Homophobia – Bitch Flicks

Does ‘Pitch Perfect’s Fat Amy Deserve to Be a Fat Positivity Mascot?

It’s great to see a character whose fatness is a part of her identity without being a point of dehumanization, but the films try to make Fat Amy likable at the expense of other characters, positioning her as acceptably quirky, in contrast to the women of color, who are portrayed in a more two-dimensional manner, or Stacie, who is unacceptable due to her promiscuity. Ultimately, the underlying current of stereotype-based humor puts the film’s fat positivity in a dubious light…

This guest post written by Tessa Racked appears as part of our theme week on Unpopular Opinions. An earlier version of this essay appears on Consistent Panda Bear Shape. | Spoilers ahead for Pitch Perfect and Pitch Perfect 2.

I’ve been writing about film from an intersectional feminist perspective for a little over two years now; most of that writing is unpacking how fat characters function in film on my blog, Consistent Panda Bear Shape. Multiple patterns have been emerging from that work; there are three trends in particular that make it difficult for me to write from an intersectional and/or optimistic perspective. I don’t think, reader, that you will find them too surprising:

Fat characters existing to receive the audience’s contempt, disgust, and/or pity. Mad Max: Fury Road is a great example, where the fat characters are autocrat Immortan Joe and his villainous ally, the People Eater, and the Milk Mothers, who exist as a grotesque example of how Immortan Joe objectifies and exploits the populace under his control.
Likable fat characters having some workaround where they aren’t “actually” fat, so when the character finds confidence or asserts themselves, it can be a feel-good moment without leading the audience to question established standards of acceptable bodies on a broad social scale. Two common workarounds are embodied by Olive in Little Miss Sunshine. While her story revolves around her transgression of physical beauty standards, these standards only apply to the strict, hyperfeminine pageant world; outside that context, her body is within the range of social acceptability. Additionally, actor Abigail Breslin wore a fat suit for the role, further disconnecting Olive’s story from the lived experiences of fat people.
Fat protagonists who are “actually” fat being men, usually of the straight, white variety. Of the 62 films featuring fat characters that I’ve written articles about thus far: 41 of the predominant fat characters were male, 35 of those male characters were white, and only 3 of them were identified as queer within the text of the film. Of the 2 non-human fat characters referred to male in their respective screenplays, both were voiced by white men. (The films I write about haven’t been curated in an objective manner, so take this anecdata with a grain of salt.)

The movies that I watch utilize at least one of these patterns time and time again, if they include fat characters at all. Considering this, when I do see a film featuring a decently-written character in a plot-significant role who is played by a fat actor and isn’t a straight white dude, I start having hopes for a bold new cinematic vision wherein fat people aren’t treated like garbage. Pitch Perfect is a perfect example of the kind of film that will stoke the flames of my high expectations, featuring Rebel Wilson as Fat Amy. When it was making its way into theaters, I remember seeing this exchange all over Tumblr:

This exchange says everything about why I and many others were excited: a female character, played by someone who looks like she gets relegated to the same measly section of clothing stores that I do, being funny and unapologetic about how she gets treated based on her size. (And on a more personal note, Fat Amy is also the cover girl for an AV Club article about humanized portrayals of fat characters that was an inspiration for Consistent Panda Bear Shape.) However, I didn’t actually get around to watching Pitch Perfect until it and its sequel, Pitch Perfect 2, were already out on DVD. I’ve seen a lot of positive press around Fat Amy, but for me, the viewing experience of the two films back-to-back was overall a four-hour anti-climax to my hopes for a new approach to fat representation in a mainstream comedy.

It isn’t all bad. There are some significantly refreshing aspects to how Fat Amy is represented, especially in the original movie. Where a fat body is often employed as visual shorthand for incompetence, she proves her ability as a singer in her introductory scene, impressing Aubrey (Anna Camp) and Chloe (Brittany Snow) with her voice despite their focus on finding women with “bikini-ready bodies” to audition for the Barden Bellas a capella choir. She is also the most self-assured of the Bellas by far. Her sense of humor is often outlandish but her deadpan delivery suggests that she gets more out of confusing the other characters than entertaining them. The majority of comments characterizing Fat Amy as fat are self-referential but, surprisingly, not self-deprecating. She casually remarks at her surprise that her “sexy fat ass” was chosen to be part of the Bellas. Fatness is part of how she sees herself, and isn’t a source of shame or something that needs to be sanitized; rather, it’s a part of her identity that she modifies appropriately to her mood and context. It felt oddly empowering as a fat viewer to hear her angrily threaten to “finish [someone] like a cheesecake.” Another detail that resonated with me was her fearlessness at calling attention to her body. She sprawls and flails. She has a habit of nonchalantly slapping a rhythm on her belly — a woman having fun with her fat! imagine! — or cupping her breasts during a performance. She inhabits her body and her personal space without apologizing or minimizing.

Beyond how Fat Amy is portrayed as an individual, Pitch Perfect also has progressive aspects to how Fat Amy functions as part of the Bellas. As opposed to what one might expect from a fat character in an ensemble cast, Pitch Perfect doesn’t put Fat Amy in a position where she drags the group down. There is a requisite joke about her avoiding physical activity (while the other singers jog, Aubrey finds Fat Amy lying down, or as she calls it, “horizontal running”), but her sloth seems less sinful in contrast to Aubrey’s drill sergeant seriousness about their shared extracurricular activity. Instead, both films focus on Beca (Anna Kendrick) as the problematic member of the group due to her lack of commitment. As a group, the Bellas have to deal with a change in their image from normatively attractive young women to one that includes singers who don’t meet stereotypical sorority girl standards. They are the classic rag-tag underdogs in a story focuses on competition. “I wanted the hot Bellas,” complains a frat brother who books the group to perform at a mixer, when shutting them down mid-song, “not this barnyard explosion.” Even the senior Bellas, thin and preppy Aubrey and Chloe, have bodies that defy expectations of femininity. It’s common to see fat female characters in comedies as a focal point of gross or bizarre body humor, but Pitch Perfect takes a more democratic approach. Aubrey struggles with stress-induced projectile vomiting, and soprano Chloe gains the ability to sing deep bass notes after a surgery to remove nodes on her vocal cords.

Although Fat Amy isn’t presented as more grotesque or cartoonish than the other characters, Pitch Perfect doesn’t extend the favor to other Bellas who aren’t straight and white, as Fat Amy is. The most glaring contrast is Cynthia Rose (Ester Dean), a Black butch lesbian (with an incredible set of pipes) who is also larger-bodied than the average young woman seen in a mainstream comedy. We first meet her at auditions, where she is immediately misgendered. She doesn’t come out as gay to her chorus mates until towards the end of the movie, although we get “hints” to her sexuality via shots of her leering at or groping other women, or other characters making snide comments about her sexual orientation and/or gender presentation. The audition sequence where we meet Cynthia Rose also introduces Lilly (Hana Mae Lee), who embodies the stereotype of the quiet Asian girl through a running gag where she says disturbing things in a soft voice that none of the other characters are able to hear.

Although all of the characters are part of the same underdog team, mining tired caricatures for humor reifies divides in the group via racism and homophobia. And while Fat Amy transgresses stereotypes about fat women, she is straight and white, which within the world of the film, puts her in an uncriticizable position to make snarky comments about Cynthia Rose’s sexuality and other uncomfortable remarks at the expense of marginalized groups (e.g. a clunky improv moment referring to her hairstyle as an “Orthodox Jew ponytail”).

The “fat positive” aspects of Fat Amy’s depiction aren’t just positioned against other characters who don’t share her privileged social identities. Stacie’s (Alexis Knapp) function in the group as the humorously promiscuous Bella complicates the praise Pitch Perfect gets for showing Fat Amy’s active sex life. Stacie’s sexuality is coded as excessive, a joke that becomes the majority of her screen time, whether Aubrey is trying to get her to tone down her dance moves or she’s referring to her vagina as a “hunter.” However, we never see Stacie involved with anyone. Fat Amy, on the other hand, is shown in the company of two hunks on her spring break and also makes comments about her own sexual prowess. So why is the line drawn between Stacie and Fat Amy, where one’s sexuality is the butt of jokes and the other’s is an empowering aspect of her character? When we see Bumper (Adam Devine) flirting with Fat Amy and getting shot down or hear Fat Amy talk about how she joined the Bellas because she needed to step back from her busy love life, we see her defying the expectations that we have for fat girls in movies, the assumption that nobody will want to have sex with her or that she won’t have the confidence to approach someone. Stacie, however, is thin and normatively attractive. The audience expects that she has no shortage of willing sexual partners and doesn’t restrain herself in the way she is expected to; thus, she is deserving of ridicule. The inconsistency between how the two characters’ sex lives are valued demeans Stacie and condescends to Fat Amy.

As Pitch Perfect 2 is helmed by a female director and writer with some skin in the game (Elizabeth Banks, who is in a supporting role in both films, and Kay Cannon, who wrote the original), one might hope that the sequel would amend the issues in the original, perhaps by giving more screen time to find some depth in characters like Cynthia Rose and Lilly. Unfortunately, the franchise loses more feminist cred by doubling down on the cheap stereotypes. Cynthia Rose is still a source for jokes about lesbians creeping on straight women, Lilly is still the quiet Asian girl, and now Flo (Chrissie Fit) has joined the Bellas, a Latina woman whose every comment is about how harsh and dangerous her life was in her unspecified Latin American home country.

Even the progressive aspects of Fat Amy’s depiction in Pitch Perfect largely erode in the sequel. The opening sequence is perhaps the most telling, where Fat Amy experiences a costume malfunction during a performance at President Obama’s birthday gala and accidentally exposes her vulva to the TV cameras and the concert audience. Typical to a comedy film, the audience reacts with disgust and terror, some even running away. Although unintentional, her body is deemed excessive and the resulting outcry nearly destroys the Bellas.

A similar scene of disgust comes later in the film, where a romantic moment between Fat Amy and Bumper (Adam Devine) causes his friends to run away in order to avoid looking at the couple. (While Bumper isn’t as outside the normative range of bodies seen on-camera, he is larger-bodied than the other Treblemakers.) The plotline of their relationship doesn’t meet the standards of a romantic partner that Fat Amy sets in the first film, where she brushes off his advances (though she raises the eyebrows of the other Bellas by having his number in her phone). In Pitch Perfect 2, she and Bumper are hooking up. He asks her to date him officially with a romantic dinner; she initially turns him down, saying that she’s a “free range pony who can’t be tamed,” but eventually realizes that she’s in love with him (for no discernible reason) and wins him back with a rendition of Pat Benatar’s “We Belong.” The main conflict of Pitch Perfect is the competition between the Bellas and the Treblemakers, which sets up Fat Amy and Bumper as well-balanced adversaries, both confident and ambitious. Fat Amy disdains Bumper’s advances and flirts with aforementioned hunks; Bumper quits school for an opportunity to work for John Mayer. However, in the second film, former antagonist Bumper has been humbled, now working as a college security guard and desperately trying to hang on to his past glory days as a college a capella big shot. It is at this point that he becomes a suitable partner for Fat Amy.

In Pitch Perfect, the Bellas achieve a competitive edge by using Beca’s mash-up arrangements instead of more traditional medley formats in their performances. This works as an apt allegory for Pitch Perfect as feminist films: there are some welcome updates, but ultimately it’s the same song. It’s great to see a character whose fatness is a part of her identity without being a point of dehumanization, but the films try to make Fat Amy likable at the expense of other characters, positioning her as acceptably quirky, in contrast to the women of color, who are portrayed in a more two-dimensional manner, or Stacie, who is unacceptable due to her promiscuity. Ultimately, the underlying current of stereotype-based humor puts the film’s fat positivity in a dubious light, compounded by the erosion of Fat Amy’s status as kickass fat girl, as well as any thematic content about female friendship.

See also at Bitch Flicks:

Pitch Perfect and Third Wave Feminism

Tessa Racked can be heard as a guest contributor to film podcasts including Directors Club and Tracks of the Damned, on the Now Playing Network. They are good at modern dance, olden dance, mermaid dancing, and peppering the Internet with cleverness. You can follow them on Twitter @tessa_racked.

Masculinity and the Queer Male: There’s Nowt So ‘Queer as Folk’

Yet this very concept of shaming queer men for their sexuality while society is praising straight men for their sexual conquests as a key element of “successful” masculinity demonstrates the way homophobia intersects with a devaluing of the feminine.

This guest post by Rowan Ellis appears as part of our theme week on Masculinity.

