Tag: Janyce Denise Glasper

Revisiting ‘Mermaids’: Identifying Connections With The Flax Women

Mermaids film poster.


June Roberts’ screenplay of 1990’s Mermaids is adapted from Patty Dann’s novel and happens to be one of my all time favorite films.
As infectious retro soundtrack flares and mod dresses make scenes pop, I connect in certain respects to each Flax woman–Cher’s big-haired, mother hen, Mrs. Rachel Flax and her two daughters–Winona Ryder’s quirky, awkward, Charlotte and Christina Ricci’s sweet, future Olympic swimmer, Kate.
The film opens with the Flax women trio on eighteenth move–this time to Massachusetts. These habitual migrations stem from either Rachel’s failed relationships or embarrassment of becoming small town gossip fodder such as the case when Charlotte’s teacher believes her to have a mental disorder. Charlotte and Kate are primarily raised by flamboyant Rachel still living promiscuously and with shocking hoopla surrounding actress Kate Winslet’s third pregnancy; it’s imperative to note that Charlotte and Kate also have different fathers–one a product from teenage love and other from an affair with an athlete. In the sixties, this would be much more ostracized condemnation than now because middle class Mrs. Flax isn’t married and wealthy Mrs. Winslet is.

Rachel (Cher) and Lou (Bob Hospkins).

Rachel doesn’t cook and doesn’t like sitting around a table having traditional meal conversation, but she does enter countless relationships with various men including married ones.
While buying school staples, Rachel takes her daughters to a shoe store where she catches eye of charming Lou, the owner. He is attentive to Rachel’s whims, but she despises his “interference” in her daughter’s lives which possibly stems from desires to usually cut men off after having physical fill of them. In overprotective stance, especially of little Kate, Mama Bear Rachel obviously doesn’t want the female trio to include a missing male figure that isn’t one hundred percent reliable.
“I have never wanted to hit a woman the way I want to hit you right now,” Lou spits to Rachel.
Although he doesn’t throw a fist, this is such an ugly blow and he loses appeal quickly. It’s no excuse to do or say the words. Having moved from one disappointment to another still searching for that perfect, unmarred place to call home, Rachel has a justified reasoning for not wanting to surge Kate’s hopes of a father figure.
Rachel stays with Lou and allows further access. He influences more intimate times together and Rachel continues creating strange hors douerves as meals–her specialty being odd looking marshmallow kabobs.
Now my deepest connection is centered primarily in Charlotte, Rachel’s older daughter.

Charlotte (Winona Ryder) longs for Joe (Michael Schoeffling).

A naïve devotee to religion and born Jewish, Charlotte prays in Christian earnest, stares in awe at nuns while curiously wondering about their undergarments, and silently condemns her mother’s behavior–finding her wild ways altogether blasphemous. The most hysterical narration races inside Charlotte’s precociously engaged head as her large black brown eyes express desires for uncontrollable rationality that weave from the very person she is so dead set against becoming. Joe, a handsome convent caretaker and bus driver, ten years older, incites passions that ignite from the very moment she first sees him, but still, she clings desperately to God Almighty and hopes relentless pining suffices.
However, after witnessing her mother planting a New Year’s kiss on her beloved Joe, Charlotte feels threatened and insecure. Prior to losing virginity to him, it is quite apparent that she poufs up her hair, puts on tawdry makeup, dons her mother’s oversized black polka dotted pink dress, and downs alcohol, believing that embodying her sinful role model is the only way Joe would have her. It’s saddening because he didn’t explain why he kissed her mother and drove off in a big, macho huff as though Charlotte offended him, planting sordid competition to arise inside her.
Now Joe doesn’t seem to be this great, charming fiction that overly sentimental Charlotte dreamily continues telling herself and the audience. So often lust is confused for love, especially in youth, and Charlotte is clearly not thinking with the best intentions. In moments spent with him, this hormonal seventeen-year-old girl constantly wants kisses and to be tossed onto the ground to make a “Joe Jr.” Their connection is no deeper than a shallow appeal to his physical appearance and being cloistered in the place she yearned to be–alongside nuns.
“Why are you so set on repeating my mistakes?” Mrs. Flax asks.
Yes. Charlotte spends time in saintly shrines whispering pious pleas or fasting from her sinful inhibitions, but nothing changes the fact that she is her mother’s daughter and that she cannot reject blood filtering through veins. In the end, at high school, she’s less shy, growing popular with boys, and dressing differently while wearing her hair poufy.
It’s not just religious fervor or deepening fascination with a handsome bus driver bridging forth my strong connection to Charlotte’s character–though it’s a peculiar similarity. Her curiosity and ignorance struck a beautiful cord threading invisibly and Ryder’s gifted portrayal draws immediate replay. When Charlotte is distraught from kiss “pregnancy,” she drives off towards Connecticut and immerses herself with a television looking family in this minute mid-teenager life crisis. Her longing to know absentee father opened up my Pandora’s box of living with a single mother and rendered frustrations of not having that stout manly figure in my world. As she fibs to this family about him, anyone could see that she wishes that her stories were true, even those rapt listeners knowing them to be incredibly farfetched.
Kate, the last and littlest Flax is no ordinary girl.
She doesn’t play with Barbie dolls or dream of being a princess in a big castle waiting for a man to sweep her off dainty feet. Since age five, she has trained vigorously at swimming and is constantly trying to break the world record for holding breath under water inside the bathtub. This winner is the little force that unites the strained Rachel and Charlotte–delightfully enough Charlotte used to pretend that Kate was her baby. Despite horrendous climax in which Charlotte places a drunken Kate in treacherous peril–a nearly fatal drowning incident, she is bravely back in championship form and holds no traumatic scar save for a little loss of hearing.

Saint loving Charlotte (Winona Ryder), Mama Bear Rachel (Cher), and swimming cap covered Kate (Christina Ricci).
Parenting, however, is still Rachel’s struggle, but she grows maturely as does Charlotte.
“You two didn’t come with an instruction manual!” Rachel cries, confused by Charlotte’s ever growing silent treatment. “Just tell me and I’ll try my best.”
And she does.
She may make mistakes, but Rachel tries and wants to do right by her daughters.

Charlotte (Winona Ryder), Kate (Christina Ricci), and Rachel Flax (Cher).

Mermaids ends on a feel-good note. Three smiling, happily connected women dance and set the table to “If You Wanna Be Happy.” Times have certainly changed, and strained relationships have finally mended towards the exciting promise of something better–a start of stronger female foundation. 

Andrée Inspires Father And Son In ‘Renoir’

Poster for French film, Renoir.

Written by Janyce Denise Glasper


Gilles Bourdos’ Renoir is a feast for an art appreciator’s enjoyment, opening on lush, brilliant cinematography and a flaming red-haired woman riding a vintage bicycle dressed in vivid orange coat, brown kid gloves, and rounded sunglasses.

This is Andrée Heuschling bringing forth a brazen, illustrious spirit to a real life triad. 

More than young, ripened flesh for master French Impressionist painter, Pierre-Auguste Renoir’s eyes, Andrée amuses and delights both him and his son, future filmmaker Jean Renoir.

Set five years before his death, aging painfully with arthritis overwhelming old hands and body confined to a wheelchair, Pierre still finds pleasure in painting and undergoes wince-filled treatments just to sit at his beloved easel. He is surrounded by former models and lovers who proudly cater to his every whim–giving him baths, mixing paints, etc.



Andrée (Christa Theret) poses for Pierre-Auguste Renoir (Michel Bouquet).


Andrée doesn’t long for that servitude.

She arrives at Renoir’s door solely wanting to model.

Lithe and graceful, laying smooth alabaster skin among colored textile chaises inside cluttered studio or among outdoor grasses on blankets, Andrée courts Pierre’s every instruction and lavishes attentiveness in natural, beguiling light. As his gnarled, knobby hands sketch rounded figure, pencils lingering on back as though touching with fingers instead of eyes, she chatters away animatedly and is unabashed about nudity. She sees posing for art as a job and has no interest in becoming domesticated.

Jean returns from war, injured and limping.

Immediately, the quiet young man is enchanted by Andrée’s personality. She gets him to escape out of his comfort zone, and the two fall into a serene kind of love that is soft and at times erotically charged without overtly sensual love scenes. In one surprising act, the two are in bed, and she puts lipstick on his lips and kisses him passionately, redness coating her mouth upon exchange.

Although nude and unapologetic, seen visually as a still life to wrinkled, nearly dying Pierre, Andrée’s relationship with Jean is much more intimate and private, an exchanging of tranquil stares and gentle touching that occurs away from the eyes of the household.



