Fortunately for everyone, the show deliberately plays with archetype. She’s introduced as a singular image we all know, and over the course of the episode is shown to be sexy, amoral, vulnerable (Or is she? This is that kind of show; who knows!?), and an effective, if unorthodox, mentor. She’s a three-dimensional character that happens to fit the description.
Like everyone else on the Internet, I heard about the New York Times review of the first episode of How to Get Away With Murder, wherein the author used the phrase “Angry Black woman” to describe Viola Davis’ character in the show. Shonda Rhimes, show-runner of Grey’s Anatomy and Scandal, probably didn’t need anyone’s help getting her new project tons of viewers, but the furor certainly got me to check it out. Here’s the short version: I love it. It’s a really fun program, and there’s a good stable of characters that, despite their archetypal presentations, break out and distinguish themselves. Which brings me back to the Times review. While the actual phrasing leaves a lot to be desired, it’s kind of just that—bad phrasing.
“Oh wow, she wrote Crossroads!” – Me, researching Shonda Rhimes
Viola Davis’ attorney/professor character Annalise Keating introduces herself to her new class as pretty much the professor from hell. She’s Professor Snape, if you’re one of the students that isn’t a little snot like Harry Potter. There’s a chance to learn a lot, but you’re going to work really, really hard and she isn’t going to coddle you or be nice (at all) when you screw up.
“I don’t know what terrible things you’ve done in your life up to this point, but clearly your karma’s out of balance to get assigned to my class….”
Speaking of Harry Potter, the protagonist of the show is played by the former actor of Dean Thomas!
If this show were badly written, if all Keating did was be incredibly stern and severe to her students, it would have gotten tons of criticism from the same people criticizing the Times writer, saying that the character is an “Angry Black woman” and nothing more. That’s just the impression you get when she walks in and gives her first-day-of-class spiel. Fortunately for everyone, the show deliberately plays with archetype. She’s introduced as a singular image we all know, and over the course of the episode is shown to be sexy, amoral, vulnerable (Or is she? This is that kind of show; who knows!?), and an effective, if unorthodox, mentor. She’s a three-dimensional character that happens to fit the description.
Which is what the Times review was attempting to say. Black women are in a restricted cultural space, and representations of them are rather pigeonholed. Showing anger, period, is a risk, because it opens up the very real possibility of people labeling and dismissing the character as one of three types they’ve already assigned to black women. So to see the show’s writers rise to the occasion and go with a cold, borderline evil Black female lead is really quite heartening.
This doesn’t change the review’s incredibly bad opening line:
“When Shonda Rhimes writes her autobiography, it should be called “How to Get Away With Being an Angry Black Woman.””
Wow. Much inadvisable. Phrased in a less eye-jabbing way, it encapsulates what makes How to Get Away With Murder special. This show’s headlining character freely admits to defending guilty clients, and as her students see as they assist with her case, has no qualms about illegal or immoral methods of securing the not-guilty verdict. She sets murderers free because that’s how she’s chosen to make money.
**SPOILER ALERT** This guy gives a network-friendly rimjob to secure case-winning information
There’s a pretty rich tradition of this kind of character; it’s basically all we’ve gotten in the past decade or so of award-winning cable dramas. But like Broad City, How to Get Away With Murder is an entry into an established genre by a group (or two) generally shut out. By circumstance, by the genre’s conventions, or by the fear of falling into a stereotype, Black women don’t play the anti-hero role. Now we’ve got one, and she’s attached to a rip-roarin’-fun show.
I still haven’t gotten to the rest of the characters I like, but how much more do I need to say? Trashy legal drama with sexy law students behaving badly! At the end of the day, I just want everyone to watch this show so we can geek out about it. As for 11-year TV crit veteran Alessandra Stanley, go back…to…writing…school?
Solomon Wong is a writer and a graduate of UC Santa Cruz. He is the co-editor of Be Young and Shut Up, author of the cyberpunk serial novel Stargazer. He likes cooking, fishkeeping, and biking around Oakland.
The lead character in BBC’s ‘The Fall’ is impervious to fear, but that’s OK. She’s doing the modern detective’s work of making us all feel safe in a world that’s anything but.
The lead character in BBC’s The Fall is impervious to fear, but that’s OK. She’s doing the modern detective’s work of making us all feel safe in a world that’s anything but.
Gibson (she’s gonna be OK)
The second season of The Fall just finished airing on the BBC and, while there’s been a slow decline in quality since the series premiere, it remains one of the only detectives shows – if not the only detective show – to acknowledge that violence against women is a built-in feature of patriarchal cultures rather than a random, strange coincidence. (Rebecca Solnit has a good essay about this in Men Explain Things to Me, if you want to get mad.)
The Fall is about serial killer named Paul Spector and Stella Gibson, the Gillian Anderson-looking detective who hunts him down. In his own mind, Paul is a dark, fascinating genius who’s playing a clever game of cat and mouse with the Irish police force. In almost everyone else’s mind, he’s a loser who hates women, and the police figure out who he is almost as soon as they start looking.
What makes The Fall an amazing piece of television is that it spits in the face of conventional serial killer narratives. Rather than being fascinated with Paul and how tortured and interesting he is, it’s focussed on how his hatred of women fits into a larger societal pattern, and how the lessons we learn about gender inform our beliefs and behaviours in life. It can be heavy-handed, but it’s also refreshing because it’s so different from the narrative we most often see.
The show spends roughly equal time on Spector and Gibson, but it’s Gibson we’re supposed to cheer for, and Gibson who’s built up as the ideal feminist woman. In the middle of a show full of terrifying, realistic, often heart-wrenching violence against women, Gibson’s there to make us feel safe. Not only because we know she’s going to catch Paul Spector and put him behind bars, but because she is completely and utterly awesome at everything. Perhaps unbelievably so.
The main source of tension in The Fall comes from fear and vulnerability. Watching the show, as a woman, you have the same chilling thought you have, as a woman, every time you’re walking alone at night, or hear a sound in your house while you’re sleeping: “What would I actually do if someone attacked me right now?” And the answer, if you’re honest, is that, even if you learned some krav maga one time, you would be just as terrified and just as dead as one of Spector’s victims.
The fear that men will attack us is something women carry around 24/7; it’s always simmering in the back of our minds, and The Fall forces us to look at it directly. In the middle of that horror, like a lifeline, or a warm blanket, Gibson the Terribly Competent stands impervious to fear. She can’t be intimidated by a bunch of tough guys on the street; she doesn’t freeze in an emergency; she can’t be made to feel ashamed for having sex; she breaks your nose if you don’t back off when she tells you to; she isn’t scared of some guy in a bar, or some guy in a limo, or even some guy who chokes other women to death. She looks at those guys with contempt and moves on with her life, without thinking the problem is her. No matter what, we know, she’s going to be OK.
It’s not actually unusual for the hero of a genre story to be hypercompetent. Like, we all understand that Jason Bourne is not realistic, right? And the guy from Mission Impossible? And that one detective from True Detective who said that time was round like a beer can? He was also improbably good at things.
What interests me about Gibson isn’t that it’s weird for the hero to be competent – it’s that, in this instance, her competence speaks to me and comforts me in way that Rust Cohle didn’t manage. She reminds me of another detective I like.
One way or another, she’s gonna find ya, she’s gonna getcha getcha getcha getcha
Appropriately, since Veronica Mars is set in high school, the tension in that story’s less about the fear of being killed and more about the fear of public humiliation. And Veronica, its hero, is impervious to all embarrassment.
In The Fall, it’s been implied that Gibson may have been assaulted at some time in the past, and that that’s what motivates her to work with female victims of violence. In Veronica Mars, it’s made explicit from the start that Veronica was the victim of the cruellest forms of high school bullying before she became the cynical, hypercompetent girl we know.
Whenever someone tries to insult, intimidate, or make fun of her, she has a snappy comeback to put them down. Whenever someone seems to get the upper hand against her, she manages to turn the tables somehow, making them look foolish in her place. In maybe the most blatant example, some popular boys she’s investigating put her name on the karaoke list in an attempt to embarrass her and make her back off. With only seconds to think it over, Veronica jumps up and sings the Blondie song “One Way or Another,” turning potential humiliation into a triumph as literally no real person could do.
Knowing that Veronica’s going to land on her feet whenever someone tries to bully her has the same warm blanket effect as knowing that Gibson can’t get scared. It’s not entirely realistic – for all of us, life involves at least some moments of fear and humiliation – but it gives us safe harbour in stories that are otherwise designed to make us anxious. In these particular contexts, Gibson and Veronica always know what to do, and the things they do always work. They allow us to confront the things that make us anxious with the safety net of knowing that it’s going to be OK.
And, if you’re going, “Katherine, that’s what all detectives do,” you’re sort of right.
Remember when House was a thing?
Part of the point of detectives – at least modernist, soft-boiled detectives – is that they bring order to chaos and therefore restore our sense of safety. When Sherlock Holmes became popular, in Ye Olde Victorian England, it was in a context where urbanization, industrialization, and the expansion of the British empire had made people feel uncertain about what was happening. The world was changing really fast, there were a bunch of strangers around, and it felt like some random person could just murder you or steal your stuff and disappear into the crowd. (From a more racist point of view, it also seemed like a wizard from India could slip some potions in your tea, but that’s a different discussion from this.)
The calming figure of that era was a man with the superhuman ability to piece together tiny bits of information, and an encyclopaedic knowledge of literally everything that ever was, including scary foreign cultures. He was the safe harbour in the storm of modern living.
Flash forward about 100 years, and the same hero is reincarnated as House, a doctor who knows what’s wrong with you even when Web MD has no idea. Like Sherlock Holmes, House taps into our general fear that there is too much information for any one person to crunch. And, in a world where we are terrified that everything from our water bottles to our genes is trying to kill us in new, incomprehensible ways, the House version of Sherlock Holmes provides some safety, because House can see the pattern, House can understand what’s happening, and House can make some order out of chaos. Even if the MRI machine makes all your veins explode exactly in time for commercials, House will have the answer by the end.
The comfort of watching Gibson is both similar and different to the comfort of knowing that puzzles get solved. It’s the comfort of saying, “There’s someone who looks like me and, day to day, is not afraid to be alive. Someone who lives in the world I live in, that’s full of the terrors I face, and – realistically or not – is showing me what it could be like if I didn’t have to be scared.”