If we were being cliche about it, we’d start this essay with a nice textbook definition of masculinity. “The Oxford Dictionary defines masculinity as…” But the thing is, the dictionary defines masculinity as “possession of the qualities traditionally associated with men,” and queer media, of which Queer as Folk (North American version) is but one example, should surely take issue with this very premise considering how heavily it relies on assumptions around a gender binary that doesn’t really exist. Queer as Folk is overwhelmingly about men, but they are men living in a subculture with different “traditional qualities.” Queens, Bears, Straight-Acting, Leathers… any number of ideals of what it is to be a certain type of man in a certain type of tradition. When sexuality is bought into the mix, and the queer body is the one playing with these gendered constructs, we find an element of doubt: if what it means to be a man can change so easily between male identities, then there is no innate power behind it. Effeminate gay men, like Emmett Honeycut, are subverting gendered stereotypes, of course. But masculine gay men, like Brian Kinney, are also subverting preconceptions around sexuality, and are in turn fucking with gender in a similar way. If the power of masculinity is that it is the thing “ordinary” straight men are meant to aspire to, for a gay man to inhabit that aspiration is for the queer to encroach on and upset the accepted balance.

Brian Kinney is a “man’s man” in a different way to that masculine ideal... — Brian Kinney is a “man’s man” in a different way to that masculine ideal…

Queer as Folk, based on Russell T. Davies’ original British series of the same name, follows a group of five gay men, and their two lesbian friends, in Pittsburgh. The creation of the series was born of a desire to see the reality of modern gay life on screen, and the show doesn’t disappoint. There are story lines that deal with things such as coming out, marriage equality, gay bashing, HIV+ characters, assimilation vs. subversion of mainstream society, adoption, gay parenting, workplace discrimination, religion, accepting and condemning families, and, of course, sex–themes and ideas which were both universal to the gay experience, and specific to the life of gay people in the period between 2000 and 2005 when the show aired. This pioneering attitude toward sexuality across an entire ensemble cast in such a frank and explicit way cements its place as a cornerstone of queer media history, and an important series to explore in regard to sexuality and masculinity and how they connect.

The Queer as Folk Season Four Cast getting cosy. — The *Queer as Folk* Season 4 cast getting cosy.

The show balances characters across the spectrum of masculine and feminine, with people like Brian or Drew Boyd on one side, and Emmett on the other, with the rest placed somewhere in between. It demonstrates the differing elements of gender presentation, from looks to interests, and suggests these are innate parts of a person which are then packaged and labelled by society to the either one thing or another. Ben Bruckner’s interest in quiet peace and serenity might exclude him from the masculine, while the fact he is the top in his relationship with Michael might pull him out of the feminine; these labels become ultimately meaningless not just in queer characters, but in any characters. However the show doesn’t deny that social pressures can shape someone’s natural disposition and interests to conform to the expectations of gender. We can see how Drew’s intense masculinity is something which is tied to his vehement denial of his sexuality, creating a defensive barrier that keeps Emmett at a distance because he doesn’t fit with the artificially created version of Drew.

Ben: so studious, so Zen, so into Michael.

The show also addresses the issues that come with excesses in the physical power of traditional masculinity, through toxic masculinity and violence. As a show in the early 2000s, cases of this violence turned onto the queer community, like that of Matthew Shepard in 1998, were a very real fear. Justin’s gay-bashing at the end of the first season cut brutally through the softening of Brian’s distanced outward demeanor as they danced together at prom. Thus men who needed to use their masculinity against other people, rather than a genuine and internal reflection of their own identity, were clearly shown to be a problem, not an aspiration. This idea was bought even closer to home in Season 4 when Justin joins the Pink Posse, a group of vigilantes who forcibly strip homophobes in public, and his anger escalates to a horrific peak when he gets his chance at revenge.

Justin’s hypermasculinity spirals out of control while on the road to revenge.

When Justin brings home a gun, and later uses it to terrify and humiliate Chris Hobbs, he has reached the outer extreme of masculinity. That classic visual cliche of the gun as phallic symbol rings true, as he forces Hobbs to take the weapon into his mouth and “suck it” at his command. This extremity is ultimately condemned by the writers and framed as a downward spiral for Justin, rather than an upward journey to masculine perfection and strength. At a simplistic level he is working toward what society might deem desirable masculinity: he is attaining power both physically and sexually, he is defending himself, he is showing only the “strong” emotion of righteous anger. But when this is played out literally in front of us, as an audience, we recoil in horror at the reality that this hypermasculinity can produce, further undermining its apparent appeal.

Hypersexuality in the gay scene has long been a criticism leveled against the community as a whole, as well as the TV series itself. The stereotypes around gay life and promiscuity are arguably enforced in Queer as Folk, where we are introduced to our male leads in the omnipresent club Babylon, full of men looking for sex (especially contrasted to the domestic frame of motherhood given to Mel and Lindsay as we first see them in the delivery room). Yet this very concept of shaming queer men for their sexuality while society is praising straight men for their sexual conquests as a key element of “successful” masculinity demonstrates the way homophobia intersects with a devaluing of the feminine. Women, including the way their sexuality is viewed as precious and dirty at the same time, are traditionally tied to femininity, which is in turn linked to weakness. By linking gay men, femininity and sex together as the stereotype does, we can see how male sexuality can be condemned when it is with another man, but not when it is exclusively with a woman. However, the show occasionally falls in playing out the masculine/feminine dichotomy within its queer relationships, rather than subverting this heteronormative pattern entirely–the pinnacle of masculinity, Brian, refusing to bottom and the butch/femme dynamic of Mel and Lindsay’s relationship. Are the explicit queer politics of Brian, or the “we’re not like you” speech from Michael, enough to counter this? Maybe the answer to that, like our relationship with gender in the real world, isn’t clear cut.

The explicit sexuality of the show doesn’t allow for a sanitized and comfortable view of gay men.

Subverting this binary with masculine women, and indeed feminine men, has a complex history in fiction; from the villainous dandy to the “strong female protagonist,” character tropes are full of gendered workings. Masculinity is a difficult thing to pull apart in the real world, but in fiction it has been decided and crafted by a writer specifically to feed into that particular character. In a patriarchal world where masculinity is power, strength, and the ultimate goal, we might be tempted to see masculine characters as a sort of ultimate character. One of the clear strengths of Queer as Folk was the way it refused to be a show which played into the idea of there being only one way that queer people should play out their gender identity. It didn’t lay claim to sweeping generalisations that feminine gay men are out “giving us a bad name,” and that masculine gay men as assimilated traitors. Ultimately the portrayal of masculinity, and indeed femininity, in the show felt natural and unique for each character. It uses its ideas around masculinity, and indeed femininity, to expose the reality of gay life, and how it intersects with, and pulls away from, heteronormative society. It is certainly true that if the show was remade now (and there are vague hints of that as a possibility) fans like myself would hope for a greater depth of diversity both within the queer spectrum (the L and G of the acronym were well-represented, but not so much anyone else) as well as in intersectional ways (not having an all white main ensemble would be a great start). But for a pioneering show of its kind, there was nowt so great as Queer as Folk.

Rowan Ellis is a British geek using her YouTube videos to critique films, TV, and books from a queer and feminist lens.

‘Pelo Malo’ (‘Bad Hair’): Coding Blackness and Genderqueer Identity

White and non-Black people can have a “bad hair day.” But only Black folks get labeled with bad hair for life, no matter how it is groomed. Especially Black women. Go to any retail store that sells hair products and the ethnic section (read:Black) has more hair creams, gels, mousse, sprays, relaxers, grease, puddings, pomades, hair butter, oils, lotions, to fry, dye and lay that bushy crown to the side. I won’t even get into the hot combs, wigs, weaves, lacefronts, extensions, and clip-ons used to hide a Black woman’s natural hair state. It’s one thing when little Black girls are indoctrinated early to hate their hair, but what about little Black boys who may also be genderqueer? How is this hair struggle tolerated by a homophobic mother struggling to keep her head above water?

Pelo Malo movie poster. — *Pelo Malo* movie poster.

There is nothing more purifying to the human psyche than when another human being sees you for who you really are and accepts you just as you are. And there’s nothing more soul-crushing than when they don’t. This is at the heart of writer/director Mariana Rondón’s Pelo Malo as it follows the journey of a young Venezuelan boy named Junior (Samuel Lange Zambrano).

Junior is a 9-year-old boy living with his single mother, Marta (Samantha Castillo), and infant brother in a Caracas housing development that looks like an overpopulated urban nightmare. I will call the child Black despite differing racial categories between North America and South America. Every coded Black person on the planet knows who the term “Bad Hair” was created for—persons of African descent with that extra curl in their DNA. Most descendants of enslaved Africans shipped to different parts of the “New World” are a mixture of African, Indigenous (Native), and European heritage. Hair textures will fall anywhere from straight, wavy, to extra thick and tightly curled. Or a mixture of all three.

Most Black boys don’t have hair issues because they are typically shorn of their locks at an early age. I’ve often witnessed Black mothers and fathers letting their son’s hair grow freely while it is still soft baby hair, but the moment it kinks up a little too tight, they cut it off. As long as boys and men keep the scalp lined up right by the barber, and don’t let it get too overgrown and unkempt, the struggle is minimal. Some Black men (and boys) get “texturizers” (basically light relaxers for men), or sport a wave cap overnight to create spiral waves around their scalp. Back in the day it was the Jheri curl or the California curl, where often dark-skinned men suffered chemical treatments like women to get that glossy-curly look that some lighter-skinned men naturally had. Ironically, to me at least, Junior has the silky dream hair that some Black boys and girls in my part of the world would pray for. The boy is naturally beautiful; however, in his mind he knows that the ultimate beauty is straight, European-looking hair. Famous singers who he likes are his role models. They have straight hair. All his little heart desires in the movie is to take a yearbook picture for the new school year with straight hair. Dassit.

Junior tries to figure out his place in his marginalized world.

The one friend Junior has in the whole world, La Nina (María Emilia Sulbarán)

The antagonism stems from his mother Marta, who sees Junior’s fixation with his hair as a huge problem. Not only does her son fuss over his hair and appearance, but he is also effeminate. This is the most painful part of watching Pelo Malo. Marta is a beautiful woman, but her face takes on such ugliness every time she looks at Junior. This child loves his mother to death, spends a lot of time just staring at her, as if trying to figure out the laws of feminine allure. One day Junior sits on a couch watching TV with Marta. He looks over and gazes at her face with such adoration and deep love, but then she snaps on him, “Stop staring at me like that!” From her tone we know he does this often. And we get to witness this longing gaze many times. Marta spends most of her screen time projecting onto Junior her fears of having a gay son. She does some pretty damaging things to try and fix him too throughout the film.

Junior (Samuel Lange Zambrano) is fixated on his mother Marta (Samantha Castillo)

Junior doesn’t break dance like the neighborhood kids, he does a trance-like inner groove with his eyes closed and she is disturbed by it. When she catches him doing this same dance on a city bus, she snatches him up, and Junior doesn’t understand why she is angry. It is literally painful to watch. She piles on the psychological and verbal child abuse. The more that Junior tries to get Marta to love him, she pushes him away. If Venus was a boy, she would be Junior. This fact frightens Marta.

Junior and Marta don't see eye to eye. — Junior and Marta don’t see eye to eye.

Of course, part of Marta’s behavior is rooted in the harsh marginalized environment they live in that punishes perceived deviance. Her son’s burgeoning homosexuality is just one more problem she will have to deal with on top of being poor, single, begging for her underpaid job back, and raising two children, one of which is still nursing from her breasts. Every time she looks at her son, she sees the discrimination, danger, and ridicule they will both have to face against the outside world. But instead of being compassionate, she is angry and perturbed by his mere presence. Her face conveys so much deep-seated hatred for the boy, that at first I thought she was salty with the child because maybe he looked like his father and there was a bad break-up. However, later in the story we find out that she loved the boy’s Black father. Marta’s face softens just talking about him, so the audience has to search for other clues as to her lack of affection towards Junior. She’s constantly pushing/pulling him places, screaming at him outside their bathroom door whenever he locks himself in there to fix his hair in some kind of way that flattens it.

Marta is loving and affectionate with her white-skinned, straight-haired infant son. There is a tender moment where she is topless and bathing the little one. Junior watches (always watching), a sad yearning in his expression. I wondered. Did she ever hold him like that? Kiss him that way? Maybe when his father was alive?

Marta bonding with her lighter-skinned, straight-haired little one.

At one point Marta lies on her bed exhausted from her job search, weary from being turned down for security work, something she is trained for. Junior crawls in next to her and tries to comfort her, and she shoves him away. I began to wonder if it was a combination of his non-conforming sexuality and his Blackness that she despised. There are plenty of non-Black women/men who find Black partners and have children, and yet still harbor racial prejudice. There are even Black-with-Black partners that harbor colorism issues regarding light and dark skin tones.

