Guest Writers – Page 10

Gender & Food Week: ‘Life is Sweet’

Guest post written by Alisande Fitzsimons.

Trigger warning: A large part of this post discusses a character who is suffering
from Bulimia.

In many ways Mike Leigh’s 1991 film Life is Sweet should not be extraordinary. An almost entirely improvised piece, it takes place in a working class family home in the unremarkable London suburb of Enfield.

The preparation and consumption of food is a running theme throughout the film. Family man Andy (Jim Broadbent) is a chef in a large, anonymous corporation who, at the start of the film, buys a fast food van* in order to fulfill his ambition to work for himself. Soon after that, his buoyantly optimistic wife Wendy (played charmingly by Alison Steadman) takes a waitressing job at the Regret Rien, a Parisienne-themed eatery that a friend of the couple has recently opened.

The couple’s twin daughters also demonstrate an interest in food, albeit in very different ways. Nicola (Jane Horrocks), a tiny chain-smoking bulimic, binges and purges sweets and chocolate every night, seemingly punishing herself for a crime that’s never revealed. Her sister Natalie has a stereotypically normal relationship with food — managing to sit and eat with her parents, when her sister never can — but works as a plumber, something which was still seen as a bit icky, and not a suitable job for a woman in Britain in the early 90’s. And yes, that was because she may have had to come into contact with human waste.

In spite of its seemingly mundane subject matter, Leigh’s film is superb. Naturalistic to the point where it could be a fly-on-the-wall documentary, it’s also brilliant in its depictions of parts of the female experience that many films approach in ways that make them seem gimmicky.

A young woman with an eating disorder lashing out at everyone around her but never hurting them more than she does herself? Check. A mother desperately trying to stay strong and support her mentally ill child, in spite of the frustration that child’s self-destructive tendencies cause? Check. A closeted lesbian dreaming of escape but ultimately remaining stable and strong for everyone around her? Check.

And that says nothing of Andy, the hard-working but mildly baffled father figure. And yet, despite the tropes and the presentation of these character’s lives as “tragi-comic” none of it is tacky, or even remotely depressing. It is in fact an unusually uplifting watch.

[*Fast food vans may be a British phenomenon. They are mobile kitchens, which park on the side of busy roads and serve snacks such as burgers, bacon sandwiches, baked potatoes and hot dogs to passers-by. Considered low-class, their offerings are typically delicious.]

Family Dynamics

L-R: Nicola (Jane Horrocks) and Wendy (Alison Steadman) in Life is Sweet

To my mind, this film’s main characters are Wendy and Nicola. Although she is undoubtedly a loving mother to both her girls, most of Wendy’s time and energy is taken up by Nicola, and Nicola’s seemingly needless rage at the world around her.

Natalie, though often present — and an interesting depiction of a lesbian who remains closeted — is side-lined while the film-maker and characters concentrate on her sister’s struggle with an eating disorder. Her apparent contentment with her life and realistic ambitions (she wants to take a holiday in America) mean that she does not demand a lot of attention from anyone, including the viewer. Readers who’ve lived with such an illness, or someone suffering from one, may recognise the reality of this on-screen scenario.

Andy, despite being the one family member who gets to fulfill an ambition in the film, also plays second fiddle to his wife and mentally ill daughter. It’s possibly because he spends much of his time either daydreaming or at work, and is thus unaware of the extent of Nicola’s misery, and his wife’s increasing concerns about it.

Wendy and Andy, it’s revealed, struggled to raise their children. There was never enough money, forcing Andy to remain in a job he “hated” for years to support them, while his wife could not pursue her goal of completing a university education. That one of their children reacts to her life – which is, after all, largely funded by her parents’ catering jobs – by developing bulimia nervosa is an obvious manifestation of self-loathing.

Nicola becomes increasingly reclusive and agitated throughout the film, abusing her father for being a “capitalist” when he invests in the fast food van, and refusing to sit with her family at meal times or even mix with anyone outside the family home.

Throughout the film she conceals her bulimia from both of her parents, only agreeing to tell her parents about it in the film’s final scene. Her twin has known about it – and about the locked suitcase full of sweets and chocolate she keeps under the bed – because she hears her bingeing then purging each night, a painful secret she keeps not simply because she loves her sister, but because she also has no idea what to do.

In one scene, Nicola has a blazing argument with Wendy that indicates that she may finally be ready to recover. Shame-faced, Nicola screams that she knows how much the whole family hates her, and that is why they’re trying to force her to eat with them/ mix with other people/ live her life.

Exasperated, her mother snaps, “We don’t hate you! We bloody love you, you stupid girl!” reducing Nicola to tears.

It’s an exchange that cuts to the core of their relationship, and to the thinking of an eating-disorder sufferer. If they loved her, Nicola thinks, they’d let her fulfill the death wish the disease implants in sufferers. Her family, though not entirely aware of what’s going on, love her too much to let her fulfil that particular ambition.

Nicola’s Behaviour

Nicola (Jane Horrocks) in Life is Sweet

Like many bulimics, Nicola hides much of her illness from her family. Its most obvious manifestation is probably her refusal to eat with them at mealtimes, which could easily be taken for rudeness rather than any kind of secretiveness.

One of the more interesting — or just salacious — quirks of her disorder is that food is essential to her sexuality. She cannot become aroused unless her lover (David Thewlis) ties her up and licks chocolate spread from her chest. It’s as if even when in the middle of sex with a man who genuinely cares about her, when she should finally be able to indulge herself without punishment, she is still determined to deny herself. Granted, the metaphors in this film aren’t particularly hard to decipher.

I’ve already mentioned that she keeps a locked suitcase full of sweets and chocolate under her bed, which she uses to abuse her body with each night, stuffing herself full of them before plunging her fingers down her throat in order to bring all that food back up. It’s not until one has had an illness that causes repeated vomiting (this is my last reference to puke, I promise) that one realises how much bulimia nervosa is an act of self-abuse.

To deliberately and repeatedly purge day-in-day-out for months or even years at a time is to truly hate oneself because it is such a horrible experience. Jane Horrocks’ depiction of this level of self-hatred and the harm a person can do to their own body is truly insightful.

I don’t want to recommend this film to anyone who’s suffering or is in recovery from an eating disorder in case it is triggering, but I have heard sufferers say that Horrocks’ performance helped their loved ones to understand the realities of their disorder. I thought that was worth mentioning.

The Regret Rien

L-R: Aubrey (Timothy Spall) and Wendy (Alison Steadman) in Life is Sweet

A little way into the film, Wendy takes a job at the Regret Rien, a restaurant that’s just been opened by a family friend. Parisienne-themed and — there’s no way around this — as clichéd as fuck, the Regret Rien is also in possession of one of the most revolting menus in modern cinema (and I’m including films in which

characters cannibalise each other in that).

A quick sample of what’s on the menu: Saveloy on a Bed of Lychees, Liver in Lager, Pork Cyst, Prune Quiche, King Prawn in Jam Sauce, Tongues in a Rhubarb Hollandaise, Tripe Soufflé, Chilled Brains, Prune Quiche, Grilled Trotter with Eggs Over Easy.

Pork cyst, for God’s sake. And Tripe Souffle.

Apparently meant as a parody of the nouvelle cuisine trend that swept British restaurants in the early 1990’s, it’s not much of a surprise the venture looks set to fail. Its pretentious menu and clichéd décor are directly contrasted with the plain and much more popular food served up by Andy’s fast food van.

By the end of the film the viewer comes, in no uncertain terms, to like the family depicted in it (even Nicola), and a lot of their likeability comes from the fact that they are “salt of the earth” people who aren’t pulled in by gimmicks such as the push bike that sits in the bay window of the Regret Rien.

That’s not to put down working class people with a love of French cuisine, and a dislike of fast food. It’s just to point out that when it comes to cooking, the simplest recipes — like the simplest people — are often the best.

Conclusion

There’s a lot of food in Life Is Sweet, most of it — from the chocolate that Nicola purges to the burgers Andy cooks up, to the vile cuisine Wendy is meant to be serving — bad. But there’s also masses of love.

As I’ve admitted, the metaphors Mike Leigh employs aren’t particularly hard to decipher. But this is a lovely film, a film that takes a mostly realistic look at the difficulties life throws at us and points out that as long as we ignore the pretentious, over-complicated rubbish in favour of the people who love us enough to support us through them, we will be okay.

———-

Alisande Fitzsimons likes to eat. She blogs regularly at xoJane.co.uk and tweets about it @AlisandeF.

Gender & Food Week: Pop-Tarts and Pizza: Food, Gender, and Class in ‘Gilmore Girls’

Lorelai Gilmore (Lauren Graham) in Gilmore Girls

Guest post written by Brianna Low.