It’s a powerful counterpoint to the Man Kills Loads of Women – Is Special, Tortured Genius story that Spector thinks he’s starring in. This is Woman Is Not Afraid to Walk Down the Street; Woman is Not Afraid to Say No; Woman Isn’t Worried That She’ll Be a Total Drag if She Points Out What a Sexist Jerk You’re Being. It’s a different kind of fantasy than Knowing Lots or Solving Things – it’s Having a Right to Exist, opposite the story of a man who chokes women to death to feel strong. It’s the writers consciously and deliberately preventing this from being a story where you should have carried some mace to the bathroom, if you didn’t want to get killed in your house.
What’s different about Gibson isn’t that she’s extra specially good at stuff – it’s that the forces she’s facing off against are specifically aimed at women. The fear that she’s shielding us from is a fear that most men don’t carry around. The Fall, in its graphic and terrifying depictions of violence, would be unbearable to watch if Gibson wasn’t always at the centre, reminding us what life would be like if we didn’t have to feel afraid.
Different monsters require different kinds of heroes to defeat them. Gibson is the right kind of hero to face this kind of monster, and the strength of The Fall may be that it’s the first show to know which monster we’re trying to fight.
Katherine Murray is a Toronto-based writer who yells about movies and TV on her blog.
‘The Taking of Deborah Logan’ is a story about the horror of evil afflicting a deteriorating mind, but it’s also a tale of the strength of a mother and daughter’s love. Deborah is driven by female characters, and while not a perfect film, it serves up the scares and aces the Bechdel test.
Evil Lives Within You, But Your Daughter Lives With You And She Will Kick Evil’s Ass
The Taking of Deborah Logan is a story about the horror of evil afflicting a deteriorating mind, but it’s also a tale of the strength of a mother and daughter’s love. Deborah is driven by female characters, and while not a perfect film, it serves up the scares and aces the Bechdel test.
First-time director Adam Robitel presents this found footage movie in the form of a medical documentary gone supernaturally screwy. In this interview, he explains:
What I always wanted to do was start in one space, with a very grounded medical documentary and by the end, turn the movie completely on its head as we careen into full horror movie realm.
Lots of horror fans profess irritation with found footage, but I find it fascinating. Unfortunately, Deborah doesn’t really add anything new to the sub-genre in terms of unique camera work (cf. Paranormal Activity III’s fan-cam or Chronicle’s telekineticams). And yes, the climax falls prey to the same problems as many other found footage films: lots of crashing around in confusion and crappy visibility. (There is, however, one fantastically shocking climactic horror moment like nothing I’ve ever seen before — I will not spoil it for you, but keep your eyes on Deborah because DAMN.)
Still, for the majority of the film Robitel does a solid job of utilizing standard found footage techniques (house cams, whip pans, night vision).
(Found footage fourth wall freakiness)
And Deborah manages not to feel too derivative, because the subject of this found footage film is uncommon within the genre: a mother, a daughter, and the sacrifices they make to save each other.
Mother Deborah and daughter Sarah in the beginning of the film
The strength of mother/daughter love is not the most obvious theme of The Taking of Deborah Logan. (The obvious theme is that the deterioration of the human mind is terrifying and akin to demonic possession.) But if we viewers take a step back, we can see how much this film is driven by mother/daughter love and sacrifice: the mother saving her daughter is the reason for the mother’s possession, and the daughter saving her mother is the arc of the entire film.
Michelle Ang as Mia, PhD student and first-time filmmaker
Deborah begins with PhD student Mia (Michelle Ang) introducing herself and her two-man camera crew to Sarah (Anne Ramsay), the adult daughter of Deborah Logan (Jill Larson). Deborah is in the early stages of Alzheimer’s, and in an effort to help her mother keep her house, Sarah has arranged for Deborah to participate in Mia’s documentary in exchange for money from the project’s grant.
Hello, Deborah! It’s a pleasure to meet you…
Here’s what we learn about Deborah when Mia introduces her in the documentary:
Mia: After the premature death of her husband…to a pulmonary embolism, Deborah was forced to provide for two-year-old Sarah on her own. She leveraged their house as collateral, and would go on to start a highly successful switchboard answering service for the town of Exuma.
In her preliminary interview with Mia, Deborah describes her role as switchboard operator: “I was the nexus of this town. Doctors, lawyers, town hall, everybody.”
Deborah also details the actions she takes to fight her deteriorating condition, and she expresses her frustration at the futility of her mind’s inevitable decline:
Deborah: I do all my little puzzles. I do crosswords. I’m lifting weights. I am doing everything that I have read will help to stave off the progression of this disease. Stave it off. There’s no cure.
Deborah’s (lady!) doctor: “Deborah’s not someone to go down without a fight.”
But Deborah’s not just fighting Alzheimer’s; she’s battling a spiritual parasite — and it’s a fucking EVIL one.
Jill Larson is most famous for her role as Opal on All My Children, and according to severaldifferentinterviews, she had never seen a horror movie before filming Deborah. Nevertheless, as she absolutely nails her role as a savvy single mother afflicted with the frustrating and frightening deterioration of her once sharp mind.
Deborah in a moment of confusion and disorientation
Larson’s portrayal of Deborah’s possession is complex: she conveys a mixture of confusion and fear and desperation and anger and evil, and she appears pitiful, then horrifying, then pitiful again — sometimes in the same scene.
On her approach to the role, Larson says: “My time in soap operas…taught me to invest in situations that sometimes stretch the imagination.”
After a romp through the woods in the middle of the night, Deborah starts to look scary
There exists a cultural trope of the ugly old evil women — a trope which thrives on the notion that older women are scary and unnatural, grotesque, lusting for power and filled with an abject evil.
Evil crones as depicted by Disney and Sam Raimi
And yes, as the evil overtakes Deborah, she does become both ugly and powerful.
After a romp through an abandoned wing of the hospital in the middle of the night, Deborah’s looking even scarier
But Deborah isn’t an evil crone — she’s a good person who is unhealthy of mind through no fault or moral failing of her own. In fact, Deborah is being targeted by the evil spirit as revenge for a brave, heroic deed she committed long ago. Her representation is a departure from the traditional (and trite) evil crone.
Sarah attempts to help her mother as the switchboard goes vengeful-spirit KABLOOEY
The moments we see Deborah naked are not played as gross-out moments (think, for example, the bathroom woman in The Shining). What’s striking about Deborah’s naked body isn’t that she looks gross, it’s that she looks so fragile, so frail.
Her neighbor and lifelong friend, Harris, says of Deborah and her plight: “She’s a fighter. And she’s brave…But how do you fight your way through something you can’t see or know?”
How does Deborah fight her way through Alzheimer’s and spiritual parasitism? With the help of her loyal, brave, determined daughter.
In the beginning of the film, Sarah makes sure the crew knows to say “thank you” to Deborah for her hospitality
Sarah is there for Deborah every step of the way: from seeking financial aid to seeking an exorcism. At the beginning of the film, Sarah makes sure that the documentary crew is polite to Deborah, and at the end she makes sure that the evil corpse is burned to smithereens. In the climactic sequence, Sarah shouts at Deborah over and over: “Fight him, Mom! Fight him!” From start to finish, Sarah helps Deborah fight her way through.
Sarah is brave and faces the scary darkness and strange sounds of the house
Sarah is actually supposed to be the subject of interest and the true focus of Mia’s project:
Mia: The story of Alzheimer’s is never about one person. My PhD thesis film posits that this insidious disease not only destroys the patient, but has a physiological influence on the primary caregiver.
Sarah makes huge sacrifices for her mother. She is the character who figures it all out; she has the brains to find the dead body, the guts to grab it, and the presence of mind to destroy it. Sarah is the hero.
She’s also gay.
Reader, I do not identify as gay, and if you do and you think my thoughts are off base here, or if you have any thoughts to add, please share them with me. Here are mine:
I think it’s a great thing to see a gay lady occupy the role of the horror film hero, and I think Sarah is a great gay lady hero. She is a likable, brave, smart, and loyal. And because Sarah’s sexuality is not particularly relevant to her mother’s possession, we get a representation of a gay character who just happens to be gay — it’s not a plot point, it’s just the way things are. Of course I am not suggesting that this is what all representations of gay characters should look like — I’m just saying that I think it’s nice to see a character who happens to be gay, like a zillion other characters in a zillion other movie happen to be straight. I think that this is a positive, beneficial representation.
Speaking of positive, beneficial representations, let me add that I appreciate the number of women with key roles in this film. Deborah, Sarah, Mia, the doctor, and the sheriff — women drive this film. Women and Alzheimer’s.
Deborah struggles with a simple task
Robitel explains why Alzheimer’s lends itself so well to the horror genre: “Alzheimer’s deals with two of our most primal fears: Losing our minds and our own inevitable mortality.”
Reader, here’s another disclosure: I have no personal experience with Alzheimer’s. I have misgivings about enjoying this film, because I know that inherent within its plot is the potential for exploitation. But is the representation of Deborah Logan an exploitation or an exploration of the disease? Are we viewers exploiting people who are struggling with Alzheimer’s? Or does Deborah shine light on the challenges faced by people with Alzheimer’s, and celebrate the strength and sacrifice of both patient and caretaker?
Sarah helps Deborah with her medicine
The film seems aware that exploitation is a potential issue and addresses the concern head-on: in the opening scenes, when Mia and the crew are first speaking with Deborah about the project, Deborah explicitly states, “I’m not interested in being exploited. I’m not the butt of anyone’s joke.” Deborah never makes its protagonist or her Alzheimer’s the butt of any joke. The film asks us to admire her strength, to pity her deterioration, to fear her possession, and to root for her salvation — it never asks us to laugh at her.
We wanted to treat Deborah with dignity because it makes her a nice, round character and it also makes her decline all the more upsetting. That said, at the end of the film we realize that this is something else entirely. We knew if we stayed too “real”, it would have felt exploitative. We wanted the audience to have the discussions and start a conversation, but were very mindful that it needed to go more into the expressionistic horror to provide the ‘escape valve’ of entertainment.
Not Alzheimer’s.