I admit the colorism/affection issue triggered me in this film. I also come from a single parent household where I am the oldest and darkest child, and the sibling I grew up with is fair-skinned, hazel-eyed, and bone-straight dishwater blonde. My mother was auburn-haired and light-skinned, and although she never had issues with my skin-tone, I was young enough to notice how other people (Black, White, Mexican, Asian, etc) reacted when the two of us went places with our mother. My sister was fawned over (her skin, her eyes, her hair), while I was referred to as the reader. Black children (and non-Black children) learn subconsciously (even before they begin to speak) that whiteness and proximity to whiteness is EVERYTHING, and the opposite is viewed as negative.

Throughout Pelo Malo there were uncomfortable re-rememberings of myself looking at myself in the mirror when I was Junior’s age, slathering Vaseline or Blue Magic Hair Grease on my hair, trying to slick all that stuff DOWN. Tame it. Control it. Essentially hide all that made me stand out as the really Black one in the family. So I was all in my feels watching Junior struggle to get that elusive straight hair. It’s not a comfortable experience to watch a film that basically shows you your childhood and how painful it was. I realized I had built up a lot of buffers around my own hair/skin color trauma.

Grandma Carmen (Nelly Ramos) teaches Junior to sing and dance. — Grandma Carmen (Nelly Ramos) teaches Junior to dance and get loose.

Junior’s only saving grace is his Black paternal Grandmother Carmen (Nelly Ramos). The moment I see Carmen’s teeny-weeny ‘fro, I know this is a woman who embraces her natural beauty. She doesn’t sport a wig, or straighten her locks. She plays music and likes to dance. She even straightens Junior’s hair when he asks just so he can see what it would look like, but she admonishes him to wet it back up before his mother comes to get him. She spots right off what is evident about her grandson. He is not a hard boy. He is concerned with his appearance. He wants to be a singer. He wants straight hair for his yearbook picture. Grandma Carmen obliges by making him a suit that looks like something the singer Prince would wear. This time spent with Carmen is a respite for Junior, but unfortunately the need for Marta’s love and acceptance is so strong, Junior convinces himself that Grandma Carmen is trying to turn him into a girl. The frilly suit he found so delightful stitched from his grandmother’s hand becomes a suit of shame.

Grandma Carmen straightens half of Junior's hair so he can see his desire. — Grandma Carmen straightens half of Junior’s hair so he can see his desire.

Grandma Carmen (Nelly Ramos) shows Junior how to sing like a rock star. — Grandma Carmen (Nelly Ramos) shows Junior how to sing like the star he wants to be.

In the end, Marta tells Junior he can only stay with her if he cuts off all his curly ringlets. The hair has become a symbol of Black queerness for Marta. It must be vanquished. It’s a devastating blow, and the last shot we have of Junior is a gut-wrencher. He is in his school uniform wearing close-cropped hair. Unsmiling. It is the yearbook photo. But not the one he wanted.

Pelo Malo ends with no issues resolved, and no hints that life will change or be better for Junior. However, there is one ray of hope in the end credits. We get to see what Junior looks like wearing his grandmother’s Prince-like suit. His hair is blow-dried straight and he dances to his grandmother’s favorite song. He looks glorious. And free.

I left the theater thinking, “How many Juniors, male/female/gay/gender-neutral/genderfluid/transgender/non-binary are out there in the world?”

I know there are millions. And we must be vigilant in holding safe spaces for those children to grow, discover, and define themselves on their own terms. Children like Leelah Alcorn, who recently took her own life because she couldn’t be the person she needed to be. That is the lesson of Pelo Malo.

If nothing else, people should see this little gem just to gaze at the beautiful face of actor Samuel Lange Zambrano. The weight of this movie is carried on his thin little shoulders, and he handles it like a pro. He is perfection.

The riveting Samantha Castillo(Marta) and the perfection that is Samuel Lange Zambrano (Junior) — The riveting Samantha Castillo (Marta) and the perfection that is Samuel Lange Zambrano (Junior)

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Lisa Bolekaja is a graduate of the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writer’s Workshop and a former Film Independent Fellow. She co-hosts a screenwriting podcast called “Hilliard Guess’ Screenwriters Rant Room” and her work has appeared in “Long Hidden: Speculative Fiction from the Margins of History” (Crossed Genres Publishing), “The WisCon Chronicles: Volume 8″ (Aqueduct Press), and the SF/F anthology, “How to Live on Other Planets: A Handbook for Aspiring Aliens” (Upper Rubber Boot Books). Her latest SF story “Three Voices” will be forthcoming in Uncanny Magazine.

’22 Jump Street’ is That Awkward Moment When You Want to be Progressive and Don’t Know How

’22 Jump Street’ alternately endorses and makes fun of the idea that we should be sensitive, tolerant people, but it isn’t mean-spirited or offensive – it’s just sort of harmlessly dumb.

Written by Katherine Murray.

22 Jump Street alternately endorses and makes fun of the idea that we should be sensitive, tolerant people, but it isn’t mean-spirited or offensive – it’s just sort of harmlessly dumb.

The premise of 22 Jump Street is that the characters from 21 Jump Street — two undercover cops played by Channing Tatum and Jonah Hill – have to do the exact same thing they did in the first movie, but with a bigger budget, and in a slightly different setting. I’m not being sarcastic – that’s actually the brief they get from their Captain at the start of the movie, because 22 Jump Street is one long, self-referential joke about making a half-assed sequel.

In this particular case, the cops, who went undercover as high school students in 21 Jump Street, are now undercover as college students. There are jokes about college, jokes about movies, and jokes about how the characters look really old, but the dominant theme in the movie is that it, and its characters, try really hard to be not homophobic, not sexist, not racist… and don’t always figure out how.

The most obvious example of this, and the one that’s been discussed the most often in reviews, is that the friendship between Tatum and Hill’s characters – Jenko and Schmidt – plays out as if it’s a romance. Jenko becomes friends with a football player, making Schmidt jealous, and leading them to fight about whether they should split up and “investigate different people.” There’s a sad musical montage while they think about how much they miss each other, before they agree to team up again as “a one-time thing.” When they reconcile, in the end, Jenko’s football player friend looks on with a mixture of joy and regret, declaring, “That’s who he should be with!”

Despite their cover story being that they’re brothers, and the fact that Schmidt starts dating a woman, other people mistake them for a couple, too. A school counselor makes them hold hands and attend couple’s therapy; some drug dealers think they’re having oral sex during a bust.

The movie is trying hard to be not homophobic – there’s even a part where Jenko, who’s forced to take a seminar on human sexuality, explains why you can’t use gay slurs – but, when you boil it down, the joke is still, “They seem gay, but they’re not!”

After a long period of time where movies couldn’t allude to homosexuality at all, and a shorter period of time where they could only do it in a derogatory or pejorative way, we’re now in a place where mainstream movies are totally cool with joking that their leading men are gay… as long as it’s clear that they don’t have gay sex. It’s a step forward, for sure, and you can argue that 22 Jump Street is just making fun of the homoerotic subtext that’s already present in buddy cop movies, but the joke is still based on the idea that actually being gay is a bridge that can never be crossed.

This kind of humor has gotten more and more prevalent as public acceptance toward the LGBT community has increased. Homosexuality is no longer something so taboo that we can’t even talk about it – and it’s no longer a career killer for heterosexual actors to play a gay character, or to joke about their masculinity. “They seem gay, but they’re not!” has shown up in R-rated comedies, and most of the recent Sherlock Holmes adaptations – including the Robert Downey Jr. movies, House, and, most notably, BBC’s Sherlock – and the punch line is always the same: “Ha ha ha. This looks gay, and we’re fine with looking gay – and doesn’t it reflect well on us, that we’re not afraid to look gay – but, just so you know, we’re not gay.”

If you were watching a movie or TV show about a man and woman who really, really acted like a couple, and people mistook them for a couple, and there were constantly jokes introducing the idea that they should be a couple, chances are they’d end up as a couple. Usually, the point of making those sorts of observations in the early part of a movie or series is to plant the idea in the audience’s mind that the characters should get together, and introduce tension about whether or not they will. It’s the same principle as We’re the Millers, where Jennifer Aniston and Jason Sudeikis pretend to be married as part of con, but end up falling in love. Or the second season of Orange is the New Black, where Larry and Polly are mistaken for a couple, and it makes them realize that they should be one. Or even the later seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, where Buffy and her mortal enemy, Spike, fall under a spell that makes them act like they’re in love, which leads to them actually falling in love.

With 22 Jump Street and its contemporaries, we’re under no illusion that the story will resolve itself that way. In fact, part of the point of the joke is that we take for granted that it won’t. That’s what makes it a “safe” joke to tell. That doesn’t offend me, and I understand that joking about things in a non-judgemental way can be a step toward acceptance. The movie just isn’t as progressive as it seems to want to be.

Speaking of things that aren’t as progressive as they seem to want to be, 22 Jump Street, intentionally or not, dramatizes the same type of struggle in Schmidt. While the movie is awkwardly trying to avoid homophobia without being sure what to do, Schmidt awkwardly tries to avoid being sexist or racist, with mixed and confusing results.

There’s a running joke in the film where he tries to suck up to the Captain (played by Ice Cube) by saying what he clearly thinks are appropriately sensitive things about race. When the Captain flips out and starts yelling for the waiter in a restaurant, Schmidt defends him by saying, “He’s black! He’s been through a lot!” When the case is initially explained to him – that a black woman died after taking drugs sold to her by a white man – Schmidt comments that’s it’s refreshing to have a black victim, and that the fact that she’s black makes him care so much more. Jenko corrects him that he means to say he cares equally, but Schmidt’s adamant that he cares more.

In both cases, everyone else in the scene is confused or annoyed by his comments, and the joke seems to be that he’s trying too hard to seem sensitive without knowing how to go about it. (In the second case, the joke might also be that people who criticize casting decisions in movies are similarly misguided about it).

Schmidt’s also confused about how to relate to women. One of the antagonists in the movie is his girlfriend’s roommate, Mercedes (played by Jillian Bell). Her idea of conversation is to crack deadpan jokes about his age, even when they’re in life or death situations (which is funny), and, at one point, they get into a fistfight, where he’s not sure if it’s okay to hit her. She yells at him that, if he saw her as a person, he’d punch her in the face, and he does it, but he feels really awkward and uncomfortable. (There’s also an improvised moment where they become confused about whether they’re going to kiss during the fight.)

The fistfight scene stands out as one that captures Schmidt and 22 Jump Street’s dilemma pretty clearly – as a reasonably progressive straight, white guy, he wants to do the right thing and not be racist, sexist, or homophobic, but he has no idea what he is and isn’t supposed to do and say. The absurdity of a situation where, in order to be feminist, you have to punch a woman in the face sums up the conflict pretty clearly – in this brave new world we live in, well-meaning people still get confused about how they’re supposed to behave.

The film also has less thoughtful sequences. Schmidt hooks up with a woman named Maya, and we’re supposed to laugh at the idea that he wants to have a relationship while she’s looking for a one night stand (because women are supposed to want relationships, and men are supposed to want one night stands, get it?). He does the walk of shame in the morning, where it appears that he’s the only man among a group of women, and a later scene in the movie follows this up by showing us that Schmidt is now on a first name basis with the same women (implicitly because he’s done this so often that they’ve all gotten to know each other).

The joke “Schmidt makes friends with the other people doing the walk of shame, because he does it all the time” is funny in itself, but Jonah Hill, for some reason, adopts a more effeminate posture and delivery during those scenes, making the joke more like, “Schmidt’s become one of the girls!” Which is funny because… it’s emasculating? Like being gay?

I honestly don’t know.

22 Jump Street exists in a sort of no-man’s-land where we don’t want to be bigoted or hateful, but where even the least homophobic person in the world can reach for a gay slur in anger, and where, even a movie that’s trying to be progressive can reach for jokes that tacitly confirm the same stereotypes it’s opposing. It’s a snapshot of where mainstream culture is, now, where we want to be better, and thoughtful, and kind, but we haven’t dismantled the language that came before. We’re in a transitional stage between the generations that would find this movie offensively tolerant, and those that will find it offensively backward.

Katherine Murray is a Toronto-based writer who yells about movies and TV on her blog.

There’s More to Love in ‘Loverboy’ Than “Extra Anchovies”

Randy defines the male sex worker in ways that are diametrically opposed to more traditional depictions of female sex workers. He is not oppressed by his clients, controlled by a pimp, or violently threatened until the very end. Even then, such “threats” are delivered as a comedy of errors after a group of husbands discover their wives have been ordering a lot of pizza with “extra anchovies,” the code for Randy’s clandestine services. Thus, he enjoys a much more privileged kind of work as a casual summer gigolo than as a professional prostitute who is often trapped in such work for extended periods of time and trapped by dominating patriarchal forces.

Movie poster for Loverboy — Movie poster for *Loverboy*

This guest post by Kristina Fennelly appears as part of our theme week on Representations of Sex Workers.

At first glance, the 1989 comedy Loverboy, directed by Joan Micklin Silver and starring Patrick Dempsey, may not seem a likely choice for inclusion in films specifically focused on sex workers. After all, how could a seemingly trivial movie about a failing college student, a pizza parlor, and a group of rich yet unhappy California wives possibly inform and challenge dominant definitions of sex workers, traditional gender roles, and even heteronormativity?

