Jackie Brown – Bitch Flicks

Interracial Relationships: The Roundup

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

Interracial Relationships in Star Wars: The Force Awakens: The Importance of Finn & Rey by Sophie Hall

To have a Black character like this to not only be the co-lead in an iconic franchise but to also include him in a healthy, positively portrayed relationship with a white woman is a brilliant statement. … Finn and Rey’s difference in race doesn’t put any limitations on what this couple can and do achieve.

Interracial Relationships on Grey’s Anatomy by Cheyenne Matthews-Hoffman

While Grey’s Anatomy has a very large multiracial cast that leads to some impressive representation, its reluctance to discuss race doesn’t give it the opportunity to further explore intricacies of interracial relationships.

Brooklyn Nine-Nine Is Doing Something Right: How One Workplace Sitcom Shows That Interracial Relationships Can Be the Norm by Laura Power

But because the people coming into any workplace in New York City are already diverse in terms of race and sexual orientation, why would a cross-race relationship be bothersome? Brooklyn Nine-Nine doesn’t believe it should be. From the first episode, this show presents interracial relationships as an unquestioned norm, and this is what makes it stand out from all other shows of its kind on television.

No Place For Us: Interracial Relationships in West Side Story by Olivia Edmunds-Diez

West Side Story could be read as a warning to Latinas: stay away from white men. If María listened to her older brother, obeying his wish to keep her obedient and virginal, María would be safe and free from grief. This notion is exceedingly disappointing, especially considering that there are not many Latina main characters in Hollywood movies.

Pinky and the Origins of Interracial Oscar-Bait by Hannah Graves

Pinky is best understood at the starting point for a new Hollywood trajectory for interracial relationships onscreen: the worthy Oscar-bait drama that claims to enlighten as it entertains and serves as a conduit for fostering tolerance in the presumed white audience.

Interracial Love in the Afternoon: Daytime Soap Opera Relationships by Rachel Wortherley

It is glaring that amongst soap opera supercouples, there are few pairings with people of color, especially interracial couples. … In 2016, interracial couples only scratch the surface of storylines on daytime television.

Colonialism in The King and I and Related Media by Jackson Adler

The King and I promotes colonialist and “white savior” attitudes. … Adding romantic interest to the story, showing King Mongkut as exceedingly admiring of Anna and portraying her influence in the court as more than it was, paints Western values and morals as superior to others, justifying colonialism by making it seem as though Eastern countries “need” the West.

Negotiating Race as the Female Indian Love Interest in Bend It Like Beckham and The Darjeeling Limited by Allie Gemmill

Both Bend It Like Beckham and The Darjeeling Limited examine Indian women and their romances with white men. Within the interracial relationships explored in these respective films, both Jess and Rita… are burdened with navigating deeply impressed racial boundaries as they move through a modern society.

Jackie Brown: The Journey of Self-Discovery by Rachel Wortherley

By not blatantly focusing on the racial disparity between Jackie and Max, it speaks volumes in regards to who the film is about. … It is silently implied that as a Black woman, she divorces her identity from the men in her life — including a man who, as a white male maintains a sense of privilege in society — and reclaims it for her own.

Blindness, Race, and Love in A Patch of Blue by Leigh Kolb

Fifty years later, portraying disability on screen with empathy and respect is still rare. Showing an interracial couple is also extremely rare (Green says that some people sent terrible letters to him about the kissing scene; in fact, it’s reported that in some areas in the south the scene was edited out for theaters). A Patch of Blue manages to weave together themes of disability, race, socioeconomic issues and family dynamics with beauty and grace.

‘We’re Not So Different’: Tradition, Culture, and Falling in Love in Bride & Prejudice by Becky Kukla

Though clearly based on the novel, Bride & Prejudice is a successful piece of transnational cinema, which uses the interracial relationship between the Bakshi’s second eldest daughter Lalita and white American Mark Darcy to discuss differences in race, tradition, and cultural imperialism.

Endearing Interracial Romance in Flirting by Grace Barber-Plentie

It’s a true rarity to see an interracial relationship that doesn’t have at least some element of suffering in it. In Flirting, on the other hand, most of the difficulties in Danny and Thandiwe’s relationship seems to come from the relationship itself, not the color of the star-crossed lovers’ skin.

On Indie Rom-Coms, The Duvernay Test, and Already Tomorrow in Hong Kong by Candice Frederick

It was Viola Davis who commented about the lack of substantial roles as love interests for women of color on the big screen. … We see that familiar and very white narrative unfold between an interracial pair in Already Tomorrow in Hong Kong, except this time it’s infused with cultural nuances that, while they don’t reinvent the wheel, offer a fresh perspective.

Colorism and Interracial Relationships in Film: ‘Belle,’ ‘The Wedding,’ and More by Atima Omara

The colorism Dido experiences is seen throughout different Western societies that had Black African enslavement as part of its world. Many stories of colorism also exist in American history and folklore and we see how it impacts romantic relationships and in American film and TV.

Into the Badlands: Will Blasian Love Last? by Lisa Bolekaja

Into the Badlands, based on the classic Chinese tale Journey to the West, is set in a futuristic dystopian world where past wars have created a new feudal society. It’s gratifying to finally get an onscreen Blasian couple where they kiss, have sex, and get to have a real relationship.

What Parenthood Taught Me About Interracial Relationships by Livi Burke

I remember watching the scene in the episode “The Talk” where Crosby and Jabbar have their first conversation about the N-word. Crosby looked so caught off guard; he knows this is a racist word he’s not supposed to say, yet at the same he has no idea how to talk about this racial slur and its ramifications with his half Black son.