The realization that Deborah’s sickness “is something else entirely” starts about a half an hour into the film. Her doctor examines a weird, scaley rash on Deborah’s back and then informs the documentary crew: “This condition is not typically associated with Alzheimer’s. Although when the immune system is compromised sometimes co-infections can occur.”
The doctor’s line is example of one of the many parallels Deborah draws between physiological/psychological deterioration and demonic possession. Robitel states: “Alzheimer’s is a pretty organic metaphor for possession and I think the best horror films take the horrors of real life and then turn them on their head.”
I think a lot of the scary elements come from bringing the audience into a situation that many of us can recognize, because many of us have been touched by Alzheimer’s in one way or another and recognize how frightening it is.
And here she shares her personal experiences with the disease:
I had lost my mother three years before we shot the film. She had Alzheimer’s so I have a lot of feelings about the disease including genuine terror of ending up like that myself.
My instinct is to embrace possession as metaphor for mental deterioration (and vice versa), and to respect this film’s musings on the horror of degenerative diseases and the capacity for strength in a mother and a daughter’s love.
In ‘Haunter,’ Abigail Breslin plays a teenager who galvanizes a team of young women to challenge their evil oppressor together! Oh, and they’re all dead.
“We can send this bastard to hell, but we have to do it together.”
In Haunter,Abigail Breslin plays a teenager who galvanizes a team of young women to challenge their evil oppressor together! Oh, and they’re all dead.
Haunter (2013) is a scary – and yet feel-good! — teenage-lady-driven horror film. It’s creepy but not gory, and Breslin and her character, Lisa, are both fantastic.
Haunter’s horror is very different from the science-driven horror of Splice. In Natali’s words: “I would almost call Haunter ‘fantasmagorica.’ It’s somewhat of a fantasy with darkness lurking around the edges.”
In other words, fewer sluggy hybrid monsters ripping each other to shreds. More fog.
Speaking of films that Haunter is not like, Haunter is not like The Sixth Senseor The Others. In those films, the protaghostnist’s status is revealed as the final twist, whereas in Haunter, we learn relatively early on that Lisa and her family are the dead characters.
We meet Lisa just a few days after she’s discovered that she, her mother, her brother, and her father are all stuck reliving the same Sunday over and over again, trapped in their house by a thick fog that distorts space and prevents escape.
Carol, Bruce, Lisa, Robbie, and Edgar. The family doesn’t have a last name.
Not that Lisa’s family is remotely interested in escape – they seem blissfully unaware of the daily repetition and express concern for Lisa when she tries to explain it to them.
“Some clothes are missing from the laundry. Do you know where they are?”
Lisa is frustrated with her family’s denseness, and also alarmed to discover strange and creepy things happening around the house… and she keeps hearing someone whisper her name.
Then an evil presence intrudes on her family in the guise of a telephone repairman. This character is named Edgar Mullins, but actor Stephen McHattie is credited as The Pale Man.
“Whenever you hear strange noises in this house, or voices calling out to you, ignore them.”
The Pale Man confirms what we, the audience, already suspected: this repeated Sunday – the day before Lisa’s 16th birthday – is her death day. Lisa is the ghost, and the voice she’s hearing is from the world of the living.
The Pale Man warns her: “If you should try to contact the living, or anyone else, you and your family will suffer in ways you cannot fathom.” But Lisa figures out that the living are already suffering, and that she’s been summoned by the living teenager in the house, Olivia, who is seeking Lisa’s help.
Lisa and Olivia, sharing a house and yet worlds away.
Lisa proves herself to be a smart, brave, and determined protagonist. She sends out a message to all of the Pale Man’s victims: “We can send this bastard to hell, but we have to do it together.”
And sure enough, she teams up with Olivia and with all the other young lady ghosts killed by the Pale Man’s evil, and together they vanquish him! Lisa restores order and peace to both life AND the afterlife.
Happy Birthday, Lisa!
This is a wonderful exception to film after film after film after film of male characters saving the day. It’s especially nice to see a teenage girl not only carry this movie, but succeed as the hero, and to see so many female characters join together to defeat their oppressor.
By making Lisa and her family ghosts and cluing the viewer into their ghost-status early in the film, Haunter sidesteps the most pervasive problem in haunted house films: the JUST GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE HOUSE problem. (I mean, REALLY, why did they even move there in the first place?!)
The question Haunter inspires isn’t, “Why don’t they just leave the house?”
Instead, Haunter asks:
If YOU were stuck in a house reliving the same day over and over, would you risk tangling with powerful forces beyond your control to escape? What if lives are at stake – but you’re dead?
I wanted to find a horror movie to do that was really smart and unique and different. And when I read this, I thought it was really exciting. I loved the character and the story—and it took me like three reads before I truly figured out what was going on. I love that you can’t really call the shots. It’s not really your typical horror flick. I love supernatural stories—demons and ghosts…I want the suspense, the spine-tingle, the story you’re trying to unravel.
Haunter does get a little confusing at times, primarily because the house exists in one physical space and yet on different planes of existence:
Even though the film takes place entirely in this house, the house is in itself a kind of universe. It’s a universe composed of various strata of different time periods and I loved the way the script opened up. We thought we were in one kind of world and then as this thing unravels, we realize that it’s something much larger than that.
I think this overlapping of worlds and women was an interesting idea to explore, and worth the minor confusion. The overlapping timeframes allow these young women to work together to overthrow the malevolent Pale Man.
Sure, he might be scary…
…but she’s scarier!
I never thought I would be so happy to see this face.
I read Haunter as a film about the triumph of teamwork against a tyrannical patriarchy.
The film is driven by the fear of male control and aggression, fear of men’s anger and their capacity for violence. The Pale Man kills by inspiring a murderous rage in the husband/father figure, which results in the death of the entire family.
Trigger warning for domestic violence. It gets intense.
He is the Minotaur in the maze. Or the spider in the center of the web. He is the manipulator. He’s that thing you don’t see, but you know is there and waiting for you.
He is the patriarchy: he enforces an invisible oppression through the systemic subjugation of women. Then a brave young woman overcomes her subjugation and inspires a group of women to join forces, to create a new and better world for the living and the dead alike.
A Peter Pan syndrome, or in Jungian terms, the “puer aeternus” complex (forever young), is active here for Megan’s character as she fears personal and professional commitment; the term is “puella aeterna” for women. The appeal of this complex is to stay “forever young,” a girl-woman without adult-level commitments. Her complex is strongly activated by her friend Allison’s (Ellie Kemper) bridal shower and large wedding.
Laggies, a new comedy written by Andrea Seigel and directed by Lynn Shelton, explores how indecision and passivity wreak havoc in the personal life of Megan (played by Keira Knightly), a Seattle woman in her late 20s. Various themes and motifs explored in the film include: the desire to be “adolescent forever” or the appeal of the “puella aeterna” complex; the meaning of animal spirit guides; and complications of father-daughter relationships in terms of female identity. In the growing body of work from talented filmmaker Shelton, this movie’s theme could be categorized under a general umbrella of healing troubled family ties, as seen in her previous films Touchy Feely (2013) and Your Sister’s Sister (2011).
Megan (hilariously portrayed by Keira Knightly) is still part of a circle of friends formed in high school. As 30-ish young adults, they are collectively moving on to marriage, parenthood, and ascending careers. Floundering Megan, who quit grad school therapist training, lives with her serious boyfriend Anthony (Mark Webber), and works for her accountant father (Jeff Garlin) by waving signs on the street to advertise his business. Her friends and her mother express impatience with Megan’s inability to “grow up” and commit to a solid direction in life, be it by marrying, getting career counseling, or finding a new interest of any kind.
A Peter Pan syndrome, or in Jungian terms, the “puer aeternus” complex (forever young), is active here for Megan’s character as she fears personal and professional commitment; the term is “puella aeterna” for women. The appeal of this complex is to stay “forever young,” a girl-woman without adult-level commitments. Her complex is strongly activated by her friend Allison’s (Ellie Kemper) bridal shower and large wedding. When boyfriend Anthony proposes to her at the wedding reception, Megan takes a moment to consider things and goes outside, where she catches her father passionately kissing another woman.
Upset Megan, in true “puella” style, flees the wedding without explanation, and drives away alone. In front of a store, teenaged Annika (Chloë Grace Moretz), asks Megan to buy alcohol for her lively group of high school friends. Megan agrees, saying it’s a “rite of passage” since someone once did it for her; Megan ends up spending the rest of the evening drinking with the teenagers outside, and even TPing a house. When she returns home, Megan finds that Anthony, her friends and parents were understandably alarmed by her abrupt disappearance from the wedding reception. However, Megan and Anthony seal their elopement plans and look forward to getting married in the next week or so in Las Vegas.
This first “regression” sequence for Megan, of hanging out with high school kids, leads to more, as Megan eventually fakes attending a business conference for a week, while in reality, hanging out with Annika’s crowd, staying at her house and getting to know Craig (Sam Rockwell), Annika’s charismatic father. Megan poses as Annika’s mom for a conference with a school counselor, trying on the role of “mother.” Megan’s ongoing vocational interest in “healing” is foreshadowed here as she inquires about the credentials needed to work as a school counselor.
The leitmotif of animal spirit guides is present in the film, used to metaphorically probe the undercurrents of character. Anthony learns, while attending a conference, that his animal guide is “Shark,” a motivating image for him in terms of personal/professional growth. But what is Megan’s spiritual animal avatar? During her weeklong “secret residency” at Annika’s house, Megan takes care of a pet tortoise left behind by Annika’s mother, who moved away. Although the pet has feeding issues, Megan gets on the ground with it in the back yard and cures its eating disorder – another sign of her continued interest in the act of healing. Megan declares to Craig that “Tortoise” is her animal spirit guide. At the teenager’s request, Annika and Megan visit estranged mom Bethany (Gretchen Mol), by tracking her down from a return address on checks sent to Craig. Inside Bethany’s apartment, there are tortoise images on the walls, heading downward towards the floor – a symbolic tie to the family Bethany left behind. Megan, in the encounter in Bethany’s apartment, tries to help both mother and daughter connect, a third instance in the film of Megan promoting a healing process.