Andrée (Christa Theret) finds love in Jean Renoir. (Vincent Rottiers)


One short, small scene did incite a furious spark.

Studio doors are opened and inviting while Andrée sleeps without a trace of Pierre. Fabric leaves bared breasts and rounded up thrust waist vulnerable to anyone’s gaze. In steps the younger, darkly disturbed son–Pierre the junior, circles Andrée with predatory sharpness. He then takes a bowl of blue pigment, hovers close, and blows wisps of it onto her skin.

Whether it happened to be a dream or bumpy reality, this moment disturbed the order of things in Andrée’s carefree, liberated world, and it wasn’t even addressed. Pierre the younger certainly gave off a terribly sinister vibe that he would inflict harm unbeknownst to anyone and ignited an ire as if troubling behavior spoke of eventual abuse toward women. 

Christa Theret captures a natural human richness into Andrée. With raspy voice and expressive blue eyes, she offers breadth into a brazen, outspoken character at a time where domesticity still placed women inside a box. To Pierre, she is a motherly comrade, cradling cheek and expressing gratitude to elder patron, but to Jean, she provides him keys necessary to unlock sensitive shell and incites an awakened passion to make film. Andrée knows that she is beautiful, but is also commanding, brave, and intelligent, valuing only for respect, decency, and to break the mold of her sensitively depicted gender.



Andrée (Christa Theret) in most scenes is shown as a piece of art.


However, picturesque Renoir suffers from too much opulence and grandeur, focusing too heavily on Andrée’s lusty body and lovely scenery that purposefully mimics Renoir’s infamously luminous compositions. But that’s supposedly Impressionism’s meaning–all the colors without a paintbrush dipping into black.

Andrée simply stimulated the Renoir men’s taste for sensual inspiration and artistic expression–a muse catering toward creative distraction.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

 


Travel Films Week: ‘How Stella Got Her Groove Back’


How Stella Got Her Groove Back film poster.

How Stella Got Her Groove Back is based on Terry McMillan’s bestselling novel of the same name and stars two wonderful actresses as best friends–Academy Award nominated Angela Bassett playing strong, determined Stella and Academy Award winning Whoopi Goldberg as hilarious, sassy Delilah. Actor Taye Diggs is Winston, Stella’s Jamaican “groove.”
Hard-working, single mother Stella is devoted to work and parenthood, but just four minutes into the film, her two sisters claim to know what’s best for her.
“You need a husband and your son needs a father,” blasts Angela, Stella’s married and pregnant sister.
“Had him, got rid of him, so glad I did,” Stella retorts.
While family is obsessed with this absurd logic that men are the Holy Grail to women, it’s fun spirited Delilah that demands Stella and she take a nice little getaway to scenic Jamaica together–Stella’s own original idea.

Delilah (Whoopi Goldberg) and Stella (Angela Bassett) checking out the Jamaican view.

“You haven’t been anywhere since I was a natural blonde!” Delilah screams over the phone. One cannot help but applaud Goldberg’s humorous quips of persuasion, especially seeing as she and Bassett have great chemistry as female comrades. It’s an addictive pleasure to see African American women engaged in these quintessential friendships onscreen and no grand schemes of bitterness, jealousy, and hatred so typically written.
Amongst beautiful, luscious, tropical settings where the twosome have their adventure, Stella meets the much younger Winston and the two engage in a steamy affair.
But during all the drama, Delilah is undergoing a private health crisis and Stella learns of it very late.
Delilah and Stella’s hospital scenes are terms of bittersweet endearment and still make eyes water, for this sisterhood bond is perhaps remarkably closer than the biological glue between Stella and her two siblings. When Stella lays beside Delilah in the white bed and they sing in raspy voices laced with sorrow, both of their hearts are visibly breaking onscreen. Cancer has torn them asunder, ripped the cords of one of the film’s most genuine core relationships and has ultimately broken Stella.
She lost her best friend.
Winston (Taye Diggs) is supposedly Stella’s (Angela Bassett) “groove.”

The ending came with a typical Hollywood bow–tied much too neatly.
“Not every woman needs a man in her life,” Stella had pretty much uttered in the film’s beginning.
But finality proved her to be incorrect.
She clung and frequently apologized to Winston–a childish man that felt threatened by her success and leeched onto her strength. Their vast age difference proved to be a demolition factor; always leaving when times were too rough, insipid, weak-minded Winston was everything opposite of Stella’s majestic character.
It was better suited that Winston return to Jamaica alone while Stella focused on goals for her bright future as an independent and savvy businesswoman. Director’s camera focused on their awkward looks and wet eyes in that last, crushing love scene reeking of desperate closure and unspoken understanding–a solid presentation that the “groove” dwindled.
For Stella to be at the airport and saying “yes” to Winston’s marriage proposal seemed an unbelievable notion.

Stella (Angela Bassett) should have kept Winston as a vacation fling.

Winston should have stayed primarily a Jamaican rendezvous.
Yes. It is always a joyful occasion to see African American romances onscreen (it’s incredibly rare to feature an all African American cast in this genre–unless it’s Tyler Perry related grrrrr!) and not have courtships be the overplayed “thin line between love and hate” stereotype, but Stella’s relationship with Winston wasn’t exactly great as it progressed to turbulent fights and public screaming matches. 
By the film’s cheesy end, I only wished for Delilah’s ghost to visit Stella and continue their friendship in a spiritual manner as Stella embarked on her personal quest. Perhaps even treating herself to more splendid travels and finding other pursuits called “fun” that don’t involve young men.
Winston isn’t worth being the pot of gold at the end of Stella’s rainbow, much less her “groove.”

To Romance Film Casting Directors: Without Further Ado–Hire Lucy Liu

Lucy Liu is dying to show off her comedic chops in the romance department.

“People see Julia Roberts and Sandra Bullock in a romantic film, but not me,” speaks Lucy Liu, frankly voicing an issue that refuses to die in Hollywood.
While Roberts and Bullock don’t dominate romantic comedy genre as they did in the nineties, their heavyweight torches have been passed down to Reese Witherspoon, Kate Hudson, and Emma Stone–actresses who can easily score roles without directors questioning color lines.

 Ally McBeal creator David E. Kelley wrote Ling Woo specifically for Lucy Liu. 
In Net-A-Porter’s Graphic Issue, Liu implores intimate details about racism.
As an educated, finely trained artist, Emmy-nominated Liu is right to wonder why her roster mainly consists of playing the stereotypical emotionless Asian (Ally McBeal’s Ling Woo) or the kick butt martial arts diva (Alex Munday in Charlie’s Angels and O-Ren Ishii in Kill Bill V.I & II). She deserves better.
Well, at least there is one joy to celebrate. 

Dr. Joan Watson (Lucy Liu) and Sherlock Holmes (Johnny Lee Miller) are renewed for a second helping of eclectic crime solving this fall.
Liu just wrapped up the freshman season of CBS’s hit Elementary, an intriguing television series drama adaptation of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s classic–Sherlock Holmes. Out of London and into modern day New York City, Holmes is a former drug addict residing with live-in sober companion and ex-surgeon Dr. Joan Watson–typically a male character named John. That’s wherein lies the exciting twist–a part Liu was born to play. 
Those boycotting Elementary due to Liu’s Asian background are missing out on an entertaining spin on history and a gracious opportunity rarely given to Liu. Holmes and Watson have a quirky charismatic relationship filled with warm humor, spontaneity, and charm, but I personally don’t want them to become more than that. Shows like Castle and Bones have their two leads together, and it would be a nice stretch if male and female relationships could stay strictly platonic and professional despite close quarters.
However, Liu deserves to be a female lead in a romantic comedy. She has terrific comedic timing (a huge plus, right?), irresistible chemistry with many male co-stars, and showcases a range of emotions.

More than the girl next door in Lucky Number Slevin, Lindsey is one of Lucy Liu’s favorite roles to date.
“I was thinking that if you’re still alive when I get back from work tonight… maybe we could go out to dinner or something?”
Liu’s delivery of the above line is expressed in such sweet precision in my recent discovery Lucky Number Slevin. She plays a witty sleuth of a coroner named Lindsey. Like Dr. Joan Watson, as the primary female presence in the male dominated cast, ethnicity isn’t focused on in this enigmatic action-packed thriller. From bloodthirsty beginning to grisly end, it proves to be no romantic comedy, but Liu is so charming, refreshing, and intelligent in her scene-stealing capabilities that one wishes that it was. Although Lindsey’s story isn’t as fully fleshed out as the male lead’s, in every affectionate laugh and soft smile, Liu shines bright from pigeonholed prison.

