Masculinity: The Roundup

Check out all of the posts from our Masculinity Theme Week here.

Outlander and A Modern Man by Alize Emme

“What is her power over you?” Randall chides Jamie during his psychological torture. As manly as Jamie likens to be, he long ago surrendered himself to Claire’s power over him. In his deteriorated state, only a woman can heal this broken man. While Jamie’s brokenness is wholly justifiable, his extremist way of thinking shows his ideas of masculinity will need to continue to evolve if he wants to fully regain his soul.


Mad Max: Fury Road Allows Audiences to Both Enjoy and Problematize Hypermasculinity by Elizabeth King

As the evil dictator of the territory he occupies in a post-apocalyptic world, he demands more and more gasoline (which is in rare supply), while withholding water from his starved and sickly citizens. He also has a collection of women that he imprisons and uses for breeding purposes. In this single character we see some of the worst aspects of rampant hyper-masculinity condensed into one truly horrifying man.


Masculinity and the Queer Male: There’s Nowt So Queer as Folk by Rowan Ellis

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.


Strong in the Real Way: Steven Universe and the Shape of Masculinity to Come by Ashley Gallagher

Steven, the title character, isn’t the troublemaking, reckless, pain-in-the-butt Boy-with-a-capital-B I feared I’d have to watch around to get to the powerful women and loving queer folk I really wanted to see. He’s unreserved, adventurous, and confident – all good traits that are fairly typical for boy leads in kids’ shows – but he is also affectionate, selfless, very prone to crying, and just plain effin’ adorable.


The Three Questions That Divide Breaking Bad Fans and What They Tell Us About Masculinity by Katherine Murray

Breaking Bad is one of those well-written, well-acted shows that somehow inspires people to scream at each other in CAPSLOCK. The debate about Walter White and his wife and their drug-trade boils down to your answers to three deceptively simple questions that act as a rorschach test on masculinity in American culture.


The Conflicting Masculinities of Frank and Claire in House of Cards by Tilly Grove

It is this point at which things significantly begin to shift in Frank and Claire’s relationship. This entire situation, which occurred in a succession of embarrassments for Frank, clearly served as a challenge to his dominance and an infringement on his masculinity, especially coming from his wife. For Claire, meanwhile, it is evident that while Frank is fighting desperately to enforce his masculinity and remain in power, she has lost all of hers.


The Blind (Drunk) Leading the Blind (Drunk): Masculinities and Friendship in Edgar Wright’s Three Flavours Cornetto Trilogy by Tessa Racked

Two distinct masculinities pull the Trilogy’s heroes in different directions. Given Wright’s frequent use of pop culture references, I’ve opted to borrow Dungeons and Dragons’ terminology and describe these extremes as lawful and chaotic. Lawful masculinity is characterized by competency and order; it is the hallmark of the responsible (but rigid) adult. Chaotic masculinity is characterized by hedonism and anti-authoritarianism, usually embodied in the series by characters in a state of adolescence (whether age-appropriate or not).


A Fragile Masculinity: Genderswapping Male Characters by Alyssa Franke

Part of this belief comes from the assumption that casting women in these roles is always an attempt to tone down the masculine-coded characteristics associated with these characters. Vaguely omnipotent feminist forces are conspiring to emasculate hyper-masculine characters by recasting them as women, so the argument goes.


I Think We Need a Bigger Metaphor: Men and Masculinity in Jaws by Julia Patt

The life Brody has lived is utterly different, if not entirely sheltered. What dangers or dilemmas he’s faced in his life simply haven’t left the kind of marks Hooper and Quint bear. And their lack prevents him from engaging in any stereotypical masculine posturing. He is, by that criteria anyway, untested.


Female Masculinity and Gender Neutrality in Dexter by Cameron Airen

Knowing that his son had and would continue to kill, Harry taught him to follow a strict code that only allowed Dexter to kill “bad” people. Instead of being chaotic, spontaneous, and killing out of pure rage, Dexter developed a more methodical approach. He is a neat monster who creates a pristine kill room with everything clean, tidy and in its place. All of this could be seen as a more feminine kind of control.