In the end of the film, Megan falls in love with Craig while engaged to Anthony, without either of the men knowing about each other. She declares herself to be “a Snake,” but one in the act of transformation, shedding skin. Although some have interpreted the film’s ending to be in the “romantic comedy” vein, the animal imagery here signals that it’s more about Megan’s understanding of herself. More than a simple “happily ever after” ending, she comes to terms with who she really is. Her admission of her own “slow pace” (Tortoise) and duplicity in romance (Snake), along with an articulation of a desire to change (her connection to the “snake’s skin”) leads her to break free from the passivity of her “in-between” life and the stereotypical social pressures of her friends, to go for what she really wants. Siegel and Shelton remind us that our “animal” instincts connect to personal identity and self-acceptance.
Father-daughter relationships get a lot of screen time in Laggies. Two daughters, with loving dads, struggle with identity issues and passivity. Ed has always loved Megan unconditionally, cutting her slack when others judged her “laggie” ways harshly. He never “pushed” her towards easy answers as others in the film seem to do. But Megan cuts off all contact from her dad after seeing him kissing another woman. In the film’s third act, Megan admits that she is like her father with her own recent bout of cheating; she confronts Ed about his “cheating” incident, and also listens to his advice about the changing nature of relationships, and the ongoing need to work at maintaining them. She’s also happy that he told her mother the truth about what happened, and her parents are going to work through their relationship issues.
Craig and Annika also have a paired focus in the film. Craig’s initial alarm upon finding the adult Megan hanging out in his daughter’s bedroom highlights his role of “protector.” But Annika is protective of her father, too; she cuts off her friendship with wayward Megan upon learning that she’s engaged to another man while becoming involved with her dad. Annika misses her mother; Megan functions as a surrogate mother-mentor figure to her in a large portion of the film, but facilitates a reconciliation visit between Annika and Bethany.
Laggies investigates how a Peter Pan syndrome might lose its appeal, and what happens, at the quarter-life mark, when one outgrows a circle of former high school friends. The film begins with old footage of Megan and her friends jumping into a fenced off pool on their high school prom night. In Act Three, Megan ends up at Annika’s prom night, and mentors her by urging Annika to “take action” at the dance and disclose her romantic interest in high schooler Junior (Daniel Zovatto) to him. Megan realizes that she must take her own advice. The clear emphasis on the need for women to claim agency in the final moments of Laggies elevates its message beyond a “romantic” ending. Megan regrets her own passivity; she learns, by the end when she finally knocks on Craig’s door, that she’s the one who’s responsible for what happens in her life, and doing something about it.
Laura Shamas is a writer, film consultant, and mythologist. Her newest book is Pop Mythology: Collected Essays. Read more at her website: LauraShamas.com.
And yet, the way that Simone slides through a single night in a foreign country (whether metaphorical or literal) is not only reflective of the millennial experience, but also of a larger, more human experience.
While so many of us find displeasure in the level of Hollywood films often topping the box office, the new indie film, Layover, directed by Joshua Caldwell is proof that it is not the budget and special effects that make a memorable film, rather it’s the story and characters that we find compelling. Layover is a beautiful, atmospheric indie film about a young French woman, with limited English, who has a 12-hour, one night layover in Los Angeles. Simone (Nathalie Fay) looks up an old friend and from there, spends a reflective, surprising evening on the streets of LA.
Joshua Caldwell, the award-winning director and screenwriter of Layover, was generous enough to grant us an interview for this piece and help us understand how Layover came together and what makes it so compelling. Simone is a woman in transit, and as Caldwell explained to us, a woman “who was on a journey, but a journey she wasn’t really sure she wanted to be on. She’s given this brief moment of pause and reflection before having to decide whether she continues on or not.”
The viewer’s experience of Simone’s thoughtful, life-changing night in Los Angeles is further augmented by the fact that 90 percent of the dialogue is in French. While making life much more difficult for the editing team, and obviously for the actors and crew, it also increases the feeling of isolation that we experience through Simone, making the city seem truly unfamiliar. And while adding to the general atmosphere of the film and the power of Simone’s layover, according to Caldwell, it actually increased the actor’s performance: “Shooting in French actually allowed me to focus more on the performance and emotion and make sure that was coming through regardless of the language. My ear wasn’t tuned to whether the words were correct or not, which can often distract you from paying attention to the emotions.”
Layover and its atmospheric Los Angeles
It’s a plan that apparently worked and as a female viewer, I loved Simone’s bold, no-fear attitude. This wasn’t a movie about being out alone late at night wandering the streets of an unfamiliar city, but rather about moving confidently through space, regardless of our inner fears about growing up. Simone’s concerns about becoming a mother and the perils of marriage, but her wish to still move forward despite her own fears, certainly speak to the experience of the modern 20- (or 30-) something.
And yet, the way that Simone slides through a single night in a foreign country (whether metaphorical or literal) is not only reflective of the millennial experience, but also of a larger, more human experience. The surprising connections, the flirtations, the dancing, the night views, the sense of isolation, the unwelcoming airport terminals and blank hotel rooms. But also, the sense of community between a small group as people wander in and out of a party, the awkward conversations with old friends, and the inevitable regrets of old choices and vague hopes of new ones, are all present.
It’s a tribute to Caldwell that the moody, quiet woman we meet at the beginning, is by the end of the film, not necessarily different, but appears to the audience to be completely different—real, relatable, transitioning.
The film has been heralded as a beautiful coming of age film, which it is; however, it’s the intimate connection that Simone and the “Mysterious Motorcyclist” (Karl Landler) make that sets this film apart. Intimacy without romance and erotic tension without sex is difficult to portray, but Layover manages to connect two young, average people in one, surprising, unexpected moment. Its sort of the most beautiful, and best kind of movie, the kind of story that film does best, two souls connecting, understanding, changing, and then saying goodbye, either to each other, or who they were before. And it’s these kinds of stories that connect across age, which was exactly Caldwell’s intention, despite the film’s stars all being obvious millennials.
The brilliant Nathalie Fay as Simone
Layover is an anomaly in other ways as well; the acting is superb, the dialogue realistic, and several of the scenes were compounded by haunting cinematography, yet the whole package production cost a mere $6,000. Contrast that number, a solid down payment on a Toyota, to the $30 million spent on Guardians of the Galaxy.
Telling great stories like Layover with such a small amount though will hopefully have repercussions in the rest of Hollywood as some film budgets, and the films being made, are hopefully reconsidered. According to Caldwell, having a smaller budget actually helped Layover to move organically, allowing the characters to interact with more realistic situations; “There’s a reality to it that I don’t think would have come from a more polished piece. Also, what our lack of money forced us to do was create really compelling characters that jump off the screen and stick with you after the movie is over.”
It’s a powerful lesson in the abilities of excellent storytelling to arise from a more grounded budget, (an almost laughable meta-moment of art imitating life), and makes sense as Layover takes its influence from the French New Wave style, which favors being creative with what you have. Layover was actually shot on a Canon 5D, which Caldwell believes, “was a beautiful example of what can be done with a minimal budget.”
Karl Landler as the “Mysterious Motorcyclist” in Layover
And it’s not just to Caldwell’s credit that the film has turned out so well, but also to the excellent quality of actors he’s employed; Nathalie Fay especially is worth watching in the future, though you can catch glimpses of her in past roles for Hangover and Due Date. Caldwell too, heaped praise on the star of Layover and told us how he managed to grab such a talented actor for his project: “I met Nathalie (Fay) when she came in to audition for a very small role in a digital project I was directing called Level 26: Dark Revelations. During shooting, we got to talking and she mentioned she was from Montreal and spoke French, and I guess that just stuck with me. With Layover, I needed people who I knew would be on board with the way we were shooting it (on weekends, no trailer, do their own make up, etc.)… But beyond all that, Nathalie was a natural for the role and deserves all the praise she’s receiving.”
It’s the final scene however, that is especially moving; in a beautiful voiceover, Simone predicts her future and wanders through the sadness and depression she knows she’ll feel soon, but also the hope she has that happiness will be there too. It’s a familiar, very poignant moment, and I found my experiences suddenly, fully, reflected back to me, in that thoughtful way that only good stories can accomplish.
Luckily, Caldwell is working on more projects, including a second film in the LAX trilogy (of which Layover is the first), which includes yet another female protagonist passing through Los Angeles, though this time with higher stakes: “The second film in the series is called Assassin, and it’s the story of a female contract killer named Jane who escapes up to the San Bernardino Mountains when a job goes wrong. There, she meets and falls in love with a local woman named Ella. As the two grow closer, the baggage of their past lives threatens the future of their relationship.”
As with Layover, Assassin will be produced on a minimal budget, though this time, Caldwell and company are looking for some audience participation and will be funding this film through Seed&Spark and would obviously love any support offered (you can check out their Seed&Spark page here and a trailer for the project here.).
Josh Caldwell, director and screenwriter for Layover
Joshua Caldwell is an MTV Movie Award winning director, writer, and producer. He has worked with a number of high-profile producers, including CSI: creator Anthony E. Zuiker. His award-winning short film Dig, starring Mark Margolis of Breaking Bad, was featured in numerous film festivals and his Superman fan fiction short film Resignation which screened at Comic-Con 2014. LAYOVERhad its World Premiere at the 2014 Seattle International Film Festival where it was nominated for the prestigious FIPRESCI New American Cinema Award and is now available at LayoverFilm.com. Follow Joshua on Twitter @Joshua_Caldwell
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Rachel Redfern has an MA in English literature, where she conducted research on modern American literature and film and its intersection, however she spends most of her time watching HBO shows, traveling, and blogging and reading about feminism.
I am a horror fan and most times I root for the monster. There, I said it. I root for what should be the feared. The dreaded Other. With all the loaded symbolism that the horror genre represents (fear of sex, fear of the unknown, fear of death and decay, xenophobia etc), I find it cathartic and often liberating to root for the disruption of life as we know it. I love watching humans deal with chaotic change.
Movie Poster of Demons
Confession.
I am a horror fan and most times I root for the monster. There, I said it. I root for what should be the feared. The dreaded Other. With all the loaded symbolism that the horror genre represents (fear of sex, fear of the unknown, fear of death and decay, xenophobia etc), I find it cathartic and often liberating to root for the disruption of life as we know it. I love watching humans deal with chaotic change.