Alex Munday (Lucy Liu) in Charlie’s Angels.
Now if Elementary and Lucky Number Slevin both tap into Liu’s versatile potential, shouldn’t other casting agencies take note?
Despite Hollywood still being controlled by white men’s dominance, romantic comedies should give equal chance to the one who fits the role regardless of race. I have read articles where directors want Anne Hathaway or the next big non-ethnic actress for an audition, but no one asks for Lucy Liu or any other minority actress. Isn’t the primary importance of a romantic comedy to center on an adoring female lead who can seduce the audience with captivation and humor? Why must we continue cheering on the same type of woman when others desire the same role?
Liu proves that she can handle acting as both a love interest and a strong, fiercely independent woman. Often valiantly fighting to continue breaking role barriers, Liu’s ambition alone should drive considerable notice.

O-Ren Ishii (Lucy Liu) is ready for battle dressed in her lily white kimono.
“It’s really taking a while,” Liu states. “But I do think it’s becoming more acceptable to cast Asians in roles that weren’t originally slated for someone who is Asian, which is so great.”
That is true, especially in Liu’s case.
Yet as much as women desire very well-written romantic comedies and comforting “chick flicks,” we’re getting impatient with waiting for Liu’s turn on the merry-go-round.
C’mon. It is about time to let her be the star for once, Hollywood.

Rest In Peace: Jeanne Cooper, The Fiery Kay Chancellor Of Genoa City

For nearly 40 years, Jeanne Cooper has played Katherine “Kay” Chancellor on The Young and the Restless.
In every daytime soap opera, there’s always that one woman who’s the matriarch, the steadfast character reflecting many generations inside the fictional town.
All My Children’s Pine Valley has Erica Cane.
One Life to Live’s Llanview has Vicki Lord.
Days of Our Lives had Alice Horton.
But The Young and the Restless’s Genoa City had the unbelievably sultry Katherine “Kay” Chancellor.
Playing her since debuting in 1973, Jeanne Cooper’s near forty-year run as the rich, illustrious businesswoman with short silver hair and deep rich voice was originally meant to be temporary, but Cooper put so much passion and charisma into Kay that she was kept on for decades longer.
I was about four years old when starting my CBS soap opera watching ritual with my mother and quite obsessed before preschool even started. At 12:35 PM, Young and the Restless kicked off afternoons of shared chocolate ice cream pints laced with drama, cheesy orchestra music, and click clacks of heeled shoes. This was a comfortable tradition–two dedicated hours being lost in other people’s problems in life and love.
For years, I would come home from school and ask greedy questions, wondering what the “fancy lady” (my nickname for Kay) had gotten into. My mother would recite all the day’s stories, and I fed on excitement-tinged words like ambrosia, always ready for the next delicious morsel.
Stylish, sophisticated, independent Kay was an amazing inspiration and constant favorite. Her razor quick wit, fiery spirit, brimming intelligence, and refusal of fuss from anyone including men were commendable charms to watch. Magic energy beams in Cooper’s bright eyes at each delivered word and ruthless spirit engaged her footsteps. She could throw anything at any character–physically or verbally with the power of a ferocious lioness. They would either feel threatened or step away insecurely at this rage, intuitively knowing that she was a feisty woman who could not be barred or caged.

Kay (Jeanne Cooper, right) and Jill (Jess Walton, left) have the longest-running feud in daytime history.

Kay’s contention with Jill started out as they usually do in soaps–over a man! Their relationship progressed over the years toward meddling in their offspring’s lives and business dealings over the Chancellor Empire, but the embittered twosome has since softened, especially after almost finding out that they were mother and daughter for that hilarious short period of time. They still trade barbs every now and then, with Jill getting angry last week about Kay not telling anyone about her brain tumor.
Even as she aged, the writers still gave Kay great stories–from alcoholism, to many marriages, and the first soap opera extreme makeover (Cooper pitched the idea). The talented Cooper, a former Hollywood film and television star, could do anything. As an avid soap watcher, it is quite amazing to see that opportunity to shine when in other arenas of television and film that is a gift rarely received. Being on a soap opera involves tremendous strife, especially seeing as these actors read 300-page scripts and memorize them daily. With a woman like Cooper still doing and enjoying it, she showcases her passion. It’s not just work for her; it’s a joy that shows in every scene that she steals–shining so bright and beautiful. Age means nothing but numbers!

Jeanne Cooper finally won an Outstanding Lead Actress in Drama Series Daytime Emmy in 2008.

Jeanne Cooper, who contributed so much of her remarkable life to daytime, died May 8, 2013 at the age of 84, just a few days after filming her last scene on The Young and the Restless’s 40th anniversary. A woman to honor and appreciate, she will be celebrated on CBS with a special that airs on May 28, 2013 detailing her phenomenal run.
How many soap actors, let alone actresses get this kind of treatment?
Only a legend.
Though I cannot wait to see what stories they tell about Kay and the actress, my 12:35 PMs are a little sadder now.
And yes, my mother and I mourned her loss over the phone.

Good Hair From Root To End: Why Is Nappiness Still Considered A Sin?

An advertisement for Good Hair.
“Why should you get a perm?” asks Chris Rock, narrator and co-writer of Good Hair, speaking to a little girl who has endured the burning sensations of relaxers–“the nap antidote” and/or “creamy crack” since age three.
“Because you’re supposed to,” she replies.
Good Hair.
It has been stimulated since birth that European straightness is a coveted desire for its sleekness, bounce, and venerable marriage to a fine toothed comb. In Rock’s documentary that often seems more mockumentary dives into why this is the way of the world for African American women and how men must come to terms with this high cost of hair shame.
I remembered my first perm at age seven. It hurt like the devil. I didn’t get it because I wanted to. I was bullied into it- girls my own age hated my lovely braids coated in Vaseline sheen. So I hated them too and begged my mom for that perm, for that beautiful acceptance. I thought the pain was worth it. But often I regret being brainwashed early and wondered who influenced those same girls to get their heads “straightened.”
Good Hair reveals African American women allowing their children to endure unbearable excruciation at such an elemental age and it is horrendous, especially with “it’s hard to comb” being a prime excuse. We’re not raised to treat natural hair properly. As witnessed in scenes at Dudley School of Beauty- only the science of perming and hot comb techniques are taught. Is it any wonder why parents consider relaxers to be an “easy way out?” It’s an ignorance issue that a rare few want to unlearn.
When I went natural, many African American stylists didn’t want to do my heaping head of feral strands. Often I heard, “I cannot do that!” or “I will only do it if she put a relaxer on that head!” Always spoken with nasty disdain and cruelty. These comments (there are some unmentioned Rated R kinds) built negative self reflection for years.

A six-year-old girl gets her second perm in Good Hair as Chris Rock watches.
When Rock enters hair salons, hairstylists talk about nappy roots like it’s the ugliest catastrophe known to man, while applying burning white “elixir” from root to end to their clients. It strikes an emotional nerve. Those bullying days come back at full force at each wince and laughter from women spending so much time and money burying the truth.
A good friend once told me, “I don’t know why they make fun of your kind of hair when they’re hiding the same thing.”
It has been so heavily ingrained in African American society, in our culture, that all elements of black don’t necessarily equate to beauty and that some elements must be bought. In this instance, hair flown in overseas is much more valuable than attempting to honor and appreciate kinky curled existence.
Rock is also gearing up for a behind-the-scenes hair competition and funnily enough, every stylist feels threatened by Jason, a Caucasian man considered to be the “Rosa Parks” (adding insult to injury) of the contest because he knows African American hair so well. This seems to be the metaphor, the pink elephant in the room that African American competitors “fear” him.
Dr. Melayne Maclin, an expert dermatologist speaks out against the negative factors attributed to relaxers- its harsh, unreadable chemicals and brutal realities set upon little girls. Yet Dudley thrives on this exploitation, being one of the few African American owned hair businesses marketing to ironed out ideology. Strangely enough, in this billion dollar industry, Caucasians make more off African American’s insecurities with Asians being second. How odd is that? It’s as though hair has ultimately become another chain, another barrier and this time, no one is marching around with signs and chanting, “we shall overcome.” A perm is a normal rite of passage- straight hair is victor and nappy roots are a curse.

Her definition of good hair- “something that looks relaxed and nice.”