The Complex Masculinity of Outlander’s Jamie Fraser by Carly Lane

It’s a surprising twist on the trope. Jamie is undoubtedly a force of man to be reckoned with, though the fact that he is a virgin and thus relatively inexperienced in terms of sex when he encounters Claire – the older, more experienced woman – attributes some unexpected “feminine” qualities to his character.


Mad Men: Masculinity and the Don Draper Image by Caroline Madden

Upon viewing the series after knowing the show’s finale, we see that the Don Draper arc reflects a small change in gender perspectives during that era. The Don of Season 1 would never act as the Don in the Season 7 finale. We see that Mad Men was all about shattering the hyper-masculine Don Draper mythos that he built and trapped himself within.


How Avatar: The Last Airbender Demonstrates a More Inclusive Masculinity by Aaron Radney

All of them, even those that have more traditional male expressions than the others, end up rejecting more toxic expressions of masculinity.


Misogyny Demons and Wesley’s Tortured Masculinity in Joss Whedon’s Angel by Stephanie Brown

Not only does the characterization of this violent misogyny as “primordial” imply that violence toward women is the natural state of men, it also implies that gender itself is an essential and natural state of being. Men are men and women are women. In a universe that generally operates in gray areas, such a distinction is uncharacteristically black and white.


Tough Guise 2:  Disrupting Violent Masculinity One Documentary at a Time by Colleen Clemens

Narrator Jackson Katz uses visuals and film clips to argue that such a view of masculinity is creating a crisis in young boys as they grow up being made to feel that violence=agency and that rape is just fine because you should get what you want—and if the answer is “no,” then you just take it.


Off the Fury Road and Without a Map: Masculine Portrayal in the New Mad Max by Zev Chevat

Wrapped in a hypermasculine Trojan Horse of violence and war custom is a heady lesson about the dangers of ceding to those expectations, and about the road away from them and toward something like redemption. Here is a film where women are shown to be men’s combative equals. Even more so, it is a film where the only way the men can escape their own oppression is to join up with, and occasionally defer to, these women.


Negotiated Identities and Gray Oppositions in Ridley’s American Crime by Sean Weaver

With that said, even the traditional gender binary is flipped on its head—the women of the show uphold the patriarchal system that controls them, while the men are often portrayed as effeminate and oppressed by the same system that is supposed to give them power. Yes. Take a second while you process that.


Masculinity in Game of Thrones: More Than Fairytale Tropes by Jess Sanders

Boys are judged on their ability to swing a sword or work a trade, criticised for showing weakness, and taught to grow up hard and cold. Doesn’t sound unfamiliar, does it? Masculinity is praised in Westerosi society, as it is in our own.


Bigelow’s Boys: Martial Masculinity in The Hurt Locker by Rachael Johnson

The movie also, however, offers ideological and anthropological readings of masculinity which are, arguably, a little more complicated. Bigelow appears to have a deep interest in, and respect for, martial masculinity.


Moving Away From the Anti-Hero: What It Means to Be a Man in Better Call Saul by Becky Kukla

Slippin’ Jimmy was to James McGill what Heisenberg was to Walter White–a hyper-masculine alter-ego. OK, Slippin’ Jimmy was only conning a few business men out of their Rolexes, but essentially both men created an alternative, more masculine version of themselves in order to survive and gain success.


The Loneliest Planet and the Fracturing of Masculinity by Cal Cleary

Alex is, in many ways, the ideal of the modern man: Handsome, athletic, intelligent, well-traveled, well-off financially but still environmentally sensitive, and with a romantic partner he treats as an equal. Because of this, he has no trouble shrugging off the gendered stereotypes expected of his relationship in the first half of the film. But as soon as he is given reason to doubt his own traditionally defined masculinity, it all falls apart.


Entourage: Masculinity and Male Privilege in Hollywood by Rachel Wortherly

Turtle reminds Vince that “the movie is called Aquaman, not Aquagirl.” This line is indicative of the “boys club” that continues to thrive in Hollywood. An actress’s livelihood in the industry is dependent on her co-star.