Animated Love: How Anime Produced Two of the Best Interracial Love Stories of All Time by Robert V Aldrich

Two of the greatest love stories in anime are interracial relationships. … While the industry as a whole generally eschews characters of color, that hasn’t stopped some series from featuring prominent people of color characters in narratively significant stories. This has led to interracial couples being featured in two of the greatest anime series of all time: The Super Dimension Force Macross and Revolutionary Girl Utena.

‘Jackie Brown’: The Journey of Self-Discovery

This guest post by Rachel Wortherley appears as part of our theme week on Interracial Relationships. Spoilers ahead.

Quentin Tarantino’s third feature film, Jackie Brown (1997), presents a shift in tone from his previous films Reservoir Dogs (1992) and Pulp Fiction (1994). Using Elmore Leonard’s novel, Rum Punch, Tarantino departs from a world largely shaped by men. Gone are the heightened sense of reality and cartoonish characters such as the color-coded thieves in Reservoir Dogs. Unlike his latter films, Kill Bill Vol. 1 (2003), Kill Bill Vol. 2 (2004), Death Proof (2007), and Inglourious Basterds (2009), his characters in Jackie Brown are not professional assassins, deadly women, or covert agents attempting to assassinate a powerful dictator. These features make Jackie Brown Tarantino’s most underrated film. Here, audiences are given characters that function in the real world.

Though Tarantino is known to use other films as a template for his original screenplays, Jackie Brown is first and foremost an adaptation. The fact that Tarantino uses Leonard’s novel as source material, gave Tarantino an opportunity to rethink the way he wrote female characters. Prior to Jackie Brown, the only significant female figures in his films are “gold-digger” Mia Wallace (Pulp Fiction), and the man-eating vampire, Satanico Pandemonium, in From Dusk Till’ Dawn: characters who lack depth and complexity. Rum Punch allowed Tarantino to write a female character who is strong, desirable, morally complex, yet vulnerable. Jackie is no “airbrushed fantasy object”— she is “real,” with real world problems, obstacles, and doubts. She simultaneously exudes a sense of sensuality and capability beyond men.

Jackie Brown, portrayed beautifully by Pam Grier, is a 44-year old Black woman with a rough past, who has been reduced to working as a stewardess for a cheap airline. It is the only job she could get after her arrest for drug possession, while serving as a mule for her pilot ex-husband at another airline. The film begins with Jackie’s physical profile on the airport moving walkway with Bobby Womack’s “Across 110th Street” playing over the credits. The lyrics, “I was the third brother of five. Doing whatever I had to do to survive. I’m not saying what I did was all right. Trying to break out of the ghetto was a day-to-day fight” establishes Jackie’s position within the film’s universe without the use of traditional exposition. The moment Tarantino focuses on her physical profile with the interspersed music, the audience projects an idea of Jackie as confident; a hard worker; someone who has to hustle to survive. Her stewardess uniform presents her as a responsible, professional: one who serves, but also provides comfort and assurance with a tone and manner that puts even panicky passengers at ease. Jackie’s legitimate job — stewardess, parallels the illegitimate one — smuggling money for petty arms dealer, Ordell Robbie (Samuel L. Jackson). He is the “pilot” of the operation, but in times of peril, she bears the brunt of the consequences while keeping everyone calm and collected.

Jackie’s involvement with Ordell gives her the financial security her other job does not provide. But, when she is caught by Detectives Dargus (Michael Bowen) and Nicolette (Michael Keaton), this threatens her livelihood. At this moment, we see her vulnerability, and how much of her troubles result from her relationships with dangerous, erratic men. There is an element of servitude in Jackie’s relationships with these men, but she is no mere victim of circumstance. She willingly acknowledges that her own choices got her to this place.

Hers is a story of self-actualization, of finding her identity. Early in the film, she confesses to a friendly bondsman, “I always feel like I’m starting over. Starting over would be scarier than facing Ordell.” Sacrifice for the sake of self-preservation defines Jackie’s life, to aid her ex-husband and Ordell. Now, she seeks self-renewal. Because of the maturity and vulnerability that she exhibits, audiences generally want her to prevail, and are “okay” with Jackie using the same men who use her to execute the film’s central caper: a high-stakes money exchange involving Ordell and the police, circumstances that Tarantino uses to give importance to Jackie’s actions and to elevate her to the status of a hero.

Most of the men in Jackie’s life want something from her. Jackie’s pilot ex-husband wanted her to smuggle drugs onto their plane; Ordell wants her to fix the problems her arrest has caused for his business; and the detectives wager Jackie’s freedom in exchange for her help in bringing down Ordell. The only exception is Max Cherry (Robert Forster), Jackie’s bail bondsman, who falls in love with her but asks nothing in return. We witness his feelings for her emerge in the first moment he sees her being released on bail. Unlike the confident, put-together stewardess in the opening shot of the film, her hair is wild and untamed, she is without makeup, and her signature stewardess uniform is disheveled. Tarantino decides to describe this moment through use of a long shot, with Jackie walking down a long path. As she advances toward Max, the artificial light of the jail illuminates her silhouette. When Max first sees Jackie, he is transfixed by her image. He sees her true beauty, beyond the mask and the uniform she wears for the world.