Yet this film, largely derided in the late 1980s as “hopelessly tacky,” and “a pitiful waste,” speaks to these issues as it chronicles the maturation of college sophomore Randy Bodek (played by Dempsey). The film makes the claim that the education Randy gains through his summer employment, both as a pizza delivery boy and as a gigolo, prepares him to return to college in the fall as a man: a man more serious about his academic goals, his professional future, and his long-sought-after girlfriend, Jenny. Just as Randy gains a great deal of knowledge about himself, so, too, can viewers today gain a great deal of insight when analyzing this film through a feminist lens.

In the March 2008 issue of the journal Gender Issues, scholar Jeffrey Dennis gives voice to the often ignored and silent male sex workers in his article “Women are Victims, Men Make Choices: The Invisibility of Men and Boys in the Global Sex Trade.” Dennis argues that the accounts of men and boys as sex workers have largely gone unnoticed, which seems ironic given Dennis’s observation that, “Male sex workers are easy to spot anywhere in the world…Yet they are almost completely ignored by social service agencies, administrative bodies, the mass media, and scholarship” (11-12). Critically examining Randy’s profession as a sex worker in this film seeks to do the kind of intellectual and gender-conscious work that Dennis calls for: “a re-evaluation of scholarly preconceptions about male and female bodies, about objectification, about the inevitability of heterosexual identity and about the impossibility of same-sex desire.”

At the onset of the film, Randy concludes his sophomore year of college where he has failed, yet again, to make the grade. In addition to failing at school, Randy has also failed in his relationship with his live-in girlfriend, Jenny. When Randy returns home for the summer, he is admonished by his father, Joe, for his lack of any visible work ethic. Thus Randy must pursue a job as a pizza delivery boy in order to earn $9,000 to pay for his own tuition. While working for $4.80 an hour—a rate that Randy and his co-worker crassly describe as less than wages earned by “people who swim here from Mexico”—he realizes that his life of privilege as a young, white, middle-class male is not automatically guaranteed. Gone is the financial protection from his parents, Joe and Diane. Now he must venture forth on his own to earn the money. His goals, at this point, are not based whatsoever in academic or professional ideals; rather, he wants to earn the money simply so he can return to college, recapture his girlfriend, and continue on with his “party hard” lifestyle.

Randy, having returned home from college, explains to his parents that he is failing at school

One day, a chance encounter leads him to meet Alex Barnett (played by Barbara Carrera), a wealthy Italian businesswoman (presumably in her 40s) who owns a chain of high-end clothing stores. Soon, Alex lavishes Randy with expensive clothes, allows him to drive her racy red sports car, and seduces him. Randy is not a morally bankrupt character, however. He quickly tells Alex that he is in love with Jenny, to which she replies: “I think I can handle it.” She understands the arrangement before Randy does because she has established the parameters of such an arrangement. At this point, the viewer cannot help but pity Randy’s naiveté and obvious lack of experience with an accomplished and mature adult; after all, his social circle in college has consisted primarily of party-driven peers with a similar penchant for goofing off.

Alex, however, shows him the kind of privileged lifestyle he is missing out on at making only $4.80 an hour. When she awakens him the following morning by dropping $100 bills on his pillow, he tries to refuse the payment by telling her, “Alex, I can’t. It makes me feel…” Though Randy does not explicitly give voice to his feelings in this scene, the audience can infer that he feels bought and paid for, much like a traditionally-defined prostitute. He even acknowledges the quickness of the exchange when he says, “I’m never going to see you again, am I?” Their brief and fleeting affair is framed in more financially pragmatic terms by Alex who explains that if their roles were reversed and she needed the money, she knows he would give it to her. “So what’s the difference?” she asks as she gets up to leave. It is at this point in which the film seems to ask this exact question of its audience: What’s the difference between a male sex worker and a female sex worker? What’s at stake for a “gigolo” versus a “prostitute,” even from a purely rhetorical analysis of those classifications? Does sex work involve the same kind of possession, objectification, and violence for men as it does for women?

Randy, a pizza delivery boy, meets Alex, the owner of high-end clothing stores

These questions do not go unexplored or entirely unanswered in the film. Randy defines the male sex worker in ways that are diametrically opposed to more traditional depictions of female sex workers. He is not oppressed by his clients, controlled by a pimp, or violently threatened until the very end. Even then, such “threats” are delivered as a comedy of errors after a group of husbands discover their wives have been ordering a lot of pizza with “extra anchovies,” the code for Randy’s clandestine services. Thus, he enjoys a much more privileged kind of work as a casual summer gigolo than as a professional prostitute who is often trapped in such work for extended periods of time and trapped by dominating patriarchal forces.

Randy, by contrast, appears to benefit greatly from his work as he grows attuned to romance and intimacy, cultured in ballroom dancing and photography, and refined in his ability to genuinely listen to women and their needs. For example, he fulfills the fantasy of his Asian client, Kyoko Bruckner (played by Kim Miyori), whose husband has stereotypically assumed she, like “all” Asian women, will submit, remain silent, and above all, satisfy his every whim. Randy also provides much-needed validation to Monica Delancy (played by Carrie Fisher), a photographer whose husband personally trains women with “Barbie doll”-type bodies. Finally, he reminds the cynical doctor Joyce Palmer (played by Kirstie Alley) that romance still exists when he engages in an act perhaps even more intimate than sex: ballroom dancing.

Dr. Joyce Palmer (left) teaches Randy how to dance

As he seeks to explain his time with Alex to his horny co-worker, “That isn’t all we did. We talked…,” he again tries to resist traditional definitions of sex workers as objects of pleasure. Unlike heteronormative prostitution, which tends to rely on an exchange of sex for money and positions women as the object of men’s desire, the kind of “work” Randy finds himself doing requires him to be more of a companion than a lover, more of a listener than a performer, more of an adored “loverboy” than a mere sex object.

It is no accident that Randy’s first delivery of “extra anchovies” is to Alex (short for Alexandra), a woman with a name typically considered for boys. She, in fact, assumes a traditionally masculine role as she—a powerful, successful, and rich businesswoman—pursues a partner for her own sexual satisfaction. It should not surprise the discerning viewer that just as Alex showers Randy with expensive clothes, so does Edward Lewis (played by Richard Gere) provide prostitute Vivian Ward (played by Julia Roberts) with a new wardrobe in Pretty Woman, a popular film which proved a box-office hit the following year in 1990. The inclusion of Randy’s improved clothes, combined with Alex’s more masculine name and behavior, are not incidental matters in this film.

In an effort to further the comedic effect of the movie, Randy’s first gift from Alex—a $500 sports coat—is delivered by his co-worker, Tony, who drops it off at Randy’s house after it arrives at the pizza shop. Randy’s father, Joe, who has already told his wife, “Our son is a fruit,” reads the attached note from Alex and believes the coat is actually a gift from Tony, the presumed gay lover. It is not a stretch to qualify his father’s comments as homophobic when he tells his wife Diane, “A guy shows up at our door wearing enough cologne to make me puke.” After bemoaning the fact that Randy never talks about any girls, he tells himself, “You always think it happens to the other guy”—as if the reality of a gay son has now become an affliction, an “it” that one “always think[s]” (read as “always hopes”) will happen to, or pain, someone else. Thus, not only is Randy atypical in his role as a male sex worker, but he is also cast as aberrant (especially in 1989 at the height of the AIDS crisis) in his presumed homosexuality.

Randy, unsurprisingly, is clueless about his father’s fears. Instead, his primary concern is to improve his own identity, to transform himself from a part-time gigolo, defunct college student, and inconsiderate boyfriend into a mature student, respectable son, and loving boyfriend. Inevitably, he must answer to Jenny, who shows up on the day of his parents’ twentieth wedding anniversary. Ironically, it is on this same day that his mother places a pizza order for “extra anchovies” as revenge against her husband, whom she believes has cheated on her. As Randy’s parents try to sort out their mistakes, Randy tries to explain to Jenny that he engaged in such work for the money so that he could return to college and ultimately return to her. His actions prove unforgivable, at least initially. Soon, though, Jenny comes to see Randy as a matured man willing to go to great lengths for love: not only for her love, but also to preserve the love between his two parents. She is heartened and warmed by him and his parents who welcome her with open arms. How could they not since they are so happy and grateful to have a heterosexual son? All is forgiven when Randy promises to return the money, and Randy’s father even promises to pay for his tuition.

Randy's girlfriend, Jenny (right), is not forgiving of his work as a gigolo at first — Randy’s girlfriend, Jenny (right), is not forgiving of his work as a gigolo at first

If this film succeeds in doing the kind of work Dennis calls for, to acknowledge male sex workers largely ignored by “mass media,” does it fail in its treatment of homosexuality? Does it insist on “the inevitability of heterosexual identity”? Not entirely. Before Jenny is identified as Randy’s girlfriend, Randy’s father embraces him and tells him: “You’re my son. I love you.” Certainly, this father-son relationship appears progressive for 1989, especially from where we sit 25 years later when gay marriage is one of the most contentious political and social issues of our time. What’s most potent is the way in which the film anticipates Pretty Woman by framing sex work as a means to a financially and emotionally secure future…when we know it rarely fulfills such dreams. Yet before we toss this movie aside as irrelevant, as “instantly forgettable…the kind of movie that’s perfect for a lazy summer afternoon,” it behooves us to acknowledge how this film can and should encourage conversations about male sex workers that have heretofore been silenced.

Kristina Fennelly is a Visiting Assistant Professor at Kutztown University in Kutztown, Pennsylvania. Her research and teaching interests focus on composition and rhetoric, gender studies, and digital texts.

“A Bit Of An Evolution”: On Louis C.K.

It’s exhausting to consume any media as a trans* person. It’s not really a matter of if I will become a punchline, but when. This goes triple or quadruple for comedy, and Louis C.K., for all his good qualities, is no exception.

Written by Max Thornton as part of our theme week on Male Feminists and Allies.

It’s exhausting to consume any media as a trans* person. It’s not really a matter of if I will become a punchline, but when. This goes triple or quadruple for comedy, and Louis C.K., for all his good qualities, is no exception.

Louis C.K. is a very funny guy, and for a white straight cis man he is often a great ally. The webpage www.arewhitepeopleraciallyoppressed.com uses one of his bits as its only explanation for its giant, bolded, all-caps “NO!” He’s pretty excellent at using his tragicomic sensibility to draw attention to inequalities in a way that might make other white straight cis men think as well as laugh. But he still has a ways to go, and I hope that he will learn and improve.

Louis CK on a rare happy day — Louis C.K. on a rare happy day

What’s interesting about being a fan of Louis C.K. is that he does learn and change, and we have watched him evolve his understanding of some things. His 2008 album Chewed Up opens with a tiresome bit about “Offensive Words,” which surely must have seemed as embarrassing five years ago as it does now:

Faggot. I miss that word… Faggot didn’t mean gay when I was a kid. You called someone faggot because they were being a faggot, you know? Someone was just being a faggot. … But if one of them took the dick out of his mouth and was being all faggy and saying annoying faggy things like, ‘People from Phoenix are called Phoenicians,’ I’d be like, ‘Hey, shut up, faggot! FAGGOT! Quit being a faggot and suck that dick.’

As we used to say when I was a kid, it’s so funny I forgot to laugh.

I’m pretty sure this bit is still being used by douchebros to justify their bigotry, but hopefully at least some of those douchebros have seen the poker scene from a 2010 episode of C.K.’s semi-autobiographical FX sitcom Louie. In this scene, the Louis C.K. character and a group of his comedian friends discuss homosexuality with their one gay friend, who winds up steering the conversation in quite a serious direction. C.K. has explained that this scene was intentional redress for his casual excusing of slurs in the past. “What does it do to a gay man when I say the word ‘faggot’?” was not merely a rhetorical exercise, but a question he raised with a gay friend and thought about deeply in the writing of the poker scene. C.K. says, “I think that the discussion of the word faggot that I did in the poker scene was a bit of an evolution. I pretty much never say faggot on stage anymore.”

His mea culpa over last year’s Rapeocalypse debacle – an incident (don’t they seem to be almost weekly these days?) where an unfunny comedian’s rape “joke” sparked a raging internet debate about comedy and offensiveness – also proves that he can learn from his mistakes, to the point that he now actively tweets against offensive jokes.

louis-ck-tweet — Has anyone tried this? Does it work?

Louis C.K. makes me laugh a lot, and he says some really on-the-ball things about a lot of subjects (“two guys are in love and they can’t get married because you don’t want to talk to your ugly child for five fucking minutes??”), but watching his sets or his show still makes me clench in the pit of my stomach.