Rock laughs with them all at the perm’s downside- the murdering scalp sensation, reddened ears, ugly patches where skin has been scorched off. But these women beam proudly, acknowledging worth like a soldier’s battle scars.
After I gave a presentation on black hair’s manifestations in art and design history class, someone asked me, “does black people hair really grow out like that? I’m so used to it being straight like ours.”
The documentary is a cruel implication that only one type of hair is acceptable and defined as “good.”
Rock didn’t find enough women who aren’t being imprisoned by relaxed and European culture. Alopecia survivor, Sheila Bridges bravely chooses not to wear wigs and showcases her bald head beauty proudly. “I never want to feel like I was hiding something,” she speaks articulately.

Tracie Thoms discussing why she loves being natural.

Actress Tracie Thoms appeared to be one of the few celebrity champions. She spoke up on celebrating forbidden other side. She believes that a freedom comes from natural beauty, embracing God given gift while the other Hollywood women were bluntly bragging about their expensive weaves like it gave them confidence and prestige. Thoms, however, was an anomaly. She raises an important question- “to keep my hair at the same texture as it grows out of head is looked at as revolutionary- why is that?”
Whether shaven bald, out free in afrocentric glory, braided, twisted or locc’ed, this “I’m not stressed” hair movement has been gradually rising for years. With entrepreneur women like Lisa Price, owner of natural hair line, Carol’s Daughter, things are shaping up into a new form of Angela Davis/Pam Grier inspired reformation thanks to hair bloggers and urgent call for earthly, less chemical ingredients in haircare.
“If my daughters wanted to wear weave one day, I had to see where it came from,” defeated Rock says, giving up on the idea that his children would actually want to remain natural, continuing to instead expose more vanity of oppressed black women and their disgrace.
He travels as far as to India where women, even crying babies are sacrificed in head shaving rituals called Tonsures- an exchanging of hair for God’s blessings. Sometimes Indian women are robbed of hair in sleep just to appease black market greediness- hair is such a valuable commodity that it is perceived to be wealthier than gold. Clear packages of long, glossy Indian roots are wrapped up like bundles of cocaine and shipped to people who probably know little about the history of this hair, of the person who was shaved bald intentionally or otherwise.
Rock tries, but with no success in trying to sell African American haired wigs. It’s both comical and sad, worsening when an African American woman working at an Asian hair store says, “black people don’t wear their hair nappy anymore.” Her agreeable boss with hands widening (wild “scary” afro), “they don’t want to look like Africa.” He points at the Indian hair and waves down his hands. “They want to wear their hair straight. It’s more sexy, more natural.”
But it is not natural. It is a preconceived, very contrived notion stimulating from white men’s rule that whiteness embodies beauty and thick, coarse, matted naps opposes that law.
And where is the sexiness when it becomes a production, a choreography in a relationship?
Despite men joking and women testifying, weave does get in the way of real life- financially, physically, and emotionally. It is an expensive venture and some women actually do attend to themselves more than paying mortgage and car notes on time. Touching is a natural occurrence in intimacy and to have a law where hair isn’t a part of deal sounds quite preposterous. As these men showcase scandalous stories and speaking of preferring other nationalities, African American women are appearing shallower and less desirable than ever.
But alas this documentary is written by three men and told through the eyes of a man.

Chris Rock talking to scandalously clad women about hair.

It is difficult to watch because this isn’t a one hundred percent honest depiction. These women loving their weaved safety nets aren’t very likeable or representational of a whole culture. Hair is a sense of pride, power, and creativity- as seen in the hair/ fashion show taking much of Rock’s attention. In the natural hair world, severely lacking here, there is no hiding, no masquerades.
“Hair is a woman’s glory,” says Maya Angelou who got her first relaxer at seventy years old. She couldn’t be anymore right.
Rock may close with the fluffy, “it’s what’s inside their heads that matters most” philosophy, but it is a contradiction- what positively reflects on the outside should match what’s within. If there were a sequel to Good Hair seen through the scopes of an admirable African American woman who knows fierce, independent trendsetters worthy of worship and inspiration, most of the men featured in Rock’s production will wish they never defamed her character. 

‘Days of Our Lives’: Punishing Nicole’s Fetus

Days of Our Lives, one of four surviving daytime soap operas on television.
Since 1998, Nicole Walker, played by the very talented Arianne Zucker, has been the scheming, manipulative, alcohol twirling villainess of fictional Salem, Illinois on Days of Our Lives. Always fully equipped with funny one liners from sharp-edged tongue, the former porn star was a golden afternoon escape to laugh along with as she carried out an arsenal of twisted scheme upon scheme, each one more bizarre and hilariously entertaining than the last.
Of course, as is always the case with a female soap opera character, pregnancy enters her womb, even when she doesn’t want it to, but for Nicole, this is no grand blessing of joy and glowing retribution. Years ago, Nicole had been shot and told that she would never carry a child to term, but in these two shockingly “miraculous” pregnancies occurring in 2009 and 2012-2013, the writers have both rewarded and severely punished her, creating and taking away a motherhood that wasn’t supposed to happen in the first place.
In turn, these two miscarriages would altar the character.

Nicole Walker (Arianne Zucker) is one of the resident bad girls on Days of Our Lives.

Now I’ve watched soap operas with my mom for a long time, viewing them since around age four and almost always the biggest stories revolved around babies. A woman holds onto a man who doesn’t love her by using a baby (usually revealing this “secret” at large publicly attended events like weddings and galas for stun factor); a woman hides her baby for protective purposes; or a baby brings lovers together (rarely). Not a female character alive in the soap opera kingdom is immune to Baby Fever (unless under the age of sixteen or written off), and Nicole is no exception.
In 2009, when Nicole has her first miraculous pregnancy, she is elated and overjoyed, but unfortunately she is having a baby with a man who loves another woman, longtime nemesis, Samantha Brady.
Many Nicole fans were upset by this turn of events, that she could come back into town after a brief hiatus, get pregnant from an elevator ride with EJ Dimera, and become interloping fodder to break a potential couple apart with typical baby dynamite.
It is likely difficult in the soap opera business to continue bringing sharp and innovative stories to the forefront, especially with many of these daytime serials getting the boot for not being hard-edged enough to retain a modest amount of dedicated viewership, but must Nicole be strapped down with a baby? It was far easier imagining her holding little dog Pookie and a cocktail than a blue or pink bowed bouncing baby and rattling pacifier. Her antics and nonsensical plots were stuff of legends–from moneying up, planning murders, and having some of the best fantasy sequences ever. This new found bundle of joy was meant to “soften” brash personality, mature character, and settle her into that domestic place.

Nicole (Arianne Zucker) in the throes of a heartbreaking miscarriage.

The first miscarriage turned Nicole into a stark raving tearful mess and in turn, garnered very emotional scenes of raw poignancy that gave Arianne Zucker her first Daytime Emmy nomination for Outstanding Supporting Actress.  Mourning the loss with on and off again lover/friend, Brady Black, amongst sobbing agony, it wasn’t just losing the baby that demolished Nicole’s spirits, it was losing EJ whom she knew was only marrying her for the “miracle” pregnancy alone.
But that quickly evaporated into a scheme, especially when she learned that Samantha was also pregnant with EJ’s child. Taking matters into jealous and scarily obsessive hands, she found another pregnant woman and switched her baby with Samantha’s so as to have EJ raise his own child underneath the Dimera Mansion’s opulent rooftop. It was one hell of a warped story, and Nicole had masterminded the whole ludicrous charade all while wearing a false padded belly.

Nicole passes off stolen Sydney as daughter to her and EJ Dimera (James Scott).
Now a primary reason Nicole stole Samantha’s baby was because Sydney had been Samantha’s fourth birthed child, and Nicole figured that since Samantha had so “many” children, she wouldn’t miss one. Though these two women had been pitted each other through shared loves and public catfights, it was quite disheartening that Nicole’s underlying envy factor lie in Samantha’s fertility. After Nicole had undergone such a traumatic loss, her sudden aspirations for child rearing and baby cribs seemed to have been murdered by foe “flaunting” her healthy offspring like trophies, leaving a vengeful Nicole with the sinking “I Got Pregnant and All I Got Was This Lousy T-shirt” depression.
Nicole’s state of traumatic empathy and grief served as catalyst to her anger directed at ripening Samantha who was about to birth EJ’s child, unbeknownst to him. But Nicole all angry, spiteful, and hurt, instead of normally mourning the loss together with her fiance and telling him of her discovery, blames Samantha and seeks to punish her enemy’s productiveness by stealing a baby as though it were money or a car, not an innocent life.
The soap opera scenario of baby switching is nothing new, but it questions the state of female ethics. Are we really so shallow and vain to be upset over a woman with an abundance of children and look down at our own empty bellies as a statement of unworthy shame? It doesn’t make us less healthy or less happy if we’re found to be barren, but Nicole saw her miscarriage meaning the end of her dreams–of a joy some viewers didn’t realize she wanted.
Nicole and Samantha became “friends” in the midst of Samantha grieving the death of a baby she thought was hers while Nicole greedily held onto Sydney, not wishing to let go of her marriage “security” and motherhood. I felt torn in this agonizing situation because, despite several traits these former enemies shared (such as sexual abuse and family disapproval), a friendship built on lies won’t last.