Throughout Gilmore Girls’ seven seasons, mother and daughter duo Lorelai and Rory Gilmore are often seen eating vast quantities of junk food and ordering copious amounts of take out, which they consume together, often in front of the TV. From the series’ pilot episode it is made clear that neither Lorelai nor Rory have any interest in cooking, and the only things in their refrigerator are frozen fish sticks and leftover take out boxes. Their idiosyncratic approach to food is framed as just another endearing quirk instead of irresponsible, unhealthy, or an example of bad parenting.

While it could be argued that it is somewhat progressive of the Gilmore Girls series to portray two women who have no hang-ups about publicly consuming large amounts of food, it is important to remember that despite their voracious appetites, Rory and Lorelai are still conventionally attractive, thin, white women. Living in the quirky, depoliticized utopia of Stars Hollow, there is no real examination of the way in which the Gilmore’s racial and class privilege exempt them from the social condemnation that is frequently directed at poor single mothers and women of color whose food choices or weight are often criticized without any real consideration to the inequalities in accessibility to healthy, affordable food. Poor single mothers who rely on social programs like food stamps and have children who suffer from obesity and other related health problems are often publicly vilified for being irresponsible, unfit mothers despite the well-documented structural inequalities in food access and affordability.

Despite their objectively unhealthy diets, Rory and Lorelai manage to escape this specific stigma, both within the context of the show and in its outside criticism; this is due largely, I would argue, to their privilege and even the size of their bodies. While I don’t personally find it problematic that Rory and Lorelai are allowed to eat whatever they want with relative impunity, I do think it is important to place their unhealthy-diet-as-plot-device into a larger social and political context when critically examining the relationship between gender and food within the series.

Lorelai (Lauren Graham) and Rory Gilmore (Alexis Bledel) in Gilmore Girls; image via Emily Grenfell

Lorelai and Rory are not the only ones in the Gilmore Girls universe that have well-documented relationships with food. The diets of many of the supporting cast are intrinsic parts of their identities and function as important aspects of their characterization. The mother of Rory’s best friend Lane, Mrs. Kim, is a strict vegan who makes her daughter drink salad water instead of soda. Michele Gerard, concierge of the Independence and Dragonfly Inn, is a health nut that exhibits an almost fanatical devotion to calorie counting and exercise. The diets of these characters in contrast to Rory and Lorelai’s junk food addiction seem to highlight the drastic differences in the way the Gilmore girls like to eat.

Of all of the supporting characters that are connected in some way to food, two of the most notable examples are Lorelai’s best friend and business partner, Sookie St. James, and Lorelai’s friend and romantic interest, Luke Danes. Sookie, played wonderfully by Melissa McCarthy, is the head chef and co-owner with Lorelai of the Dragonfly Inn. She is an extremely talented cook and a compassionate and loyal friend to Lorelai. Her scenes often take place in the kitchen, where she is seen cooking and dispensing advise to Lorelai. While the kitchen has always been a stereotypically feminine space, Sookie’s fixture there does not come off as regressive. Socially, the world of cooking has been sharply demarcated along gender lines, with the personal and domestic sphere belonging to women and the public and professional sphere being dominated by men. Sookie, a master chef and a woman, is portrayed as a highly skilled and respected cook who demands perfection from herself and her employees.

Sookie St. James (Melissa McCarthy) in Gilmore Girls

Much has been said about the fact that the character of Sookie, a fat woman who is often surrounded by food, is never reduced to her body-size. It’s true that Sookie is never once shamed for her size or subjected to lazy fat jokes, nor does she express any self-hatred or desire to lose weight. It is somewhat sad and telling that Gilmore Girls has received so much praise for treating a plus-sized character with humanity and compassion, but Sookie’s portrayal is indeed remarkable in a popular culture landscape that almost always essentializes fat women to their bodies and positions those bodies as barriers to happiness and love. Sookie is portrayed as an attractive, confident, and competent woman who is deserving of both romantic attention and respect. Her burgeoning relationship and eventual marriage to Jackson, a vegetable farmer, is fully explored and is not framed as some sort of miracle or only chance at love.

Luke Danes, the gruff and grumpy owner of the local diner, possesses many stereotypical markers of traditional masculinity. Seemingly unsentimental, he is often shown shouting angrily at his neighbors and even his customers, he never changes out of his flannel shirt and backwards baseball cap, and often escapes Stars Hollow on fishing and camping trips in order to relieve his stress. Despite this potentially flat characterization, Luke emerges as a complex character that does in fact care deeply about his friends and his community despite his gruff exterior. Luke is an interesting study when looking at the presentations of masculinity and food in the fictional world of Stars Hollow, particularly in the way he is cast as a nurturer who uses food in order to reach out to and comfort his friends and neighbors.

Lorelai Gilmore (Lauren Graham) in Gilmore Girls

Throughout all seven seasons Luke is often shown bringing food to the Gilmore’s when they are in need. For example, when Lorelai’s father is hospitalized after a heart attack, Luke brings food to Lorelai and her family at the hospital. Inasmuch as food can be gendered, diners and diner food fare with its burgers, fries, and malts often tend to be coded as masculine, however Luke is an interesting case in that he refuses to eat his own food. Although he is never explicitly referred to as a vegetarian, Luke is shown refusing to eat hamburgers and often refers to meat as “dead cow”. When Luke and Lorelai start dating and eventually move in together, Luke is decidedly more active in their domestic affairs, taking charge of the cooking and their home remodel. While this might not be the most shocking or unheard of example of stereotypical role reversal in heterosexual relationships, it’s definitely interesting when examining Luke and Lorelai’s relationship with food and each other.

Luke’s Diner itself is also integral to the series as it serves as the physical and communal space in which much of the community gathers. Episodes often open with Lorelai and Rory sitting and eating together in Luke’s Diner. Throughout the series, food serves as the unifying agent that brings people together. When Lorelai is unable to afford private school tuition for Rory, she goes to her wealthy parents, Emily and Richard, in order to ask them for a loan. The elder Gilmores agree to the loan, their only stipulation being that Lorelai and Rory attend weekly “Friday night dinners”. These dinners are an attempt to fix the strained relationship between Lorelai and her parents.

Gilmore Girls

Like their daughter, neither Emily nor Richard Gilmore are ever shown cooking, instead the extremely wealthy Gilmore’s have their food prepared for them by personal chefs. The class distinctions between Lorelai and her parents are blatantly obvious and are exhibited in the type of food they consume and the way in which they consume it.

Throughout its seven series run, food plays an integral role in the Gilmore Girl’s universe. While representations of food within the context of the show seemingly transcend stereotypical gender division, food and diet choice are still used to identify and characterize the different personalities that make up the world of Stars Hollow. In the words of Lorelai herself, “It takes years to learn how to eat like we do.”

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Brianna Low is currently a student living in Chicago. She enjoys watching movies and reading about feminism.

Call for Writers: Golden Globe Nominees

We’ll be posting pieces highlighting the Golden Globe nominees the week leading up to the ceremony (January 7-11). If you’d like to submit something–either an original piece or a crosspost–you can drop us an email: btchflcks@gmail.com.

We’re particularly interested in receiving pieces that focus on the nominees below, mainly because Bitch Flicks hasn’t yet covered them. But we’re open to anything. Submit!

MOVIES

“Argo”
“Life of Pi”
“Zero Dark Thirty”
“The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel”
“Moonrise Kindgom”
“Salmon Fishing in the Yemen”
“Rust and Bone”
“The Impossible”
“The Deep Blue Sea”
“Arbitrage”
“Flight”
“Bernie”
“Hyde Park on Hudson”
“Quartet”
“The Paperboy”
“Amour”
“A Royal Affair”
“The Intouchables”
“Kon-Tiki”
“Rise of the Guardians”
“Frankenweenie”
“Hotel Transylvania”

TELEVISION

“The Big Bang Theory”
“Episodes”
“Smash”
“Game Change”
“Hatfields & McCoys”
“The Hour”
“Political Animals”
“Damages”
“House of Lies”
“Hemingway and Gellhorn”
“American Horror Story: Asylum”
“Sherlock”
“Magic City”

Women in Politics Week: The Depiction of Women in Films About Irish Politics

For as long as there have been film-makers, they’ve seemingly been attempting to depict the Irish struggle for independence. Apart from the fact that a country in the midst of political strife always makes interesting viewing (see also: Israel, Palestine, the rest of the Middle East and the plethora of films produced each year about life in communist East Berlin), this may be down to timing.

The Easter Rising, when Ireland declared its intention of ending British rule over the country, took place in April 1916. The first commercial films, including DW Griffith’s seminal and hugely racist The Birth of a Nation (1914), were made in the same decade, meaning that the medium of film as a way to depict and interpret historical events through fictitious re-renderings of them, was created just in time to record the political strife that characterised Ireland in the twentieth century.

Since it’s women in politics week here on Bitch Flicks, I thought I’d offer up a quick overview of how women are depicted in some of the more well-known films about Ireland’s political history.

