spiritual, passionate love between intimate friends.

We’re All for One, We’re One for All in A League of Their Own by Rhianna Shaheen

At the end, many of the league’s players reunite to be inducted into the National Baseball Hall of Fame. Old friendships rekindle and emotions soar. After following these women through what must have been the best time they ever had in their youth it is refreshing to see authentic portrayals of them as older women. It feels like their lives are unfolding before my eyes.

Walking and Talking With Non-Toxic Women Friends by Ren Jender

A short clip at the beginning of writer-director Nicole Holofcener’s first film, 1996’s Walking and Talking, lets us know that Amelia (Catherine Keener) and Laura (Anne Heche) have been friends since adolescence. Both are in their 30s and living in New York City–Laura with her boyfriend Frank, and Amelia alone in the sort of sunlit airy apartment someone with her job, even in a pre-gentrified New York (which, like many films from then and now is also mysteriously bereft of people of color), would never be able to afford.

Practical Magic: Sisters as Friends, Mirrors by Olivia London-Webb

This is why I love this movie. I have two real sisters in my life. One born and one chosen. I have strong powerful women everywhere I look–my friends, my mother, my sister-in-law, and my mother-in-law. I would go through hell for them. They would go through hell for me. What we are more than anything else are each other’s mirrors.

Martyrs: Female Friendships Can Be Bloody Complex by Dierdre Crimmins

Often in feminist criticism female friendships are discussed as a great barometer for the authenticity of the female characters. Strong bonds and healthy interactions serve the dual purpose of highlighting positive female roles and for showing the many dimensions of women as whole persons. I propose that in order to continue the push to show women as well-developed characters we also need representations of flawed female friendships.

St. Trinian’s: Girlish Wiles and Cunning Friendships by Bethany Ainsworth-Cole

Now whilst this seems like an odd collection of friendships, it is an important selection of lessons. It fosters the idea that girls working together will always be better than scheming men, and will always sort things out even if they do need help. Girls are fearless: willing to steal, blow up iron bars, fight back against creeps, and speak out. And most importantly, it’s OK to make mistakes. The girls also enjoy themselves doing it.

Best Frenemies Forever by Emanuela Betti

Can women be friends? Or, most importantly, can two women who share the same man be friends? The depiction of genuinely loving and caring female friends has found its way onto many movies and TV shows, but when it comes to the idea of a more complex situation—the “frenemies”—it’s harder to find characters that do it justice. There is a shallow notion that when two women want the same man, they turn into hair-pulling, catfighting brats.

The First Wives Club and First World “Feminism” by Amanda Lyons

But the focus on “getting everything” was a little hard to stomach from women living in huge condos in the heart of New York with an interior designer on their payroll. Somehow it felt like the message was getting a little lost in the middle of all the high-society hob-nobbing – there was nothing particularly universal about it, and any feminism that was being communicated was certainly of a rarefied kind that most of us wouldn’t be able to access.

Scarlett and Melanie: The Ultimate BFFs by Jennifer Hollie Bowles

Regardless of how psychological or interpretive you want to get with Scarlett and Melanie’s friendship, it serves as an invaluable example for how women can accept, value, and interact with one another.

Seed & Spark: Female Friendship On Screen–Art Imitating Life by Liz Cardenas Franke

But what if I spent my time, instead, helping another female filmmaker make her movie involving female friendship? Wouldn’t that be just as meaningful? And could it perhaps be making an even bigger statement—promoting the “cause,” so to speak?

Homegirls Make Some Noise: Antônia and the Magic of Black Female Friendships by Lisa Bolekaja

Classism, racism, sexism, and colorism are very real in the world of Antônia. But the film shows us a fresh narrative of Black women succeeding despite living in a slum, despite poverty, despite violence and all the ills that pervade real life. For just a moment, I’m able to watch Black women who are free to be themselves. They don’t have to unpack external baggage based on a checklist of intersections involving their skin color, social status, or gender. That is a rare treat. It’s their tight friendship that sustains them. Music is friendship, and friendship is music.

Kamikaze Girls: When a Lolita Meets a Yanki by Jasmine Sanchez

Julia: A Portrait of Heroic Friendship in an Age of Darkness by Rachael Johnson

Although peppered with flashbacks to the women’s childhood and youth, Julia is set during their formative academic and professional years. The film chronicles the women’s personal and political lives in the decade that saw the rise of Fascism. We witness how the fight against those dark forces transforms both friends.

9 to 5: The Necessity of Female Friendships at Work by Deb Rox

Like the three fates, the friends conjure a life-altering force by listening to each other, by laughing, by being friends. The scenes where they envisioned the demise of their “sexist, egotistical, lying, hypocritical bigot” of a boss start to play out for real in madcap, accidental, and intentional ways. As the fabric unrolls, each woman experiences being supported by the other two and feels compelled to help her friends. In their confusions, cover-ups, and retribution schemes, Violet, Doralee, and Judy knit together a solid friendship where each character finds strength and support. And manage to avoid getting caught. It’s the little things.

“I Love You More Than My Luggage”: Female Friendships and Fertility by Joanne Bardsley

The implication of the relative richness of the representations of female friendships at either end of the fertile period is that at these times the female is free to explore relationships which are not sexual but during the fertile period the female’s most important relationships are sexual. This is damaging and dangerous as it is a structural reinforcement of the objectification of women. We only see our friendships represented on screen when we are no longer of use to the patriarchy, when we have either yet to serve our function or have already performed our reproductive duties. It is only in the margins that we are free to pursue our own interests.

Making Sure Female Friendship Films Aren’t Forgotten: Take Care of My Cat by Adam Hartzell

The film is about the evolving friendships of five young South Korean women as they step away from their technical high school into a less certain world. Their degrees of closeness shift as they consider their futures in the face of particular restrictions in work and life opportunities due to gender and class discrimination.

Frances Ha: Chasing Sophie by Rachel Wortherly

In my experience, people who have seen this film often mistake Sophie’s actions as abandoning Frances for her boyfriend, Patch. The fact that it happens differently is a breath of fresh air. Rather, it represents an early point in which audiences experience the divide between Frances and Sophie in physical and emotional aspects. Sophie sees the opportunity to move on and fulfill her dreams, while Frances’ dream is fractured. The story of “us” that precedes this action becomes their separate, respective stories: “the story of Frances” and “the story of Sophie.”