The Courage to Cry: Men and Boys’ Emotions in Naruto by Jackson Adler

However, when boys are told that “boys don’t cry” and that men should “man up,” their emotions are not respected, and they often internalize this stigma, sometimes with devastating consequences.  Of course, simply crying won’t cure a condition as severe as PTSD, but men being shown that they are not “weak” for experiencing emotions and needing help will undoubtedly aid in the road to recovery.


Man Up: How VEEP Emphasizes the Value of Masculinity in Politics by Shannon Miller

Because he doesn’t display the same aggressive temperament (he’s actually rather sweet and nurturing) nor does he have a similar function as the rest of the group, his value is regularly questioned and his masculinity is nearly erased. Walsh broaches this issue in the second episode of the series, “Frozen Yoghurt,” when Egan flippantly claims that the famous bag is full of lip balm: “Everything you say to me is emasculating.” And it’s true!


Mr. Robot and the Trouble with the White Knight by Shay Revolver

This is another one of the problems that I have with White Knight syndrome. The types prone to exhibiting this behavior tend to have a lower opinion of women that than their outwardly sexist counterparts. White Knights take up the causes of the women in their lives and speak out for them, but it is usually done in a manner that seems to suggest they think that these women are incapable of speaking up for themselves.


Let’s Hear It for the Boy! Masculinity and the Monomyth by Morgan Faust

As the monomyth evolves, the question is: will it evolve to include the “everywoman” hero archetype, or will the nature of myth itself change to embrace not just the messaging of individualization, but the representation of unique stories for unique people?


The Blind (Drunk) Leading the Blind (Drunk): Masculinities and Friendship in Edgar Wright’s Three Flavours Cornetto Trilogy

Two distinct masculinities pull the Trilogy’s heroes in different directions. Given Wright’s frequent use of pop culture references, I’ve opted to borrow Dungeons and Dragons’ terminology and describe these extremes as lawful and chaotic. Lawful masculinity is characterized by competency and order; it is the hallmark of the responsible (but rigid) adult. Chaotic masculinity is characterized by hedonism and anti-authoritarianism, usually embodied in the series by characters in a state of adolescence (whether age-appropriate or not).


This guest post by Tessa Racked appears as part of our theme week on Masculinity.


This article contains extensive spoilers for Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz, and The World’s End.

Edgar Wright’s Three Flavours Cornetto Trilogy stands apart from other genre parodies for many reasons, but of note is the films’ emotional authenticity. Simon Pegg and Nick Frost are the driving force of that component. They navigate friction in lifelong friendships in Shaun of the Dead and The World’s End, and fall in platonic love in Hot Fuzz. Their characters act as foils, obstacles, and supports for each other as they navigate problems as straightforward as a zombie epidemic and as existential as their own identities as men.

Two distinct masculinities pull the Trilogy’s heroes in different directions. Given Wright’s frequent use of pop culture references, I’ve opted to borrow Dungeons and Dragons’ terminology and describe these extremes as lawful and chaotic. Lawful masculinity is characterized by competency and order; it is the hallmark of the responsible (but rigid) adult. Chaotic masculinity is characterized by hedonism and anti-authoritarianism, usually embodied in the series by characters in a state of adolescence (whether age-appropriate or not). Characters are encouraged to adopt lawful masculinity in order to mature and survive. However, all three films express anxiety over lawful masculinity’s implications on a macro level through forces that threaten large-scale homogeneity: a zombie epidemic (Shaun), a cult obsessed with maintaining the ideal village (Hot Fuzz), and aliens who replace dissenting humans with complacent androids (The World’s End). In all three, the homogenizing force is personified by lawful masculine characters. Chaotic masculinity, on the other hand, is the balancing force that prevents lawful masculinity from metastasizing into doom. Although never in positions of power and rarely living sustainable lifestyles, chaotic masculine characters subvert and criticize the ossifying aspects of lawful masculinity and widespread order. Simon Pegg’s characters are always at the crux of this dynamic. The struggle to balance law and chaos expresses itself through his relationship with Nick Frost’s characters.