Chaotic change occurred for Hollywood in the 1980s when pretty much everyone I knew owned a VCR player and collected VHS tapes. People could lounge in the comfort of their own homes for just $1 (I remember paying that the first time I rented a tape at the neighborhood video store, before chain retailers like Blockbuster and Hollywood Video existed). For a junior high kid, this was cinema gluttony on the highest order. I could practically watch anything as many times as I wanted in my pajamas eating chocolate pudding and drinking Dr Pepper.
Although I was exposed to Italian giallofilms early on at the drive-in while in grade school with classics like Suspiria, my viewing of the film Demons in the comfort of my living room introduced me to a whole new level of crazy Euro-gore. It also gave me a sneak peek of an actress who would later become a good friend in my adult years.
Demons (1985) has all the elements that make a great Euro-gore campy flick: tons of unearthly bodily fluids, unholy creatures ripping out of humans, bloody demonic possession, supernatural Nostradamus predictions, and a movie theater built on top of a gateway to hell. Classic Italian horror has no chill and will throw in everything and the kitchen sink. The actors are gorgeous and the movie has the quintessential throbbing 80s soundtrack with, for goodness sakes, Billy Idol’s “White Wedding” pumping the action along. Microwave popcorn heaven. The movie plot was ripe for a horror cinefile like myself.
Cheryl (Natasha Hovey) and Kathy (Paula Cozzo) arrive at the theater.
In a nutshell, Demons follows two college students, Cheryl (Natasha Hovey) and Kathy (Paula Cozzo), as they arrive at an ominous movie theater to see a free screening of an unknown movie. Cheryl was given a flyer in a subway station by mysterious man wearing a silver half-mask that concealed part of his face. Cheryl convinces Kathy to skip classes. In the theater lobby they encounter other movie patrons arriving, including a Black pimp and his two working-girls, one white, the other Black. Rosemary (the Black working-girl) sees a demonic silver mask hanging on a motorcycle display. She playfully puts on the mask only to have it scratch her face and draw blood. This being horror’s obligatory symbolic penetration (orally) of a female character. It’s the catalyst that ignites the evil to come.
Rosemary (Geretta Geretta) playfully wears mask that cuts her cheek.
Eventually the audience settles in to watch what turns out to be a horror movie (surprise!) about people discovering an ancient book and the same silver mask that Rosemary put on in the theater lobby. Rosemary’s wound starts to bleed again while watching the events unfold onscreen, so she goes to the restroom to staunch the blood flow, which has gotten worse, .. …yikes…it’s turned into squirting yellow puss. She becomes demon possessed and transforms into a hideous, green vomit-spewing supernatural contagion. Shenanigans ensue.
Rosemary (Geretta Geretta) becomes possessed.
What I always found to be a cool element of Demons was the film in the movie foreshadows what is to come for the film audience. And there are moments when the audience senses that this “movie” they are watching is not fiction. Eerily, a demon-possessed character in the theater film actually watches the mounting terror of the audience watching it back. The watchers become the watched. There’s also a subversive moment in the film that I latched onto as a kid, that I still find thrilling as an adult. The character of Rosemary (Geretta Geretta) on the surface plays into the classic stereotypical trope of the hyper-sexualized Black woman (she’s a hooker), and also the tiresome trope (and sad joke) of Black and/or non-white characters always dying first. But in Demons, Rosemary doesn’t die, she becomes transformed into a horrific Other, and takes everyone with her. She could kill people outright, or if she scratched anyone, they would turn into a demon too. I loved that element in the film. If she goes down, everyone goes down. She doesn’t disappear or fade into the background as Black characters often do. Hell, even the scorned Black pimp, Tony (Bobby Rhodes), takes on leadership of a more altruistic kind at one point in the film.
The beauty of revisiting old films that you loved as a youngster is that you get to change your mind about it as an adult. My first go-round with the film, I enjoyed the over-the-top craziness, and was actually excited when the heroine, Cheryl (The Final Girl), gets away with another theater patron, George (Urbano Barberini–The Final Boy) in what was a thrilling escape from the literal bowels of hell inside the possessed theater. But Demons throws in a Michael Jackson Thriller video ending, and has Cheryl break the fourth wall by turning around and showing us she has turned into a demon herself. This twist was foreshadowed by the slow camera pan towards the back of her head. I saw it coming but was thrilled nonetheless. Miss Goody two-shoes doesn’t get away.
But in hindsight, I’m now disappointed with this ending.
As an adult I had the pleasure of reading texts about filmmaking, horror theory, and feminist texts discussing the horror viewership of women and all the subtext that brings. As an adult, I view film with a more critical gaze, looking at context as well as content. Fresh eyes bring fresh views. What bothers me now about Demons that bugged me on the surface as a kid, is that Cheryl and George, the characters we are supposed to root for, start off as equals in the beginning, and end up taking on binary gender roles by the end.
Cheryl (Natasha Hovey) and George (Urbano Barberini) sense evil in the film they watch.
Cheryl and George are strangers when we meet them at the eerie theater. They are both on neutral gender ground. They both are frightened by the movie that they watch together, and they are both proactive in surviving. By sharing Cheryl’s emotional state, George is feminized in a way, and by sharing George’s active behavior in protecting themselves, Cheryl is given masculine traits. There is a balance. But once their friends are possessed and killed, Cheryl becomes a falling, weepy, girly mess that George has to prod along and save. George changes from clean cut preppy-looking Golden Boy in the beginning, into some Mad Max Samurai Warrior hybrid by the end. He turns into a movie superhero. Cheryl turns into a movie damsel you want to scream at. Patronizing patriarchy wins.
Tony the Pimp (Bobby Rhodes) leads other demon possessed theater patrons after more victims.
There is a moment near the end of the movie where gender balance appears to be restored. The mysterious man who gave away tickets to the evil screening stands atop the theater roof where Cheryl and George have made their way up to. There is a struggle, and both Cheryl and George impale the bad buy’s head through a metal pipe together. Shortly thereafter, we learn Cheryl’s real fate. As an adult, this is the moment that shows a missed opportunity to have the rare Final Girl/Final Boy moment alive and together at the end of the movie. Equally frustrating now is the fact that the narrative followed Cheryl in the beginning, castrated her agency in favor of some random guy, and steals her away at the end. Such a different read from my teenaged-self. But of course I’ve watched thousands of hours of film since then. I now have new language to call out what I couldn’t contextualize back then. However, I still have love for this film.
My favorite part of loving this crazy movie is the fact that many years later, while attending the Sundance Film Festival, I was able to share a townhouse with the actress who played Rosemary, Geretta Geretta. I walked into the townhouse kitchen knocking snow off of my boots, saw Geretta and squealed, “Ohmigod! You were in Demons!” Geretta stared at me and said, “You remember that movie? How old are you?”
Me (Lisa Bolekaja) and Geretta Geretta (my beloved Rosemary) hanging out at our favorite Hollywood Thai spot.
We’ve been friends ever since. I convinced her to start going to horror conventions to show people that women love horror too. Rosemary the Demon is just as iconic as Jason, or Freddy, or Michael. Female horror monsters need to be admired and respected too. And Demons is a cult classic. Geretta agreed.
Who would’ve thought that the demonic monster I was rooting for as a teenager would end up being my friend in real life? But it makes sense though. I love monsters. And they love me too.
Geretta Geretta taking my advice and bringing female horror icons to conventions worldwide.
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.”
This guest post by Rachel Wortherley appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.
At first glance, director Noah Baumbach’s seventh film, Frances Ha, also co-written by its star, Greta Gerwig (Frances), can be summed up as the following: 20-something Frances Halladay aimlessly struggles to survive in the harsh climate of New York City, while trying to become a professional dancer and mature into adulthood. While this is the case, the most important aspect is the relationship between Frances and her best friend Sophie (Mickey Sumner). In the scope of cinematic female friendships, Frances Ha explores it as a beautiful story of love, loss, and courage.
The filmbegins with a dizzying montage of Frances and Sophie engaging in behaviors that range from adolescent to intimate. They blissfully play fight, giggle uncontrollably, and have cozy bedroom confessions. They are the epitome of inseparable. At one point, Frances muses, “Tell me the story of us.” Sophie in a nurturing, maternal tone recites their future as a bedtime story. They achieve all their dreams: Sophie successfully becomes a publishing mogul, and Frances a famous modern dance artist. Their lives will be filled with European excursions and honorary degrees–so many honorary degrees.
So far, we are witnessing the familiar trope of sisterhood, support, and unwavering affection that is inherent in similarly themed films such as Steel Magnolias, The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, or Waiting to Exhale. These women are in love with each another and their friendships can weather the toughest hurdles. However, the quality that separates Frances Ha from the latter two is that men are a backdrop to the friendship, goals, and ambitions of Frances and Sophie. The “story of us” does not include husbands and babies. When men are spoken about, it is usually brief and fleeting. Frances nonchalantly recounts that she and her boyfriend, Dan, have broken up. He wants to move in together, while Frances’ loyalty is to her lease and partnership with Sophie. Frances is not heartbroken. She is not sobbing on the window sill as a soulful R&B song swells in the background. While they love men, men do not dominate their dynamic and neither female is defined by them. At this point, they are one another’s significant other.
This hazy love story takes a turn when Sophie abruptly moves in with another girlfriend in the trendy and more expensive neighborhood of Tribeca. 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.”
A friendship that was once whimsical and carefree gives way to passive aggressiveness and tension. Upon Sophie’s move, an irate Frances blasts her over the phone for coveting a tea kettle they bought when moving in together. Yet, at no point does it become Mean Girls. It is absent of “burn books,” idle gossip, or derision. Here begins the angst, confusion, and fear that is familiar when the one constant in our lives changes. Frances is left alone to figure life out by herself. There is no one present to reprimand her for picking at her acne, share a cigarette, or laugh with hysterically as she urinates off a subway platform. Thus begins Frances’ search for companionship.