Fearless Friendship! Usagi and Rei by Kathryn Diaz

Growing up isn’t cute. At six or 16 or anywhere in between, figuring out who you are and what your place in the world is isn’t sparkly fun-times. The best you can hope for is to have a real friend to muddle through the worst of it with you, someone who is having just as much of a crazy time as you are, who will run to your defense, give you pep talks when you’re about to face the Dark Kingdom, and shamelessly make fun of you for being such a crybaby after you call her a meanie.

What Now and Then Taught Me About Friendship by Kim Hoffman

Summer has always been a magical time where childhood lingers, and every time I get on a swingset again, or have a hankering for a push pop, or throw on my Now and Then soundtrack, I think of my childhood and feel invigorated with that rush of youth. I think of Taylor and Sara, and a time when we were so eager to make our own adventures. I also think of those four girls from the Gaslight Addition; somehow they affected my life by making me appreciate what it means to be and have a true friend in this wild world.

Reality Bites: A Tale of Two Ladies by Beatrix Coles

While a fun exercise, it’s really just as counter-productive to reduce these two women to their Reality Bites character archetypes as it is pointless. But yet, there is something familiar and soothing in these roles. We want the pretty girl who falls from grace punished, just as we want the girl wearing glasses to have a political point of view and to not be too concerned about whether she has a boyfriend.

Feisty and Heisty: Female Friendship in The First Wives Club by Artemis Linhart

The main characters’ friendship goes way back: a flashback shows the group in college, together with their valedictorian and close friend Cynthia. The four of them vow to be friends forever. This, however, turns out to be easier said than done. After graduation, the four of them lose touch and are only reunited years later, with the occasion being Cynthia’s funeral. After her husband took financial advantage of her and then left her for a younger woman, she commits suicide. At a post-funeral get-together, the three women bond over their own failed marriages and spite for their ex-husbands. Their friendship is rekindled as they decide to settle the score with their exploitative exes.

When Friendships Fray: Me Without You, Not Waving But Drowning, and Brokedown Palace by Elizabeth Kiy

Not all friendships are built to last. Teenage friendships are little romances between two people, tiny beautiful, impossibly fragile things that break apart upon touch or close examination. Just as a true romantic relationship between two unformed people rarely lasts, so often we grow out of our early friendships. Because so much of growing up means developing into a person who can live in the world, films about the ends of friendships can be just as satisfying coming of age stories as the typical narratives of beginnings. Each ending after all, is the beginning of something else.

“We Stick Together”: Rebellion, Solidarity, and Girl Crushes in Foxfire by Jenny Lapekas

In the spirit of Boys on the Side, along with a dose of teen angst, Foxfire is perhaps the most bad ass chick flick ever. Many Angelina Jolie fans are not aware of this 1996 phenomenon, where Angie makes a name for herself as a rebellious free spirit who changes the lives of four young women in New York. Based on the Joyce Carol Oates novel by the same name, ‘Foxfire’ is the epitome of girl power and female friendship, a pleasant departure from the competition and spitefulness often portrayed between women characters on the big screen (see Bride Wars and Just Go with It). However, it does seem that Hollywood is catching on as of late, and producing films that cater to a more progressive viewership (see Bridesmaids and The Other Woman). When I first saw Foxfire around 16 years old, I stole the VHS copy from the video store where I worked at the time.

“We Stick Together”: Rebellion, Female Solidarity, and Girl Crushes in ‘Foxfire’

In the spirit of ‘Boys on the Side,’ along with a dose of teen angst, ‘Foxfire’ is perhaps the most bad ass chick flick ever. Many Angelina Jolie fans are not aware of this 1996 phenomenon, where Angie makes a name for herself as a rebellious free spirit who changes the lives of four young women in New York. Based on the Joyce Carol Oates novel by the same name, ‘Foxfire’ is the epitome of girl power and female friendship, a pleasant departure from the competition and spitefulness often portrayed between women characters on the big screen (see ‘Bride Wars’ and ‘Just Go with It’). However, it does seem that Hollywood is catching on as of late, and producing films that cater to a more progressive viewership (see ‘Bridesmaids’ and ‘The Other Woman’). When I first saw ‘Foxfire’ around 16 years old, I stole the VHS copy from the video store where I worked at the time.

This post by Jenny Lapekas appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

In the spirit of Boys on the Side, along with a dose of teen angst, Foxfire is perhaps the most bad ass chick flick ever. Many Angelina Jolie fans are not aware of this 1996 phenomenon, where Angie makes a name for herself as a rebellious free spirit who changes the lives of four young women in New York. Based on the Joyce Carol Oates novel by the same name, Foxfire is the epitome of girl power and female friendship, a pleasant departure from the competition and spitefulness often portrayed between women characters on the big screen (see Bride Wars and Just Go with It). However, it does seem that Hollywood is catching on as of late, and producing films that cater to a more progressive viewership (see Bridesmaids and The Other Woman). When I first saw Foxfire around 16 years old, I stole the VHS copy from the video store where I worked at the time.

Angelina Jolie’s shaggy hair and tomboy style in the film, along with her portrayal of the rebellious Legs Sadovsky, play with gender expectations, challenging our assumptions pertaining to clothing, gait, etc. Legs’ biker boots and leather jacket highlight the general heteronormative tendency to find discomfort in these roles and depictions. An androgynous drifter, Legs oozes sex appeal and promotes the questioning of authority. She teaches the girls to own their happiness, to correct the injustices they encounter, and to assert themselves to the men who think themselves superior to women. Legs’ appearance in Foxfire is paramount; she’s even mistaken for a boy when she breaks into the local high school. A security guard yells, “Young man, stop when I’m talking to you.” We see this confusion repeat itself when Goldie’s mother tells her daughter, “There’s a girl…or whatever…here to see you.”

How can we resist developing a girl crush on Angie in this role?

The film’s subplot involves a romance of sorts between artist Maddy and Legs, the mysterious stranger, while Maddy feels a large distance growing between her and her boyfriend (a young Peter Facinelli from the Twilight saga). The intensity of the “girl-crush” shared between Maddy and Legs is akin to that of Thelma and Louise; while we come to understand that Legs is gay, Maddy’s platonic love is enough for the troubled runaway. Legs also assures Maddy after sleeping on her floor one rainy night, “Don’t worry, you’re not my type.” Similar to my discussion of the reunion between Miranda and Steve in Sex and the City: the Movie, the two young women coming together on a bridge is heavy with symbolism, especially when Legs climbs to the top and dances while Maddy looks on in horror and professes that she’s afraid of heights: a nice precursor for the unfolding narrative, which centers on Legs guiding the girls and easing their fears, especially those associated with female adolescence and gaining new insight into their surroundings and how they fit into their environment.