Max and Jackie’s interaction is interesting because it contrasts with the romantic male/female relationships portrayed in Tarantino’s other films, which either center on the revenge narrative (Kill Bill, Death Proof, Inglourious Basterds), or a woman in peril (Pulp Fiction, Django Unchained). In Jackie Brown, the central romantic relationship occurs between two mature adults, entering the next phase of their lives. Rather than lovers, they become confidantes, emotionally vulnerable to each other. They barely know one another, yet Jackie almost immediately feels comfortable allowing Max in her home, where her reduced circumstances are apparent. But Max respects Jackie, rather than pitying her. He wants to help her without relegating her to the role of a damsel in distress. He stands at a comfortable distance, but is present in case her plan goes awry. As he watches her successfully execute her plan, Max admires her determination and bravery.

Jackie Brown also marks the first time there is more of a presence of an interracial relationship in a Tarantino film. While Ordell has a “relationship” with surfer-stoner-girl, Melanie (Bridget Fonda), it is reduced to using the other person for personal gain — financially and sexually. Essentially, Ordell and Melanie are the anti-couple in comparison to Jackie and Max. Tarantino gives us two glimpses of interracial romance in Pulp Fiction: Mia Wallace (Uma Thurman), a white woman married to a Black man, Marsellus Wallace (Ving Rhames), as well as, the “blink and you’ll miss it” moment in the chapter titled, “The Bonnie Situation,” where Tarantino’s character is married to Bonnie, a Black woman. In fact, Bonnie’s role is so minimal that it is non-speaking, and consists of a brief image of her walking toward the camera. These dynamics are not fully captured onscreen and there is not enough time spent amongst these couples. Although, the same can be argued for Jackie and Max.

Max purchases the Delfonics record, “Didn’t I (Blow Your Mind This Time)” after hearing it at Jackie’s apartment, because it reminds him of her: not just as she is now, but of her youth, as she was when she first bought the album. It is as though Max hopes to know her by listening to the song repeatedly, while simultaneously maintaining the image of her the first night of their meeting, when he first heard it. In the last scene of the film, Jackie announces her intention to travel around the world — to Spain. She invites Max to come, but he politely refuses. They share a brief kiss and Max returns to business as usual. But, when Jackie drives off, he watches her leave. His face registers one of immediate regret, or longing. Max’s choice is significant for two reasons. By staying behind, he will not risk tarnishing his image of Jackie. Secondly, he allows Jackie to have the freedom, independence, and fresh start that she desires. Jackie finally has a life for herself, and if Max went with her, he might prevent her from living it. She must cut all ties to the past.

The last scene of the film is a tight close-up of Jackie’s face as she drives off, with the familiar sound of “Across 110th Street.” While the song previously existed outside of the universe of the film, this scene depicts Jackie mouthing the lyrics:

Across 110th street
Pimps trying to catch a woman that’s weak
Across 110th street
Pushers won’t let the junkie go free
Oh, across 110th street
A woman trying catch a trick on the street, ooh baby
Across 110th street
You can find it all
In the Street

Through Jackie’s acknowledgement, the song becomes a part of the film’s universe and it represents Jackie’s continued ability to overcome “the pushers” and “the pimps” largely represented by the men, save Max, who underestimated her. Although Jackie experiences a sense of freedom, tears well in her eyes, but the scene cuts and the film ends before they fall. Audiences are left to interpret this in a multitude of ways. The tears can be construed as “happy tears” that speak to the beginning of a new chapter; the idea of loss, or as a bittersweet moment. Jackie is free (and wealthy), but she leaves a decent man behind. The sense of it being a bittersweet moment is sanctioned by the audience. While we waited for Jackie to win against Ordell, we also wanted to see her “win” in love. Their relationship may be viewed as undeveloped, when it is in fact underdeveloped. Their chemistry implies that beyond the narrative of the film, or in a fantasized sequel, Jackie and Max as a romantic unit is possible.

By not blatantly focusing on the racial disparity between Jackie and Max, it speaks volumes in regards to who the film is about. Jackie’s motivations and plans are not demonstrative; they are quiet. These characteristics only add to her mystery. It is silently implied that as a Black woman, she divorces her identity from the men in her life — including a man who, as a white male maintains a sense of privilege in society — and reclaims it for her own.

Rachel Wortherley earned a Master of Arts degree at Iona College in New Rochelle, New York. She currently teaches English at Iona College and hopes to become a full-time screenwriter.

The Unfinished Legacy of Pam Grier

Grier’s legacy has lasted over four decades, but there’s something about her career that leaves me feeling unsettled, as if her filmography is indicative of larger (backward) social trends. She started out headlining action films–an amazing feat for a woman, much less a black woman in the early 1970s. A glance at a few of these films show feminist themes that are incredibly rare 40 years later. Her early films were groundbreaking, but nothing much was built after that ground was broken.

Pam Grier was the first black woman to be on the cover of Ms. Magazine (August 1975). Jamaica Kincaid wrote the article, “Pam Grier: The Mocha Mogul of Hollywood.”

This repost by Leigh Kolb appears as part of our theme week on The Great Actresses.

[Warning: spoilers ahead!]

The first time I saw Pam Grier in a film, I blurted out, “Why isn’t she in everything?”

I first saw Grier in Jackie Brown, and couldn’t understand why she wasn’t featured prominently in more films (and then I quickly remembered African American female protagonists are few and far between). It wasn’t always this way, though.