Wives and Girlfriends

One of the most important films about the division of Northern Ireland from the Republic (the country more usually referred to as Ireland), is Michael Collins, directed by Neil Jordan, released 1996.

In real life, Collins (played by Liam Neeson), was an Irish revolutionary leader who was crucial to the formation of the Irish Free State, which later became the Republic. He was assassinated in August 1922, while engaged to a woman called Kitty Kiernan, played on-screen by a particularly bland Julia Roberts.

Julia Roberts as Kitty Kiernana

It’s almost a shame that Michael Collins is such an important film in terms of the depiction of “the Irish problem” on-screen because, by God, is Kitty a dull, poorly developed part. Not that I’d argue that the reduction of a potentially fascinating female role to that of an ornamental girlfriend is unusual.

Another notable, but much more interesting IRA girlfriend is Marcella in the 1984 drama Cal. In a moment that we might attribute to extreme post-traumatic stress, the IRA man who killed her Protestant police officer husband pursues the young widow and begins an affair with her. On-screen, and probably because Helen Mirren who plays Marcella can render anything believable, the relationship appears more moving than fucked up.

Much messier is Danny’s (Daniel Day-Lewis) torrid relationship with his former flame Maggie (Emily Watson who, like, Mirren, could make throwing away a cereal box seem moving if she put her mind to it). IRA code prevents Maggie, who married another IRA man while Danny was serving a prison sentence, from pursuing their relationship much as she’d like to. She’s likely to get attacked or worse if she does.

While quite different, these films do give some insight into what it has meant to become involved with an IRA man at different points in the movement, and also how filmmakers have changed their approach to depicting the women that did. Kitty Kiernan deserved better, that’s all I’m saying.

Lovers

Warning: spoilers ahead.

Neil Jordan’s 1992 film The Crying Game was a worldwide hit on release, and gives viewers one of the most interesting portraits of an IRA man and his lover. Forced to flee Northern Ireland after the botching the killing of a British soldier, Fergus (Stephen Rea) moves to London and gets involved with club singer Dil (Jaye Davidson), who’s keeping a secret. In her pants.

Jaye Davidson as Dil

In 1992 Dil, who is revealed as being transgendered a short while into her love affair with Fergus, was one of the few unprejudiced depictions of a transgendered woman on-screen. Her sexuality, and indeed her penis, though revealed, are never made to be a punch line. In terms of mainstream film-making this was even more rare in the 90s than it is today.

As well as marking a positive depiction of transgender on-screen, Dil’s status as a trans-person is important because it marks Fergus’ movement away from the militant Irish Catholicism that has coloured his life so far, including his relationship with his ex-girlfriend, Jude (Miranda Richardson).

By literally and figuratively embracing Dil, Fergus is shown to be developing as a person in a way that it’s suggested the republican movement may need to.

It’s interesting that both The Crying Game and Michael Collins were written and directed by the same dude. His fictional ladies, though also both involved with IRA men, are way more interesting to watch.

Allies

Ken Loach’s 2006 historical film The Wind That Shakes The Barley gives viewers the chance to see a part of the Irish republican movement that’s rarely depicted in cinema, the Cumann na mBan.

CnamB was founded in 1914 as an all-female auxiliary to the recently formed Irish Volunteers, which aimed to secure liberty for Ireland with the mandate that they were willing to use force if need be. Though they rarely get a nod in the media, the group are still in existence and listed by the UK Terrorism Act still as a “Domestic Terrorist Group”.

Set during the Irish War of Independence, the film gives us Sinead (Orla Fitzgerald), a member of the CnamB who refuses to be a victim. She remains politically and militantly active as Ireland suffers under the British occupation that is increasingly marked by vicious attacks by the notorious Black and Tans, and refuses to allow the men she’s allied with to fight the country’s battles without her.

Orla Fitzgerald as Sinead

It’s this engagement that eventually mean the character of Sinead will come to symbolise the country’s determination and hard-won independence in the eyes of the viewer.

Now, if Ken Loach would just turn his attention to immortalising a couple of real-life female revolutionaries, Maud Gonne and Countess Markiewicz, on-screen, all would be almost right in the world. The world of depictions of Irish women on-screen, anyway.

Victims

The 1970 drama Ryan’s Daughter is set in the fictitious Kerry village of Kirrary in 1916. Though the film is in fact a loose adaptation of Gustave Flaubert’s novel Madame Bovary, the depiction of events in a village and era so rife with anti-British sentiment are accurate enough to use here.

Sarah Miles as Rosy Ryan

When she begins an affair with a British Army officer, spoiled beauty Rosy Ryan (played by Sarah Miles), becomes not only a victim of public shaming by local villagers who drag her into the street, strip and beat her, before cutting all her hair off, she also becomes a victim of her own father’s greed.

Because although Rosy is engaging in adultery with a man who symbolises the British occupation of Ireland, she has not been informing him about the activities of local IRA men (watch the film and it’s clear she’s far too self-obsessed to take any notice of what anyone else is up to). It’s her father, Tom, who hears everything by virtue of being the local publican and sells the information to British soldiers at the local army base.

A betrayal of his country, Tom’s collaboration is neatly juxtaposed on-screen with the villagers’ acts of violence against Rosy, whose sexual attraction to a British soldier is seen as every bit as treacherous as her supposedly having informed on them.

She’s a victim then of the republican villagers who attack her, the men who purport to love her but refuse to protect her in the face of this violence, and – always dangerous for a woman on-screen – her libido.

It’s one of the more depressing movies in the genre.

Mothers

Most mothers in political films about the state of Ireland, and particularly Northern Ireland, have tended to be either ardent supporters of a militant political organization who want their sons to get out there and do their bit, or more stereotypical mothers who worry. Inarguably, women raising children in the middle of a civil war zone have a lot more to worry about.

Helen Mirren as Kathleen Quigly and Fionnula Flanagan as Annie Higgins

Some Mother’s Son (1996) is based on the true story of the 1981 Hunger Strikes in which republican prisoners starved (sometimes to death) in protest against the British presence in Northern Ireland, and gives viewers two mothers to consider.

Kathleen Quigley (Helen Mirren) is mother to a man who has kept his IRA involvement secret from her. When he is arrested, she’s torn between her love and loyalty towards her son, and her disgust for the organization. When the Hunger Strikes begin, she is determined to do whatever is necessary to save her son.

Annie Higgins (Fionnula Flanagan), meanwhile, is a hardline republican, who is able to completely support her own son’s actions, but is eventually forced to watch him die at the hands of the British Army.

Neither woman is depicted as a saint, stereotype or, unusually, as a symbol for the struggles of Northern Ireland as a whole, which makes the film not only more realistic but also far more moving.

Cruella de Ville

I’ve already mentioned that I think Neil Jordan can write a pretty rocking fictional woman’s part. It’s possible that I’m misinterpreting Miranda Richardson’s role as country girl turned villainess Jude in The Crying Game. That’s her there, rocking Uma Thurman’s iconic hairstyle a full two years before Pulp Fiction hit the big screen.

Miranda Richardson as Jude in The Crying Game

Like Orla in The Wind that Shook the Barley, Jude is an ally to the IRA men in the film. Her initial job, while still blonde and clad in double denim, is to lure Forest Whittaker’s British soldier Jody back to her place so the republicans can take him hostage. (This flirty technique was considered so immoral that the IRA swiftly banned members from using it.)

It’s only later, after her safehouse is bombed by the British army, killing some of her cohorts and forcing her boyfriend Fergus to flee Ireland, that she’s given a make-over that most fairy tale villains might deem “a bit over the top.”

From her jet black, bluntly cut bob to the razor sharp suits she adopts, there is no part of Jude’s later characterization – which will include threatening her ex, then shrieking the usually comforting Roman Catholic motto, “Keep the Faith!” as she leaves the room – that implies she’s anything less than evil.

Among academics this depiction of a female IRA member as having no redeeming qualities at all is considered one of the most misogynistic to have appeared.

Conclusion

There are few genres that are depicting women in as complex and interesting a manner as we deserve to be. The political nature of the films I’ve described here does mean that that the parts being written usually depict a certain amount of emotional and social complexity that other genres can lack.

There’s none I wouldn’t recommend to you, if you’re interested in the development of Irish politics and the people involved in it but what I would say is that in spite of feminism in Ireland developing more slowly than in other parts of the first world, women have never been sidelined from the revolution.

We had women in the Cumann na mBan fighting alongside men when the country overthrew British rule in the 1920’s. Countess Markiewicz and Maud Gonne are arguably as important revolutionary figures as the men they campaigned alongside, but who are more usually referred to and depicted on film.

And – though there are a plethora of films depicting the mothers, wives, girlfriends or lovers who have loved the men who’ve fought for Ireland – we’re still waiting for the films about the lives of these women to be made.