This scene may not be aware of itself as being set up as another Romeo and Juliet visual, but we realize perhaps Legs is a better suitor than Maddy’s boyfriend, whose male privilege hinders his understanding of what Maddy needs. — While this scene may not be aware of itself as being set up as a nice Romeo and Juliet visual, we realize perhaps Legs is a better suitor than Maddy’s boyfriend, whose male privilege hinders his understanding of what Maddy needs.

In a somber and almost zen-like scene involving Maddy and Legs, they profess their love for one another outside the abandoned home the gang has claimed as their own. Maddy says, “If I told you I loved you, would you take it the wrong way?” Obviously, while Maddy doesn’t want Legs to think she’s in love with her, she wants to make clear that the two have bonded for life and are now inextricably linked in sisterhood. Maddy indirectly asks if Legs would take her with when she decides to move on, and Legs hints that Maddy may not be prepared for her nomadic lifestyle. The platonic romance shared by both young women culminates in tears and heartache when Legs must inevitably leave.

Almost as if to kiss Legs, Maddy tenderly touches her face atop the gang’s house.

Legs is the glue that binds these young women, and she literally appears from nowhere. Her entrances are consistently memorable: she initially meets Maddy as she’s trespassing on school property, she climbs to Maddy’s window asking for refuge from the rain (another Romeo and Juliet moment), and eventually takes off for nowhere, leaving the girls stupefied and yet more lucid than ever. Legs is something that happens to these girls, a force of nature, a breath of fresh air. When she tells Maddy that she was thrown out of her old school “for thinking for herself,” we can safely assume it was just that–refusing to conform to the standards of others. The unlikely friendship that forms amongst this diverse group of girls clarifies the idea that this gang dynamic has found them, not the other way around; the pressed need for the collective feminine is what brings the girls together, rather than some vendetta against men.

Although Legs tattoos each of the girls in honor of their time together, they know they won't need scars to remember Legs. — Although Legs tattoos each of the girls in honor of their time together, they know they won’t need scars to remember Legs.

Legs sports a tattoo that reads “Audrey”: her mother, who was killed in a drunk driving accident, and we clearly see in the film’s final scenes that Legs suffers from some serious daddy issues, when she angrily announces that “fathers mean nothing.” Delving briefly into Legs’ painful past, we discover that she never knew her father. The quickly maturing Rita explains to Legs, “This isn’t about you.” Each of the girls has their own set of issues within the film: Rita is being sexually molested by her scumbag biology teacher, Mr. Buttinger, Goldie is a drug addict whose father beats her, Violet is dubbed a “slut,” by the school’s stuck-up cheerleaders, and Maddy struggles to balance school, her photography, and her boyfriend, who is dumbfounded by Legs’ influence on his typically well-behaved girlfriend.

After the girls beat up Buttinger, Legs warns him to think before inappropriately touching any more female students.

In an especially significant scene, the football players from school who continually harass the girls attempt to abduct Maddy by forcing her into a van. The confrontations between the groups progressively escalate throughout the movie, and climax after Coach Buttinger is apparently fired for sexually harassing several female students. Legs shows up donning a switchblade and orders the boys to let her friend go. Of course, the pair steal the van and pick up their girlfriends on a high speed cruise to nowhere, which ends in an exciting police chase and Legs losing control and crashing, a metaphor for the gang’s imminent downfall. The threat of sexual assault dissolved by a female ally, followed by police pursuit and a car crash has a lovely Thelma & Louise quality, as well. The motivation here is to avoid being swept up in a misogynistic culture of victim-blaming. What’s interesting about this scene is that another girl from school, who’s in cahoots with these sleazy guys, actually lures Maddy to the waiting group of boys, knowing what’s to come. Meanwhile, Maddy tells Cyndi that she’d escort any girl somewhere who doesn’t feel safe, highlighting the betrayal at work here. Cyndi, the outsider, exploits Maddy’s feminist sensibilities, her unspoken drive for female solidarity and the resistance of male violence to fulfill a violent, misogynist agenda and put Maddy in harm’s way. Later, in the van, Goldie excitedly yells, “Maddy almost got raped, and we just stole this car!” as if this is a source of exhilaration or a mark of resiliency. Perhaps we’d correct her by shifting the blame from the “almost-victim” to her attacker: “Dana and his boys almost raped Maddy.”

Legs says, “Let her out, you stupid fuck.”

Obviously, these are young women just blossoming in their feminist ideals, on the path to realization, and just beginning to question the patriarchal agenda they find themselves a part of in this awkward stage of young adulthood. It’s in this queer in-between state, straddling womanhood and adolescence, that we find Maddy, Legs, Violet, Goldie, and Rita, on the cusp of articulating their justified outrage. We may also question, how does one almost get raped? While the girls of Foxfire are young and somewhat inexperienced, with Legs’ help, they quickly obtain this sort of unpleasant, universal knowledge that males can perpetrate sexual violence in order to “put women in their place.” Dana announces, “You girls are getting a little big for yourselves.” We can’t have that. Women who grow, gain confidence, and challenge sexist and oppressive norms can make waves and upset lots of people. While the girls are initially hesitant in trying to find their way and make sense of their lives, Legs is the powerful catalyst for this transition from the young and feminine to the wise and feminist. While the high school jocks attempt to reclaim the power they feel has been threatened or stolen by this group of girls, Legs continues to challenge gender expectations by utilizing violence as well.

As she hitches a ride, Legs tearfully says, “You’re my heart, Maddy.”

Not only does this film pass the Bechdel Test with flying colors, it almost feels as if it’s a joke when the girls do manage to discuss men–like the topic is not something they take seriously or that boys rest only on the periphery of their lives. While Maddy suffers silently in terms of her artistic prowess and boyfriend drama, Rita–seemingly the prudest and most sheltered of the gang–talks casually about masturbation and penis size. However, it’s important to note that when men do make their way into the conversation, it’s at rare, lighthearted moments when the girls are not guarded or suspicious of the tyrannical and predatory men who seem to surround them. The penis-size discussion between Rita and Violet, we must admit, is also quite self-serving and objectifying. Rather than obsess over their appearances or the approval of boys, the girls’ most ecstatic moment is when Violet receives an anonymous note from a younger girl at school, another student Buttinger was harassing who is thankful for what the gang did. The fact that Violet is so pleased that she could help a friendly stranger who was also a target of the same perverted teacher says a lot about the gang’s goals and identity.

Thanks to Legs, Maddy overcomes her fear of heights.