Samantha (Alison Sweeney) and Nicole (Arianne Zucker) are back to their public displays of violent affection.

Again in 2012, Nicole finds herself pregnant with another EJ baby, but out of spite, she decides to let another man play father–Rafe Hernandez, Samantha’s soon-to-be-ex-husband (spot a pattern here?). Nicole is farther along in this pregnancy when it’s gruesomely discovered that the baby has been dead inside her womb for weeks. Hit by another emotional bullet, devastation cuts painfully as the torturous dangling of motherhood waving in front of her like a piece of fish bait cruelly floats away. But she keeps this secret all to herself, curled up and bottled into a rage that she hurls against another woman–Jennifer Horton, mother of two and object of Nicole’s latest obsession, Dr. Daniel Jonas.

Nicole (Arianne Zucker) is about to receive devastating news on fate of second “miracle” baby.

Once the truth comes out about Nicole’s second miscarriage, embarrassed and guilt-ridden, she relives the agonizing suffering of losing another chance at motherhood. Coming to terms with barrenness, she is ultimately driven to suicidal infliction too painful to watch.
Days of Our Lives writers appeared to be Nicole’s biggest adversaries, judgmentally weaving a “how can we top that last terrible heartbreak for this evil woman who committed paltry crimes at best?” Horrific enough that she went through the tragedy of losing a baby once, but to push her into repeating that trauma in an astonishingly grotesque manner seemed much uncalled for and heinous. They made an example of out this Mary Magdalene pariah, promising miraculous motherhood twice and ripping it from her grasp, a condemnation for her tumultuously stormy past.
Nicole had changed an independent streak of fine drinks, men, and expense into fantasies of picket fences, mounted family picture frames, and false love–that is the fairy tale life every woman truly wants at the end of the day, right?
No. That cannot be farther from the truth.
There was always something amazingly addictive about spirited Nicole. She reveled in her own world, cared little for how others viewed her, and wasn’t hung up on family life until those two pregnancies came and went. Sure, she had been intimate with men she didn’t love, but it was hard swallowing her need to be an instant Kodak moment package deal to someone.
In one o’clock hourglass hour, Nicole is a cold, calculating vixen that viewers love to hate, but Zucker plays Nicole so ruthlessly, with so much fire and passion that it is virtually impossible to despise her forever.
Under God’s “roof,” Nicole (Arianne Zucker) is on her best behavior.

However, nowadays, Nicole Walker is a little different. Not quite a shell of her former self, she still has that witty humor and vivacious spark, but those two pregnancies, especially the last, have robbed her of a certain edgy caliber and transformed her into a woman attempting to be a good heroine for her latest desire–Father Eric Brady, Samantha’s twin brother (pattern? yes!). Underneath the surface of this seemingly reformed church secretary lie buried schemes, nasty wordplay, and wicked fantasies, but she has turned over a whole new leaf.
For now.

Revisiting Jocelyn Moorhouse’s ‘How To Make An American Quilt’


How To Make An American Quilt film poster.

Written by Janyce Denise Glasper

“I think the hardest part of life is being friends with a woman.”
That appears to be one of the main plot points of Jocelyn Moorhouse’s How to Make an American Quilt, a film from 1995 focusing on the fragile relationships between elderly women hanging onto loose-threaded pasts intersecting like stitched pieces of fabric flying in windswept streets. With acting greats Anne Bancroft, Ellen Burstyn, Alfre Woodard, and Winona Ryder headlining Jane Anderson’s adapted screenplay based on a Whitney Otto novel, it would appear to be a winning match in movie heaven.
It begins with master’s student Finn. She is in a bit of a rut, needing to focus on her thesis paper and space away from hovering fiancé, and ultimately decides to spend the summer with Hy, her grandmother and diverse group of quilting bee companions.

Anna (Maya Angelou), Finn (Winona Ryder), and Hy (Ellen Burstyn) talking love and stitchery.

Each of the seven women have advice for Finn about love.
However, none of them actually has great relationships with men to speak of: Hy has had an affair with her sister Glady Jo’s husband; Constance is also committing adultery with Em’s lecherous husband who claims that affairs are part of his artist’s passionate nature (BS!); diving lover Sophia’s husband left her with three kids and never came back; ignorant Anna allowed a white man to seduce her; and Jezebel-spirited Marianna believes a married man to be her soul mate.
Men have destroyed some semblance of the women’s integrated worlds, especially Sophia’s (who remains bitter and mournful of lost dreams), but it’s making Finn’s “love quilt” that has them all coming to terms with hurtful wrongs and focusing heavily on positive aspects that love has wrought.
Finn takes in all of their stories and thoughtfully engages critiques of her own frustration, including stern views on the sanctity of marriage, questioning “how do we know that we’re supposed to be with one person all our lives?”

Glady Jo (Anne Bancroft) and Finn (Winona Ryder) discussing relationships over ice cream.
Infidelity plays too big a role in the screenplay, being the reason for crackling tension between Hy and Glady Jo, Constance and Em, and Marianna and that attached man haunting her thoughts, seeming to forsake all others for that innocent memory of being with him at the café. Even Finn succumbs to committing the ultimate betrayal.
It is this need to cheat that weakens the film’s attempt at the female bonding ritual and calls to mind Constance’s earlier comment — “the hardest part of life is being friends with a woman.” Yes! Especially if one lady is building a relationship with another’s husband. The reasons primarily used for slipping into those bedsheets seem to be for more than just comforting connection. Without remorse or compassion for the other woman’s feelings until after the deed is done, disastrous affairs are selfish sacrifices to friendships with severe consequences.
A big nasty illustration is painted here — women cannot be true companions to each other if there is a desirable man in the picture. This creates an unsettled awkwardness pill that is tough to swallow.
However, it is bridging together the “love quilt” that both eases and causes escalation between these seven different women, and Finn watches on, writing her paper while getting an education that isn’t addressed in school textbooks. 
Sewing a gift handed down to her from women ancestors, Anna is naturally the matron leader of the quilt’s composition, having taught most of them how to use needle and thread, and she often evaluates progress with an overtly critical eye. She tends around the house for Glady Jo and Hy but is rarely seen doing chores, often relishing her authority over the quilt, for she is the master of this laudable domain. They all respect and value her opinion and don’t chastise her commanding role. There’s no race or class in quilting!

Marianna (Alfre Woodard) sharing pictures of former boyfriends to Finn (Winona Ryder).

“Young lovers seek perfection. Old lovers learn the art of sewing shreds together and of seeing beauty in a multiplicity of patches.”
That above quotation was a poem written on scrap of paper for Marianna, Anna’s only daughter, who speaks with French vigor and boasts of photographed conquests. Sex is fun and free to her until punishment is unleashed. For her wicked ways, she carries around that man’s words like a lingering fragrance.
Still, it is Marianna’s sexual independence that further inspires Finn into believing monogamy to be unrealistic and, of course, influences her into that aforementioned curse of being intimate with a strange strawberry stalker.

Finn with finished quilt.
During seventy-three hours of straight nonstop sewing and drinking iced tea, exchanged looks of kindness, understanding, and forgiveness are passed around, each woman putting their conflicts aside and integrating personal stories into the quilt, silently communicating a deepening bond. 
Em once said, “bicker, bicker, bicker that makes a gal age quicker.”
In candid moments of the power sewing party seven, there’s tender softness reflected in shared smiles and watery eyes that gives them all an endearing youthful countenance. Even Sophia has lightened tremendously and closes the film diving into what still matters in her heart.
How To Make An American Quilt showcases the failures of both genders when in the throes of love and passion but also crafts an intricate, complex portrait on female relationships withstanding testaments of time amongst held grudges, buried wounds, and old pains. The hardest part of life isn’t just forming friendships with women, but keeping them. To retain that camaraderie takes work and dedication — like the artistry found in making a quilt.
At last wrapped up in completed love quilt with Sam, Finn’s closing statement, which were Anna’s own words, couldn’t have been anymore genuinely prolific:
“You have to choose your combination carefully. The right choices will enhance your quilt and the wrong choices will dull the colors, hide their original beauty…”

A Big Hurray! Lunafest 2013: Short Films For, By, and About Women

The 12th Annual Lunafest

Written by Janyce Denise Glasper

I truly enjoyed the 12th Annual Lunafest–nine short films for, about, and by women filmmakers which has one hundred percent of proceeds benefiting local charities including breast cancer research and nonprofit women’s organizations.