One of the greatest qualities about this film is that Baumbach and Gerwig, whether consciously or unconsciously, adhere to the “Bechdel test.” While Frances interacts with men, the most dominant male/female scenes being with her newfound roommates Lev (Adam Driver) and Benji (Michael Zegen), it is quite platonic–almost innocent and childlike. When they speak it usually involves her job, Sophie, or her feelings of not being “grown up.” They in turn appreciate her quirkiness and good humor. At this point, we cut to Frances’ sleep being disrupted by Lev and Benji who engage her in a tickle fight. Laughter resounds and all is well again in her world. In typical comedies, when most writers place a female character in this situation, the easy route is to pair Frances with one of the men (likely Benji who makes his attraction for Frances obvious by the film’s end). But this is a different kind of “romantic comedy.” It is a platonic love story between two friends.
Rather, Lev and Benji fill the void of loneliness that pervades sans Sophie. This pattern continues when Frances, unable to afford rent at the guys’ Chinatown apartment, temporarily moves in with Rachel (Grace Gummer), her superior in the dance company. With her, Frances attempts to vainly re-enact the play fights, as Rachel screams “stop” and “ahoy sexy” inside jokes. At this stage Frances is coping with the emptiness of losing someone she dubs “the same person” as well as a professional impasse. Sophie works in publishing and has a significant other. In terms of the “story of us,” these successes, or failures, are not occurring as they imagined, or simultaneously. Their story continues to slip out of their grasp.
It should be noted that Frances Ha accurately depicts patterns in female friendships. Usually in films, women engage in a huge blowout that eventually resolves itself at the end of the film. The heroines usually return to a childhood memory or place from the past that reunites them. Or, in comedies, their resolution comes by way of a ridiculously, over-the-top physical fight. But as previously stated, Frances and Sophie are passive aggressive. Prior to Frances and Sophie’s public bathroom blow-out, a scene in which Frances exclaims, “Don’t treat me like a three-hour brunch friend,” there are quiet moments that led up to this. Sophie makes biting comments to Frances that Frances is still messy. Sophie also makes it clear that Patch is a presence who equally, if not more, knows her on an intimate level.
After their dispute, they don’t speak for a while until Sophie calls Frances to invite her to a party. She and Patch are moving to Japan. While they apologize for their behavior toward each other, Sophie for her passiveness and Frances for her aggression, they’re still unable to tell each other their innermost truths. Frances does not divulge that she did not make it into the company’s Christmas show, while Sophie does not share her apprehensions about getting serious with Patch. This can be interpreted as prideful, or a way to save face, but it is instead a serene moment in which they resolve their issue rather than dwell on the past.
Yet, the most pivotal scenes appear toward the end. At a low point, Frances has now returned to her and Sophie’s alma mater as a residential assistant to make more money, while a newly engaged Sophie and Patch appear at the college’s gala. Upon Sophie and Patch’s brief falling out, Sophie and Frances are reunited. An inebriated Sophie expresses her doubts and fears of growing up while Frances confesses that she loves Patch if Sophie does. They revert to the image in the beginning of the film: cozy twin bed confessions, copious I love yous, and talk of moving back in together. Frances also complies with Sophie’s pet peeve of no socks in bed. All is right again. That is, until sober Sophie leaves Frances in the morning to mend her relationship with Patch. Frances is abandoned yet again, only this time, a barefoot Frances attempts to chase after her to no avail. Looking down at her bare feet on the pavement, Frances realizes she has to stop chasing the past.
Frances and Sophie’s “one night stand” allows them to create their separate moments of courage. Frances finds alternative methods of achieving her success, lives in an apartment by herself, and eventually choreographs her own dance troupe. She learns to be alone, rather than lonely. Sophie, who appeared as the independent one in their friendship, is now co-dependent in her marriage to Patch. She is committing herself to a long-term relationship that is more complicated than moving in with another friend. They’re both comfortable living in their own skin. Yet, they experience a moment Frances describes earlier in the film:
“It’s that thing when you’re with someone, and you love them and they know it, and they love you and you know it…but it’s a party…and you’re both talking to other people, and you’re laughing and shining…and you look across the room and catch each other’s eyes…but – but not because you’re possessive, or it’s precisely sexual…but because…that is your person in this life.”
Like Frances and Sophie, our first loves are our best friends. They’re an extension of us so much so, that a proverbial break-up is inherently heartbreaking. It forces us into becoming independent, partake in self-discovery, and recognize that life will take us in different directions. Frances and Sophie’s relationship is fresh because while they are now living separate lives, they still maintain love and respect for each other. The friendship becomes about the present, rather than the past or future. Ultimately their courage lies in knowing that while their roads may diverge, their bond remains as strong as looking across the room and glowing in each other’s happiness.
Rachel Wortherley is a recent graduate of Iona College in New Rochelle, New York. Her downtime consists of devouring copious amounts of literature, television shows, and films. She hopes to gain a doctorate in English literature and become a professional screenwriter.
From her solo travel to the two gorgeous cities, Rani is not so much “magically” transformed. She is the same person, albeit now adorned with a smile and a quiet self-confidence. In the end, she is just better equipped to deal with anything. This is a milestone film for Bollywood and Indian cinema in general. In this character-driven film, Rani is pretty, but she stands out much more because of her inner beauty, honesty and spirit of life – and this progressive film happened in Bollywood.
Guest post by Nandini Rathi.
“I want to go on my honeymoon.”
If you have courage to do something unconventional (like going solo on your honeymoon, not to mention to far-away, unknown cities) in spite of a heavy heart, there has to be hope. Queen(2014) is a gift to every girl who thinks she can be one. I love this film. I can watch parts of it again and again, smiling and laughing. The soundtrack happens to be just about the perfect accompaniment. Queen is the story of Rani Mehra (Kangana Ranaut), a sweet and submissive girl from Delhi who is on the verge of getting married. But Vijay, her long-term-boyfriend turned fiancé, calls it off two days before the big day – after all the extensive arrangements have been made and paid for by the bride’s family. After his stint at London, Vijay is convinced that he can do much better for a wife than the naive and simple Rani. (Rani also doesn’t have a great fashion sense in the beginning which classifies her as “un-modern.”)
Although shaken and heartbroken, Rani precariously decides to go alone on her once eagerly planned, much-awaited honeymoon to Paris and Amsterdam. This is an unconventional step for her (or for anyone in her place) and especially her protective family, who have diligently sheltered her from the unknown all her life. But you can get this gist from the trailer and the first ten minutes into the film. The adventure awaits.
From her solo travel to the two gorgeous cities, Rani is not so much “magically” transformed. She is the same person, albeit now adorned with a smile and a quiet self-confidence. In the end, she is just better equipped to deal with anything. This is a milestone film for Bollywood and Indian cinema in general. In this character-driven film, Rani is pretty, but she stands out much more because of her inner beauty, honesty and spirit of life – and this progressive film happened in Bollywood.
There are so many things about the film that make my heart sing, such as watching the main heroine dance bad-ass forherself (in the age of Bollywood numbers that directly cater to the male gaze). Kudos to director Vikas Bahl for paying attention to minute details in creating such moments. The best thing I find about Rani’s character is how broad-mindedly she accepts people who are different from her. She genuinely appreciates people for who they are and this inspires her to find herself. Rani just knows to live and let live.
In Paris, she meets and befriends Vijaylaxmi, the fun-loving, bed-hopping, hotel staff member of French-Spanish-Indian ethnic mix. In Amsterdam, she meets Oleksander, Taka, and Tim, her gang of roommates and partners in adventure. She also meets a fellow South Asian, Roxette, a pole dancer – stripper in the Red Light district. Rani’s interactions with all of these people are nothing short of breathtaking. It is the likeability of her character and the candid conversations (co-written by Ranaut herself) which urge the audience (especially the more conservative audience of India) to keep their biases away, at least temporarily.
From Lisa Haydon as Vijaylaxmi to Chinmaya Agrawal as Rani’s kid brother, Chintu, the supporting actors in Queen have been perfectly cast. As for Kangana Ranaut, she has proved her brilliance and malleability as an actress by playing Rani, who is a fresh change from her heretofore urban and edgy characters. To borrow from film critic Anupama Chopra’s perspective, even though in her eight-year-old film career Ranaut had shown remarkable talent, it hadn’t been easy to love her dark and volatile characters. That is, until Queen.
Had Vijay married Rani, she would have never realized how capable she is – of taking care of herself, of befriending fun people regardless of language, race or nationality, of being a natural entrepreneur (cooking and selling gol gappas in Amsterdam) and of being a spontaneous bad-ass in unexpected situations e.g. defending her purse from an aggressive pickpocket, and having a “lip-to-lip” kiss with the dishy Italian restaurateur to prove that Indians are better kissers.
Rani with hostel roommates Oleksander, Taka, and Tim in Amsterdam
Her newfound friends in Paris and Amsterdam would fondly remember her as “Queen,” which is what, as she tells them, her name means. Originally, it was Vijay who fondly called her that while trying to woo her. By the end of the trip, Rani has indeed claimed the invisible crown of her namesake. She breaks it off with Vijay in the most affectionate way, and with a genuine “Thank you.” If it wasn’t for his stupidity, her life would have been a completely different story.
The other day I was thinking what is it about the movie that especially resonates with me. As a quote lover, I saw a few well-dramatized one liners:
Don’t judge a person by their outfit:
There can be a broad-minded, caring, and conscientious soul within. Vijay lets Rani go because she seems too “behenji” for his new status. “Behenji” is a mild slur for an unfashionable, not-hip, young woman. Rani is hella brave and just needed to breathe in free air to find and become herself.
This only sets her in contrast with Vijay’s double standards. He’s the kind of guy who drinks and yet yells at his girlfriend for having sipped on celebratory champagne. The guy who on the forehand wants a modern and fashionable partner and on the backhand, freaks out over normal things she does for pleasure (like dancing in public in a group of girls), if it doesn’t fit the bill of what he and his parents would expect from the would-be wife/daughter-in-law. He wants an independent-looking girl (from her selection of clothes and make up maybe) but not one who actually has a mind of her own or wants to do something worthwhile with her life.
Nah, everyone deserves to feel free and dance like this with friends!
Grandmas are Rockstars:
This reminds me of other insightful and progressive Bollywood grandmas like in Pardes (Ghai, 1997) and Vicky Donor (Sircar, 2012).Rani’s grandmother can see the big picture when the rest are lost. She encourages Rani to chuck any regrets or worries, and believe that the loss of Vijay happened for the better. She even asks her to get out there and meet a gora munda (implied as “white hottie”) in Europe.