Maddy and Legs recognize something in one another, and although theirs is not a sexual relationship, it is no doubt intimate and meaningful. With an amazing soundtrack that includes Wild Strawberries, L7 (wanna fling tampons, anyone?), and Luscious Jackson, and boasting a cast that includes Angelina Jolie and Hedy Burress, Foxfire is undeniably feminist in its message and narrative. With the help of Legs, the girls find agency, and with it, each other. Although most of the girls have been failed by men in some way, Legs offers hope in female friendship and lets her sisters know that male-perpetrated violence can be combated with a switchblade and a swift kick to the balls. Legs arrives like a whirlwind in Maddy’s life and leaves her changed forever. The lovely ladies of Foxfire will make you want to form a girl gang, dangle off bridges, and break into your old high school’s art room just to stick it to the man.

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

Feisty and Heisty: Female Friendship in ‘The First Wives Club’

This guest post by Artemis Linhart appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

This made-by-men film navigates female friendships through the proverbial battle of the sexes, steering clear of “a feminist manifesto,” unleashing just what it deems feasible. This is the premise, which sounds much worse than it turns out to be.

Three mid-40s women whose husbands have left them for younger women decide it’s time to opt out of misery and take matters into their own hands. Thus forms the First Wives Club. Assembling Goldie Hawn, Bette Midler, and Diane Keaton makes for a true 90s Dream Team of female energy. Who wouldn’t want to be a member of a club like that?

While a desire for revenge starts out to be the foundation of The Club, the driving force behind it soon proves to be the substantial companionship the three of them share.

When it doesn’t all pan out at first, a feud arises that splits the trio up temporarily. They lash out at each other in a way only close friends can and reconcile accordingly. The big fight is overcome and it is emphasized that there are more important things than silly catfights – specifically friendship and, in their case, the pressing issues at hand.

There is a lesson to be learned here – one that transcends the supposed target audience of the middle-aged woman, as well as the decades, and connects with more recent cinematic works focusing on female relationships. In order to end the notorious “Mean Girls” spirit, there needs to be a shift in perspective – starting with an awareness of the significance of establishing and maintaining support among females. By vanquishing the damaging representation of the “Girl vs. Girl” trope, The First Wives Club is a good example of teaching adolescents the values of female solidarity, which, in turn, is an important pillar of everyday feminism.

However, the key demographic of the film is not to be disparaged. Amidst the rather ageist “Girl Power”-craze of the 90s, it focuses on one of the movie industry’s lesser-discussed subjects. This is addressed directly in a self-referencing statement made by Goldie Hawn’s character: “There are only three ages for women in Hollywood: Babe, District Attorney and Driving Miss Daisy.” The film itself makes room for this overlooked, often excluded group of people and places it in a feminist context.

Triumphant Triumvirate

As the First Wives Club takes shape, the three women rise to the occasion and take on the challenge full-scale. This allows for the power dynamics of the group to shift and become more balanced. Annie (Diane Keaton) leaves her old pushover-self behind and takes charge. Elise (Goldie Hawn) gets off her high horse and Brenda (Bette Midler) gains more confidence in the face of her ex-husband’s new fiancée (satirized aptly by Sarah Jessica Parker, who rode her broomstick alongside Bette Midler just three years prior in Hocus Pocus, a female friendship tale of the witchy kind).

Owing to their new-and-improved friendship, they each gain strength and build each other up along the way. What follows is a buoyant heist show with slapstick galore – all of this against the backdrop of the good cause, the big picture, the women power. Indeed, they have the full support of one of New York’s society grande dames (Maggie Smith), who, too, was once a first wife (as well as a second, third, and fourth). Unconditional support also comes from Annie’s Daughter and Brenda’s boss, as well as a handful of cameos by the likes of Gloria Steinem and Ivana Trump.

After settling their own issues, they proceed to step it up a notch and help other women in need. As they found the Cynthia Swann Griffin Crisis Center for Women, the trio truly rises to the top – of society, the media, and the moral code – their (granted, naïve) objective being that no woman will have to suffer the same fate as their friend Cynthia.

Based on a novel by Olivia Goldsmith, this film is written, directed and produced by men. Whereas in the movie there are certainly a few problems with the representation of women and their actions, they seem less grave without direct comparison to the book. In view of the film version being constructed as a lighthearted comedy, there are a few content-related details worth mentioning.

The general tone of the much more progressive novel is darker and more serious. Here, the punishment for the ex-husbands is more brutal, while the female characters are portrayed as multi-dimensional – as opposed to their cinematic depiction, which is shrill, occasionally hysterical and lacks depth. Especially the roles of the new girlfriends are particularly cardboard in Hugh Wilson’s version.

In contrast to the film, the story is about more than revenge – it focuses on empowerment and actively addresses the notion that women should not feel afraid to be labelled as having strong opinions and personalities.

As one might expect, the film is considerably more hesitant concerning feminist representations. To sidestep a too “radical” stance that was perhaps misconstrued as “male-bashing,” a “light”-version of Olivia Goldsmith’s original ideas was created – often in questionable ways. The filmmakers’ way of redeeming the image of the “man-hating beasts,” for example, was the decision to reunite Brenda with her ex-husband. This seems like a cowardly quick fix that goes against everything the First Wives Club stands for, especially considering the fact that in the novel Brenda’s new partner is a woman.

And yet, while it may not be as groundbreaking as the book, the movie could be a great deal more disastrous. It is pro-emancipation without too much of an “anti-men” vibe. Interestingly enough, the title of the German version translates to “The Club of the She-Devils” – a crude demonstration of an obnoxiously archaic perspective on the film.

Retaliation in Style and in Rhythm

While the trio’s friendship seems to be based largely on achievement and a distinct goal respectively, there is, nonetheless, a perpetual sense of a true and meaningful connection. Merely by the way they interact with each other, it is palpable that there is still a lasting bond between them. There is, indeed, an air of the blithe BFF sentiment from back in their college days. Correspondingly, both Cynthia and Annie still keep a framed picture of the four of them in their homes.

Another symbolic marker of their friendship is Leslie Gore’s hit song “You Don’t Own Me,” their college-times performance of which they reminisce about and even repeat twice in the film. This song is truly a great pick and shows that the filmmakers were not too afraid to use a clearly feminist song. As a recurring theme, their own rendition of the sixties classic can be seen as a symbol of their lasting friendship as well as their newfound empowerment. It culminates in the very last scene of the movie as they sing and dance off into freedom. The happiest of endings: not primarily a romantic one, it celebrates the courage, independence and companionship of the three women.