From five to eighteen minutes long, these nine diversified, honest, and beguiling films weaved an intriguing approach to storytelling of a thoughtful intelligent female spirit severely lacking in Hollywood , an industry still heavily promoting typical weak, overtly sexualized, “stay young forever” ideology.

My top three favorites were Angela Dorfman’s vibrantly engaging animation Flawed, Rebecca Dreyfus’s Self Portrait with Cows Coming Home and Other Works, a documentary film on Hungarian photographer, Sylvia Plachy, and Sasha Collington’s hilariously entertaining Lunch Date.

In Georgena Terry, the owner of Terry’s Bikes discusses how she reinvented the bicycle to support a woman’s unique shape and the injustice of men trying to sabotage her genius.

Lunafest opens with Georgena Terry, Amanda Zackem’s documentary film on a creator of her own self-titled line of women’s cycling bikes. Through vigorous research straight from an engineering hypothesis–countless hours of measurements, analysis, and discoveries–Terry learned that women were shaped differently from men and that bicycles should reflect those facts. Of course she gave her findings to a man and he laughed right in her face. Firing up her desires further, she worked even harder, deconstructing traditional man’s shape into a woman’s frame of mind, and started up a successful business that proves the notion that anything is possible with fearless determination. It wasn’t an easy journey, but she fought the good fight and won.

Now this was just the beginning of an enthralling, inspirational film fest.

Angela Dorfman shines as she draws out her frustrating insecurities in Flawed.

Flawed starts off on a brown wooden table where rests water, a set of watercolors, and blank paper. As each beautiful, colorful, splotchy watercolor drawing gets illustrated by swift moving paintbrush and table gets noticeably stained further, narrating Dorfman balances between lighthearted humor and serious tones about a young girl whose long-distance relationship with a plastic surgeon sets her on the path to questioning identity. She depicts a saddened reality of not fully loving her unique features and of easily accessible body reconstruction. Dorfman speaks of a world where people want to change their appearances or someone else’s to feel “normal” when in fact each trait of difference gives us our identifiable edge and distinct character.

Dorfman completely controls composition of her quirky, wonderful one-woman show–writing, drawing, directing, and producing an entire effort that all ages must see and hear!

Sylvia Plachy proudly still uses the same black box camera her father gave her, in the beautiful documentary  Self Portrait with Cows Coming Home and Other Works.

Dreyfus takes a rare look into the black and white world of Sylvia Plachy in aptly titled, Self Portrait with Cows Coming Home and Other Works. Silver haired with a thick accent, Plachy is an eclectic artist who speaks of her roots and interest in photography. Warm, humorous, and vivacious, she speaks of process, showcases favorite compositions, and allows viewers to see her in action, going on to photograph Albert Malyas. Dreyfus focuses on the beauty of not just Plachy’s powerfully compelling works that span four decades, but on an alluring shyness that defines brimming intellectual sensibility. Plachy lets the art speak for her. That voice though soft and wispy, can be heard in each photograph- loud and clear.

Sasha Collington wrote, directed, and co-starred in Lunch Date, which is in the works of being her first full-length film.

In Collingwood’s Lunch Date, a woman is dumped by her boyfriend’s younger brother in a rather hilarious spin on the classic break up. Of course, Annabel, the dumpee, is devastated and confused, categorizing her “faults,” wondering why any man would treat her so callously, not even once considering that he is obviously an immature, mean-spirited coward for using his brother as an outlet to part ways. Wilbur, the break up brother invites Annabel to share his awkward schoolboy lunch outdoors. They exchange stories and funny quips, building a minute relationship that is refreshingly innovative.

One cannot help but become intrigued by Collington’s plans for full length version.

Jisoo Kim’s magical animation about where women retreat to for serene relaxation.

Jisoo Kim, an artist working for Disney Interactive, crafted another animated picture, The Bathhouse, which is a spiritually gratifying feature of flowing tranquil womanly forms of all shapes, colors, and sizes. Too sensual for a spot in Fantasia, Kim’s piece starts off with busy, hardworking females in professional attire. Yet at the Bathhouse where magical water overflows, they freely strip of their clothes and bare their souls, swimming in serene waves like mystical mermaids. There are no classes, no stereotypes, no boundaries, as these women frolic with eyes peacefully closed and move to melodious, haunting music, enjoying time away from every day chaos.

It’s more than gymnastics as a girl privately battles puberty in Chalk.

Martina Amati takes a poignant look inside coming of age in Chalk. Avidly focusing on moments of breaking up with childhood, diving quietly into maturity at a gymnast training camp, a girl dolls up in makeup with her roommate. However, amongst back flips, cartwheels, sultry movements, and routine hands tousled in white dusty powder, she valiantly braves through her adolescence alone, always clutching at abdomen confused by the new found pain. Yet in a competitive world of coaches and balance beams, temporarily lost with no mother figure to discuss changing body and secrets thoughts of boys, she finds her way and accepts it without complaint.

In Blank Canvas, an artist fills a unique surface with an intricately designed composition.

Blank Canvas opens up to the reality of a cancer survivor, Kim.

Speaking rather frankly about hair obsession, how it defines beauty in American culture, she is opposed to boarding the wig route as most women feel inclined to do. Kim isn’t ashamed of her baldness, stating that she had a great hair life, and feels that the time is to now cherish her badge of courage. Cancer is not a shame, but a diagnosed circumstance that she lives with every single day. In Sarah Berkovich’s bittersweet and uplifting documentary, her camera follows Kim into a henna studio where an artist uses her head as surface to create and the end result is a breathtaking masterpiece of visually stunning expression.

A woman becomes one with water in Whakatiki: A Spirit Rising

In a connective merging of past and present, Louise Leitch’s Whakatiki: A Spirit Rising, little Kiri enjoys swimming freely in the river, but as an older woman, she appears to have lost that fiery freedom that being underwater gives her. Recluse, reluctant, and tired in obese appearance, she goes along with her family towards the riverbanks, sitting on the sidelines admiring fit Josie laid out in her bikini. Kiri’s angry husband’s tirade unleashes Kiri’s locked soul and immediately she runs straight into cascading waters, fully clothed in her plight to escape into the one thing that has always made sense.

In When I Grow Up, sometimes a role model is the one person a child neglects to see.

In Sharon Arteaga’s sentimentally touching When I Grow Up, Michaela is working hard on her school poster, non verbally communicating desires of her role model, the first Latina Supreme Court Justice, Sonia Sotomayer in the back of a van as Letty, her mother sells homemade tacos out of the van. An argument ensues when Michaela angrily berates Letty, hating that the taco business makes her late for school. It is in that final scene of mother changing into work uniform and daughter pausing at school entrance, in which daughter and mother stare into each other’s eyes and share not just a smile but a moment of oneness.

Arteaga thoughtfully analyzes that some daughters, including me, don’t realize how a hard-working mother can be a role model too. Sure she’s not famous, rich, or gracing newspapers for being the first to accomplish a phenomenal feat of a worldwide scale, but that hard-working mother persistently takes time to put effort in her child’s education, pay the bills, keep the roof over their heads, and making other ends meet. It is as though Arteaga solemnly asks, why not bestow that mother the honor of role model too?

Now that’s another part she would be proud to play.

One of twenty women screaming for justice in Megan Hague and Kyle Wilkinson’s Women Who Yell.

After the nine films ended, the crowd was treated to free miniature Lunabars and a local film by Wright State University students, Megan Hague and Kyle Wilkinson, entitled Women Who Yell. Inside a dark room focusing on female population of all ethnicities speaking alone in front of cameras breaking fourth wall barrier, these college students start off loudly screaming, passionately hollering out what bugs them, poignantly shedding hurts and sorrows, and bluntly voicing their attitudes about men’s perception. The issues addressed like sexual orientation, harassment, how women should support one another are topics still imperative today.

Jisoo Kim, artist and creator behind The Bathhouse.