Recognize and call out the Hypocrisy:
Love this.
Rani with Vijay’s mother in Delhi (right before the end): “You left without telling us. We were so worried.” “But you didn’t call even once”
When Vijay meets Rani to get her back, at the cafe in Amsterdam, he claims that he needed to protect her from her friends who he refers to as “weird foreigners,” who he supposedly knows better. Rani has a staggering moment of disenchantment. Especially all this after Rani has had flashbacks of the times Vijay’s patronization had suffocated her.
Who doesn’t want to run happy like that in a gorgeous city (realizing they are actually over a long term, controlling ex)?
Travel for its “crazy” and “wow” moments:
Knowing that there are ways of living different than one’s own, and that it’s possible to share stories and adventures with all kinds of people that one never expected to meet — that’s some magic!
And for the homecoming:
Seeing the beautiful world beyond your own doesn’t result in loving home less. At the end of her journey, Rani is the same girl who is deeply attached to family and exceedingly happy to reunite with them. Even her family acknowledges that they can’t and need not always cocoon her.
Rani hasn’t become flashy just because of the trip “abroad.” She shares a laugh with her mother while recounting that the kurta she got in Amsterdam turned out to be “made in India.” Even when she imbibes a slightly different wardrobe, it happens like a shot of added diversity, a natural “mix ‘n’ match.” It is just cute to see Vijaylaxmi donning on her (Rani’s) kurti at the train station. One doesn’t have to wave a magic wand and discard a former version of oneself in order to evolve for the better.
Rani is still a sweet and soft-spoken woman, who, as Chopra puts it, has grown a smile and a spine. A queen complete with pride and dignity. See the invisible crown?
Nandini Rathi is a recent graduate from Whitman College in Film and Media Studies and Politics. She loves traveling, pop culture, photography, and adventures. She wants to be immersed in filmmaking, journalism, writing and nonprofit work to ultimately be able to contribute her bit toward making the world a better place. She blogs at brightchicdreams.wordpress.com
We need heroines who tell girls that they are strong and capable entirely on their own, that they don’t need a family and ESPECIALLY don’t need a lover in order to become themselves. We need heroines who prove in action that no one ever—EVER—has the right to take your livelihood or body or home away from you, as well as that—if it happens—it doesn’t have to destroy you forever. Girls need to see that it’s okay to seek and use power, that there is nothing at all wrong with being a strong, emotional, powerful leader as a woman.
This is a guest post by Melissa Cordner.
***Sole warning: contains all the spoilers.***
Reviews and friends will tell you that Maleficent was predictable, at times slow, and seemed to be primarily an excuse for the artists to show off their CG skills (that dragon though!). In terms of action-based plotlines, this is fair, but those who are bored by the film are overlooking one key factor: character development. Maleficent is a classic stereotypical “total bitch”—and THAT’S PORTRAYED AS A GOOD THING.
Maleficent was a sweet little girl, adored by her community and brave enough to defend it peaceably. She fell in love, as we are prone to do, and had her heart broken when the object of her affections left to chase fame and fortune, as we are also prone to do. This heartbreak made her cautious, but it did not destroy her. No, it was when he came back, soothed away the pain of years with his sweet talk and cuddles, and then drugged her and brutally hacked off and stole her wings, that she went a little crazy with pain and rage.
Angelina Jolie as Maleficent
The importance of the wing theft seems a little underplayed in the film; at no point does Maleficent come out and say “the person I was in love with broke my body and spirit by taking away my main source of pride, mobility, and identity.” She spells it out a little for Aurora when she explains that her wings never faltered and were always dependable, but that doesn’t quite get to the heart of it either. On one level, her wings were what made her a fairy and made her the protector of the moors; without them, she is landlocked and crippled, incapable of work and even play. This would destroy anyone, but the fact that her wings were stolen not in battle but under the guise of romantic love adds another more complicated layer to the trauma. This man felt entitled to her body; he felt it fair to drug her and take what he wanted with no respect for what she wanted or needed or how she would survive afterwards. He took away her identity, her pride in her body, and her livelihood. He never asked permission, he never apologized, and she was left with trust in nothing and no one—not even herself.
It is interesting to note that he could not bring himself to kill her, but chose to cause her a lifetime of pain and suffering instead. Like Maleficent in the Sleeping Beauty saga, Stefan is easy to read as evil and malicious; however, we see he still has a bit of compassion when he can’t bring himself to drive the blade into her back. Of course he still destroys her in every way possible by tearing off her wings; does this make him better, or worse, than a murderer? He also could have used the knife and let her bleed to death from the experience but chose instead a chain which (we can guess) was made of iron and therefore cauterized the wounds; is this compassion, or cruelty? Even here, Maleficent shows that things are not always black and white.
It is also important to note that her wings—which Stefan keeps locked under glass as a bizarre morbid trophy—come to life and return to Maleficent when she is about to die, immobilized by her inability to fly away from the power-sapping iron (another secret her once-lover has used against her as a way to destroy her, for those of you keeping track). It is no accident that those wings lay dormant behind that glass for sixteen years while Maleficent’s heart was consumed by a bitter storm of resentment and revenge. It is no accident that they came to life when Maleficent was about to die, AFTER she had told Aurora to run, using close to the last of her strength to protect what her heart cherished most. It is no accident that sixteen-year-old Aurora is who topples that trophy case and frees the wings to return to the fairy. Maleficent’s wings return because her heart does when she puts Aurora before herself, just as they disappeared when her faith and ability to love were stolen. You don’t erase a rape or betrayal—ever— but it IS possible to get your livelihood back and become proud of your body again.
The fact that Aurora— the child upon whom Maleficent cast a vengeful curse so powerful even she could not undo it—is the reason Maleficent’s heart (and wings) return to her is hugely important. This shows audience members that we don’t only deserve love, even when we run from it; we also deserve forgiveness. Maleficent was bitter and hurting and angry and made a bad decision. She made a huge mistake that destroyed an innocent person’s life for the sake of revenge… and that person LOVED HER ANYWAY. If Aurora hadn’t loved Maleficent as much as Maleficent loved her, even after finding out the source of the curse, the kiss would not have been of true love and the spell would not have been broken. We know this because the kiss from Phillip didn’t work; they didn’t know each other well enough, they didn’t love each other truly enough. As in Frozen (and Enchanted now that I think about it), Disney finally gives us the message that love at first sight is not all it’s made out to be.
Maleficent and her wings
This generation of girls has had sassy, brave and strong heroines before Maleficent, of course, but all these heroines have left us wanting more complexity. I grew up with Hermione, the cleverest girl at Hogwarts—who solved riddles for the main male character and played a vital-but-still-merely-supporting role to his adventures. Teenagers now identify with Katniss, the badass figurehead of the rebel movement in The Hunger Games—an emotional, confused girl who bravely defended her sister and then forevermore served as a puppet for the movement rather than a leader. Disney’s movies have participated in this movement as well. Tangled’s Rapunzel dared to question authority but was still fulfilled by finding love and a throne; Brave’s Merida valued herself as more of a person than a princess and learned the value of bravery without a supporting man but remained a princess and even—painfully enough—underwent a “makeover” to become more stereotypically beautiful/soft/feminine later on. Frozen gave us female characters with a bit more emotional complexity, but even Anna—who proved that true love does not have to be romantic love—was sweet and a little bumbling and would never hurt a fly… and even she ended up with a boyfriend. All of these women show girls that it’s okay to be emotional and scared, it’s okay to rely on others, and it’s possible to be brave and strong and true to yourself while you do it. That is a message that our girls, who still dress up like Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, and Cinderella, need desperately to hear.
But I, for one, think it’s time to take the “you don’t need to be helpless and dependent to be feminine” theme a little further. We need heroines who tell girls that they are strong and capable entirely on their own, that they don’t need a family and ESPECIALLY don’t need a lover in order to become themselves. We need heroines who prove in action that no one ever—EVER—has the right to take your livelihood or body or home away from you, as well as that—if it happens—it doesn’t have to destroy you forever. Girls need to see that it’s okay to seek and use power, that there is nothing at all wrong with being a strong, emotional, powerful leader as a woman. It’s time we tell our girls that you can fight back, even using defensive violence, and still be a good person. It’s time to tell our girls that they can make mistakes and even hurt the people they love, and still deserve that love. Yes, Maleficent DOES have a slow plot, instead centering almost entirely on the character development of one woman—and it is about damn time.
Mel Cordner is based in Connecticut, USA with her two cats and a car full of rubber ducks. She spends a lot of time writing about queer issues, fighting the system, and supporting local parks and restaurants. For more of her work, check out http://www.permissiontowrite.tumblr.com/
Female characters are often filler, like the cartilage that goes into hot dogs, with no real meat on their bones. They stand in the doorway, boxed in the jam, never truly inhabiting the whole room. Why? Why are female characters relegated to the margin? Maybe because studios believe men go to the movies more than women. Maybe because the industry spends time and money making action figures and toy guns for boys, whose mothers are trying to teach them that violence is always unacceptable, especially toward women. We have got to stop feeding this system.
Tracy Nichole Cring
This is a guest post by Tracy Nichole Cring.
Anne Shirley (Anne of Green Gables), Jordan O’Neill (G.I. Jane), Ellen Ripley (Alien), Marie von Trapp (Sound of Music), Jo March (Little Women), Zula (Conan the Destroyer). These women are my role models.
I want to be Diane Court (Say Anything), popular because she’s smart, Sally Albright (When Harry Met Sally) a funny friend and cohort, Andie Walsh (Pretty in Pink), a girl who has the guts to go it alone in a homemade dress. Growing up, I specifically patterned aspects of my personality, humor, and gumption on the females I saw in film. Thankfully, I had a mother who introduced me to them and wanted me to be inspired and moved. Without these amazing works, I absolutely would not be the woman I am today. And this is exactly what concerns me when I look at the marquee at the CinemaPlex: Why are women so underrepresented? How will future generations gain inspiration? TheHunger Games is a good film, but it’s violent and not terribly deep or inspiring. The recent string of white-washed young adult tween books turned film are just not very soulful. Everyone is lapping it up, but I say this milk is sour!