Another important factor that comes into play is the way in which the women handle their respective husband’s new relationship status. While they harbor anything but positive feelings for the mistresses they have been left for, instead of blaming the “other woman” for the man cheating – as seems to be common practice among women on and off screen – they focus their anger and revenge on the men. They do this in a dignified manner, true to the tagline of the film: “Don’t get mad. Get everything.”

Artemis Linhart is a freelance writer and film curator with a weakness for escapism.

‘Kamikaze Girls’: When a Lolita Meets a Yanki

This guest post by Jasmine Sanchez appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

There is a common belief that two types of girls exist: tomboys and girly-girls. This is often perpetuated by media. Look at any cartoon since the 1980s and onward. Another belief often perpetuated by the media is that women who fit one of these types aren’t likely to get along with the other. I’m not sure where this idea originated and I’m even less sure how it became so accepted. Either way, it’s just another fallacy that prevents women from being friends with women who don’t fit into their own idea of how women should act. However, one film proves how a friendship can form between two unlikely women.

Kamikaze Girls (originally Shimotsuma Monogatari in Japan) is a story of two teenage girls who each belong to a different Japanese subculture and end up becoming best friends. Momoko Ryugasaki is a Lolita living in a rural part of Japan called Shimotsuma. Despite what one might expect a girl who dresses like a cupcake to act, she is cold, manipulative and completely content with living in own fantasy world. She spends her days bored out of her mind living in her peaceful town, but occasionally makes trips to Tokyo in order to shop for clothing from her favorite brand, Baby The Stars Shine Bright. However, Momoko’s pretty dresses don’t come cheap, so in order to fuel her passion for Lolita fashion, she puts up an ad online selling her father’s old bootleg Versace clothing. This causes her to meet a yanki (Japanese delinquent), Ichigo Shirayuri, or “Ichiko” as she prefers to be called, who is interested in purchasing some knock-off clothing. Once she sells her the fake Versace, Momoko expects their interactions to end there; however, Ichiko decides to befriend her and rope her into her own little adventure.

While their connection doesn’t form immediately, especially in Momoko’s case, the two eventually are able to form a close bond. When they first meet they are both taken aback by one another’s exterior–Momoko is horrified to be dealing with a yanki and Ichiko thinks that Momoko is a little girl. Once she finds out they are the same age Ichiko admits to her folly, “I shouldn’t judge by appearances,” which Momoko counters with, “But appearances says everything.” This sets up their dynamic for the rest of the film as Ichiko is willing to look beyond, while Momoko prefers the superficial. After business is done, Momoko wants absolutely nothing to do with Ichiko as she doesn’t see friendship or any form of human connections of something of value. Not to mention her disgust with Ichiko’s clothing, short temper, and habit of spiting on the floor. This still doesn’t prevent Ichiko from coming over to Momoko’s house uninvited, or joining her for tea at her favorite café. Despite being a tough biker gal, it’s clear that Ichiko has a sense of loyalty and wants to befriend Momoko, because she feels indebted to her after getting great deal on the clothing sold to her. However, a flashback of Ichiko’s past before she was a yanki shows that she was bullied and had no one as a friend. This changed when she met her mentor and gang leader Akemi. Ichiko most likely sees Momoko in a similar predicament and wants to help her out by befriending her. Unfortunately, Momoko is not as receptive to Ichiko’s offers of friendship and inclusion of her biker gang.

*Spoiler Warning*

Although Momoko resists Ichiko’s attempt to convince her to join her on her search for a legendary embroider named Emma, she is literally dragged along anyway. Their “quest” pretty much consists of them walking aimlessly around the city and hijinks ensuing. When they are unable to find Emma, Momoko offers to embroider Ichiko’s coat, which she stays up all night to do. Despite being exhausted, Momoko admits to being filled with happiness when seeing Ichiko’s delight in her stitching, an emotion that surprises her as well.

Their bond with each other is deepened when they start to rely on each other for their emotional struggles. When Ichiko finds out the guy she liked is involved with someone else, more specifically her former gang leader, Akemi, she is understandably brokenhearted by this revelation and calls Momoko and asks her to meet her on a hill. When Ichiko repeats the words of advice Akemi had given her, “Women shouldn’t cry in public,” Momoko turns around and reminds her that they are alone. This allows her to break down and cry. This is Momoko’s way of comforting her, while allowing her to keep her pride. When Momoko is asked by her favorite brand to embroider a dress with her own design, she is intimidated by the prospect and at a loss at what to do. Momoko asks Ichiko to meet with her to talk about it, and although Ichiko is surprised by Momoko needing her, she states she will go anywhere for her. Her words of advice for Momoko are harsh but encouraging as she reminds her of the embroidery she did on her jacket and how it made her feel. Ichiko sees the talent that Momoko possess and wants to help her flourish. Although she is somewhat unsure of herself, after her talk with Ichiko, Momoko is able to find the inspiration to embroider the dress.

Toward the end of the film, Momoko’s friendship is in full force when she drives by motorbike in order to help Ichiko when she finds out she will be beaten by gang members. Everything she does from this point goes against Momoko’s mindset as a Lolita, however she realizes that Ichiko means more to her than being delicate. When Momoko reaches Ichiko and the gang members, she has already been beaten quite a bit. The sight of Ichiko’s blood causes Momoko to unleash her rage and she grabs a bat and starts swinging against as many yankis as she can. After she freaks them out with her sudden attack, she lies and claims to be the daughter of a legendary yanki. This convinces them to let them both go as they ride off on Ichiko’s bike together as they laugh about Momoko’s bluff.

The film relies on an odd-couple dynamic between the two leads, not just in appearance, but also in personality. Both characters are interesting in their own right. Momoko is a misanthropic dreamer, while Ichiko is delinquent with vulnerable side. Through their interactions with one another they are able to uproot a part of each other that they couldn’t see before. However they don’t completely change at the end of the film; Momoko still prefers her life of indulgence as a Lolita and although Ichiko has a brief stint modeling Lolita clothing, she’s still tough as nails and prefers to ride her bike through the countryside. Their choices are treated as positive ones by the film, since they’re both still young and as long as they have each other they will be okay.

Jasmine Sanchez is a university student working on a major in English Literature. She loves comic books, British television, anime/manga, and cult classic films. She one day hopes to travel to Japan. You can find her on Twitter at @takship.