In conclusion, Lunafest gave hope that there are women trying to change the film industry, who won’t be kept out in the dark much longer. They’re not bursting out of corsets, wearing tons of makeup, or waiting for a male hero. These filmmakers integrated organic naturalistic quality that adds genuine honesty to these amazingly told short stories.

Men may not always support it, but women do appreciate portrayals of integrity and the brazen female spirit.

Meet New Bitch Flicks Writer Janyce Denise Glasper


A bubblegum tee & a wisecracking smile only means mischief! 

Hello everyone!
My name is Janyce Denise Glasper, a little quirky artist, writer, vegan, calico mommy, animal rights, and feminist activist currently residing in Dayton, Ohio soon to be transitioning to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania to attend Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Art’s Post Baccalaureate Program. I’m so thrilled to be upgraded to a Bitch Flicks weekly contributor and have much to bring to this very diverse roundtable!
While undergraduate studying at the Art Academy of Cincinnati (where I met BF co-founder, Amber Leab and have a BFA in drawing!), I had taken Art of Film and enjoyed watching films and reviewing them. Each analysis really started to garner my interest and appreciation for the entire film experience. Now I never leave a theater until the credits are finished rolling!
Bitch Flicks then influenced what I really wanted to write about – a feminine point of view!
Heavily reminiscent of the Guerrilla Girls agenda – these strong, brave activists asserting ways of getting more women artists of past and present recognition, Bitch Flicks, a forum passionately setting out to exploit the wrongness of media’s perceptions of women and highlighting valuable pros that empower the fight is a beautiful war that deserves to be commended. Hollywood is still an ugly, brutal place, objectifying our “weak” gender, baring our mighty breasts to the audacious male ego, making us crave hungrily for valiant, fiery roles on and behind camera, but BF strives to bring forth a change by attacking that system with an army of writers using their words as mighty swords. It is such a humbling honor to be a part of waving the victory flag.
“I wish you talked more,” Amber had written on my final in the Artist as Writer class. I was a very quiet, inner being, but now I realize more that writing is another way to scream of injustice and inequality.
In art, my portraiture work focuses primarily on illustrating identity – being an African American woman growing up in American society and weaving roots of past and future into a profound connection while also adding in pop culture influence such as soap operas and romance novels. It correlates well into my film interests because I enjoy screenplays showcasing African American females as intelligent, uplifting, spiritually enlightened, who are considered beautiful, influential characters.

Why isn’t this a movie already??
My favorite films include The Color Purple (Alice Walker is such a phenomenal poetic writer and inspiration), Spike Lee’s Crooklyn, Jason’s Lyric, Love Jones, Imitation of Life, Pariah, Chocolat, and Hedgehog. Though there are no minorities in this film (except a male policeman), I do enjoy the surreal ugly duckling (or in this case, “pigling”) fairy tale, Penelope, so much and cannot wait to write out the why. It’s beautiful in sets, costume, and story.  
As for television, Mindy Kaling is a pretty awesome hoot! I just long for the days of strong, close knit female relationships and diversity in a place where men aren’t always the catalyst for ice cream binging and tears. Women are a vivacious, independent, and crafty lot and can be written to be so! It’s the 21stcentury!  
Excitingly enough, Lunafest is this coming Sunday at my local art house and I have already bought my ticket, and it makes me happy to learn that all proceeds go toward Planned Parenthood of Southwest Ohio Region. If you’ve never heard of Lunafest – it’s a film festival of shorts for women by women, and it’s from 3PM-12AM, the longest time I will have ever spent at a movie theater! Looking forward to sharing the experience with BF readers!  I’m bound to see women being displayed at their thoughtful best here. 
Alas, I must say that I am also a big time Joss Whedon fan and that Buffy the Vampire Slayer, though a blonde heroine, got me through high school. I identified with her being labeled “different” and a social outcast because at my school there was something wrong with wearing hair naturally. Perms and relaxers reigned supreme. It was considered boyish and African to not fall into the European tresses mode. Yes. African American students of today think any association with Africa is an ugly, shameful ideology and I think media plays a horrid manipulation on our sensibilities as a race. I’ll have to write about that sometime…
My Angel puppet, my Olivia, my shoes, my yoga mat, my loves

I am proud to be a geek and refuse to hide in any closet. I wear my purple rimmed glasses, character t-shirts, and afrocentric braids with pride and cherish the helluva of my vast collection of Buffy and Angel comic books and action figures. I’ve been to Wizard World Philadelphia once and Chicago 3 times, shaking James Marsters’ hand and taking a picture with Emma Caulfield – Spike and Anya respectively on Buffy. Those are just some of the perks of working as an assistant to an eBay action figure and comic book retailer! Ha ha!
My other loves include Sugarygingersnap, a blog highlighting my art work progression, local art events, and some film reviews, and AfroVeganChick, which centers my vegan and natural hair journeys with delicious food recipes for the belly as well as hair, skin, and face. In my spare time, I enjoy reading, kitty snuggling, thrift shopping, Wii Fit, belly dancing, riding buses at random, collecting rubber ducks, Days of Our Lives, and summer picnics at my little duck-filled pond.
If you would love to follow along, like Visa, I’m everywhere you wanna be online: Twitter, Pinterest, Facebook, Instagram, and Google+! 

Women of Color in Film and TV: ‘Pariah’

Pariah (2011), a film by Dee Rees
Guest post written by Janyce Denise Glasper, originally published at Sugary Gingersnap. Cross posted with permission.

An astounding, vibrant piece of finely weaved storytelling and thoughtfully spoken artistry, this independent film centers on Brooklyn high school teen, Alike (pronounced ah-lik-e) an exceptionally good student and aspiring poet from a hard-working middle-class family. In her underground world, the shy girl hangs out with bold, outspoken, Laura, who has already proudly come out and lives with her sister.

Alike, however, is much too afraid of such honesty and chooses to entrap herself with dual identities- switching from hood gear to chic fashion, she is trying to do right by parents, Arthur and Audrey, but it’s her little sister Sharonda who begins suspecting the truth first.
Filled with hilarity, wit, and compassion, viewers follow Alike’s course of adolescence as she tries unsuccessfully talking to women, tests out her first strap on with Laura’s aide, writes poetry in a colorful composition notebook, and privately shares her talents with the encouraging English teacher.
All the while Audrey is desperate to make Alike appear more feminine and attractive to boys and wishing Alike to stop hanging around Laura, someone she clearly detests. Yet Arthur turns a blind eye, seeming not to give a care about his overbearing wife’s feelings and accepts Alike, “flaws” and all.
Bina (Aasha Davis) and Alike (Oduye) in the stages of love
Fed up with Laura, an interfering Audrey wants Alike to be friends with “normal” girl, Bina. But unbeknownst to Audrey, Bina shows the kind of interest in Alike that would have had her head spinning. A smart, intelligent, and worldly artistic individual, she shares a lot of compelling ideas and music with Alike, striking up a friendship that soon blossoms into a refreshing first love.
Spending time at clubs and critiquing each others writings, things were so blissful.
However, her immediate discarding of their relationship the morning after was quite detrimental and heartbreaking.
Alike breaks down, guttural and hurt by the strange 180, but sadly has no one to tell and transforms that anguish into poetry.
Alike with Audrey (Kim Wayans) during happier times
Once Alike finally confesses to her parents, hell breaks loose tenfold.
In the very turbulent scene, Sharonda pleas with Alike not to get in between the battle of their parents who are loudly arguing about her sexual orientation, but valiant Alike bravely wages on and puts up with an emotionally distressed Audrey who then verbally attacks and violently beats her revulsion into Alike.
After that climatic horror, things change.
Alike and Arthur (Charles Parnell) after that horrible scene
With a condoning mother seeing lesbianism as a treacherous disease deemed unlovable, Arthur is the exact opposite. A man harboring his own secrets, he seemed to have always known that Alike was a unique case. Not due to her escalating intelligence and her disdain for pretty clothing. Their relationship is much closer and because of this, it makes his understanding of Alike’s lifestyle believable.
Sharonda loves her sister no matter what!
In Laura’s own story, she also has a mother disgusted by her choices. Looking disgusted, she makes no move to be affectionate and slams the door in Laura’s face even as Laura expresses joy over passing the GED. This makes her friendship to Alike all the more genuine. Though she is an active flirt and very popular with the ladies, it’s perfectly clear that Laura needs constant companionship and love and once she sees Alike having fun with Bina, her jealousy comes clawing out.
A worthy note of mention, Dee Rees has done an exceptional job of not only showcasing strong female relationships, but also revealing the blunt shift that occurs when weakened and severed, especially the natural bond of a mother and daughter.
The lovely, talented Adepero Oduye
Adepero Oduye’s portrayal is touching, riveting, and beautiful as she plays a character struggling with the great divide, breaks free from timidity, and falls in love. Breathing sophisticated complexion into Alike, Oduye is divine poetry in motion, expelling words articulately and with tenderly, perfected bravado. From the moment she tearfully tells her mother she loves her and that end scene on the bus, Oduye showcases Alike’s proud acceptance into a promising future that only she can control.
Now this is the kind of African American role that the Academy is dead set against honoring. A woman who doesn’t allow herself to repressed by negativity and has the strength to move forward to better opportunities with talent driving her. To the conservative viewer- it’s crucial. Not only is this young African American woman smart and gifted, she happens to be gay.
Definitely robbed of an Oscar nod, here’s hoping that Oduye nabs another pivotal role that garners attention from the snubbing Hollywood elite.
The rest of the cast played their parts commendably, especially the incredible Kim Wayans, a famed comedian utterly unrecognizable in a very dramatic role. The polar opposite of Monique’s character in Precious, Wayans was marvelous as the cruelly ashamed, Bible-clinging mother.
Laura trying to change up Alike’s fashion sense!
In terms of story holes, Pariah does have its little flaws.