Shaun and Ed, Shaun of the Dead
Shaun and Ed, Shaun of the Dead

 

At the beginning of Shaun of the Dead, the titular hero is in danger of becoming one of the walking dead before the outbreak even starts. His girlfriend Liz accuses him of not wanting to “live.” His daily routine begins with a shot that pays homage to Day of the Dead, where he staggers and groans like a zombie, having just gotten out of bed. This stagnation is influenced by his best friend Ed, who has been squatting in his flat for five years. Shaun is under pressure from everyone in the film, save Ed, to conform to the expectations of lawful masculinity. He has tense relations with his responsible housemate Pete, who pressures him to evict Ed, and his dour stepfather Philip, whom Shaun repeatedly describes as “not [his] dad.” Shaun can’t confront Ed for his irresponsible behavior, nor can he “be a man” (Philip’s words) and respect his mother Barbara’s relationship with his stepfather. Ed presents a more comfortable viewpoint for Shaun, constantly referring to Pete as a “prick” behind his back and joking about having sex with Barbara– crude, but apparently not as repugnant to Shaun as Philip having sex with her. It’s an alternative to the mindless, dead world which Shaun is on the verge of joining, considering that he goes through his routine walk to the convenience store without realizing that his neighborhood has fallen into shambles. Ed’s world is one of escapism, through video games, deflecting humor, and drinking, specifically at the Winchester Pub. Ed encourages Shaun to see the Winchester as the solutions to his problems: a place to bring Liz on a date, a place to get over Liz after she dumps him, a fortress against the zombie hoard.

The chaos of the zombie outbreak initially works in Ed’s favor. He convinces Shaun to deviate from the advice broadcast on the news. (Shaun: “But the man said to stay indoors.” Ed: “Fuck the man!”) He enacts praxis that appropriates modes of agency formerly exclusively accessible to lawful masculinity (ie. he takes Pete’s car, crashes it, and upgrades to Philip’s Jaguar). By the third act, the group has holed up inside the Winchester and both Pete and Philip have turned into zombies, the latter after telling Shaun that he was tough on him because he wanted to be a good father and motivate him “to be strong and not give up.”

With Ed’s support, Shaun blossoms as a leader. He formulates plans. He kicks zombie ass and selflessly distracts the horde away from his friends. He uncovers latent defensive skills gained from chaotic masculinity. His initial weapons are recreational items: his vinyl collection, then a cricket bat. When they finally get a gun, he and Ed are the most capable at using it due to their experience playing video games.

Shaun’s move into balanced masculinity parallels with the health of his relationships. Shaun’s goal is to help Liz survive because he loves her, which Ed dismisses as “gay,” and save Barbara from the infected Philip. Shaun begins the film overly protective of Ed, but eventually calls Ed out when he endangers the group through carelessness. He develops a balance between Ed’s chaotic criticism of social norms (in this case, blindly following directions from the television) and Philip’s lawful sense of appropriate behavior. When Barbara is about to turn into a zombie, Ed aids Shaun by holding off David who tactlessly insists on destroying her brain, but Liz is the one able to emotionally support Shaun in making the lawful decision to shoot her for the group’s safety. Ed later mirrors this maturity after he is bitten, holding off the oncoming horde while Liz and Shaun escape. Chaotic masculine to the end, Ed and Shaun’s tearjerking farewell includes a fart joke. The film ends with Shaun having survived, matured, reconciled with Liz, and zombie Ed playing video games in the garden shed. Their friendship has been appropriately repositioned: his and Ed’s bond transcends death, but Ed is no longer occupying the center of Shaun’s life.