Grier’s legacy has lasted over four decades, but there’s something about her career that leaves me feeling unsettled, as if her filmography is indicative of larger (backward) social trends. She started out headlining action films–an amazing feat for a woman, much less a Black woman in the early 1970s. A glance at a few of these films show feminist themes that are incredibly rare 40 years later. Her early films were groundbreaking, but nothing much was built after that ground was broken.

Coffy (1973)

Coffy (Grier) is a nurse with a passion for bringing justice to those who keep drugs on the streets. The film opens with her posing as a seductive addict, and she gets herself in an apartment with a drug dealer and supplier. She brutally kills them, and then reports to her job as a nurse.

Coffy is a vigilante, trying to avenge those who made it possible for her 11-year-old sister to get hooked on drugs, causing her to wind up in a juvenile rehabilitation center. After her friend (a “good” cop, unlike many who are tied into the drug trade) is beaten brain dead after defending her, Coffy has an even deeper sense of purpose in retaliating against the machine that’s fostering corruption in her community.

“This is the end of your rotten life, you motherfuckin’ dope pusher!”

While Coffy uses her sexuality to position herself against her enemies, she does what she need to do to win. When a john is degrading her, she says, “You want to spit on me and make me crawl? I’m gonna piss on your grave tomorrow.” Racism, greed, corruption and masculine shows are evil, and a capable woman undoes it all.

The overall quality of the film, the fashion, the music–it’s clearly dated. However, the strong female protagonist stands out as something that’s all too foreign in 2013.

Foxy Brown (1974)

Probably the most popular of Grier’s blaxploitation films, Foxy Brown follows its protagonist through another journey of violent revenge. Foxy sets out to seek justice for the murder of her boyfriend (a government agent who worked to get drugs off the streets–again, an anti-drug theme). She poses as a prostitute to infiltrate the drug/prostitution/sex slave network that’s responsible for the blight of her community. She outwits her enemies and captors at every turn, and ends victorious.

When she’s going to the neighborhood committee for help at the end, she pleads:

“It could be your brother too, or your sister, or your children. I want justice for all of them. And I want justice for all the people whose lives are bought and sold, so that a few big shots can climb up on their backs, and laugh at the law, and laugh at human decency. But most of all, I want justice for a man, this man had love in his heart, and he died because he went out of his neighborhood to do what he thought was right.”

The group leader responds, “Sister, I think what you’re asking for is revenge.”

She says, “You just take care of the justice, and I’ll handle the revenge by myself.”

“The party’s over, Oscar, let’s go.”

Grier’s body–from the opening bikini-clad sequence to close-up shots of her naked breasts–is objectified more frequently in this film than Coffy. She had become more of a star at this point, and producers decided against it being a sequel to Coffy (as the writer had intended), so her career wasn’t a part of the film. Foxy is still a strong, empowered woman–she seeks help from her peers (the new “anti-slavery” society), helps other women and punishes men who are cruel to women. Foxy’s role seems as revolutionary as Coffy’s (maybe more so, with the increased star power).

Sheba, Baby (1975)

The opening credits to Sheba Baby are set to Barbara Mason’s “Sheba, Baby,” boasting how Sheba Shayne is a “sensuous woman playing a man’s game,” “she’s kicking ass and taking names,” and “she’s a dangerous lady, who is well put together…” Sheba is a private investigator in Chicago (a no-nonsense businesswoman, as she yells at her partner for leaving the office a mess) who is called to her hometown of Louisville when her father is in danger. She’d been a cop in the town before leaving, and an old love interest is in business with her father, who owns a loan company. Themes of police ineffectiveness and corrupt white men at the top of a chain of violence are featured again, and Sheba takes justice into her own hands when the police only step up when it’s too late (after her father is killed). She uses her looks to gain access to a yacht party, where she struggles, fights and overcomes the men who are responsible for her father’s death (as well as shutting down many other Black-run businesses in the neighborhood).

“Now you tell your boss that he is not dealing with my father anymore. He is dealing with Sheba Shayne.”

While the themes in this film are similar–anti-racism, anti-white patriarchal corruption and pro-vigilante justice–Sheba, Baby is unique in Sheba’s even fiercer independence than the previous films. When Brick asks her if she “has anyone” in Chicago, she replies: “If you’re asking if I sleep alone every night, I’d have to say no. If you’re asking if I’m going steady with anyone, I’d have to say no. So what are you asking?” The next shot, they are in bed together. However, Sheba doesn’t rely on Brick’s help (she works without him), and leaves him at the end of the film because their separate careers are too valuable. In the final shot of the film, she’s walking the streets of Chicago, smiling and confident.

The ending of Sheba, Baby should have been indicative of a future of Grier’s style of female protagonist. However, Grier wouldn’t again headline a film until Jackie Brown, Quentin Tarantino’s 1997 film (he wrote it specifically for Grier, and she was nominated for numerous awards for it, including a Golden Globe). She certainly worked in the interim, and has since (including stage work and starring in The L Word). But nothing like the string of films she starred in in the 1970s.

When asked about being the first woman to play this type of powerful character, Grier responded:

“I saw women share the platform with men in my personal world, and Hollywood just hadn’t wakened to it yet. Bette Davis and Katharine Hepburn changed the way they saw women during the 1940s, but I saw it daily in the women’s movement that was emerging, because I was a child of the women’s movement. Everything I had learned was from my mother and my grandmother, who both had a very pioneering spirit. They had to, because they had to change flat tires and paint the house—because, you know, the men didn’t come home from the war or whatever else, so women had to do these things. So, out of economic necessity and the freedoms won, by the ’50s and ’60s, there was suddenly this opportunity and this invitation that was like, ‘Come out here with these men. Get out here. Show us what you got.'”