It’s not that his material on gender relations is uniformly bad. Some of it is excellent, and some of it is downright feminist. The trouble is, he does it in a really essentialist way. Men and women are defined as poles of a biologically determined binary. And he talks about men as though we’re utterly captive to our hormones. Sometimes it almost sounds as if he’s saying, “Men have treated women really poorly for millennia, because biology.” Testosterone, contra certain trans men who will tell you otherwise, is not a misogyny potion. Neither (although I don’t have personal experience with this) is a Y chromosome.

Obviously I don’t mean to say that we shouldn’t talk about relationships between men and women. It’s hugely important to recognize and challenge the ways in which gendered oppression and violence are performed specifically by men against women; but we need to do this in a way that acknowledges that these categories are imperfect and fluid and not immutably predestined or tied to biology.

C.K. is pretty solid on that first part, but he’s still not mastered the second. And it’s frustrating because he’s so clearly someone who’s spent time engaging with other intersections of oppression, especially race and sexuality, and it’s made him a better person, a better comedian, and a better artiste; so I wish he’d bother to do the same with trans* concerns.

I do worry that Louis C.K. is too much the leftist darling who can get away with anything. On the one hand, it’s not unreasonable to laud people when they learn and change for the better; on the other, fawning over straight white cis dudes for showing the slightest modicum of basic human decency is pretty gross. It’s hard to balance the discourse in response to allies, but at least we know this one is thoughtful and self-aware. If we hold Louis C.K. accountable for his failings, we can generally expect that he’ll listen and learn, and that’s perhaps the most important quality in an ally.

Max Thornton blogs at Gay Christian Geek, tumbles as trans substantial, and is slowly learning to twitter at @RainicornMax.

Wedding Week: ‘My Best Friend’s Wedding’ Is a Right-Wing Nightmare Interpretation of Women

Julia Roberts in My Best Friend’s Wedding

This is a guest post by Mab Ryan.

I saw My Best Friend’s Wedding when it premiered in 1997. At the time, I thought it was an interesting reversal of the rom-com convention that the leading lady always gets her man. Instead, the leading lady was the villain, while her competition won the happy-ever-after. I remember being disturbed that my friend really wanted Julia Roberts’ character to win the man’s affections. Watching it again now, I have moved past disturbed into nauseated. If Julia Roberts plays the villain, who is the heroine? There are no good options because both main female characters are terrible examples of womanhood.

To get us into the wedding spirit, the credits open over a pink background with four women singing and dancing to Dusty Springfield’s “Wishin’ and Hopin’.” A white woman dons a bridal gown, with three women (two white and one of indeterminate race) in bridesmaid’s dresses. The woman of color is wearing a different color/style gown than the others, for no apparent reason. Enjoy her, because she’s the closest thing to a POC character in this movie. The dance portrays the gist of the US wedding fantasy: cooing over a sparkling diamond ring, tossing a bouquet, pulling at a white glove with one’s teeth, etc. The song ends with the bridesmaid’s genuflecting at the bride’s feet, the bride looking up at a white glow washing over her, like an angel. Good girls follow the proper gender script and have perfect weddings.

Someone nicely made a collage of all this.

Julianne (Julia Roberts) is a restaurant critic. Tuck that fact away because it’s the only indication you’ll get that she has any kind of life outside of the sudden obsession that erupts for the course of the movie. Best friend and former lover Michael (Dermot Mulroney) calls while she’s working, prompting a stream of expositionary nostalgia, and damn if she didn’t just remember the half-assed pact they once made that if they were both still single at 28 (that magical age) they would just give up and marry each other. Too bad he just found someone else now that she’s decided she’s ready to settle for him.

Michael is marrying Kimmy (Cameron Diaz), and they want Julianne to be maid of honor. Julianne falls off the bed on hearing this, cluing us in that we can expect to see more of the Cute Clumsy Girl trope. The wedding is in four days. Yeah, she’s been on a book tour for the past month, but you couldn’t reach her on that foot-long cell phone? The second Julianne hears about the nuptials she decides to break up the marriage and steal the groom. Say what? She had zero romantic interest in this guy until now. “This is my whole life’s happiness. I have to be ruthless.” Aim high, sister!

This character embodies the worst stereotypes of feminists. We’re told she rarely cries, never wears pink, and hates romance and public displays of affection. She’s had no prior interest in monogamy, preferring to enjoy sexual encounters with a series of men. Rather than this being empowering, the movie depicts her in the way any right-wing radio host would expect: a bitter, jealous hag, disillusioned with the single, career-focused life, bent on destroying other women in pursuit of marriage.

Her competitor isn’t a great feminist role model either. Kimmy is the daughter of a rich man who owns . . . something about baseball. Ebert’s review refers to him as a “sports owner,” so we’ll go with that. She’s eight years Michael’s junior and about to forgo her senior year in college (as an architecture major) to travel with her sports writer husband-to-be. Several times, she expresses her preference to finish school and have a life of her own—but but but if it means losing Michael (it does) she will give it all up.

Kimmy is direct with Julianne, stating that she feels inadequate compared to the pedestal that Michael has put his old friend on. “I thought I was like you and proud to be, until I met Michael and found out I was a sentimental schmuck like all those flighty nitwits I’d always pitied.” Yikes. She also explains that she hasn’t chosen one of her cousin/bridesmaids to be maid of honor because they’re “basically vengeful sluts.” This movie does not have a high opinion of women.

Michael walks in on Julianne in her underwear like it ain’t no thang. He is the signal tower for mixed messages, and I’ve no doubt he knows exactly how he’s playing both of these women. But he’s just a garden variety asshole next to Julianne’s maliciousness. At a karaoke bar, Kimmy is conspicuously terrified, but Michael needles her to perform. Julianne takes the mic on the pretense of saving Kimmy, but instead forces her into performing, a feat that backfires when Kimmy’s tone deaf, but her brave performance wins the audience’s admiration and applause. Sadly, this is the most inventive ploy in a plot that has Julianne trying on the wedding ring and getting it stuck on her finger. Wacky!

Julianne cruelly forces a terrified Kimmy into singing karaoke.

Now’s as good a time as any talk about George. No wedding movie is complete without the Gay Best Friend™ played here by gay actor Rupert Everett. His sexuality is actually referenced rather than implied, so that’s progress I guess. But he’s never shown in a romantic situation with a man. And though he does host dinner parties and attend erotic book readings, these are callously interrupted by phone calls from the disturbed Julianne. He hates to fly, but does so (twice!) to come to Julianne’s rescue and offer her the sage counsel that her attempts to sabotage this wedding are doomed and she needs to get over herself. In so many words.

“It’s amazing the clarity that comes with psychotic jealousy,” George says to Julianne.

To make matters more homophobic, in a move that makes absolutely no sense, George is press-ganged into playing the part of Julianne’s fiancé. It’s really gross to watch a gay man forced to play beard to a straight woman, shoved into a closet to suit her conniving privilege. Kimmy hyperventilates in relief that Julianne is apparently no longer her competition, because nothing promises a more stable marriage than making sure there are no hot women around to tempt your man. George gets his revenge by telling apocryphal stories about meeting Julianne in a mental institution where she was receiving shock therapy, because we might as well add mocking the mentally ill to this movie’s list of sins.

Julianne’s meddling turns criminal when she fraudulently uses Kimmy’s father’s email account to send a message that will make Michael want to call off the wedding. The scheme works for about five whole minutes, but Michael decides to go through with the wedding after all. The denouement occurs when Julianne admits her love for Michael and plants a big smooch on him at the wedding brunch, in sight of the bride-to-be. Kimmy runs off crying, Michael runs after Kimmy, Julianne runs after Michael, and no one runs after Julianne because, no joke, she is terrible. She admits this in a lady’s room showdown with Kimmy, while a racially mixed group of women surround them, calling for a cat fight. “I’ve done nothing but underhanded, despicable, not even terribly imaginative things since I got here.” That’s okay movie writers! Acceptance is the first step to improvement.

Kimmy confronts Julianne in the ladies room where we are reminded that POC do exist.

Michael and Kimmy somehow make up, which is great for them if you don’ t mind that he’s a self-important jerk who will probably end up screwing Julianne/other women on business trips in years to come, or that Kimmy has no self-esteem and is counting on this guy to be her EVERYTHING. Julianne knows that she has lost, and now that it is a solid two hours later and she’s no longer a threat, she’s able to perform her duties as maid of honor and offer the happy couple a toast. Mozel tov. It’ll probably be at least a day before Julianne gets arrested for tampering with a company computer and committing fraud (we can only hope).

George makes that second flight to be at the reception to provide solace for Julianne. I was 14 when this movie debuted and still part of the homophobic evangelical culture I was raised in. I remember thinking it would be nice if these two could now hook up, because I knew that George was gay, but I figured he could “reform.” I’m pleased to say the movie does nothing to encourage this interpretation. He states outright that he has no romantic intentions toward her. And sure, it’s great to have a friend who will drop everything and pamper you even when you have just proven to be a soulless nightmare, but let’s quit using the magical queer, huh?

The takeaway: gay men exist to render aid to straight ladies. Lesbians do not exist. Fat people do not exist. People of color exist only in sports stadium restrooms. Mental disabilities are funny! Women who pursue independence are terrible, and they really just want marriage. Women who pursue marriage by sacrificing their own desires and goals are good girls who are rewarded with husbands. Straight white men, just keep doing what you do, because in the end, you’ll get some girl or other.

Mab Ryan is a fat, geeky, queerish, rainbow-haired feminist currently studying Art and Creative Writing at Roanoke College.

Conservative Political Cartoons II: The Jerkassening

Conservative Political Cartoons II: The Jerkassening
By Myrna Waldron

I had an absolute ball skewering misogynistic political cartoons last year, so I’ve decided to make this, er, “showcase” a semi-regular feature. It gets a little dull doing feminist analyses of only film and television – feminism is both a political position and a philosophy, so you can apply it to anything. And one thing I have always had an interest in is political cartoons. Particularly, I like ranting about the shitty ones. It’s probably intellectual masochism.

My thanks goes once again to the Something Awful Political Cartoon Thread, whose contributors scour the many political cartoon syndicates and godawful blogs to find these polished turds…mostly so people can yell at them. They have saved me a lot of time and possible loss of sanity. (Not that I had much in the first place)

Last time I limited the focus to the most misogynistic cartoons I could find – this time, it’s just recent cartoons that pissed me off. Variety is the spice of life, donchaknow. Plug your noses, kiddies, cause we’re diving into the dung heap.

A.F. Branco:

Liberal Media Goliath vs. Poor tiny little FOX News David

Why won’t someone think of poor little FOX News! Why, it’s just a plucky lil’ guy standing up to the big bad liberal media! The…liberal media almost exclusively owned by giant conglomerates. The liberal media whose ratings can’t even begin to match FOX News’. The liberal media that is only considered liberal in comparison to FOX News, which is so far right wing they’ve shot off into the goddamn stratosphere. Also, check out the reagan.com e-mail address. I love it when they’re unabashed stereotypes.

Bob Gorrell:

A “child’s” letter to Obama is spelled bad and therefore they are wrong.

Aww, look at the stupid little kid. They can’t spell, therefore they are stupid, and the real letters children sent to Obama pleading for gun control are also stupid. How dare those kids become frightened of being murdered when only 20 or so of them were shot to death recently! Guns are far more important than stupid children with pathetically exaggerated spelling errors. Look at that stupid kid equating guns to broccoli. Stupid kid.

Chuck Asay:

A teenager decides against a mass killing because assault rifles are banned. Good?

Well, he sure got us there! You’re right, Mr. Asay. We should instead ban guns altogether, because simply banning the massively overpowered assault rifles isn’t enough. And while we’re at it, let’s pour some more funding into mental health services so we can help kids like this! Wait, was that what you were arguing? I’m not sure anymore.

It used to be idyllic 1950s bullshit! Now women are all divorced and working and stuff.

Hoo boy look at those gender roles. “Mommy is cooking and wears a skirt! Daddy is fixing a car and wears a hat! And we live in beautiful idealized suburbia that is not at all a figment of an old man mixing his own memories with Leave It To Beaver! …Oh no! Mommy and Daddy got divorced! How awful! Divorce should never happen ever! And Mommy’s working instead of cooking! She’s supposed to be in the kitchen! Waaaa! Okay give me welfare check now please no that isn’t a non-sequitur what are you talking about.”

Pinocchio has a dilemma. He wants to deny his employees contraceptive coverage because he’s an idiot.

Isn’t it cute that Asay has completely misunderstood how Plan B/Emergency Contraception works, calling it an Abortion Pill when all it does is prevent a conception that hasn’t happened yet? How appropriate that he has used Pinocchio as his mouthpiece for saying something that is a lie.

Conservative Brony:

Women are now allowed to serve in combat! Now let’s be misogynistic pricks!