PC Danny Butterman and Sergeant Nicholas Angel, Hot Fuzz
PC Danny Butterman and Sergeant Nicholas Angel, Hot Fuzz

 

Hot Fuzz finds Pegg and Frost occupying the trope of adroit thin guy and bumbling fat sidekick, remnsicent of John McClane and Al Powell from Die Hard. Sergeant Nicholas Angel is a paragon of lawful masculinity. The opening montage of his achievements illustrates how excellence is deeply ingrained in who he is. His lawful masculinity is equated with competent police work. Unfortunately, his dedication to his job leads to the end of his romantic relationship and makes the rest of the Metropolitan Police Service look bad. He is reassigned to rural Sandford, where he is partnered with PC Danny Butterman. Their introduction to each other positions Danny as his chaotic, immature foil: Nicholas arrests him for attempted DUI, alongside a group of underage drinkers. From his first day, Nicholas’ hyper-adherence to lawful masculinity stands out in a station where officers atone for infractions by buying sweets for their co-workers and cases consist of rogue swans and illegally trimmed hedges.

Danny idolizes Nicholas, asking a litany of questions that assume his previous career in London looked like an American action film. Nicholas’ approach to their job doesn’t have the “proper action” that Danny longs for: he cites his notebook as his “most important piece of equipment” and snaps at Danny that “it’s not all about gunfights and car chases.” Despite initial friction, during a night at the pub, the partners reveal parallel pursuits of lawful masculinity as their motivations for being cops. Where Nicholas feels destined to prove that the patriarchal system of law is “for the good of humankind”; Danny wants to please his father, Inspector Frank Butterman. The scene plays out with romantic tension. Danny invites Nicholas up to his flat for another drink and teaches him how to “switch off” by introducing him to his passion: cop films full of violent, chaotic masculinity.

Nicholas eventually deviates from his adherence to lawfulness in order to investigate a string of bizarre deaths that are assigned to the incompetent Detectives Andy Wainwright and Andy Cartwright. He discovers that the Neighborhood Watch Association, led by posh, confident businessman Simon Skinner, has been orchestrating a conspiracy to maintain Sandford’s title of Village of the Year. Their focus on Sandford’s aesthetic homogenization is extremely myopic: Nicholas theorizes that their recent victims were killed to prevent a real estate deal, when they were actually targeted for being tacky. It is only by embracing the chaotic masculinity that Danny has introduced him to through cop movies that he is able to save Sandford from itself. Armed with weapons confiscated from a scofflaw farmer, he and Danny take on the NWA with spectacular action sequences. Danny deviates from his sense of obligation to his father, who is part of the conspiracy, recreating his favorite moment from Point Break in the process. After bringing the NWA to justice, Nicholas decides to stay in Sandford despite being asked to return to London. In Sandford, he is able to rein in his lawful masculinity by maintaining a better work-life balance and learning how to provide emotional support to someone he cares about; in the denouement, he brings flowers to Danny’s mother’s grave, in contrast to his failed relationship in London, where he missed his girlfriend’s father’s funeral because of work.

Left to right: Gary King, Steven Prince, Peter Page, and Andy Knightley (not pictured: Oliver Chamberlain), The World’s End
Left to right: Gary King, Steven Prince, Peter Page, and Andy Knightley (not pictured: Oliver Chamberlain), The World’s End

 

In all three films, pubs are an important site of male bonding, with The World’s End as the glorious, tragic culmination of that theme. The film begins with a recollection of the best day of Gary King’s life: a botched attempt at the Golden Mile, a 12-pub crawl, with his friends on the last day of secondary school in 1990. If Nicholas Angel is the paragon of lawful masculinity, Gary King is that of chaotic masculinity. He’s free to do what he wants, any old time–namely, to dwell in carefree adolescence with the assistance of drugs and alcohol. His goal: to relive that night and complete the Golden Mile. Gary convinces his friends to join him. The hardest sell is Andy Knightley, Gary’s former wingman, now partner of a corporate law firm. Andy is a dramatic shift from Frost’s previous Cornetto characters. As a fan of the previous films, seeing Frost for the first time– stone-faced, wearing a suit, and sitting in a corner office– felt like a punch to the gut.