Homegirls Make Some Noise: ‘Antônia’ and the Magic of Black Female Friendships

Classism, racism, sexism, and colorism are very real in the world of ‘Antônia.’ But the film shows us a fresh narrative of Black women succeeding despite living in a slum, despite poverty, despite violence and all the ills that pervade real life. For just a moment, I’m able to watch Black women who are free to be themselves. They don’t have to unpack external baggage based on a checklist of intersections involving their skin color, social status, or gender. That is a rare treat. It’s their tight friendship that sustains them. Music is friendship, and friendship is music.

Antonia One Sheet “Antônia Movie Poster” — *Antônia* Movie Poster

This guest post by Lisa Bolekaja appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

Antônia is a Brazilian film from 2006 that I watch at least once a year. Its fictional female characters are ones that I consider my cinema family, ladies who I like to visit with for a spell and reminisce about rap music and female MCs. It’s an uncomplicated story, and perhaps even a little melodramatic. However it boasts one of cinema’s rare contemporary explorations of Black female friendship while navigating the hyper-masculine world of hip-hop. The simple slice-of-life storytelling using real-life female MCs resonates with authentic sisterhood.

Antônia chronicles the rise and fall (and rise again) of four young women from Sao Paulo who sing backup for a male rap group called “Power.” Scratching out a basic living in the Brasilandia favela are Preta, a single mom who recently left her cheating husband; Mayah, a songwriter into fashion as much as her lyrical prowess; Lena, a hardcore lyricist who juggles her music career with her insecure boyfriend; and Barbarah, a martial arts expert who lives with her closeted gay brother.

These four women, friends from childhood, named their group after their respective grandfathers who coincidentally all had the name “Antonio.” What makes them all so special to me is the fact that all four women have an exuberant agency and a nuanced security in their Blackness, which is refreshing to see onscreen. From their hair, clothing, skin color, to the way they walk and rap, there is a sense that they have never doubted that they were fly and worthy of respect. This confidence they display doesn’t come from the stereotypical and clichéd tropes of the sassy Black woman, or the Black chick with neck swiveling finger-pointing “attitude,” or the hyper-sexualized Black female dimepiece. Even the tiresome “strong” Black woman trope is absent in this film. These women are vulnerable, assertive, flawed, supportive of one another, and critical of one another. This confidence comes from their collective need to persevere in the face of undeniable hardships.

Walking above favela “Barbarah (Leilah Moreno), Lena (Cindy Mendes), Mayah (Quelynah), and Preta (Negra Li) — Walking above favela: Barbarah (Leilah Moreno), Lena (Cindy Mendes), Mayah (Quelynah), and Preta (Negra Li)

Although the film is only 90 minutes long–time for only light character sketches at best–the subtext I read is a world of complexity and pride beneath each woman. At one point, while waiting for a train after a late night performance, they sing a cappella about their love for the curl in their hair and being “Criollo” (Creole in the sense of being Black Brazillians who, like Black Americans and others outside of the African Diaspora, exist because of blendings of African, Native, and European blood). Mayah even raps this in one of her rhymes, which reinforces the notion of self, a self rooted in the pride and knowledge of Black cultural history. I’ve never really seen that in a contemporary film before.

While most American films featuring Black female friendships deal with misogyny, rape, drug use, damsels in distress, broken families, crime, poverty, and the often contrived horrors of being…gasp… single—flicks like Sparkle, Dreamgirls, Set it Off, Waiting to Exhale, The Color Purple, Daughters of the Dust, et al (notice that I had to reach way back for titles) — Antônia stands out as the one rare film where the Black women are the captains of their own ships, beholden to no one but themselves. Men support them, but don’t run them. They are sexual beings without being overwhelmingly sexual. (Mayah loves high heels and mini-skirts when she performs, but her attitude shows us it’s just for her pleasure and not for the male gaze.) Having a young child doesn’t deter Preta from performing; she brings her young daughter Emília to rehearsals where the women help care for her there and also outside of performing. Men don’t save them physically; they can handle male bullies with one kick from Barbarah’s Capoiera skills. Most importantly, they don’t wait for someone to discover them. Early on Mayah convinces the male rap group Power that the group Antônia has a hot song that they should consider opening their next show with. The guys agree and back them up. The women even tell the rap fans directly that they are feminist because they spit it in their lyrics to predominately male audiences. The real beauty is that their feminism is centered in a deeply Black female narrative vein. Alice Walker calls this being “womanist.” And the audience will deal.

Antônia surpasses the well-known Bechdel test and what I call the People of Color Agency Test: 1.) More than one Black person or PoC, 2.) Who speak to each other, 3.) About anything other than saving/serving White characters. That is the greatest joy I get from this film–watching beautiful, talented, and engaging Black women live their lives and cultivate their friendship without the heavy burden of structural racism brow-beating them All-The-Damn-Time.

The favela in the film is evidence of historical shenanigans. The scene of the women singing “Killing Me Softly” at a private and very White birthday party (because it’s less threatening musically) speaks volumes visually, especially when we know the group’s core audience is very Black and very rooted in the public streets. Classism, racism, sexism, and colorism are very real in the world of Antônia. But the film shows us a fresh narrative of Black women succeeding despite living in a slum, despite poverty, despite violence and all the ills that pervade real life. For just a moment, I’m able to watch Black women who are free to be themselves. They don’t have to unpack external baggage based on a checklist of intersections involving their skin color, social status, or gender. That is a rare treat. It’s their tight friendship that sustains them. Music is friendship, and friendship is music.

When an up-and-coming promoter and new manager of the group tries to shape Preta’s image into a solo career, one pleasing to a cross-over audience, Preta lets it be known that toning down her Blackness is not what she’s about. Singing mainstream pop hits is not her goal. Rap is. Without her sister-friends and their powerful energy, performing means nothing.

Mom and Daughter “Emília (Nathalye Cris) and Preta (Negra Li)" — Mom and daughter: Emília (Nathalye Cris) and Preta (Negra Li)

The only negative criticism I have of the film is that I wish the music, the literal sounds backing the lyrics of the female MCs, was just as good as the tracks the men had. Scenes in a local hip-hop club bristle with a restless kinetic energy when male performers inhabit the stage, but for some reason, the backing track for the ladies’ signature song is softened to a listless and defanged pop sound. This music doesn’t match the fierce content of the lyrics. The writer/director Tata Amaral ran an open casting call for local female rap talent, and the casting of real-life MCs makes a huge impact on the performances. The actors, Negra Li (Preta), Cindy Mendes (Lena), Leilah Moreno (Barbarah), and Quelynah (Mayah) hustled for this dream in their real lives. They know how to spit fire on a mic. They wrote their own verses performed in the film and those verses deserved beats that slayed.