She certainly did. But like so many cultural revolutions, the women’s movement saw backlash in the 1980s and beyond, as did this new kind of feminist, African American cinematic genre.

Grier points out that she’s often criticized for the nudity and violence in her early films.

In regard to the nudity, she says,

“We’ve got $20 million actresses today who are nude in Vanilla Sky, nude in Swordfish. So what did I do different? I got paid less, but that’s it.”

To critics of the violence, she points out,

“I saw more violence in my neighborhood and in the war and on the newsreels than I did in my movies, so it didn’t bother me. Coming from the ’50s, things were very violent. We were still being lynched. If I drove down through the South with my mother, I might not make it through one state without being bullied or harassed. I feel like unless you’ve been black for a week, you don’t know. A lot of people were really up in arms about nothing, and if you challenge them, they go, ‘Well, maybe you’re right.'”

She also notes that although some people objected to the term “blaxploitation,” she didn’t feel the films were demeaning:

“You know, Clint Eastwood, Sylvester Stallone, they can all do shoot-’em-ups. Arnold Schwarzenegger can kill 10 people in one minute, and they don’t call it ‘white exploitation.’ They win awards and get into all the magazines. But if black people do it, suddenly it’s different than if a white person does it.”

Her poignant commentary on the double standards in Hollywood serves as a larger reminder of the double standards in society. The notion of a Black protagonist fighting villainous white people is something that is still uncomfortable. Grier’s nudity in the early films, and her blatant sexiness, felt different than typical female objectification. Even when her cleavage was featured prominently, she had the power–she wasn’t passive, so her sexuality didn’t seem like a marker of weakness simply for the male gaze. It was jarring to feel so comfortable with what looked like female objectification, because it was so different than what we are used to now. Looking at the poster art from her earlier films, one would see her portrayed as an object. However, in the actual films, she is a sexual being, with agency, independence and strength.

Jackie Brown

The Ms. article “In Praise of Baadasssss Supermamas” points out that “…Coffy and Foxy fought against systems that beat up on everyday folk. Imagine what they would do in the 21st century.” It’s a pretty great thought.However, it’s more likely that we get Fighting Fuck Toys (FFTs) in modern cinema, and as Caroline Heldman writes:

“Hollywood rolls out FFTs every few years that generally don’t perform well at the box office (think Elektra, Catwoman, Sucker Punch), leading executives to wrongly conclude that women action leads aren’t bankable. In fact, the problem isn’t their sex; the problem is their portrayal as sex objects. Objects aren’t convincing protagonists. Subjects act while objects are acted upon, so reducing a woman action hero to an object, even sporadically, diminishes her ability to believably carry a storyline. The FFT might have an enviable swagger and do cool stunts, but she’s ultimately a bit of a joke.”

Grier’s heroes are never the joke, and that’s what works. She can carry a storyline, have sex when she wants it (or not) and end up victorious, with her complete agency intact. She’s a subject acting upon the injustices around her.

Pam Grier is an incredible actress, and her most iconic roles serve as a reminder that women can do it all on the big screen. It’s just been too long since they’ve been allowed to.

—–

Leigh Kolb is a composition, literature and journalism instructor at a community college in rural Missouri.

Revenge of the Pussycats: An Ode to Tarantino and His Women

Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction — Uma Thurman in *Pulp Fiction*

This guest post by Emanuela Betti appears as part of our theme week on Male Feminists and Allies.

I’ve often considered Quentin Tarantino the new Russ Meyer for various reasons: bringing exploitation cinema to mainstream screens, their unconventional humor and unique storytelling, and in particular for their celebration of women. Roger Ebert called Russ Meyer a feminist filmmaker, and although Tarantino never openly called himself a feminist, many of his films place women at the center of the story. Just like Russ Meyer’s films, Tarantino’s women are the stronger sex: they are sharp-minded, better fighters, and always outsmarting their male counterparts. The men, on the other hand, often underestimate women, like Ordell in Jackie Brown or Stuntman Mike in Death Proof, resulting in them being the butt of the joke.

Watching a Tarantino movie is like watching the 1973 Battle of the Sexes tennis match, in which Billie Jean King defeated Bobby Riggs, proving that women are just as equally skilled and able as men. In many Tarantino movies, the idea of gender equality is prominent in many ways—take for example the two screenplays written by him before his directorial debut: True Romance and Natural Born Killers. Both stories revolve around a Bonnie-and-Clyde outlaw couple; however, the female characters are not merely ornamental girlfriend, but “partners in crime,” as in both genders are equally involved in the story. Later, we see the theme of outlaw partnership between Jackie Brown and Max Cherry, when at the end Jackie tells Max, “I never lied to you … we’re partners,” and also with Pumpkin and Honey Bunny in Pulp Fiction. A partner is a more respectable role, because she’s not there for the male protagonist, but is a protagonist with him. The idea of equality is present in another way, taking for example Kill Bill and Death Proof. In these two movies, the main characters are doubles: Beatrix and Bill are both equally able fighters, while Zoe Bell and Stuntman Mike are both professional stunt performers, and are equally prepared to react to a dangerous situation.