I don’t remember what this guy’s name is. He’s printed in a bunch of college newspapers, but actually published THIS, so he’s Conservative Brony to me forever. The comic strip is called Ralph and Chuck if you care. So, check out this tired and cliched Men’s Rights argument. The draft hasn’t been used in the US since the Vietnam War – a generation ago – and I’m going to go out on a limb here and posit that an almost exclusively left-wing/liberal political movement like feminism is against the draft. And that the main reason why women were exempted from the draft is because of the patriarchal belief that we should be home taking care of the children, and that we’re physically weak or something. And looky here, one of the female characters says “I can’t even kill a spider.” Proving that this concept of weak women is pretty pervasive. Go back to watching ponies, Conservative Brony. You suck at arguments.

Day By Day:

Lance Armstrong is a “pussy,” therefore he is a cheater. Or…something.

A daily webcomic written by Chris Muir. I talked about this comic a bit in the last Political Cartoon rant, but I’ll summarize it again. The grey haired dude is Muir’s self-insert. The redhead is Sam, who is half-Irish, half-Japanese and all T&A. He uses this fictional woman as a mouthpiece for MRA bullshit. He also has a black male character named Damon who he also uses as a mouthpiece on racial issues. It’s about as pathetic and offensive as you can imagine. So check this shit out. Male values are honour, truth and logic. Female values are feelings-over-fact, group-think and consumerism. He says this crap to his wife. And she somehow gets a “Lance Armstrong has been emasculated and that’s why he cheated” inference from this, and uses a misogynistic insult? Is this also making fun of his testicular cancer? I…don’t get it…what?…okay, moving on.

HILLARY CLINTON IS UGLY AND I DON’T KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN PUPPETS AND MARIONETTES!

HILLARY CLINTON IS 65 YEAR OLD WOMAN WHO NEEDS GLASSES MUST INSULT LOOKS FIRST HELL YEAH I GOT ONE OVER ON THAT BITCH. I’m not going to even read the rest of this shit. His arguments and talking points are unreadable and his metaphors make no sense. (You don’t put your hands up marionettes you moron) Also, fun fact, Muir’s single. I wonder why.

Eric Allie:

Liberals are dumb and they don’t know how guns work.

Allie is one of the great tragedies of political cartooning. Such a good artist with a distinctive style, and occasionally very funny…but manages to take the worst possible position about everything. But I suppose I’m just as partisan in my left-wing views as he is in his right-wing ones. I included this cartoon not because it’s particularly offensive (it’s mostly vacuous) but because the labels on that gun are actually pretty funny. Mourn that we have lost this talent to the “enemy.”

Gary Varvel:

You should feel bad about abortion because of Dead Baby Heaven!

It’s depressing how little pro-lifers actually understand about the abortion process. Varvel either thinks that all aborted babies are practically full-term, or that they magically stop being blobs of cells once they go to heaven. I have to wonder if miscarriages, stillbirths, etc are also included in this charming Dead Baby Heaven. So tell me, Mr. Varvel, if all 55 million of those babies were born, would you have been willing to give up more taxes so that the mothers could receive prenatal care and compensation for missed work, and so that these kids could be housed, clothed, and fed? Would you endorse comprehensive sex-ed that discussed contraception? Judging from your pro-life peers, I wouldn’t think so. (Also thanks for drawing the Asian babies with slanted slit eyes. Very inclusive of you.)

Glenn McCoy:

HOLLYWOOD IS TO BLAME FOR EVERYTHING GOD BLESS AMERICA

What a tired, boring, flawed and cliched argument. It astounds me how many people will point their fingers at violent media and claim it is the cause of gun violence. Canada gets the exact same media that the US does. A lot of people don’t seem to get just how similar our countries are when it comes to our culture. Want proof? I’m a Canadian ranting about American politics. Now, I’m going to throw a few statistics at you guys. In 2011, there were a total of 598 homicides in Canada, 27% of which were firearm related. Now get ready for this one. In the US, there were 12,664 homicides in 2011, and 8,583 of those were firearm related. The US has approximately 10 times the population of Canada, but I’m pretty sure those statistics aren’t proportional with that. There is a systematic problem with violence in the United States. You guys are absolutely infatuated with firearms and militaristic jingoism. Canada has the same media. Canada has a large hunting population. But we don’t have the gun violence problems that you do. The cause of gun deaths is not Hollywood violence, which is merely a symptom of gun culture, it’s YOU, America. And it’s time to admit it.

Soldiers who died in combat are equivalent to aborted fetuses. Okay then.

Is it 55 million abortions or 54 million? Come on guys, if you’re going to make this a talking point at least be consistent about it. What happened to the extra million fetuses? Did Obama eat them? Also, that must be an enormous dumpster if it can hold all those fetuses. I don’t even have a real argument or any sarcasm for this one. It’s just exasperating.

Lisa Benson:

Women in the military don’t want to be on the front lines, don’t be silly!

Isn’t it nice of Ms. Benson to speak for all women? She personally does not want to go on the front lines, therefore no women will, I guess? Even though they’ve basically been in combat (or at least very dangerous) situations all along? And since she’s wearing the same football uniform, she volunteered for this? And hey, notice how tiny she drew the woman in comparison to the big hulking man on the bench there. Teeny tiny women have to be protected from big bad Muslims!

Me And Folly:

WOMAN = BABY. DEAD BABY BAD. NO BABY IN COMBAT. WHO CARES ABOUT WOMAN.

I think this is just some small time blogger rather than a published cartoonist. But, uh, wow. Let’s dissect this one. The caption literally associates women solely with babies. The captured woman is drawn with a cute little blonde ponytail and ribbon, needlessly re-identifying her as female (we can see the pregnant stomach, buddy) while infantilizing her at the same time. Her being blonde is also subtextually significant – blonde women are usually white, and in the media, it is almost always white women in peril who make the news, not anyone else. This cartoon colludes with the media’s implication that white women are of more value than women of colour. So how about that baby? The baby is apparently very close to full-term. And I guess it’s making a lame draft joke? So…is the argument seriously that the US Military would be sending heavily pregnant women to the front lines, and that women are basically assumed to be constantly pregnant? Also, once again, teeny tiny white woman captured by the big bad Muslim.

Mike Ramirez:

Hillary Clinton desecrates the Benghazi victims’ graves because she is a Democrat.

Fffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu. The first time I saw this cartoon, I had a verbal nuclear explosion on Twitter. If you’re unfamiliar with the names on those tombstones, they were the victims of the attack which took place at the Libyan embassy in Benghazi. This incident will always be a very sensitive issue for Something Awful forum members, as Sean Smith, aka Vilerat, was a well-respected moderator of the Debate & Discussion subforum where the Political Cartoons thread is located. Regardless of my personal feelings, there are two BIG problems with this cartoon.

First, laying the blame for these attacks at Hillary Clinton’s feet is both unfair and pointless. He has also used her “What difference does it make?” quotation out of context in a pathetic attempt to discredit her. She was not shrugging off the Benghazi deaths – she was arguing that wasting time trying to place blame for the deaths is pointless and counterproductive. Regardless of how this could have been prevented, 4 Americans are still dead, the past cannot be changed, and what is more important now is to find their killers, bring them to justice, and prevent this from happening again. His answer, “The difference between life and death,” makes no sense in reference to the context of her rhetorical question – proving that he’s just regurgitating talking points without actually researching them.

The second major problem is Ramirez’s use of the Benghazi victims as political mouthpieces. These men were murdered while doing their jobs. It’s a terrible tragedy, and whether it could have been prevented or not is irrelevant now. These men are dead. They cannot speak for themselves anymore. But Ramirez is using murdered men to speak for him. He’s depicting Hillary Clinton desecrating their graves, while hypocritically desecrating their memory by using them to promote complete bullshit. Using those who cannot speak to speak for you is the utmost of cowardice. Ramirez is a liar, a coward, and a hypocrite. I hope his God forgives him, cause I sure as hell won’t.

Obama is a far-left liberal because American conservatives have no goddamn idea what “far-left” means.

Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. No.

Randy Bish:

Mental Health in America will kill stupid monkey Obama because he’s making stupid gun laws.

I was initially annoyed and insulted at the insensitive depiction of mental health problems as a giant murderous gorilla, but I’m going to instead digress a little and talk about that Obama caricature. Lots of Obama caricatures are terrible (Ramirez’s being one of the worst ones) and a lot of them are subtly racist. But none can match the sheer racism of Bish’s Obama. Here’s a second example of his Obama caricature from last year. Giant flappy ears, giant eyebrows, giant lips. He has not drawn an African-American human being. He’s drawn a monkey.

Terry Wise:

Parents should beat their kids to discipline them and then something about abortion?

So what’s your point, Wise? People say stupid things? You haven’t somehow discredited the entire liberal/progressive movement by depicting a conversation in which a dumbass blurted out a poorly reasoned non-sequitur. Also, stop trying to justify beating your kids you psycho. Jesus.

NOOOOOO MY ROSE-COLOURED 1950S CHILDHOOD IS DEAD BECAUSE A MAN IS GAY

You heard it here first, folks. A loving same-sex couple trying to open an orphanage is exactly as evil and offensive as a meth addict and a murdered prostitute. If this was inspired by Jim Nabors’ coming out (and it probably was), Wise is an astoundingly hateful old man. Nabors married the man he’s been with for almost 40 years. What is so wrong with an elderly man finally getting to legalize his relationship with the love of his life? What prompted these ridiculous comparisons? What harm has Nabors done? Why won’t Baby Boomers give up their fucking delusional idyllic memories of the 1950s?

Mallard Fillmore:

Her name is Purge Daley. Bulimia. Ha ha.

Purge Daley is a rich snob. Ha ha.

Purge Daley hates fat people. Ha ha.

Everyone in Hollywood is liberal including Purge Daley. Ha ha.

Purge Daley doesn’t get how guns work. Ha ha.

Purge Daley watches films not made in America, the traitor. Ha ha.

Finally, I present a series of strips from the conservative comic strip Mallard Fillmore, drawn by Bruce Tinsley. It’s billed as the conservative Doonesbury, but it isn’t even 1/8th as clever. The premise is just…a talking duck that is a conservative news reporter. He’s also an incredibly petty asshole – every Martin Luther King Jr. Day, he goes out of his way to not acknowledge it, and instead depicts a strawman telling him off for not acknowledging “Squirrel Appreciation Day.” So what we’ve got here is basically the same joke repeated 6 times. El oh el, the supermodel’s name is Purge Daley. Bulimia, geddit? Eating disorders are high-larious! And this is the strawmanniest strawman that ever strawed. I don’t even know where to begin with this. He criticizes fat-shaming, and yet hypocritically insults people with eating disorders at the same time. I don’t think I should have to bother engaging with deliberately nonsensical arguments. But I will say that people who refuse to watch movies with subtitles DO suck, so go to hell Tinsley, you xenophobic sexist fuck.

…I think I need a stiff drink.

Myrna Waldron is a feminist writer/blogger with a particular emphasis on all things nerdy. She lives in Toronto and has studied English and Film at York University. Myrna has a particular interest in the animation medium, having written extensively on American, Canadian and Japanese animation. She also has a passion for Sci-Fi & Fantasy literature, pop culture literature such as cartoons/comics, and the gaming subculture. She maintains a personal collection of blog posts, rants, essays and musings at The Soapboxing Geek, and tweets with reckless pottymouthed abandon at @SoapboxingGeek.

Women and Gender in Musicals Week: The Lion King: Just Good, or Feminist Good?

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

Nala to Simba: “Pinned you again.”

Overall FeministDisney Rating: **, 2/4 stars (see below for specific categories that feed into this)

The Lion King is an interesting movie to pick apart. I think when it comes to anthropomorphized casts, it’s almost more difficult, at first, to examine it critically in terms of how it portrays humans. After all, when you think “Feminism” + “Disney,” who thinks to critique The Lion King? I didn’t, at first.

But truth be told: there is much to critique here.

I should say first, let’s throw the whole “But this is how lions act” argument out the window. Lions are not actually “kings” of all animals; they do not actually get along with prey when they’re feeling like singing a song, or learn to eat bugs from them; when (male) lions become subadults, they have to leave their pride, and no, they can never come back. Etc., etc., etc.

So none of this “Disney just portrayed it that way because it’s that way in real life” ish. This isn’t the National Geographic Channel.

One big, happy family?

So anyhow. It’s very noticeable in this movie that male characters take the center stage, and female characters take a backseat to the action. Simba, Mufasa, Scar, Rafiki, Zazu, Timon, Pumbaa (these are all characters that take up a significant amount of screen time) versus … Nala. Sarabi was there but existed as little more than a supportive nurturing background character who took a backsteat to Simba’s relationship with his father. The male story and the male perspective clearly dominate. As a simple Bechdel test or more in-depth examination will tell us, this is not a single occurrence but rather a troubling reflection of movie character diversity in general.