Ultimately it was friendship that brought Antônia together as children. Nurturing that friendship is the only thing that stabilizes their chaotic lives while hustling for the showbiz dream. The simple narrative and the real-life raw talent of the women playing Preta, Mayah, Lena, and Barbarah makes Antônia a rich film that broadens the role of Black female friendships in cinema. It’s the friendship that makes me watch this film so often. And as corny as it sounds, I also get a happy ending. Perhaps if there were more films showing Black female friendships being nuanced, vulnerable, and just plain regular (no Super-Duper Negroes, no Magical Saviors, no There-Can-Only-Be-Exceptional-Black-Folks), I probably wouldn’t have to watch it so much. Antônia will always be in my regular film viewing rotation. I wish I had friends like these young women. The Sistren are here. Don’t sleep on ‘em.

Lisa Bolekaja co-hosts a screenwriting podcast called “Hilliard Guess’ Screenwriters Rant Room” and her work has appeared in “Long Hidden: Speculative Fiction from the Margins of History” (Crossed Genres Publishing), “The WisCon Chronicles: Volume 8” (Aqueduct Press), and in the upcoming Upper Rubber Boot Books anthology, “How to Live on Other Planets: A Handbook for Aspiring Aliens.” She can be found on Twitter @LisaBolekaja

‘Julia’: A Portrait of Heroic Friendship in an Age of Darkness

Although peppered with flashbacks to the women’s childhood and youth, ‘Julia’ is set during their formative academic and professional years. The film chronicles the women’s personal and political lives in the decade that saw the rise of Fascism. We witness how the fight against those dark forces transforms both friends.

Written by Rachael Johnson as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

Directed by Fred Zinnemann, Julia (1977) is an exceptionally beautiful portrait of female friendship and heroism. Primarily set in the thirties, it tells the story of two interesting, gifted women, the playwright, Lillian Hellman (Jane Fonda) and anti-Nazi activist Julia (Vanessa Redgrave).

Before I look more closely at Julia, I need to briefly address the controversy surrounding its narrative source. The film’s Oscar-winning screenplay (written by Alvin Sargent) is based on Lillian Hellman’s memoir Pentimento: A Book of Portraits, specifically her account of her friendship with a childhood friend and anti-Fascist activist called Julia. The story, unfortunately, turned out to be a fabrication. The lie, of course, cheats the reader, and violates historical truth. The question remains, however, whether Julia is partly true or a blend of real historical figures. My focus, here, of course, is on the film. We can choose to write off the cinematic adaptation as fraudulent or appreciate it as a work of fiction. Julia is a fascinating, involving study of courage and its depiction of friendship persuasive and affecting. The caliber of the acting can also not be disputed. Redgrave and Fonda both give riveting, career-defining performances.

Lillian becomes a playwright, battles all the frustrations the profession of writing entails, and eventually achieves success and celebrity. She lives with her lover, and fellow writer, Dashiell Hammett (Jason Robards), in a beach house facing the Atlantic. An even more adventurous soul, Julia goes abroad to study medicine at Oxford and Vienna, before becoming a committed anti-Fascist activist. Although both friends are ultimately characterized as strong women with strong ideals, Julia is portrayed, from the start, as the more courageous, self-assured, and politically engaged woman. Lillian is more insecure, and human, while Julia is both resolute and ethereal. Although a fellow left-winger, Lillian is not immune to the finer things of life. Regarding class identity, Julia’s mindset is more remarkable. A child of extreme wealth, she utterly rejects the lifestyle and values of her privileged caste.

The flashbacks to the friends’ youth are haunting and illuminating. Even as an adolescent, Julia (Lisa Pelikan) is enraged by economic inequality and social injustice. We see her express her impatience at her friend’s conventional need to hear of her family’s trips to Europe. The young Lillian (Susan Jones) is dazzled by Julia’s affluent, cosmopolitan background and lacks her friend’s political consciousness. Lillian, in fact, worships her friend. Julia recognizes that veneration sometimes characterizes female adolescent friendship, and the actresses who play the teenage friends credibly capture that particular dynamic. Such friendships can, of course, become abusive but this is not the case with Julia and Lillian. Although the young Julia plays the dominant role, and has a patrician, prefect-like manner, she is, nevertheless, a warm, just, soul. Julia enlightens, and inspires Lillian. Crucially, she is Lillian’s heroic example.

The deep affection Lillian has for Julia endures and Fonda conveys her love with a remarkable candor. The scenes between the adult childhood friends are, in fact, extremely moving and beautifully played. The playwright, it must be noted, is written as a considerably complex woman. She is sensitive, vulnerable, moral and humane, as well as idealistic and spirited. Fonda’s compassionate, intense portrayal captures both her insecurities and charisma. The scenes between Lillian and “Dash” are also vividly, and tenderly performed. Robards plays Dash as a crabby, no-nonsense yet supportive mentor-lover and both actors are magnetic in their moments together. Whether the portraits of both writers are authentic characterizations is another matter but that applies to all autobiographical and literary depictions of real people, of course.

Julia is the most extraordinary character in the film, however. The viewer sees her, of course, to a considerable extent, through Lillian’s eyes. Preserved by memory and distance, she remains an exotic, daring figure from childhood. Julia may have a certain mythic aspect but she grows up to be a devoted, dynamic political activist and her activism is very real and very dangerous work. Julia provides us with a powerful, multi-layered portrait of female activism. Her characterization does not exhibit the customary misogynist Hollywood stereotyping of female activists as sexless, humorless and nutty. She is sexual, sane, and cerebral. She is, however, a unique human being. Most men and women of privilege crave more wealth, and there is something heroic about Julia’s decision to betray her cosseted class. Julia, indeed, is that rarest of American films, a Hollywood film with a Socialist heroine. Redgrave equally gives her character a steely yet otherworldly power and grace. It is an exquisite performance.

There is another outstanding female performance in Julia. A young Meryl Streep gives one of the greatest scene-stealing cameos in Hollywood history as Anne-Marie, a socialite friend of both Julia and Lillian. It was, in fact, Streep’s very first film performance and her ability to fully inhabit roles is already on display. Her character typifies the kind of woman Julia in particular could have become, a spectacularly self-regarding, superficially charismatic woman of privilege.

Our friends choose a tougher track. When their lives intersect as adults, Julia asks Lillian to perform a courageous act. It will test Lillian but it should also be seen, in a way, as a gift. Lillian is given an opportunity to demonstrate courage and shape history. It is also an act that binds the women together.