In a recent Natalie Portman interview, the actress shed some light on the fallacy of Hollywood’s idea of a feminist character, saying that a woman kicking ass is not necessarily feminist, it’s “macho.” I agree, and projecting male qualities onto women is not about celebrating women’s strengths. When looking at Tarantino characters, we see female characters with strong motives and personal qualities, who are strong, smart, yet still very complex. I will focus on his most women-centric films: Jackie Brown, Kill Bill, and Death Proof.

Jackie Brown

Like Pulp Fiction, Tarantino’s follow-up movie Jackie Brown was a love letter to cinema (Blaxploitation) and its icons (Pam Grier). The opening sequence is a reference to The Graduate, in which we see a character “gliding” through LAX. Like the movie it references, Jackie Brown is a story about age—getting older, and dealing with that stage in life. While The Graduate is about entering adulthood, Jackie Brown is about middle-age, or entering middle age. We see the theme of aging in Max Cherry, but mostly in its female title character and protagonist. Jackie Brown was an homage to Pam Grier and her character Foxy Brown, and although we still get a glimpse of Foxy Brown’s nerves of steel and fierceness, in Jackie Brown she is an older version, worn down by age and a lousy job as an airline stewardess. Her gender is not so much an issue though–Detective Dargus mocks Jackie not so much for being a woman, but her age, and her less-than-impressing accomplishment in life. Yet she still possesses a sharp mind and infallible instincts, which is why she’s one step ahead of every other character.

Jackie’s main antagonist is Ordell, who underestimates Jackie and women in general. Tarantino has the ability to surprise, not only with story, but also with character development. We begin with a middle-aged black woman working at a small airline against a gun dealer who has big money and no scruples; but Jackie’s toughness begins to unfold, while Ordell’s “cool” and control begin to unravel–even Melanie, a minor female character–sees through Ordell’s pompous attitude and tries to outsmart him by plotting to steal his money. At the end, Jackie comes at the top, while Ordell becomes the butt of the joke.

Kill Bill

Tarantino has said that his movies belong in two different universes: the real world (such as Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction, and Jackie Brown), and the “film world.” The Kill Bill movies are the first Tarantino stories to take place in the “film world,” which is a universe based on Tarantino’s adoration for past genres. Every Tarantino movie is a love letter to cinema, and just like Jackie Brown was an homage to Blaxploitation, Kill Bill was a love letter to the Shaw Brothers, samurai and yakuza movies, Sergio Leone and spaghetti westerns. Beatrix Kiddo/The Bride is one of the toughest female fighters in cinema, but in contrast to Hollywood’s one-dimensional kick-ass female characters, she defies the stereotype of the “macho-feminist.” She is a very tough fighter, she is cold-blooded, but at the same time she is also a very complex woman. With a strong female lead, Tarantino could have easily relied on her as the sole woman in the story, but the movie is packed with interesting female characters. There’s Vernita Green, who is almost a parallel of the protagonist: she quit her job as an assassin and has a daughter, but is still a cold-blooded fighter when confronted with the Bride. There’s Gogo Yubari, the teenage bodyguard, who is more lethal than all the Crazy 88 put together. O-Ren, a female yakuza leader, is given a tragic backstory, which is also tainted in revenge, and offers a compelling view into her character’s development. Despite being a woman and leader of the Tokyo yakuza, her gender seems to hardly be an issue–the only complaint she receives is about her mixed heritage, not her gender. In the world of Kill Bill and Tarantino’s narrative style, women are not “the Other,” and the fact that a woman could lead a yakuza army or be the best fighter in the world is not unusual, and maybe even expected.

Volume 1 is about the Bride’s rage, while Kill Bill Volume 2 is about the emotional development of the characters: we are shown the desires and vulnerabilities of the protagonist and her enemies. While initially presented as a deadly killer, we finally see the Bride’s complex development: she begins as a naïve pupil, blushing at Bill’s every word, but begins building a tough skin under Pai Mei’s teaching. The main female villain in Volume 2, Elle Driver, is also another parallel to the Bride–they’re both blonde, they were both Bill’s girl–but at the same time, they’re opposites. Elle Driver has all the negative aspects of a female killer: she’s a back-stabbing, dirty fighter. Elle Driver is also obsessively clingy about Bill; she is based on Patch from Switchblade Sisters, who was a second-in-command character, just like Elle Driver feels like second-best in the eyes of Bill, and her desire to kill the Bride is a competition fueled by her jealousy.

In Volume 2 we see most of the Bride’s development and emotional complexity. The various interactions between the Bride and Bill, during the dress rehearsal and at his home, reveal her conflicting feelings for him; at times she has nostalgic affection for Bill, but she never allows those feelings to sway her goals. While being a cold-blooded assassin, the Bride is also capable of strong maternal instincts when it comes to her daughter, especially when she fears for her child. The Bride is a complex character who can balance toughness and vulnerability, resisting stereotypes or clichés. She is a woman who undergoes multiple symbolic deaths–first, on the eve of her wedding, and then when she is buried alive, but she is reborn stronger and more determined.