Alike delivers two powerful poems like a heavenly prophet. Thirsting for more, especially with Bina making suggestions to open mic nights and poetry clubs, there was an expectancy to seeing Alike come further out of her shell and share her gifts to an audience that actually wants to hear fresh talent onstage.

Alas no such scenes came into play.

What of Laura and Alike’s relationship?

Do they come together as a couple and bond even further?

What secrets was Arthur keeping under tabs?

A scene of him on the phone and then changing into a silk black shirt while chatting to Alike seemed oddly questionable. With them being so close, one imagined that he would voice his affair to Alike.

Now if it were with another man, Audrey would never be the same…
Actress Adepero Oduye, Pariah writer/director Dee Rees, and Actress Kim Wayans
I greatly appreciate the woman’s voice and their courage to tell such a profound story. Hoping that Dee Rees continues on the path of enlightening women and minorities to come forth and share their creative vision, bring their enriching narratives to independent screens and beyond. Let the age old statistics of white men being sole judge and victor be a thing of the past.
It’s been high time for segregation in the film honor system to be buried.
Women have more than breasts to bare, they have vocal hearts and fervent souls to unleash and set free.
Pariah passionately illustrates that though the uncertain future can be filled with failures, heartbreak, and disappointments, there are rewards despite the ugly, gritty turmoil that comes and goes.
That wherein lies life’s bittersweet poetry.

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Janyce Denise Glasper is a writer/artist running two silly blogs of creative adventures called Sugarygingersnap and AfroVeganChick. She enjoys good female-centric film, cute rubber duckies, chocolate covered everything (except bugs!), Days of Our Lives, and slaying nightly demons Buffy style in Dayton, Ohio.

Gender and Food Week: ‘The Princess and the Frog’

The Princess and the Frog (2009)
This guest post written by Janyce Denise Glasper originally appeared at Bitch Flicks as part of our series on Animated Children’s Films and as part of our series on Women and Gender in Musicals.

The Princess and the Frog is a Disney milestone for two reasons: it is the first hand-drawn animated motion picture from the company since 2004’s Home on The Range and features an African-American female heroine.

Also keep in mind that the last film co-starring a human princess was 1992’s Aladdin.
But hold that applause.
For these accomplishments mean little once the viewer realizes what is in store.
The poster of a pouting girl holding a frog amongst bugs, an alligator, and a snake amongst a dark, swampy background says it all. No cute fuzzy bunnies, kittens, or deer friends here.
Our characters: Tiana (originally to be Mamie–uh oh!), a two job hustling sassy twang lady with a lifelong dream of becoming a chef/owner of a fine restaurant. The leading man: disinherited, shallow, but very good looking, Prince Naveen. Tiana’s best friend since birth, Charlotte: a rich, apple-cheeked blond with ample curves to die for and a strange obsession with calling her sole parent “Big Daddy.” The villain: a top hat wearing, African mask collecting, voodoo havocking witch doctor with a smooth, seductive albeit evil voice, Dr. Facilier.
A bopping 1920’s New Orleans is where the story takes place.
The opening to the film was irking. After story time, little Charlotte demands a new dress and daddy begs Tiana’s mother to make her a new one. As the camera pans to several versions of the same pink dress, the kind black, very tired seamstress obediently obliges. Sadly, while she and Tiana leave, daddy spoils Charlotte’s silhouette with a puppy.
How cute!
Eye roll.
Tiana and her mom ride the bus back home- nice part of town disappears rather quickly. One does not need to mention where they have a home. Remember these are black people here.
Five minutes later, Tiana and Charlotte grow up. 
(I must also state that I found Charlotte’s treatment of Tiana infuriating.)
At the café, Charlotte just throws all of her daddy’s money at Tiana and demands that she make a boatload of beignets for her Mardi Gras soiree–on that very night! 
Inferiority complex is at play.
Charlotte and her daddy make Tiana’s family work like slaves even though they are paying for them. Much too docile and meek, Tiana and her mother take this dominating behavior and its sickening, even for an animated cartoon.
The plot thickens.
Tiana and Prince Naveen-turned-frog
Thinking her to be a real princess due to the tiara on her head, Prince Naveen-turned-frog begs for Tiana’s kiss. Unfortunately, she isn’t a princess at all. So after a slimy short make out session, she too becomes a frog.
Ah, how wonderful!
Arguing and swapping flies together, these two frogs embark on a journey in the wet, scary marshlands. The quest to finding their lost humanity is supposed to be funny, sweet, and somewhat romantic. Let’s not forget to mention there is a scene in which their long tongues get twisted in a style reminiscent of Lady and the Tramp’s infamous innocent spaghetti smooch. But that connection was due to a bug, not good old-fashioned Italian fare.
As Tiana and Prince Naveen search for the person who could make them “normal” by following a goofy alligator and a bug that is more friend than delicacy, the viewer quickly becomes annoyed and a tad bit infuriated.
By the near end, they are in love and willing to accept each other forever … as frogs!
When compared to the other Disney princesses, Tiana’s story is a bunch of BS. She didn’t have an evil stepfamily, eat a poisoned apple, have graceful legs instead of fins, receive many hours of beauty rest, or become a madmen’s “love” slave.
Does that make her luckier? I think not.
None of those women would wish to be a frog with long, batty eyelashes.
Nope. Not one.
After the green, jumpy lily pad life and having a grand night’s adventure in the bayou, our humanized heroine finally becomes a princess and a restaurateur. The end.
Feeling robbed? 
Yes.
We all know that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but this is a distasteful metaphor. It kind of makes one feel that all brown-skinned women are frogs and that in order to love them, one would have to be a frog too.
Other notable lowlights: blacks are put in their “respective” places–living in close-knit, modest shacks and taking overcrowded public transportation. As previously mentioned, submissive Tiana and her mother both work diligently for white people and Prince Naveen’s right hand white man transforms into Prince Naveen via Dr. Facilier’s powers. It would almost be a cry for demeaning blackface politics, except Prince Naveen is not a black man.
Loved that an upstanding, loving, appreciative father shared Tiana’s passion for cooking and inspired her ethic. So glad Disney didn’t go with that stereotype about black men being absent from their children’s lives…
Now, Tiana’s mother: only commendable when not complaining about Tiana needing to find a “prince charming” so that she could have grandbabies. Snow White, Cinderella, Aurora, Jasmine, Ariel, and Belle lacked motherly parenting, which added to their naïveté about men. Little fairies and godmothers are sweet and all, but the genuine love from a mother is a special, sacred bond often missing in Disney films.

As a strong, independent woman, Tiana knew that one does not sit on her butt talking to baby animals and making wishes on stars.
Oh wait, she did wish on a star! Damn.
Still, she dreamed big and worked from the ground up.
Now that is a character for little girls to be inspired by. Too bad Tiana was a frog for so long in the movie.
Overall, The Princess and the Frog is enjoyable for a few laughs, infectious moments, and the trademark watery eye sap. But it takes many steps–backwards, forwards, sideways. One wonders what this film is truly trying to accomplish.
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Janyce Denise Glasper is a writer/artist running two silly blogs of creative adventures called Sugarygingersnap and AfroVeganChick. She enjoys good female centric film, cute rubber duckies, chocolate covered everything (except bugs!), Days of Our Lives, and slaying nightly demons Buffy style in Dayton, Ohio.