When it comes to Nala, her role has always frustrated me a lot. Ignoring that it might not work with the plot already in place, it was quite disappointing that Nala did not take over partially or fully in Simba’s absence. She is always shown, especially early on in the film, to be Simba’s equal, and she is perhaps even more intelligent, or at least a more naturally sound leader throughout the film, while Simba tends to be comparatively a bit more immature and in need of multiple characters propelling him into responsible/rightful action. This isn’t a critique of Simba’s likeability or abilities, but merely to say that in all aspects, Nala would have made at least a decent fill-in.

Simba and the more cunning Nala

Another feminist critique of this movie (on Nala):

She comes up with better ideas then he does. She is the one who starts Simba thinking about his past and his future. Yet, despite the fact that she left the pride lands to find help, she also does not challenge Scar’s right to rule. She does little more than Sarabi to work toward getting a better life for herself and the other lionesses, only leaving the pride lands to seek help (read: a different male lion). Only when Simba returns to the lionesses stand up to Scar. This is because a new male has been found to lead them. The lionesses are very much kept in the shadow of the male lions.

Neither Sarabi nor Nala challenge the male lion’s leadership even though there is no clear reason for why they should allow him to run and ruin their entire kingdom, other than that he is male. Not even when they are starving do they speak up and act for themselves and for their people. Simba has to do it for them.

I think this is really one of the main and most problematic aspects of the film: it basically boils down to the fact that an entire group of strong female characters are unable to confront a single male oppressor; to do so, they need to be led by a dominant male. It almost sucks more that Nala is such a strong, independent, intelligent, savvy female character and still ends up constrained by this plot device. It doesn’t say a lot of positive things about the role of women or about the importance of female characters in this film.

Scar: Simba’s evil gay uncle?

When it comes to androgyny and non-binary characters in this film, it is worth noting that they all “happen” to be the evil characters: the 3 hyenas and Scar. Scar is clearly a male lion, but as has been noted previously and in many blog posts apart from mine, he is portrayed as basically the “gay evil uncle” owing to his effeminate gestures/speech/appearance that are stereotypically known to be gay markers. Shenzi is presumably female but is never actually referred to as one in the movie–it is something we can only assume from the general tone of the voice. All the hyenas look very similar/are difficult to distinguish other than by voice inflection (it isn’t bad to have androgynous characters: it’s bad that they’re always cast as villains in childrens’ movies).

A piece called “Women, Race and Culture in Disney Movies” states:

The characters are animals, but their voices show racist stereotypes. Even though The Lion King takes place in Africa, two white American actors are used for the voice of Simba, the hero. However, the hyenas who are bad characters in the film, speak non-standard English and are played by actors like Whoopi Goldberg and Cheech Marin. The villain, Scar, suggests homosexuality.

While I do agree with some of the observations, many readers have pointed out that the cast is pretty diverse and both good and evil characters have “black” and “white” voices so neither one is necessarily villainized. I don’t think it’s accidental though that Simba/Mufasa/everyone are very bright and light colored, while the Hyenas and Scar are a lot darker. While this has been a traditional coding for good/evil in film, I think it’s pretty obvious for children watching who the good and bad guy is, rendering this device unnecessary. But since it’s still there in the movie it could, rather than being a helpful cue, actually helping to instill subconscious notions of morality relating to the color of your skin.

Another review states:

Many critics saw a racial subtext to the villainous outsiders, noting that the racialized voices of the hyenas hewed to hackneyed stereotypes of African American and Hispanic threats to nice kids from the suburbs who stray too far from home.

Racialized hyenas?

Don’t get me wrong here: I loved The Lion King when it came out in 1994. I was 5 years old and I wanted that movie on VHS sooo badly that I created this “moving train” of paper characters to show my mom in hopes that she would realize that we had to have it since I loved it enough to create a paper train (so started my life of unnecessarily complicated scheming!). We got it as a gift when my brother was born, and I had a Zazu stuffed toy that I carried everywhere like a doll for a year or two.

So yeah, it’s a great film, but that doesn’t make it a great feminist film.

Promotion/Equal Voice given to women: *
Representation of Women present (are they more than typecasts of female stereotypes etc): ***
Racism/Classism: **
LGBTQ representation: *~ (1.5)
Gender Binary adherence: *~

———-

FeministDisney runs a tumblr blog of the same name that seeks to deconstruct and examine Disney through a feminist lens. FD is a Disney fan, which is why she finds it necessary to discuss how Disney narratives can be both groundbreaking and problematic. She identifies as a feminist, an artist and a cat lover.

LGBTQI Week: Stranger in a Queer Land: How ‘But I’m a Cheerleader’ and Susan Sontag Defined My Trembling Identity

This is a guest review by Eva Phillips.

It might come off as a bit absurd, even an effrontery to some, to suggest that a film in which RuPaul must resist the titillation of a faux-fellatio on a pitchfork and bigotry is gleefully bellowed in the hate mantra “Silly faggots, dicks are for chicks!” is the very film responsible for one of my most pivotal coming-of-age realizations. But rarely do we get to choose the moments or media that have the greatest impact upon us. And such was the case with But I’m A Cheerleader.

What was most profound and even revitalizing for me the first time I watched—quite literally hunkered in my basement as if I was viewing a contraband edition of Cannibal Holocaust (for which I would provide a link, but I think the title alone is umbrage enough to the nature of its content)—But I’m A Cheerleader was not that it featured a panoply of beautiful shots or striking cinematography, nor that it was steeped in witty yet complex banter. Before it seems like I’m vilipending the film, I certainly don’t want to underplay it’s merit—it’s terribly amusing, sneakily provocative, peculiarly heartwarming, and, OH, YEAH, IT HAS RUPAUL AND CATHY MORIARITY IN THE SAME DAMN CAST. However, the film instantly became my most cherished nugget of queer cinema for reasons that pertained to the movie’s machinations in my life outside the film, and it’s hand in my self-construction of a queer identity. But more on that shortly. The film’s diegesis is certainly worth exploring and even worth praising. Jamie Babbit–who would later go on to direct such Sapphically scintillating films as Itty Bitty Titty Committee (a film which also appealed to my naughty nursery rhyme sensibilities, though I was disappointed it was not some salacious re-envisioning of a Dr. Seuss universe)—emerged from her short film cocoon to direct, and conceive of the story for, Cheerleader, her first feature length released in September of 1999. And, my, what an ostentatiously-hued emergence it was. Centering around the foibles and frustrations of an ostensibly “normal” (or, heteronormal, as the film exploits) high school cheerleader Megan, the narrative rests on the peculiar, raspy-throated charm of Natasha Lyonne.

Let’s pause for a moment to give due reverence to Miss Lyonne. Yes, she’s had her fair share of indecencies aired as fodder for the public eye in the years since Cheerleader and American Pie. But if ever there was an underappreciated icon for blossoming queer sexuality, it’s Lyonne, at least for my money. She’s got the vibe of that moderately unbalanced, untraditionally gorgeous upstairs neighbor who knows every Dario Argento film that you encounter when you first arrive to Chicago, downtrodden but full of potential, who fearlessly flirts with you and subtly teaches you how to be audacious and open in your amorous and creative passions. (Sometimes I go on run-on tangents when I imagine my future….). She made the gravely-voiced-teen rad long before Miley Cyrus and her “I’ve-been-chain-smoking-for-30-years-even-though-I’m-17” droning. And she has a Rufus Wainwright song penned in her honor. Come on. Give the girl a shot.

But I digress. Megan, who lives in an ultra-saturated world—filmed brilliantly with an idyllic tint that gives the perfect every-town suburbia a feel of being all too artificially ideal—begins to show the terrible, if not purposefully clichéd, symptoms of Lesbianitis. She ogles her fellow coquettish cheer-mongers, she loathes the kiss of her quintessentially-90s-studly beau (although, his frenching finesse leaves a lot to be desired), her locker is adorned with images of other gals, and, if those weren’t sufficient red flags, she’s a Melissa Etheridge enthusiast (Yes. It’s perfectly acceptable to grimace. Subtlety is not a bosom buddy to Babbit or screenwriter Brian Wayne Peterson. But that’s sort of why I love it.). After being confronted by her disconcerted parents (cast as the drabbest Norman Rockwell caricatures imaginable) and haughty, disgusted friends (wait a minute, is that Michelle Williams??? Could this movie be any more deliciously 90s??), Megan is shuttled off to a reparative therapy camp—which, with it’s flamboyant heteronormative decadence, must’ve been a throwback to Miss Lyonne to her days on the Pee Wee’s Playhouse set—despite her refusal that she is “plagued” by homosexuality. Megan is brusquely welcomed by the equally sandpaper-toned Cathy Moriarty as the Hetero-Overlord Mary Brown, and told she must accept her sexuality so she can begin to overcome it. From then on much merriment at the expense of heteronormative parodying ensues: Megan meets her fellow recovering homosexuals—including the blithe Melanie Lynskey (and heavens knows I adore Kate Winslet, but I can’t help but feel a twinge of anguish that Lynskey’s career didn’t flourish as brilliantly as Winslet’s post-Heavenly Creatures)—goes through a series of absurd therapy treatments, including Edenic-Behavioral 101; and falls in love with Graham, played by the utterly incomparable Clea DuVall. Without delving much deeper into a plot analysis, let’s just say the film has the gayest of all endings. Think Cinderella in the back of a pickup-truck.

But to fully appreciate why this film is the most important piece of queer cinema for me, it’s necessary to ponder for a moment its Sontag-ian merit. That’s right, Susan Sontag, or S-Squared as nobody calls her. Even typing it I acknowledge how flimsily pretentious it seems to throw her name around–it’s like the fledgling English major who arbitrarily wedges Nietzche into every conversation, or that one guy who insists on wearing tweed and skulks in the shadows of your dinner party only to utter things like “You don’t know jazz. You can’t until you listen to Captain Beefheart. He teaches you to HEAR sound.” But Sontag, a stellar emblem of queer genius, and the extrapolations she makes on the aesthetic of “camp” are particularly fitting when unpacking Cheerleader and why, to this day, it still holds such a prized place in my heart. Sontag was a woman who had her fingers in many pies (which is not necessarily meant to be innuendo, but in her case the tawdry joke is also applicable), and her theories like that on the role of modern photography on cultural memory solidify her as one of the preeminent minds of the 20th century. She also had a longtime romance with Annie Leibovitz. And she had an affinity for bear suits.

But her groundbreaking insights on the style of camp, (a fully fleshed out adumbration of which can be found here) are most manifest in Cheerleader. A sensibility that is dependent on the grandiose, on double-entendres, and on the flamboyant satire of normalcy, camp is a rampant in Cheerleader. RuPaul teaches outdated masculinity adorned in the skimpiest shorts imaginable (and rightfully so, with those sensational gams); Cathy Moriarity barks, in one of the film’s many remarkably self-reflexive moments, “You don’t want to be a Raging Bull Dike!”; Megan woos Graham with a saccharine cheer at the mock hetero-graduation. Furthermore, the film’s style and wardrobe was inspired by John Waters, the reigning Emperor of camp and anemic mustaches. But what left such an indelible mark on me was the film’s campiness and the world of artifice it created that gave me a safe space to explore my identity. Certainly, it was ludicrous at the moment. But often times the preposterousness of it made it much more provocative to me. Moreover, the films tinkering with style and double meanings lit a spark in my fourteen-year-old cinema-phile self that led to my passion for film criticism, for the Mulvey’s and Sontag’s of the world that could offer me a deeper appreciation of cinema, and most critically, ignited the feminist fervor in me that has served me so well to this day.

But attesting to the notion of safe-space, outside of the film’s beloved campiness, But I’m a Cheerleader is my unrivaled top piece of queer cinema because it was the first film I felt secure watching, enjoying and acknowledging images of sexuality that I had previously abnegated. My existence up until that point had been one of self-imposed exile in a very dismal, skeleton littered closet, in which I, like Megan, vehemently denied the glimmers of “alternative attractions” that flittered (and by flittered I mean stampeded) across my mind daily. I firmly believed that if I were to witness any acts of same-sex canoodling or affection, I would instantly be emblazoned with some Scarlet-Letter-esque marker, so that all my peers would know I’D SEEN THE GAY AND NOW I WAS ONE OF THEM (fear not, I’ve evolved). The closest I came to queer cinema prior to Cheerleader was when I superimposed my own ideations on particular scenes in the film Nell in a hotel room in Florida, only to have to flee said hotel due to a hurricane besieging the coast. I thought the elements were literally chasing the queerness out of me. But then I mustered up my courage and watched But I’m a Cheerleader. And then I watched it again. And again. And so on. And so forth. And I had the epiphany that I was not meant to be punished for queerness, and that there was a place, even if I felt my feelings to be ineffable, where I could watch and develop my own sensibilities without the fear of judgment that I so often quaked in the shadow of. I give Cheerleader absolute credit for this. So, sure, it’s brash and occasionally tacky. Sure, the soundtrack has the insufferable whine of so many 90s queer-cinema-compilations. But it’s got moxie and balls (neon, tightly-clad balls). And it gave me the queer sanctuary I so desperately needed at fourteen.