Alisande Fitzsimons blogs regularly at xoJane UK. She can also be found tweeting about Ireland and movies at @AlisandeF

Women in Politics Week: ‘The Lady’ Makes the Personal Political

The Lady (2012)

This post by Jarrah Hodge previously appeared at Bitch Flicks on May 2, 2012, and is cross-posted with permission from Gender Focus.

French Director Luc Besson’s new biopic The Lady is a moving portrait of the life of Burmese activist and political leader Aung San Suu Kyi. However, for a movie that clearly has a political goal (to raise awareness of the situation in Burma*), it focuses mainly on Suu Kyi’s family and personal life. As a result, while I enjoyed the movie overall it still left me feeling unsatisfied.

The movie opens in 1947 with the assassination of General Aung San, Suu Kyi’s father, who had just negotiated Burma’s independence from Britain. While it’s a poignant scene and crucial historical event it’s really all we see of Suu Kyi’s early life.

From there we go forward to meet the main characters in the movie’s romance, Suu Kyi (played by Michelle Yeoh) and her professor husband Dr. Michael Aris (David Thewlis). They and their two sons are living in Oxford when she receives the news that her mother has had a stroke. When she returns to Burma she witnesses the military-run government massacring protesting students in the streets. When she is then approached to lead a pro-democracy movement she decides to stay.

From this point the film becomes a bit plodding, seeming a bit like a visual representation of an encyclopedia article. It moves through every interaction Syu Kii has with the military junta and their attempts to intimidate and imprison her and her followers, leading to her 15-year house arrest and years of separation from Aris and their children. While we also see Syu Kii touring the country and speaking to locals about democracy, for the most part her Burmese allies and followers in the film remain nameless and voiceless.

Ultimately while the film brings the audience to tears more than once, it’s not over the plight of Burma or ordinary Burmese citizens, but over Suu Kyi and her husband’s drawn-out separation.

That’s where I thought the focus did the subject an injustice. Interestingly, The Lady could be said to suffer from some of the same issues as The Iron Lady, which was also a movie about a woman politician that was criticized for being more concerned with sentimentality than political substance.

In some ways, though, The Lady has less excuse for this. Thatcher is elderly and ailing now but Suu Kyi is still fighting a crucial fight. It’s clear from the rallying cry at the end of the movie that one of the film’s goals is to get Westerners more involved in aiding the continuing fight for true democracy in Burma (Aung San Suu Kyi will finally take the oath of office to sit in the parliament this year, though the current structure still ensures the military maintains majority control and human rights violations continue). However, this could have been further advanced by giving voices to the Burmese non-military characters other than Suu Kyi: the students being massacred in the streets, the villagers in rural areas, and the monks who joined the protest.

As Yeoh’s Suu Kyi says in the film, she dislikes the cult of personality around her, and yet that’s what the movie reinforces by failing to broaden the depiction of the struggle. At the same time, it also in some ways diminishes her strength by tieing her identity so strongly to her family. At a couple points in the film people mention a lack of experience before coming to Burma, saying she was just an “Oxford housewife and mother of two”, not mentioning she also had a PhD, extensive academic honours, and had worked at the UN.

Would I recommend the movie for someone who had only a cursory knowledge of the situation in Burma? Yes. But Do I think it featured a strong woman role model and did justice to Aung San Suu Kyi’s cause? Not as well as it could have.

*Note: In case you’re wondering why I’m using Burma instead of Myanmar, that’s because many pro-democracy groups and activists refuse to recognize the legitimacy of the name Myanmar, which was introduced by the military government. It’s also the name they used in the film.

Jarrah Hodge is the founder of Gender Focus, a Canadian feminist blog. Jarrah also writes for Vancouver Observer and Huffington Post Canada and has been a guest blogger on “feminerd” culture for Bitch Magazine Blogs. Hailing from New Westminster, BC, she’s a fan of politics, crafts, boardgames, musical theatre, and brunch.

Women in Politics Week: Politics Is a Man’s Game: The Trope of the Great Woman in Early Hollywood Narratives

This is a guest post by Tom Houseman.

Movie still from The Great McGinty

Since the 1990s the sight of female politicians, both in real life and in films and television shows, has become more and more common. Women are making great strides in the American political landscape—when new congressional representatives are sworn in in January there will be a record number of candidates in the House—and the film and TV industries have done their best to keep up with that trend, if not necessarily pave the way. Dramas from The Contender to Commander in Chief and comedies including Veep and even Political Animals show the unique struggles that women face when they rise to positions of power, some more insightfully than others.

This change has been both rapid and recent, as well into the 20th Century women were barely present in politics, at least on the front lines as elected leaders. And while women have been a growing presence in the House of Representatives since 1917, Hollywood was less than progressive in its depiction of women serving in political offices. Politics in films made in the ’40s and ’50s was strictly a man’s world, with the men taking charge as both the heroes and the villains, the bosses of the corrupt political machines and the up-and-comers either succumbing to them or fighting back against them. But these films were not devoid of women, but those women had their own roles to play.

Female characters in these political films found a niche into which they could be fit, a trope on which sufficient variations could be introduced that it ended up showing up multiple times over the decades. When considering this type of character the phrase “Behind every great man is a great woman” comes to mind. That is where the women in these movies stood: behind the man, attempting to push him toward greatness, sometimes successfully, sometimes not. These Great Women did not achieve anything on their own, or draw attention to themselves, but were behind-the-scenes players using the power they had over the protagonist in pursuit of their goals.

The most generic and straightforward example of this type of character appears in the 1940 film The Great McGinty, the directorial debut of Preston Sturges. As blunt a political satire as they come, the film tells the story of a bum who walks the crooked path to political stardom. Dan McGinty (Brian Donlevy) is hired by a political boss to help rig elections, and ends up so impressing his superiors that they keep on promoting him. McGinty is convinced to run for office, and arranges a marriage of convenience with his secretary, Catherine (Muriel Angelus) as a way to make himself more appealing to voters.

But Catherine, who is a widow with a child, does more than just help McGinty’s political status. She begins to exert her influence on him, eventually convincing him to stop his illegal methods. This does not end well for McGinty, who ends up abandoned by his bosses in prison before he manages to escape to the Caribbean. But at least we know that he escaped with his soul, thanks to the conscience instilled in him by his wife.

While the major female character in The Great McGinty is extremely one-dimensional, other films were able to find more interesting ways to explore this type of role. The year before, in 1939, Frank Capra’s Mr. Smith Goes to Washington was released in theaters. While the traditional Great Woman represents the film’s moral compass, Mr. Smith goes in the opposite direction in developing its story. Jefferson Smith is a bright-eyed idealist from the midwest who is chosen to be a United States Senator by a corrupt Governor who assumes Jeff will toe the line. But Jeff has ideas of his own and quickly gets in trouble with the political machine built on bribery and graft.

James Stewart and Jean Arthur in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington

Saunders (Jean Arthur) is Jeff’s secretary, bitter and jaded, announcing at the very beginning of the film her intention to quit. She sees Jeff as a rube and a bumpkin who has no business in politics, and when he comes up with an idea for a bill to turn a stretch of land in the midwest into a Boys’ Camp (using the exact land that his corrupt bosses want to use for a dam) Saunders attempts to put him in his place by explaining to him how difficult getting anything done in Washington is, but she ends up fueling his passion by giving him the knowledge to accomplish his goals.

When Jeff’s idealism clashes with his fellow senators’ cruelty and perfidy, it is Saunders, her faith in democracy restored, who stands up for him and helps him take on the political machine. Several scenes feature Saunders standing in the balcony of the senate chamber, shouting and waving to give Jeff advice on what his next move should be. Of course it is Jeff whose valiant stand and day-long filibuster are able to overthrow the corrupt politicians and save the day, but Saunders is extremely active behind helping and supporting him every step of the way.

Perhaps the most complex and powerful take on the Great Woman character is in the 1956 film A Face in the Crowd, which was directed by Elia Kazan. Marcia Jeffries (Patricia Neal) is a young Arkansas journalist who finds alcoholic bum Larry Rhodes (Andy Griffith) to perform on her radio show. After she nicknames him “Lonesome Rhodes” he becomes a local sensation, with his folksy charm, homespun wisdom, and disregard for authority making him a star.

As Lonesome becomes more and more popular his ego inflates drastically, and Marcia watches on as he succumbs to his lust and alcoholism. At the same time she sees how he is blatantly manipulating his audience and using his popularity to become a powerful political figure. Despite realizing that he has become a pedagogue who uses everyone around him, including her, Marcia is too willing to indulge Lonesome because she is in love with him. When he is feeling weak and relies on her for comfort she takes him in repeatedly, against her better judgment.