Julia is a film laced with tenderness and sadness. Ultimately, it is a tale of both heroism and tragedy. Although it cannot be categorized as obscure, Julia has been somewhat forgotten. This is not that surprising, of course. Most film critics are men, and Julia is a story about women that foregrounds and honors female friendship. Although shot in a conventionally romantic, almost cozy fashion, Julia is unusual in many ways. It is an American film for adults about the loving friendship of two accomplished women with romantic and professional lives. What’s more, it’s a movie about female activism and heroism. It needs to be fully restored to our cinematic memory.

‘9 to 5’: The Necessity of Female Friendships at Work

This guest post by Deb Rox appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

Forget “leaning in.” To thrive in a corporate environment you need work BFFs who will do three things for you: mentor you up the ladder, make sure you are included in an lunch order if someone is arranging delivery, and help you blackmail your boss should it come to that.

Work friendships between women are sacred. Office friends serve as your career siblings. They are essential playmates who share the chores of daily living, and more importantly, bear witness to the same dysfunctions and deadlines. Good work friends will evolve lines of gossip (institutional and interpersonal, both matter) and ways to process everything from office memos to the bizarre co-workers who are not your friends. All of this is amped up in bad and equitable work situations where women need friends to help bust ass and glass ceilings, and to simply survive.

Movies take on the theme of office friendships, but great representations of women friend are few and far between. Wall Street and tech movies are boytown. Office Space is the go-to classic for illuminating oppressive corporate cubicle life, but it doesn’t come close to passing the Bechdel Test. I love Jennifer Aniston as much as the next flair-hater, but she’s in Office Space as a complicated love interest and to represent service work, the “feminine” version of tech work in this film’s universe. She is there to be dated and to be saved. She is not there to make friends – nor does she have any.

Other movies offer working girls friends but only as side plots (Melanie Griffin had Joan Cusack in Working Girl) or they only offer frenemies (think of poor Anne Hathaway in The Devil Wears Prada and how she had to settle for glimpses of kinship, and at the end of the movie at that. )

In fact, Anne’s Andy needed a girl gang in the magazine office more than she needed a couture hook-up. What she needed – and what I needed again and again in various horrible job situations – was the ultimate project team as realized in the 1980 triumph 9 to 5. She needed Doralee (Dolly Parton), Violet (Lily Tomlin) and Judy (Jane Fonda,)

Incredibly radical for its time, 9 to 5 has become the standard by which all of workplace friendships on and off screen are measured. These women are gold. GOLD. Would you help me steal a body from the morgue? Would you hogtie our boss to keep him from calling the cops on me? Would you help me enact the progressive, women-centered policies I dream of bringing to our workplace? If your answer is “no,” don’t bother asking me to help you proofread your latest pivot table. What I need is real women friendships at work. Friends like Violet, Judy and Doralee.

The friendships in 9 to 5 are like what would happen if Lucy and Ethel paused halfway on the road to becoming Thelma & Louise. The holy trinity are really more akin to wartime combat buddies than to anything else. At the start of the film the women are fairly wary of each other, battle broken as they are from their individual struggles. Doralee, Violet, and Judy probably wouldn’t be friends in if they weren’t thrown together into the battle of Frank Hart Jr.’s (Dabney Coleman) corrosive workplace.

The sad thing about the first act, which is brilliantly exacted, is that they see each other through the lens of the decidedly exploitive, sexist office environment – and they don’t like what they see. Of course they don’t. In that nasty patriarchal universe defined by Hart they are reductive stereotypes: the slut, the shrew, the out-of-place housewife. They fall prey to gossip and suspect the very-Dolly Doralee of sleeping with the boss (ew, that mustache). Violet, a newly divorced and rather meek character at first, is viewed as a drain on mega-competent Judy. Judy is bitter (rightfully so) about the way she’s been passed over repeatedly in the sexist environment.

The brilliance of 9 to 5 is how the story inverts all of that. It upturns Hart’s universe and it also reverses how the characters see themselves and each other. In doing so it makes an environment of female friendship possible and necessary, and it is absolutely gleeful to to see those barriers dissolve as the women start to bond and start to see themselves as on the same team. It’s genius, really, the way it shows that stereotypes are limiting, destructive and wholly created by sick systems. In 9 to 5, sexist systems are personified by Hart, who was, as Doralee put it, “evil to the core.”

The turning point of the movie, and of their friendship, takes place in Doralee’s house. They end up pissed off on behalf of the mistreatment sleazy Frank Hart imposes. They each take a few hits of some primo ‘80s Maui Wowie and take turns narrating revenge fantasies. These scenes are fabulous, with Hart shown hunted and trapped on a toilet in the women’s bathroom and hog-tied and roasted on a spit. Doralee, giving him a taste of his harassment, calls him “my boy from 9 to 5.” Animated blue birds of happiness help Judy poison Hart in her gruesomely delicious fairy tale, and happiness befalls the kingdom when the king falls through the window to the sidewalk below.

The misandric revenge factor is fun, but the serious power in 9 to 5 happens when the friends begin making changes in the office. Judy, bolstered by her fabulous management team, is a better leader than Hart could ever be, and together they bring in every progressive workplace program imaginable in 1980. These legit moves are more rewarding than any of the hog-tying scenes because women do dream of these changes, we do work together to make them happen, and we want equity more than we want punishment. Well, reducing Hart to watching daytime television for company was pretty rewarding, too.

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

9 to 5 knew we want good workplaces and good friends who are invested in our success just as we are invested in theirs. Wrapped in with all of the fantasy, in 9 to 5, female friendships were elevated as leverage against systemic organizational sexism, and as a positive factor for both individual empowerment and sustainable leadership. Almost every single scene supported this thesis except for those defining Hart’s character and a very few others that contextualized the character’s home lives. Mostly, though, this movie belonged to the bond forged by Doralee, Judy and Violet during their beautiful mutiny.

Watching the movie, you want these women as your friends. You want to get Violet stoned, you want to cheer as Doralee flawlessly twirls a lasso with her red-clawed, manicured hands, and you want to stay up all night writing new human resource policies for the corporation of your dreams with Judy. After watching 9 to 5 you’ll want to trade in your car for a bigger vehicle, one with a bench seat in the front big enough for all of your work BFFs and with a trunk big enough to conceal and carry your boss if happens to be a “sexist egotistical lying hypocritical bigot.” Should it ever come to that.

Deb Rox serves as Entertainment Editor of BlogHer where she writes about media, pop culture, and current events. She will vote for any political candidate who promises to unite the continent into one time zone for easier live-tweeting purposes. Follow her on her blog Deb on the Rocks and at @debontherocks on Twitter.