Death Proof

Death Proof was criticized heavily, and some considered it Tarantino’s worst movie. The movie was protested by Scottish women’s groups, including the Scottish Women Against Pornography (SWAP) and Scottish Women’s Aid, due to the portrayed sadistic violence against the female characters. In Tarantino’s response to the backlash, he admitted that slasher films do have a bad reputation for being misogynistic, but slasher/horror movies also have the Final Girl trope, or the “investigative gaze,” which is often overlooked. Slasher movies are the Big Mac and fries of cinema—they’re fast, cheap, and give you what you ask for. However, the Final Girl is the most redeeming trope in a mostly misogynistic genre. We see this trope of the “investigative gaze” used twice in Death Proof: first with Arlene, when she spots the suspicious Stuntman Mike, and then with Abernathy. It’s easy to assume that the protagonist of the movie is Stuntman Mike, since he is present throughout the story, but the true protagonists (or heroines) don’t show up until half-way through. Tarantino starts the story with the first trio of women (Jungle Julia, Arlene, and Shanna), who are brutally killed by Stuntman Mike after a night of drinking. The violence exerted on the first group of women is what you can expect from a typical slasher—violence and gore—but it also served as a plot device to establish the merciless and dangerous antagonist. Stuntman Mike’s reason for finding sadistic enjoyment in mutilating women is never explained, but it’s well depicted that he is the embodiment of the male gaze: creepy voyeuristic tendency, stalking and finding pleasure in objectifying his victims.

The second half introduces us to a new group of women—the heroines of the story. The “three girls” device is very typical of Russ Meyers (which he used in Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! and Beyond the Valley of the Dolls). In Death Proof, Abernathy, Kim, and Zoe are the new pussycats. Like the previous women, they are also targeted by Stuntman Mike, and subsequently chased and attacked. But this time, the women are on par with their aggressor—they can drive just as fast, and they’re just dangerous as him. The car chase between Stuntman Mike and the women is incredibly exciting, because now the roles have been reversed—the women are the ones chasing Stuntman Mike, creeping up on him the same way he stalked and crept up on the previous women, and when they catch up they’re not forgiving. As much criticism this movie has received, when you watch the women exulting at the end, there’s no doubt that this is a movie for women, and not against them.

Tarantino has created dynamic and interesting female characters throughout his cinematic career, celebrating their strengths, personalities, and never presenting gender as an obstacle—instead, being a woman in his stories is often an advantage. Tarantino’s portrayal of women is based on developing them as characters and individuals, rather than focusing on their gender and their weaknesses.

Emanuela Betti is a part-time writer, occasional astrologer, neurotic pessimist by day and ball-breaking feminist by night. She miraculously graduated with a BA in English and Creative Writing, and writes about music and movies on her blog.

The Unfinished Legacy of Pam Grier

Pam Grier was the first black woman to be on the cover of Ms. Magazine (August 1975). Jamaica Kincaid wrote the article, “Pam Grier: The Mocha Mogul of Hollywood.”

Written by Leigh Kolb

[Warning: spoilers ahead!]

The first time I saw Pam Grier in a film, I blurted out, “Why isn’t she in everything?”

Grier’s legacy has lasted over four decades, but there’s something about her career that leaves me feeling unsettled, as if her filmography is indicative of larger (backward) social trends. She started out headlining action films–an amazing feat for a woman, much less a black woman in the early 1970s. A glance at a few of these films show incredibly feminist themes that are incredibly rare 40 years later. Her early films were groundbreaking, but nothing much was built after that ground was broken.

Coffy (1973)

“This is the end of your rotten life, you motherfuckin’ dope pusher!”

The overall quality of the film, the fashion, the music–it’s clearly dated. However, the strong female protagonist stands out as something that’s all too foreign in 2013.

Foxy Brown (1974)

When she’s going to the neighborhood committee for help at the end, she pleads:

“It could be your brother too, or your sister, or your children. I want justice for all of them. And I want justice for all the people whose lives are bought and sold, so that a few big shots can climb up on their backs, and laugh at the law, and laugh at human decency. But most of all, I want justice for a man, this man had love in his heart, and he died because he went out of his neighborhood to do what he thought was right.”

The group leader responds, “Sister, I think what you’re asking for is revenge.”

She says, “You just take care of the justice, and I’ll handle the revenge by myself.”

“The party’s over, Oscar, let’s go.”

Sheba, Baby (1975)

“Now you tell your boss that he is not dealing with my father anymore. He is dealing with Sheba Shayne.”

When asked about being the first woman to play this type of powerful character, Grier responded:

“I saw women share the platform with men in my personal world, and Hollywood just hadn’t wakened to it yet. Bette Davis and Katharine Hepburn changed the way they saw women during the 1940s, but I saw it daily in the women’s movement that was emerging, because I was a child of the women’s movement. Everything I had learned was from my mother and my grandmother, who both had a very pioneering spirit. They had to, because they had to change flat tires and paint the house—because, you know, the men didn’t come home from the war or whatever else, so women had to do these things. So, out of economic necessity and the freedoms won, by the ’50s and ’60s, there was suddenly this opportunity and this invitation that was like, ‘Come out here with these men. Get out here. Show us what you got.'”

She certainly did. But like so many cultural revolutions, the women’s movement saw backlash in the 1980s and beyond, as did this new kind of feminist, African American cinematic genre.

Grier points out that she’s often criticized for the nudity and violence in her early films.

In regard to the nudity, she says,

“We’ve got $20 million actresses today who are nude in Vanilla Sky, nude in Swordfish. So what did I do different? I got paid less, but that’s it.”

To critics of the violence, she points out,

“I saw more violence in my neighborhood and in the war and on the newsreels than I did in my movies, so it didn’t bother me. Coming from the ’50s, things were very violent. We were still being lynched. If I drove down through the South with my mother, I might not make it through one state without being bullied or harassed. I feel like unless you’ve been black for a week, you don’t know. A lot of people were really up in arms about nothing, and if you challenge them, they go, ‘Well, maybe you’re right.'”