Lonesome becomes a major political figure thanks to his national television show, and becomes the advisor to a presidential candidate, helping shape his image to seem less elitist and more “of the people.” Marcia realizes how dangerous Lonesome has become, and when he reneges on his proposal to her by having a quickie wedding with an eighteen year-old he meets while judging a pageant, she accepts that she has a responsibility to knock him off his pedestal. During a live taping of his show Marcia turns the speakers on while Lonesome is mocking his audience, destroying his reputation and his political career. As a Great Woman Marcia was unable to turn around the man who had fallen from greatness, and so she had to destroy him, or rather, set him up to destroy himself.

What do these three women have in common, other than that they stay in the background while the men in their lives do great or terrible things? All three women have a power over these men that no other characters in the film have. In The Great McGinty and A Face in the Crowd it is an emotional power; Catherine uses hers to convince McGinty to do the right thing, and Lonesome frequently admits to Marcia that he relies on her, although she is unable to save him from his hubris and instead helps bring about his downfall. In Mr. Smith Saunders becomes the only character that Jeff can trust, and her knowledge and guidance leads him to victory.

Movie still from A Face in the Crowd

None of these three women is overtly sexual, at least compared to the other women we see in the film. Catherine is seen as chaste and pure and even when she and McGinty fall in love there is no hint of lust in their relationship. Saunders intentionally de-sexes herself around her co-workers, none of whom even know her first name, and she deeply resents Susan, the daughter of a corrupt senator who uses her feminine wiles to distract Jeff from the shady dealings going on around him. And while Marcia does have sex with Lonesome (coming out in the ’50s gave the film the leeway to imply, if not show, extramarital sex), the film clearly gives her the moral high-ground over the other floozies with whom he has sex, as well as the very young woman he marries instead of Marcia.

There is even a motherly quality to all three women, each guiding and protecting the men in their lives in a distinctly maternal manner. Even though all three relationships have a romantic undertone, these women’s interactions with the protagonists have a protective, loving yet chiding and slightly condescending quality that is reminiscent of how a mother might treat a child. In Mr. Smith Saunders at one point describes her pride in seeing Jeff take the Senate floor by storm as being like a mother watching a son’s impressive feat. That motherly pride is one of the defining traits of the Great Woman, as a way to differentiate her from the harlots who might try to lead the protagonist away from the right path.

As the ’60s progressed women began taking roles of greater prominence, still often acting behind the scenes, though, exerting their influence outside the public eye. Characters such as The Manchurian Candidate‘s Eleanor Iselin (Angela Lansbury) showed how roles were evolving for women in political films, and would lay the seeds for characters in films from G.I. Jane to Legally Blonde 2, which include female politicians who still pulled strings in the background. But there are still female characters whose roots can be seen in films like The Great McGinty, Mr. Smith Goes to Washingon, and A Face in The Crowd. So every time you are watching a political film and the most important female character is a wife or a secretary or a journalist (think State of Play or The Ides of March), remember the influence of these early films and cringe at how far we haven’t come.

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Tom Houseman was born white, straight, male, cis, and rich. He has done a lot of work unpacking and understanding his many forms of privilege. He is far from perfect, but he is learning. He writes film reviews and analysis for BoxOfficeProphets.com. If you want to officially like him, you can do so at Facebook.com/tomhousemanwriting.

Women in Politics Week: ‘The Young Victoria’: Family Values as Land Grab

Guest post by Erin Blackwell.

I wanted to watch The Young Victoria (2009) because Miranda Richardson’s in it and I’m going through a watch-everything-she’s-in phase. Richardson talked up the film in an interview with the Daily Mail online. And I quote:

“I spent my time cross stitching,” she revealed. “But I made it fun by stitching naughty words into handkerchiefs.” Miranda, 51 [in 2009], wouldn’t be drawn on the exact words, but added, “There were long gaps between filming and I was bored, so it kept me occupied.”

If you have any plans to watch this film, you can’t do better than to follow her lead.

Yes, the film is boring. Yes, Victoria was boring. Yes, the costumes deserve their oscar, if awards are given on the basis of hysterical historic accuracy. And yes, Miranda looks fantabulous in her kooky pre-Victorian wig and ostrich feathers. (See video below.) There’s not enough Miranda in The Young Victoria. There’s not enough Miranda in anything since Dance with a Stranger (1985), so maybe just watch that again.

WHY, WHY, WHY

Why does England have a royal family? France killed its last king in 1793, over 200 years ago. Why is England so backward? Italy and Germany don’t have royals. Why did super-cool super-tool imperialist thug James Bond cross-pollinate its brand with dowdy old Queen Elizabeth to sell the world the London Olympics in 2012?

Why indeed.

Don’t tell me we’re meant to enjoy being subjugated, if only for the length of one of the movies that serve as marketing for, ah, the ruling class.

Why would an American worry about the correct curtsey? Or not speaking to Elizabeth until spoken to? What’s this game we’re all colluding in? Why even capitalize the Q in queen? She’s not our queen.

What possible interest could there be in retracing Victoria’s ascension to a 64-year reign of Britain and the British Empire?

Well, arguably, it’d be nice to have some insight into the psychology of She who reigned longer than any other woman in history, who gave her name to the Victorian Era, and whose personal quirks did much to promote the model of heterosexist monogamy Freud did his utmost to knock the stuffing out of.

That’s not happening here. This is distinctly a movie for the ice-cream cup and toffee crowd.

THE NOSE

Photographs of queen Victoria show us she was a chubby five-feet tall, with bulbous eyes, heavy lids, a bird’s beak of a nose, not much chin until she got older and then, multiple chins. She was never anything resembling a beauty. She needed neither beauty nor brains because she had birth, and progressively, girth. As did that over-fed, underworked letch, her son, Edward the seventh. But that’s all much later. The Young Victoria could almost be called The Virgin Victoria, since it ends abruptly with the birth of her first of nine children. That’s all these royals are good for, really: continuing their own ruddy bloodline.

Emily Blunt is zaftig, juicy, with sensuous features recalling the late princess Margaret, wildcat younger sister of the current queen Elizabeth. Blunt’s Victoria romps about stolidly pursuing some sense of self, trapped as she is in a thicket of interested parties. There’s nothing wrong with this actress, but she’s the wrong actress for this part, with the wrong nose.

THE SCRIPT

Julian Fellowes wrote the mind-bogglingly complex, creaky, slavish, finicky, disjointed, unfocussed script. Yes, he scripted Robert Altman’s Gosford Park (2001) and currently, BBC TV’s Downton Abbey. There’s an arse-licking profile of the smug royalist in December’s Vanity Fair. I devoured every syllable, green with envy. There’s not one word about The Young Victoria, which failed to recoup its $35 million-dollar budget.

In a Daily Mail interview, Fellowes uses some arcane derivative of the royal we to massage Victoria’s obsolescence:

“We live in the remains of a Victorian day. The way we lay the table, the way we sit in the dining room. Our views on marriage are essentially Victorian. Really, our morality, where it exists, is a Victorian morality that has struggled through. And I think you can find much of what is good about our society if you look closely at the nineteenth century.”

THE PLOT

“Her destiny belonged to an empire, but her heart belonged to one man,” heralds the trailer, and I’m afraid that’s a fairly accurate description of the historical Victoria. She really did love Albert with a crazy love — which was disastrous, as he died when she still had 40 years to go. She basically retired from life without abdicating from the throne.

One of the strands of plot is the confection of that romance, which, if you’re the sucker for costumes I am, is not without its charms. German Romantic composer Schubert gets his fair share of air time, with his solid hit, “Standchen” (Serenade).

The second strand of plot involves a Dickens-derivative couple of monsters — her German-born mother, the Duchess of Kent (Richardson), and her evil minder, Sir John Conroy (Mark Strong). They’re enough to write an entire movie about and too complex to understand when demoted, as they are here, to melodramatic villains. They try to swindle Victoria out of her crown and into a regency by which they’d rule in her stead, but are thwarted.

To be honest, there’s a third strand, which I forgot about it’s so boring, starring prime minister Lord Melbourne manipulating young Vicky’s heart and mind until Albert comes along to take over the reins. Paul Bettany plays him like a sandblasted surfer, without an ounce of nuance or neurosis, but really, it’s the dismaying spectacle of weak-willed Vicky that plunges me into denial the scenes even exist.

For all his cleverness, screenwriter Fellowes fails to synthesize historical accuracy, heterosexual imperative, and hero worship into a cohesive statement on the interplay of sex and politics in the first half of the nineteenth century.

SUPPORTING PLAYERS

Jim Broadbent plays the old king who exerts himself to survive long enough to pass the crown directly to Victoria, thereby bypassing her conniving mum. Perhaps you remember him as the bartender in The Crying Game (1993). That was a better role, but this is a better wig. He has a great moment at the head of an ostentatious dinner table, humiliating the Duchess of Kent.

Harriet Walter, one the greatest stage actresses of her generation, is crystalline as the queen who steps down on Victoria’s ascension. She’s got a long, unlovely face, the right kind of nose, and such clear focus you actually feel while she’s onscreen the film’s going to make sense.