The reunion reveals how the characters have shifted into lawful masculinity (except Gary) and revives old tensions (mostly regarding Gary). Even the Golden Mile has changed, having succumbed to “a nationwide initiative to rob small, charming pubs of any discernible character.” Andy throws a wrench into Gary’s revival of their youth by drinking water instead of beer, which Gary describes as “a lion eating hummus.” Andy responds by equating masculinity with his ability to order a tap water after a rugby game “at a bar packed full of big ugly bastards wearing warpaint.” Andy adheres to standards of lawful masculinity through responsibility, like Philip and Pete in Shaun, and professional competence, like Nicholas in Hot Fuzz, but asserts new principles as well: integrity and self-control.

Four pubs in, their hometown reveals some significant changes it’s undergone when Gary and his friends are attacked by robots. Andy displays surprising prowess and aggression, proving that he can be both sober and masculine. Gary suggests they continue the Golden Mile so as not to arouse suspicion; Andy, dealing with the stress of fighting assailants with blue blood and autonomous limbs and tired of arguing with Gary, embraces chaotic masculinity by downing several shots and insisting they press on. The robots (the group calls them “blanks”) are able to replicate new bodies from human DNA; Gary and his companions rely on their childhood scars, the vestiges of chaotic masculinity, to prove their humanity. Gary and his remaining friends are, after a second battle, invited to assimilate into the blank collective by their paternalistic former teacher-turned-blank, Mr. Shepherd. (Mr. Shepherd is portrayed by Pierce Brosnan and Mr. Skinner, from Hot Fuzz, by Timothy Dalton. Who better than James Bond to embody a masculinity characterized by capability and control?) While his friends fear for their lives, Gary focuses on finishing the Golden Mile. If the blanks are lawful masculinity gone awry, creating a society of so orderly it is made of artificial people, Gary is chaotic masculinity gone awry, answering to no man but rigidly adhering to addictive behaviors.

Finally at the World’s End Pub, Andy tries to physically stop Gary from drinking. The scuffle reveals a hospital bracelet and bandaged wrists. When asked to explain why he left rehab, Gary’s sorrowful response is the most heartbreaking moment in the entire trilogy: “They told me when to go to bed. Me!” He can’t let go of his chaotic masculine self-image long enough to save his own life. Comparably, clinging to lawful masculinity has hurt Andy. He reveals his wife left him because he “wasn’t present enough,” but he is fighting to save his marriage, apparently even if it means embracing chaos: “I just punched my wedding ring out of a robot’s tummy.” Together, they confront the alien force behind the blanks, known as the Network (voiced by Bill Nighy, who played Philip in Shaun). Gary rejects the Network’s tempting offer to turn him into a replicant of his idealized adolescent self, as it would require conformity. Steve, who had previously gone missing, rejoins them. As “the Three Musketeers,” they stand against an intergalactic movement to make planets uniformly peaceful and efficient. Their drunken, belligerent chaos eventually annoys the lawful Network into forfeit; it leaves Earth, destroying all advanced technology in the process.

The apocalypse turns out to be a blessing for the Three Musketeers. As the prologue was narrated by Gary, the epilogue is by Andy. Steve and Sam, his unrequited high school crush, get together; Andy reunites with his family, as the end of civilization has put their problems in perspective; and Gary becomes a cowboy-styled wanderer, the leader of a gang of surviving blanks (teenage versions of his friends). In the last scene, he brings his blanks into a human-only pub full of tattooed brutes and orders a glass of water.

This final scene provides a happy ending for Gary, but also a potential conclusion regarding the roles of masculinities and friendship in the trilogy. Shaun, Nicholas, and Gary are stagnant characters until they find balance between the lawfulness and chaos in themselves. The journey towards this balance is activated through conflict with homogenizing forces and stepping outside constructed systems, but can only reach completion with the support of their male companions.

 


Recommended Reading:

“Alcohol, Withnail, and Gary King”

“Handyman Competency Part II: “Fruity Bodies” in Film and Television” 


Tessa Racked is a previous contributor to Bitch Flicks. They blog about fat people in cinema at Consistent Panda Bear Shape.