Female characters are often filler, like the cartilage that goes into hot dogs, with no real meat on their bones. They stand in the doorway, boxed in the jam, never truly inhabiting the whole room. Why? Why are female characters relegated to the margin? Maybe because studios believe men go to the movies more than women. Maybe because the industry spends time and money making action figures and toy guns for boys, whose mothers are trying to teach them that violence is always unacceptable, especially toward women. We have got to stop feeding this system.
That being said, I did go to the theater to see Godzilla. I love my popcorn blockbusters. But riddle me this: Why would Juliette Binoche be in less than ten minutes of the film? Why were there no other female characters introduced? The studios might think that a bunch of girls aren’t going to watch Godzilla anyway—who cares if we kill the best actor in the film before the opening credits are finished? But I call a foul on the play.
But it is possible to have a complex and fascinating female character. Look at the amazing Robin Wright, for example. Early in her womanhood, Robin was cast as the static ethereal beauty. Because of this typecasting, as she moved into her 30s, she was lucky to have the small parts in big movies—lucky to be a distracted mom or a doting wife with a few lines. In her 40s, she shared the spotlight with Naomi Watts in Adore, showing off her complexity AND looking amazing. Then, House of Cards came along and Robin was catapulted into the meaty role of the modern Lady Macbeth. As the series continues, she only grows more and more complex; she’s Gordan Gecko, she’s smart, powerful, and when she makes mistakes, she owns up to them. She plots her success and navigates toward it. She truly is a fully rounded and realized human being.
Given the enormous success of House of Cards, why are these central, complex female characters so few and far between? And why does this discrepancy extend behind the scenes too? The disproportionate number of male “leads” is in every facet of this business. What are the causes?
Men. They just don’t get it. As writers, the only women many seem to write are mirrors of their own disconnected wives or the bimbo they want to bed. But this is not to say that a man does not have the ability to write a female character. It’s pretty easy—change some of the male characters to females. The sexes are not dissimilar in what drives them and how they react. Remember that Sigourney Weaver’s famous role as Ripley in Alien was originally written as a man. When they changed it, it brought a new dynamic to the role, which kick-started a franchise.
Women. We just can’t seem to get out of our own way. As long as we insist that “lifetime” storytelling belongs in major or indie films, we will never be taken seriously in this business. The term “chick flick” is a very dangerous one, pigeonholing female artists into unrewarding genres. This problem becomes evident when a director like Kathryn Bigelow confounds conventions about the kind of films she wants to make—movies that have no concern for appealing to a general sex but, instead, are grand spectacle and intimate storytelling. Near Dark, Point Break, and Strange Days all have gender equality and high-octane entertainment. But who is the female equivalent of Gilliam, Lynch, Cronenberg, or Kubrick? Every one of those artists was an outsider who scraped for every project he ever did. Where are our risk takers? We have to go find them and support with ticket and DVD purchases.
Children. They are a cinematic problem for everyone. A family seeing a film together is at least three tickets as opposed to the individual with one. So when math influences art, you see that art diluted so as to not offend the sensibilities of anyone under 18. This thinking is responsible for a huge majority of forgettable entertainment in the last twenty five years. The fact that Baby Geniuses even exists proves my point. Let Disney and Pixar fight out the family market. Of AFIs top 100 films of all time, how many of them would appeal to a seven-year-old? Let children have their entertainment, but films that appeal exclusively to adults are important. Though there are great movies rated G and those rated NC-17, the story should dictate the rating, not the box office.
So, to put it simply: To solve this problem a variety of people need to take action. Men, diversify your characters outside of the people who look and sound just like you. Women, support sophisticated entertainment and don’t reward inequality with your ticket money. Children, don’t torture the babysitter so Mom and Dad can go see a film that reflects what they are going through.
Now make your opinion known and support the films you want to see more of.
Tracy Nichole Cring grew up in a small town in Tennessee. Surrounded by industrious and self-taught artisans, she was inspired to follow her own path and fell in love with film. By 17 she had taught herself to use cameras, edit, and she won her first film festival (Los Angeles Film Fest 1997) for which she received the grand prize of the latest, new filmmaking gear.
After moving to Nashville (200?) she met Jon Russell Cring and put to use her festival winnings co-writing, shooting, and editing a TV series together.
“The ExtraOrdinary Film Project” was born – an attempt to make 12 feature films in 12 months. Though it took 20 months to complete all 12 features, shot on such locations as Bugscuffle, Tenn., Phoenix, Ariz., San Fransisco, Calif., and Flint, Mich., Tracy was cinematographer for all 12 films. In addition, she also co-directed Budd (film no. 12), appearing in the Route 66 Film Festival, Southern Appalachian Film Festival, and Memphis Film Festival in 2008.
Tracy then moved to Albany, New York with the aim of slowing the production pace and taking time to study and hone her craft. Her last three films, And See All the People, Creeping Crawling, and Little Bi Peep, currently touring the film festival circuit, have been winning awards ( New Orleans fest, Atlanta Horror, Atlantic City Cinefest (four awards) and have distribution offers.
A natural at writing unique scenes that speak to her audience, Tracy has also taken on writing feature screenplays with partner Jon Russell Cring to great success, having optioned many to other producers.
Tracy serves on the board of Upstate Women in Film and Television and has teamed up with fellow UPWIFT Board Member and President, Actor/Producer Heidi Elizabeth Philipsen-Meissner and her husband, Producer Niko Meissner to collaborate on Tracy and Jon’s newest script, the dark drama, This is Nowhere. The indie feature, currently in development, is projected to enter production in the late summer of 2014.
The first season was a self-funded passion project and as it got more popular they managed to crowd fund the second season so that they could pay actors and crew; the girls did not pay themselves. They have successfully secured funding from New Zealand on Air to pay for the upcoming third and fourth seasons that should air sometime this year and I really can’t wait.
I want to tell you about a gem of a web-series that I discovered recently. It is called Flat3and it is made in a small country in the South Pacific more famous for its big-budget fantasy epics (Lord of The Rings, The Hobbit) than for small, interesting character-driven comedies. Although let us not forget Flight of the Conchords.
How to describe Flat3… It is basically everything I have ever been looking for in a web series. Smart, funny, engaging, a little bit weird, a little bit bleak, and little bit hopeful all at the same time. The show illustrates perfectly that talented Asian women can make a show that is funny and doesn’t rely on painful self-deprecation or crapping on other minorities. Ally, JJ, Perlina, and Roseanne (the director) have said that they set out to make a show that they would want to watch. It isn’t about hitting you over the head with their Asianness, it is about three women whose lives haven’t turned out quite the way they planned and how they deal with that. For me the show really captures the pain and humour of your mid-20s, post-university, now what do I do with my life phase. Think something like what Girls would be like if it was about people you actually knew. There is considerable talent at play here. Roseanne Liang is the show’s director and writer as well as wearing the co-producer hat. She was the first ever Chinese New Zealander to theatrically release a film and her movie My Wedding and Other Secrets was the highest grossing locally made film of 2011. Co-producer and cast member JJ Fong is currently starring on South Pacific Pictures’ Go Girls, one of the highest-rated locally produced shows on New Zealand television.
Ally, JJ, and Perlina
The show follows the misadventures of three flatmates–two of whom have graduated with degrees in the creative industries and are trying their best to make it in this recession-heavy world. First there is Lee, the quietest one of the three who is trying to figure out what she can do with a degree in fine art and how to date when you have never really done it before. Next there is JJ, a beautiful promo girl/actress/waitress who is struggling with what it means to be valued solely for your looks and how to be taken seriously as an actress when your big break comes from shilling feminine hygiene wipes. Then there is Perlina, straightforward and upfront yet worried that she is unlikeable and struggling to connect with her work colleagues. In the first episode that centers around her, Perlina spends her time trying to be more likeable and goes to the point of interviewing her ex-boyfriend to figure out what she did wrong and how she can improve. Despite this, it is Perlina who normally saves the day because of her ability to see through bullshit and get to the crux of an issue.
I think what I like most about Flat3, aside from the fact that it is both well-written and well-acted, is that I relate to it. In JJ, Lee, and Perlina, I see many of my friends and parts of myself. They throw awkward house parties where no one turns up and you end up getting drunk and doing stilted skits while your one cool friend looks on in horror because it seems funny at the time. Their relationships seem real to me, not weirdly competitive, just sometimes a bit fucked up with a dash of drama because sometimes people go through stuff and make bad choices, especially in your 20s when you aren’t really sure who you are and what you should be doing. It is female friendship as I recognise it: chatty, supportive, fun, and sometimes complicated.
Perlina and her friend seeking vengeance on an ex’s underwear drawer
If you have seen Flight of the Conchords you might like this, but I mean that in the generic sense of, well if you like offbeat sort of comedies that are slightly awkward but not so cringe-y that you have to close your eyes for half the episode you might like this, because really that is where the similarity ends. Highlights from the series have included: a post-coital scene that includes the clean-up of fluids (something of a unicorn on television), the line that semen tastes like “a million potential offspring crying out – and then silence,” a hitchhiker who dispenses wisdom and LSD, a fancy dress party a little bit reminiscent of Eagle vs Shark, trust exercises for accountants, and much much more.
The first season was a self-funded passion project and as it got more popular they managed to crowd fund the second season so that they could pay actors and crew; the girls did not pay themselves. They have successfully secured funding from New Zealand on Air to pay for the upcoming third and fourth seasons that should air sometime this year and I really can’t wait.
The only thing that I actively dislike about the show is the size shaming and the dehumanizing of fat people. It is so so tired for women, especially Asian women on television, to be preoccupied with their weight and the fat jokes seem out of place with the freshness of the rest of the writing. They can do much better than this and they usually do. Fat jokes make up a tiny percentage of the humor on the show (there are many more accountant jokes) and it is not enough to stop me watching but I could certainly do without them, they aren’t funny and they contribute to the marginalization of fat people generally. I am hopeful that the next two seasons will continue to bring the excellent writing and talented acting that we have seen, hopefully minus the boring fat jokes.
Ally, JJ, and Perlina
If you are looking for a fresh comedy that is silly and sometimes awkward then this is definitely the show for you. To watch, head to http://www.flat3webseries.com/ and prepare to be thoroughly entertained!