Miranda Richardson doesn’t get too far with the Duchess of Kent, disappearing into the costumes and scenery in the manner of a method actress bored out of her mind after hours of cross-stitching. Or a cupie doll lost among the stuffed toys in a shooting gallery. However, there’s a lively snatch of Miranda-babble as she’s interviewed in full regalia, trying to make sense of what she’s been given to do.

ROLE MODEL

As a teenager, I was entranced with Renaissance virgin queen Elizabeth the first because she danced well, spoke several foreign languages living and dead, wrote sonnets, and was played with great fustian by Bette Davis opposite Errol Flynn. She was also involved in all sorts of intrigues, and had privy counsellors. Shakespeare wrote and performed for her. Wow. She whitened her face with pulverized egg shells, set off by red curls, and her forehead was a forerunner of Paula Broadwell’s. She wore weird gowns studded with precious jewels while telling men what to do.

And, of course, Queenie was breathtakingly portrayed by Miranda Richardson as a tyrannical baby in the comic BBC series, Blackadder. I tried to also like queen Victoria, because she’d been queen even longer, but as a personality she was a dud, obsessed with her own feelings and worse, other people’s morality. Famously, she excised all mention of woman-on-woman action from the landmark English law against homosexuality because, well, it just wasn’t done.

More governed than governing, busier breeding than reading, Victoria was a bit of a stubborn, self-righteous old hog who did nothing to further the political cause of women because she believed, “We women are not made for governing.”

LAST WORDS

It’d be so interesting if somebody would film the life — early, middle, or late — of queen Victoria as it must’ve been, from inside the royal cult, with its weird rituals and exotic entitlements, without concessions to a modern mass audience. Miranda comes closest to suggesting how inbred, uptight, obsessive the whole lot of them were. Not so very unlike the present cast of characters, except that they, post-Freud, have been sexually liberated. Not a pretty picture.

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Erin Blackwell is a consulting astrologer who was raised to regard movies as a form of worship. She blogs at venus11house.

Women in Politics Week: ‘The Lady’ vs. ‘The Iron Lady’: Who Gets the Vote?

Michelle Yeoh as Aung San Suu Kyi in The Lady

Meryl Streep as Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher in The Iron Lady

Guest post written by Candice Frederick. Originally published at Reel Talk. Cross-posted with permission.

While a few men duke it out to take control at the White House later this year, let’s take a look at two films that followed the life of female politicians. On our right we have The Iron Lady (previously reviewed here), the Oscar-winning biopic on U.K. Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher (played by Meryl Streep), and on our left is The Lady, a film on the life of Burmese politician Aung San Suu Kyi (played by Michelle Yeoh, of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon fame).

Both films offer an account of women both lauded and defamed in their own countries, and who defied gender stereotypes to become relatively successful leaders. But only one did it successfully — The Lady.

Here’s a brief press release synopsis of The Lady, to give you a better idea of the movie:

Long ago in a land far away, a young girl’s father, a national champion of political freedom, was brutally assassinated by an evil military junta. Though her mother was unable to flee, those loyal to her father spirited the young girl out of her homeland to a new life across the sea. Many years later, upon hearing her mother was gravely ill, the young girl, now a grown woman, married and a mother herself, bravely decides to return to her native country—a country still in the grip of restrictive military rule. How will the despots react to her return? How will the people, who, because of her martyred father, see her as a link to their hope and struggle for liberty, react to her return? How will she balance her love of country and family?

And here are a few reasons why the Aung San Suu Kyi film rocks, and why The Iron Lady still doesn’t:

Beautiful direction. After the disastrous Mamma Mia!, it’s a wonder why director Phyllida Lloyd was allowed back behind a camera again. Her style in The Iron Lady was heavy-handed, deliberate and all over the place. It looked more like an amateur effort. Luc Besson (The Professional), on the other hand, directed The Lady with gentle yet poignant strokes that never seemed forced.

Acting that captivates you. We all know Streep can act circles around most everyone in the business, man or woman. But, in the battle of 2011 portrayals of renown officeholders, Yeoh has Streep beat, hands down. Streep seems more like she’s imitating Thatcher and doesn’t come off as fluid in her performance. Meanwhile, Yeoh embodies Suu Kyi. She immerses herself in her life and you truly feel like she’s sympathetic towards her struggle, 15-year house arrest, her every decision — something that is needed to convincingly play a real person.

A touching depiction. Aside from the shoddy direction of The Iron Lady, the movie leisurely told Thatcher’s story from the point of view of a distant third person, which gave it an apathetic tone. Screenwriter Abi Morgan’s (Shame) script came off cold and uninspired, only to be saved by its more affected performances.The Lady offers a heartbreaking chronicle of Suu Kyi’s political career amid strife, while also weaving in her relationship with her husband and kids, which humanized her. Screenwriter Rebecca Frayn’s full feature debut is alluring, fascinating to watch and, most importantly, makes you care about Suu Kyi.

Girl power done right. In a position dominated by men, it’s no argument that the real-life heroines, Thatcher and Suu Kyi, proudly overcame gender barriers to reach the levels of success they did, at whatever the cost. But The Iron Lady presented more of a feminism 101 class, an introduction to the inequalities between men and women, and a look at one women who prevailed above it. Lloyd’s sweeping displays of how Thatcher was not taken seriously and was treated differently because she was a woman was not a sensitive look at the the issue. The Lady spoke more about Suu Kyi’s feminism, without hitting us over the head with it. After all, feminism isn’t always about preaching your views to a male audience, but also about leading an extraordinary life as a woman–despite the odds–that inspires other women, the way The Lady presented. In other words, you feel inspired by her story, even if the story wasn’t intentionally trying to inspire you.

——
Candice Frederick is a former NABJ award-winning journalist for Essence Magazine, and the writer for the film blog, Reel Talk. She is also the TV/Film critic for The Urban Daily. Follow her on Twitter.

Women in Politics Week: Seeing My Reflection In Film: ‘Night Catches Us’ Struck a Chord With Me

This guest post by Arielle Loren was previously published at Bitch Flicks on December 22, 2010. It originally appeared at Arielle Loren, daily musings for ladies and curious men.

It is rare that a film invades my imagination to the point of insomnia. After seeing Tanya Hamilton’s Night Catches Us starring Kerry Washington and Anthony Mackie, I felt a sense of deep pride wash over my body and nudge my mind into continuous thoughts about the potential for independent productions to rebalance diversity in black film.

Based in Philadelphia, Night Catches Us tells the story of two former black panthers trying to re-establish life after leaving The Party and the death of a fellow panther years ago. While the central plot revolves around these two characters’ lives, Hamilton integrates into the film historic footage of the Black Panther Party. As this era of black history often is pigeonholed to radicalism, Hamilton truly humanizes The Party through several scenes of police brutality, corruption, and community gatherings. For instance, Washington’s character, Patricia, would raise money to pay the legal fees for her less fortunate clients and feed every child on the block even when she couldn’t pay her light bill.

This sentiment of “community first” is the history with which I identify and the one that I wish we could spread to more mainstream screens. While watching this film, I saw my reflection. From Washington’s afro to her desire to serve her community, I felt hope again for the half-baked images rummaging through mainstream black film. Night Catches Us only is playing in select theaters, BUT you can rent it on iTunes and On Demand via Comcast. Thus, there’s no excuse not to support this film; we’ve got to support the films that we want to see in the mainstream.

I hope Night Catches Us will be nominated for an Oscar and brought to larger screens. As a first time director, Hamilton has left me quite impressed and I can’t wait to see what other stories she will bring to life during her career. Additionally, I am truly proud to see my reflection in her too.

Check out the trailer for Night Catches Us below and if you haven’t seen the film, view it on iTunes. Tell me, how can we get more films like this onto the big screen?

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Arielle Loren is a gender and sexuality writer, filmmaker, and web personality. Recently, she directed and produced The Bi-deology Project, a media-acclaimed, online documentary series that chronicles the experiences of straight women dating bisexual men.

Women in Politics Week: A Lady Lonely at the Top: High School Politics Take an Ugly Turn in ‘Election’

Tracy Flick (Reese Witherspoon) in Election

Guest post written by Carleen Tibbets. Warning: Spoilers ahead.

Election, the 1999 film directed by Alexander Payne and based on the novel by Tom Perotta, chronicles type A personality Tracy Flick’s (Reese Witherspoon) quest to become student body president and the unraveling of her social sciences teacher, Mr. McAllister (Matthew Broderick) as he attempts to thwart her campaign. Released on the heels of the Clinton-Lewinsky sex-scandal, Election explores power, corruption, and moral gray area in the “wholesome” Midwest — seemingly representative of all that is safe, suburban, and pure.