She also notes that although some people objected to the term “blaxploitation,” she didn’t feel the films were demeaning:

“You know, Clint Eastwood, Sylvester Stallone, they can all do shoot-’em-ups. Arnold Schwarzenegger can kill 10 people in one minute, and they don’t call it ‘white exploitation.’ They win awards and get into all the magazines. But if black people do it, suddenly it’s different than if a white person does it.”

Her poignant commentary on the double standards in Hollywood serve as a larger reminder of the double standards in society. The notion of a black protagonist fighting villainous white people is something that is still uncomfortable. Grier’s nudity in the early films, and her blatant sexiness, felt different than typical female objectification. Even when her cleavage was featured prominently, she had the power–she wasn’t passive, so her sexuality didn’t seem like a marker of weakness simply for the male gaze. It was jarring to feel so comfortable with what looked like female objectification, because it was so different than what we are used to now. Looking at the poster art from her earlier films, one would see her portrayed as an object. However, in the actual films, she is a sexual being, with agency, independence and strength.

Jackie Brown

However, it’s more likely that we get Fighting Fuck Toys (FFTs) in modern cinema, and as Caroline Heldman writes:

“Hollywood rolls out FFTs every few years that generally don’t perform well at the box office (think Elektra, Catwoman, Sucker Punch), leading executives to wrongly conclude that women action leads aren’t bankable. In fact, the problem isn’t their sex; the problem is their portrayal as sex objects. Objects aren’t convincing protagonists. Subjects act while objects are acted upon, so reducing a woman action hero to an object, even sporadically, diminishes her ability to believably carry a storyline. The FFT might have an enviable swagger and do cool stunts, but she’s ultimately a bit of a joke.”

Pam Grier is an incredible actress, and her most iconic roles serve as a reminder that women can do it all on the big screen. It’s just been too long since they’ve been allowed to.

—–

Leigh Kolb is a composition, literature and journalism instructor at a community college in rural Missouri.

Guest Writer Wednesday: Tarantino’s Women

Uma Thurman (The Bride/Beatrix Kiddo) in Kill Bill Vol. 1

Guest post written by Jamie McHale.

I’m going to start this blog post with a bold statement; few directors make films with such strong female characters as Quentin Tarantino. Surprised? Known for stylized ultra-violence and shot to fame with macho flick Reservoir Dogs, you’d be forgiven for thinking Tarantino’s films are more targeted towards guys but let me explain why I think you’re wrong by running down some of his characters and why actually, Tarantino should be celebrated by female cinéphiles.

Shosanna Dreyfus

Melanie Laurent (Shosanna Dreyfus) in Inglorious Basterds

Putting the fact she runs a Parisian cinema under Nazi occupation in Tarantino’s Inglorious Basterds aside, Shosanna Dreyfus (Melanie Laurent) should be celebrated as a powerful female character. After escaping persecution, she hatches a plan to kill the upper echelons of the Nazi regime, beautifully described in this quote from her dialogue:

“I am going to burn down the cinema on Nazi night. And if I’m going to burn down the cinema, which I am, we both know you’re not going to let me do it by myself. Because you love me. And I love you.”

Beatrix Kiddo

Uma Thurman (The Bride/Beatrix Kiddo) in Kill Bill Vol. 2

B, The Bride, Black Mamba, Beatrix Kiddo or whatever else you want to call her, Uma Thurman’s portrayal of the blood-thirsty protagonist of Kill Bill is undoubtedly one of cinema’s strongest women. Systematically slaying those who crossed her in a self proclaimed “rip-roaring rampage of revenge,” Uma Thurman secures her place as Tarantino’s muse. Dealing strictly in black and white morality and taking no prisoners (well, apart from Sophie) Beatrix Kiddo secures her places as the femme, the most, fatale. In fact, the Kill Bill trilogy (to-be) showcases a plethora of strong women including orphan to Japanese mafia boss O-Ren Ishii (Lucy Liu) and Elle (Daryl Hannah) who makes up for what she lacks in eyeballs with a mean tiger’s crane.

Elle: “I killed your master, and now I’m going to kill you, with your own sword no less. Which in the very immediate future will become my sword.”

Kiddo: “Bitch…You don’t have a future.”

Jackie Brown

Pam Grier (Jackie Brown) in Jackie Brown

Pam Grier rose to fame in the 70s through a string of Blaxplotation films and was immortalized in pop culture by Tarantino’s 1997 film Jackie Brown. It follows the story of a struggling flight attendant who ends up smuggling money from Mexico into the US only to be arrested by the police. After agreeing to act as an informant to the police she proceeds to play the situation to her advantage in a dangerous double-crossing game. Exuding power, control and cool, the limitlessly cool Jackie Brown is the ultimate screen siren.

Jackie Brown: Now sooner or later, they’re gonna get around to offering me a plea deal, and you know that. That’s why you came here to kill me.

Ordell Robbie: I ain’t come here to kill you…

Jackie Brown: No, no, it’s OK, it’s OK, now. I forgive you.

Few women on screen are so complex, so powerful, so dangerous as Tarantino’s, granted they may be also be violent and often sadistic but they always take centre stage. Almost all of Tarantino’s women deserve a place in the pantheon of great female leads alongside Clarice, Ripley & Thelma. And let’s just forget about Death Proof, please?

Jamie McHale (Twitter: @jamie_mchale) runs pop culture blog TQS which covers film, TV and music as well as anything else that takes his fancy.