And if nothing else, YOU GET RUPAUL.

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Eva Phillips may or may not be the unapologetic leader of the Milla Jovovich Adoration Army. When she is not studying every one of Madam Jovovich’s films, she is earning her degree in English at the University of Virginia. With an affinity for film, obsessive alphabetizing, and listening to infomercials for possible auguries of the impending apocalypse, she also cherishes writing poetry and convincing everyone of the merits of rescuing physically handicapped felines (of which she’s adopted several). She is not ambidextrous and is damn bitter about that, too.

LGBTQI Week: I Need a Hero: Gus Van Sant’s ‘Milk’

Movie poster for Milk

This guest review by Drew Patrick Shannon previously appeared at Bitch Flicks on September 21, 2011.

“My name is Harvey Milk, and I’m here to recruit you,” yells a nearly unrecognizable Sean Penn in a pivotal scene in Gus Van Sant’s biopic Milk (2008). Wearing a tight red and white shirt and form-fitting slacks highlighting a noticeable bulge, Penn unnervingly inhabits the body of a man who was never handsome, never pretty, but who exuded an eye-twinkling sexiness which led numbers of attractive young men into his bed. It’s a transformation that is not merely surface, not merely costume and hairstyle and what appears to be a slight prosthesis on the nose: like Nicole Kidman’s portrayal of Virginia Woolf in The Hours, this is a full-bodied immersion in a character. Penn, always something of a chameleon in recent years, loses all traces of his own physicality, and portrays Harvey Milk with a buoyancy, a loose-limbed lightness that I’ve never seen in him before. The process seems to have liberated him as an actor—he’s behaving with an unbridled exuberance. His co-star, James Franco, reported that after their first kissing scene, Penn called up ex-wife Madonna and said, “I’ve just kissed my first man,” to which Madonna replied, “Honey, I’m so proud of you.” So are we.

In a recent piece on the Criterion Collection edition of the Oscar-winning 1984 documentary The Times of Harvey Milk (directed by Rob Epstein, later to direct The Celluloid Closet and Paragraph 175), photographer Daniel Nicoletta calls the documentary “Harvey Milk 101.” It would be fair to call Van Sant’s Milk “Harvey Milk 102”—the two films, viewed in order, represent a progression in the course sequence, but they’re primers, neither qualifying you for an advanced degree in the subject. For that, one must turn to the late Randy Shilts’s book The Mayor of Castro Street: The Life and Times of Harvey Milk (1983), which, to my mind, remains the definitive work on the man’s life and legacy. The Epstein documentary is primarily concerned with Milk’s political career; the Van Sant biopic fills in many of the biographical holes in the documentary and concentrates more on Milk’s personal life and relationships. My suggestion is that viewers watch both films—Times first, Milk second—and, if they yearn for more, to then turn to the Shilts book.

Milk begins with archival footage of police raids on gay bars in the 1950s and 60s, and is followed by Milk in 1977 reading his will into a tape recorder: he was convinced that he would soon be assassinated, a prediction that would shortly come true. Flash back to 1970, and Milk’s meeting with Scott Smith (Franco) in a New York subway, and the beginning of an on-again, off-again romance that would last the rest of Milk’s life. Dissatisfied with his grinding corporate-America job in New York, Milk moves with Smith to San Francisco in search of liberation and meaning. He opens a camera shop, becomes an exceedingly groovy bohemian, and ultimately becomes involved with gay rights and local politics, culminating in his election as a city supervisor—the first openly gay elected official in the United States. He is helped along the way by Smith and a band of friends and lovers who operate out of his camera store: Cleve Jones (Emile Hirsch), Jack Lira (Diego Luna), Anne Kronenberg (Alison Pill), and Dick Pabich (Joseph Cross). Once elected, he finds a staunch ally in Mayor George Moscone (Victor Garber) and a nemesis in Supervisor Dan White (Josh Brolin). White, after a series of public humiliations, assassinates Milk and Moscone in City Hall (Dianne Feinstein’s famous announcement of the event appears in the film), and later pleads insanity by using the notorious “Twinkie defense.”

More than a mere summary of events, Milk seeks to illuminate some of the depths of Milk’s character, which are left mostly untouched by The Times of Harvey Milk. And Penn’s performance is a marvel. But I’m left at the end of the film still not entirely knowing what made this man tick. I’m slightly in awe of him, I’m humbled by his passion, I’m drawn to his politics, I’m certainly attracted to him and can easily see myself getting talked into bed by him without much effort, but I still feel separate from him, as though his core has not been exposed. Perhaps this is more than a biopic can do, but my sense is that this is the film’s goal, and on that count it doesn’t quite deliver. The fault is neither Penn’s nor Van Sant’s nor the script’s—my guess is that capturing someone as mercurial as Harvey Milk on film is an impossibility.

Lest this sound as though I didn’t enjoy the film, let me hasten to add that Milk brilliantly recreates a period when gay sex was fun and free and easy and the specter of AIDS was a few years in the future. The cast looks resplendent in its period costumes; it’s alarming that clothes I once wore as a child now constitute “period attire.” And, apart from Penn, the cast is uniformly superb, as we might expect from Van Sant, who, after all, delivered amazing performances from the non-acting teens in 2003’s Elephant. James Franco demonstrates the fearlessness that led him shortly thereafter to take on the role of poet Allen Ginsberg in Howl, and proves why he’s one of his generation’s most interesting actors; his Scott Smith is sweet, sexy, charming, and loyal. Josh Brolin has the incredibly tough job of making Dan White a human being rather than the boogeyman of the piece. He looks uncannily like the real man, and he manages to imbue White with enough pathos that I was unable to hate him, or not entirely. Victor Garber is reliable as always as Moscone, and Diego Luna and Joseph Cross (the little boy from Northern Lights, with Diane Keaton) excel as bits of eye candy on the fringes of Milk’s world. Emile Hirsch has the gravitas to play the great Cleve Jones, whose activism continues to inspire today, and Alison Pill holds her own as the sole woman in this sea of gay men.

What struck me most about Milk at the time of its release was its celebration of the writer. The trailer proudly announced “Written by Dustin Lance Black” in huge blue letters, and the very fetching Mr. Black won a well-deserved Oscar for his efforts. His Academy Award speech, in which he pleaded for the acceptance of young gay men like himself, is already legendary, and in interviews with magazines like The Advocate, he chronicled his difficulties in getting the script written and his exhaustive research. Perhaps the best thing about his script is that it doesn’t venerate its subject: it would have been all too easy to turn Harvey Milk into a saintly angel in America, but he is instead presented by turns as charming and irritating, pleasant and cantankerous, open-minded and bull-headed. And despite the opening which announces his death, the film doesn’t belabor this inevitable trajectory: the focus of both the film and the characters is on the moment, or on a rosy future. Again, the film’s only flaw, to my mind, is that Milk still seems at arm’s length from me, and I craved a more intimate relationship with him. But perhaps this is the point.

I’m bothered by one last thing, completely apart from the film itself. In his bravura acceptance speech for Best Actor at the Oscars, Sean Penn drolly called the audience “You Commie, homo-loving sons of guns.” Perhaps, but we’re still dealing here with a film with a gay hero who dies. Is it significant that two other actors to have won Best Actor Oscars for playing gay men—William Hurt in Kiss of the Spider Woman (1985) and Tom Hanks in Philadelphia (1993)—were killed off by gunfire and AIDS? As producer Jan Oxenberg remarks in Rob Epstein’s The Celluloid Closet, it remains to be seen whether or not Hollywood will embrace—and indeed, deem worthy of an Oscar—a gay character who lives.

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Drew Patrick Shannon received his Ph.D. in English from the University of Cincinnati, and currently teaches 19th and 20th century British literature at the College of Mount St. Joseph. He is at work on a novel and on a non-fiction book examining the diary of Virginia Woolf. He contributed a review of the 1986 film, Working Girls, to Bitch Flicks, which appeared in a previous version on his blog, atleswoolf.

LGBTQI Week: The Good, the Bad, and the Other in Lesbian RomComs

This is a guest post by Gwendolyn Beetham.

I have a confession: I love bad lesbian romantic comedies. I once had a summer where I watched little else, delighting in the bad hair, worse puns, and silly sex scenes.

Before I begin, I want to offer a point of clarification. When I say that I enjoy “bad” lesbian romantic comedies, I do so because the unfortunate truth is that there is little else (see here). But it is also true that, until we have a bigger pot to choose from, we can’t be too picky.

The bone I’d like to pick here is not regarding bad dialogue or unrealistic sex scenes, but with the depiction of race, religion, and culture in lesbian romcoms to date. And with that, another disclosure: I am not a film critic or scholar. What I am is a queer feminist academic (and self-disclosed lover of bad lesbian film). And what I’ve observed in lesbian romcoms is a noticeable pattern of “othering” when it comes to the acceptance of homosexuality.

There has been a lot of work in feminist and queer theory lately on the concept of “othering,” most prominently with the work on homonationalism, a concept first coined by Jaspir Puar. Without getting too academicy, the concept describes the way in which Western-based understandings of homosexual rights and acceptance are pitted against “other” cultures’ lack of rights/acceptance. It goes without saying that many of these countries themselves (the US is at the top of this list) do not extend full rights to the queer community. However, in positioning themselves against “others,” (white) Western cultures try to promote a more “liberal” and “democractic” showing of acceptance that proves that they are more “advanced” than “other” cultures. I think that this concept has great relevance for the way that lesbian films deal with race, class, religion, and culture.

Movie poster for Chutney Popcorn

The first example I’ll use to illustrate this phenomenon is the 1999 film Chutney Popcorn, set in New York, and centered around the Indian-American Reena and her white girlfriend Lisa. Although Reena’s sister is married to a white man, which their mother accepts, she “draws the line” at Reena’s lesbianism. Lisa’s mother is completely supportive – in a role almost as annoying in its supportiveness as Reena’s mother’s is in its disproval. The dualistic division of acceptance – white = accepting/brown = disproving – is clear.

In the hopes of gaining her mother’s acceptance, Reena offers to be the surrogate mother for her sister’s child. High jinx ensue. I won’t ruin the ending here (honestly it might be worth watching if you haven’t), but let’s just say that the more traditional characters in the film “evolve” towards the “right” way of thinking by the conclusion.

Shelley Conn as Nina and Laura Fraser as Lisa in Nina’s Heavenly Delights

Another example of the “othering” phenomenon is found in the 2006 Nina’s Heavenly Delights. While set in Glasgow instead of New York, Nina’s Heavenly Delights also features an Indian/white lesbian couple. Nina, the Scottish-Indian half of the couple, has returned to Glasgow from London, where she ran away to avoid an arranged marriage. She promptly falls for the white Scottish Lisa (apparently the name “Lisa” is code for white lesbian…), under the disapproving eyes of her family. Again, not to give away the ending, but you might guess that there is an “evolving” understanding of sexuality by the film’s end here as well.

The us/them othering and ethnic stereotyping in this film is all the more disappointing as it is directed and co-written by Pratibha Parmar. Parmar is a documentarian primarily known – in feminist circles at least! – for the 1993 film Warrior Marks, produced by and featuring Alice Walker. (If you haven’t seen that one, you should check it out as well – and watch for the cameo by Tracy Chapman, Walker’s partner at the time.)

The films Saving Face (2004)  and I Can’t Think Straight (2008; and, yes, that really is the title) also feature disapproval from “traditional” families – Chinese-American in Saving Face, and Jordanian and British-Indian in I Can’t Think Straight. Although the films do not feature white partners with which to contrast the lack of acceptance from their families, cultural stereotypes and the process of othering nevertheless abound in both films.

In offering this critique, I do not want to suggest that cultural, regional, religious, class, and racial nuances in understandings of sexuality do not exist, nor do I think that directors/writers should start to gloss over these elements in their films. What I want to stress is that these nuances are not so black and white (no pun intended). The reality is that, sometimes, white lesbians are shunned from their families of birth, and black lesbians are embraced. And some brown lesbians are not rejected from their religious communities, but quite the opposite. These alternative narratives are not reflected in lesbian film.

It is refreshing then, that the pot of lesbian films to choose from is growing. For example, though technically not a romcom, the recent, and critically-acclaimed, film Pariah is a good example of how racial nuances can be dealt with on screen, showing that lesbians do not live in the “all or nothing” world that previous films suggest. We can only hope that the future of lesbian film will offer more realistic depictions of race, culture, and sexuality.

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Gwendolyn Beetham is an independent scholar, the editor of The Academic Feminist, and a semi-professional lesbian film watcher. She lives in Brooklyn. Follow her on twitter: @gwendolynb