Although he admits to taking pride in guiding his students and receiving “teacher of the year” honors several times over, McAllister has relatively little control over his personal life. He’s unable to impregnate his wife, Diane (Molly Hagan), commits adultery, and is ultimately done in by a student wound just as tight as her blonde curls. Tracy Flick makes her first appearance preparing for her campaign dressed in preppy sweater vest and loafers, yet despite the twinkle in her blue eyes, we soon learn that she’s much more calculating than she lets on. In her narration over the various clips of her high school curriculum vitae thus far, Tracy admits, “I volunteered for every committee as long as I could lead it.” We gain some insight into Tracy’s unwavering work ethic: she was raised by a single mother who taught her that being a woman meant that she would have to work twice as hard to actualize her dreams.

In McAllister’s civics class, Tracy obnoxiously and confidently thrusts her hand in the air when he asks the class to differentiate between morals and ethics, and McAllister is put off by her self-assuredness. The root of McAllister’s disdain for Tracy stems from the fact that she had an affair with his friend and colleague, Mr. Novotny (Mark Harelik). Novotny begins genuinely mentoring Flick, admiring her as a human being, and telling her, “Sometimes people like you have to pay a price or their greatness, and that price is loneliness.” However, this soon led to Novotny (seemingly) taking advantage of Tracy, as he puts “Three Times a Lady” on his stereo and leads her into the bedroom he shares with his wife, Linda (Delaney Driscoll). He confides in McAllister that their relationship has turned sexual. This is quickly discovered by her mother and the school administration, leading to Novotny’s forced resignation, divorce from Linda, and relocation to a different state. Sure, Tracy can accurately define and differentiate between ethics and morals, but she fails to exemplify them.

Determined to throw a monkey wrench into Tracy’s presidential win, which he refers to as a possible dictatorship, McAllister convinces naïve quarterback hero with a heart of gold Paul Metzler (Chris Klein) to oppose Tracy in the race. Despite Paul’s protestation to taking any votes away from Tracy, McAllister assures Paul of his being a “natural born leader.” Tracy accosts McAllister at his car after school with her list of signatures required to run, he drives off and throws it in a dumpster, certain Paul stands a fighting chance. Tracy’s chipper personality quickly falls away when she notices that Paul is now her opponent and she demands to know who put Paul up to challenging her.

We are then introduced to Tammy Metzler (Jessica Campbell), Paul’s adopted lesbian sister, a sophomore who decides to join the race for student body president after her girlfriend throws her over for Paul. In the assembly where each candidate pitches their platform to their peers, Tracy gives anecdotal accounts, Paul struggles to read his promises off an index card in a labored monotone, and Tammy gives an anarchy-fueled speech, capturing the “who cares?” mentality of most high schoolers, which results in the overwhelming support of the teen constituents.

Tammy’s unorthodox speech doesn’t bode well with the principal, who refers to her as a “little bitch” he wants out of the election. Fed up with Paul and Tammy detracting from the election she feels she deserves to win, Tracy has a meltdown and destroys her running mates’ posters. McAllister rightly suspects Tracy’s culpability, bringing up her near-destruction of Novotny in his interrogation. Tracy retorts with underhanded comments about McAllister’s infertility and Novotny getting mushy and attached to her. Yet, Tammy confesses to McAllister that she defaced the posters in hopes of getting sent to an all-girls school, is expelled, and taken off the ballot.

The night before the big vote, Paul prays for others, including his sister, while Tracy insists that she win, and truly believes she will. She even hand-frosts dozens of cupcakes with “Pick Flick” to hand her constituents. When it comes time to vote, Paul selflessly votes for Tracy, and she votes for herself. Meanwhile, McAllister’s personal life is completely in shambles, having spent the night in his car outside the home of his Novotny’s ex-wife and being thrown out by his own wife upon her learning of their affair. He must count the votes after two members of student government complete their tally, but mid-count he notices Tracy snooping around the classroom, jumping around giddily when one of the vote-counters gestures to her that she is the victor. Tracy wins by a single vote (presumably the vote she cast for herself), yet disgusted by her glee, McAllister wonders just how many people Tracy will step on in her ascent to the top. But why shouldn’t she rejoice in her victory? Is she not deserving?

He decides she must be stopped and throws two of her votes in the trash, declaring Paul the next president. That night, surrounded by all her trophies, medals, and inspirational posters, Tracy sobs uncontrollably. Her mother’s attempt to comfort her only comes out as criticism when she suggests Tracy might have won had she had better posters and slips her an anti-anxiety pill. Tracy’s misery is short-lived, however, when her missing votes are discovered. McAllister is called on the carpet for his attempt to take Tracy down, and resigns.

Tracy gets her wish to be president, topping her extensive list of extracurriculars, and earns a scholarship to Georgetown, where she expects to be surrounded with diligent worker bees such as herself. However, her expectations of finding those on her wavelength come crashing down when she realizes most students coast through on their parents’ dollar and with minimal effort.

McAllister encounters Tracy sometime later as she chats with a Republican representative and gets into his limo.

The film closes with McAllister, now a museum tour guide, being confronted with a miniature Flick-in-the-making on a school field trip shooting her arm up to answer a trivia question he poses to the group.

Election depicts several types of women from overachiever alpha-female Tracy to slacker Tammy to long-suffering, passive Diane and desperate Linda. Yet, what does it really tell us about how a woman should conduct herself? Are men afraid of driven women? Is society? Does being an ambitious woman who knows what she wants mean that she will indeed be lonely at the top?

Election also brings up the fact that in American society, qualified and talented women are perceived as a threat to the male status quo. Thirteen years after this film’s release, although Secretary Hillary Clinton’s displayed poise during the Lewinsky scandal and her own strides and accomplishments apart from Bill were quite remarkable, she did not earn the Democratic presidential nomination in 2008. Instead, she is ridiculed for her haircut and wardrobe choices. Republican VP nominee Sarah Palin’s beauty pageant days and “hockey mom” persona worked against her. Despite First Lady Michelle Obama’s humanitarian efforts, her every outfit is scrutinized by the media and her defined forearms are just as relevant as her Ivy-League credentials. Does it have to be one or the other? Must women be “frumpy” or asexual to be taken seriously in the political arena? Are attractive women less-qualified leaders? Why do we care whether the First Lady wears Manolo Blahniks or J. Crew pumps?

The saying “Behind a great man is an even greater woman” is thrown around regarding women in the political spotlight, but why are they lauded as pillars for their male counterparts to lean on instead of leaders in their own right? Can a woman wield clout regardless of with whom she’s linked romantically? I suppose what it all boils down to is what and whom a woman is willing to sacrifice and what labels she can live with in order to carve out a place for herself in a world still uncertain how to handle her success.

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Carleen Tibbetts is a writer living in San Francisco. Her work has appeared in various publications including Word Riot, , and other journals.

Guest Post: Movie Review: ‘Think Like a Man’

This guest post by Ela Eke-Egele previously appeared at Black Feminists and is cross-posted with permission.

The film is a romantic comedy based on Steve Harvey’s book Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man. It follows four couples and each woman is dating a different type of man as defined in the book, “The Player,” “The Non-Committer,” “The Mama’s Boy” and “The Dreamer” respectively.

The women follow relationship strategies for the given type of man they are dating and all seems to go well, until the men discover what they are up to. They get a copy of the book and attempt to counter the women’s plans but ultimately, end up alone. Following some reflection and regret, the couples make up and the movie ends with a joyful reunion and uplifting music.

Think Like a Man is unsophisticated and dated. It’s blatantly self-promoting with Steve Harvey appearing several times to talk about the ideas in his book (K-Ching!). The film’s soundtrack is a lot more entertaining than the script which in places relies more on sexism than realism. Chris Brown has a minor role in it and for me, it’s still too soon. The last person I need to see in a film dealing with relationships is Chris Brown.

L-R: Mya (Meagan Goode), Sonia (La La Anthony), Zeke (Romany Malco) in Think Like a Man

Think Like a Man operates in a heterosexual world and works on the premise that women have an innate need for commitment while men are all about sex and that men are in a position of power today because sex and women have become too available. This is made clear at the onset, with James Brown’s It’s a Man’s World opening and a voiceover by Kevin Harris.

The impression that Think Like a Man gives is that a black woman’s primary focus is on finding and keeping a man and that we’re prepared to lie, cheat and manipulate in order to get one. But, I have to say, the men in this movie aren’t very appealing. They are sexist, emotionally immature with little potential for growth. The “Happily Married Man” is portrayed by a white man who in fact does seem more enlightened when it comes to relationships and more willing to compromise. But, I wonder what is this trying to tell us, that black men are not this sophisticated by nature and we just have to work with this?

Admittedly both the men and women in Think Like a Man are overplayed stereotypes. To suggest this is the best that men, particularly black men, have to offer is very bleak and to assume that black women are so desperate is insulting.

Think Like a Man roots for a playing field that favours men while it pretends to empower women. Conforming to some basic stereotypes and predefined rules makes women easier to understand and also removes the need for men to relate to us as individuals. Steve Harvey is unapologetic when he says that “we need to talk” are the four words most dreaded by men. This is following a scene where one of the men gets a call from his girlfriend who says exactly that. The scene also makes it plain that men have no such reservations when it comes to talking about strippers and ‘titties and ass.’

L-R: Michael (Terrence Jenkins) and Candace (Regina Hall) in Think Like a Man

The movie denies that men are intimidated by a woman’s success yet we are told that the male DNA is encoded with the need to be the provider and the compulsion to be in control. A view that conveniently ignores evolution and is so worn out that it is completely threadbare. Successful and accomplished women are accused of being too independent and giving off the impression that they do not need men because they are men. The preferable strategy for these women is to downplay their achievements, lower their standards and settle for less. So, this film doesn’t seem as much about helping women get men as it is about helping men get women with minimal effort and undamaged egos.

Think Like a Man is nostalgic for a time when men were men and abundant chest hair and gold medallions were a sign of virility, and I can’t help but feel that it may be a reflection of how hard it is for black men to deal with the much-improved status of women today. Women are more successful, financially secure, sexually liberated and independent than they have ever been and, perhaps for men like Steve Harvey, it makes it seem like male privilege is slipping away, so now there’s a war on.

Harvey’s book was on the New York bestsellers list so it obviously did well, but I think that any women who finds it necessary to resort to these tactics is simply encouraging bad behaviour and buying into the idea that black men are a lost cause. Steve Harvey, instead of looking to women for a solution, should encourage men to look to themselves. Men, even black men, need and benefit from commitment and any who refuse to adapt will lose out in the long run. Women deserve better. Perhaps he hasn’t realised this yet, which might explain why he is on his third marriage. This makes it even harder to take his book and this movie seriously.

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Ela Eke-Egele is involved with the Black Feminists group in London. She works full time in the IT industry and enjoys writing part-time. She lives in Hertfordshire with her two children and a goldfish.

Guest Post: ‘Skyfall’: It’s M’s World, Bond Just Lives in It

M (Judi Dench) in Skyfall

Warning: Spoilers ahead!

For fifty years, James Bond movies have varied wildly in quality, but not quantities. There’s always been plenty of punching, driving, drinking, smooth-talking, and seducing. This year’s release, Skyfall, features the fetching Bérénice Lim Marlohe and a blond-mopped Javier Bardem. But director Sam Mendes has done something different with his first punt at the series. While Bond still gets up to his usual japes, he’s not the centre of the film. Instead, Mendes has made a $150 million action blockbuster about a 77-year-old woman. It is her choices, not Bond’s, that shape the fates of those around her. Dame Judi Dench’s M is Skyfall’s steely heart.

You’d need a bulldozer to excavate the sexism generated by half a century’s worth of Bonds. But in his world, M is the single authority figure and the one woman who doesn’t start thinking with her knickers the moment he smirks at her. Not that their relationship is devoid of sexual undertones. Naomie Harris is capable as the lovely field agent Eve. But she and Daniel Craig don’t have any thing like the spark that he generates with M.

Allegedly inspired by Dame Stella Rimington, Director General of Britain’s MI5 in the mid-90s, Dench made her Bond debut in1995’s Goldeneye. Pierce Brosnan’s cocky Bond was properly introduced with her withering put-down, “I think you’re a sexist misogynist dinosaur, a relic of the Cold War.” It became one of the movie’s signature lines, establishing the tone of M’s relationship with her most difficult employee.

M (Judi Dench) in Skyfall

Skyfall’s opening sequence shows us M in action. She’s directing a mission in Turkey where Bond gets shot, presumed killed, on a fluffed order from her command. He chooses to stay dead and takes off to a beach to drink and sulk. It’s only the sight of M’s office under siege that lures him back to London. MI6 has been bombed, and its director is clearly the target. M returns to her house late at night, to discover Bond has dropped in to announce his resurrection. She is grumpy, frustrated, and exhilarated by 007’s return. He’s taciturn and flippant, but it says it all that she is his first port of call. She concludes their first scene together by throwing him out, snapping “You’re not bloody sleeping here!”

Mendes has worked with Dench before, directing her onstage in The Cherry Orchard. His camera lovingly dwells on her magnificently non-Botoxed features and silver hair. Unlike most directors, he doesn’t try to hide her slight 5’1 stature. There are many shots of her framed by large empty rooms, looking like a small black-clad anchor.

M’s nemesis turns out to be Raoul Silva (Javier Bardem), a former agent of hers, presumed dead. His experience was markedly similar to Bond’s at the start of the film. Abandoned by MI6 to preserve an operation, Silva endured torture and re-emerged as the leader of a terrorist cartel. Along with Bond, he could see their sacrifice by M as testimony to her fierce loyalty to her country. Only one of them chooses to. It’s not the one with the stupid hair.

L-R: James Bond (Daniel Craig), M (Judi Dench) and Raoul Silva (Javier Bardem) in Skyfall

Silva placed his trust in M, and she – according to his warped understanding of the game – betrayed him as a protector. You’d think building yourself up as a globe trotting mercenary would satisfy his wounded pride. But he nurses a vendetta against “the old woman”. Bardem doesn’t leave much to linger in the subtext with his predatory gasps of “Mother!” He is obsessive, inescapable, and possessed of the seemingly unlimited resources available to a Bond villain. When his six foot bulk looms over her it is as grotesque and terrifying as the Queen Alien going after Newt.

It is Silva’s similarities with Bond that makes him such an effective bad guy, crowned by his fixation on M. Together they make a combative threesome that would thrill Hitchcock or Buñuel. Silva attempts to pit the two of them against each other, revealing to Bond that M lied to him about his fitness for fieldwork. It’s a critically flawed tactic. Silva assumes that because many of their strengths and weaknesses run parallel, Bond will read M’s deceit as another symbolic death blow. Bond, of course,has never been averse to telling lies to get his way.

Perhaps that’s why M’s order to shoot in Turkey ultimately brought them closer. M’s failing made her more relatable to Bond, a master of duplicity, and someone who has spent significant amounts of celluloid treating people as if they’re disposable. Skyfall shamelessly draws on the Oedipus myth. Silva and Bond are wayward sons killed by and drawn back to the maternal figure. No wonder Q always hides in the agency

basement.

As Silva closes in to MI6, there are several forces working against its leader. One of them is Gareth Mallory, Chairman of the Intelligence and Security Committee. After the disaster in Turkey where Bond gets shot, he summons M to gently broach the subject of dignified retirement. She tells him in so many words to suck it and promptly exits. Mallory’s left hind wearing an expression of resigned affection. It’s not so different to how M has sometimes looked at Bond.

M (Judi Dench) in Skyfall

Mallory turns out to be more chivalrous than could be expected from a policy wonk. When M’s being raked over the coals by a stroppy MP (Helen McCrory in full Medusa mode), he reclaims the floor for her rebuttal. She rewards this with a floor-clearing defence rich in Tennyson and sass. We don’t get to see the pupils of his

eyes form into little love hearts before they get rudely interrupted by Silva’s gunfire. Mallory plights his troth to M by diving in front of a bullet. He goes on to support the comprehensively unofficial plan Bond hatches with Q (Ben Whishaw) and Tanner (Rory Kinnear) to smuggle her away from London.

Bond takes M to his childhood home in Scotland, and in case anyone missed the portentous meaning, we get a short speech about orphans en route. The Skyfall of the title turns out to be the unloved manor home of his youth. There she meets Kincade (Albert Finney). He is the gameskeeper and the man who taught a young James how to shoot. Within minutes of meeting M he’s macking on her, which makes us wonder what else Bond picked up from him.

L-R: James Bond (Daniel Craig) and M (Judi Dench) in Skyfall

Finney is comparable to Rory Kinnear’s Tanner, M’s right hand in MI6. In their scenes with her they demonstrate loyalty to M – or as Kincade calls her, Emily – without question. It’s different from the give-and-take between Bond and M.

Skyfall shows us M in the field, deftly assembling DIY cluster bombs and wielding a gun. But it is only to Bond that she shows vulnerability, and vice versa. Whatever the filmmakers try to make her stand in for – Queen, Country, Mother, Lover, Rosebud – the best part of M and Bond’s relationship is what exists just beyond their mutual snarking. By the end of the film, Dench can sag into an old chair and look tired and worn, admitting to her agent that she’s made big mistakes. Together, they have half a minute of screen time to be more mortal than James Bond usually is allowed to be.

By the end of the movie, she dies in his arms. They had shared something notably missing from their interactions with the other characters: a deep abiding respect and trust. Her legacy lives on, in the form of a ceramic bulldog and another totem of loyalty – Mallory, newly installed as M’s heir.

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Margaret Howie cheerfully lives with her love of Robert Mitchum and her feminist sensibility in South London. Her favourite Bond is Roger Moore, because he’s the only movie star with a name that is also a bad pick-up line.