Juno Temple – Bitch Flicks

Lessons from Underrated Coming of Age Flicks

Something about summer always makes me nostalgic. I think it’s that when you’re a kid, when you’re a teenager, it all seems so significant. You tend to measure time in summers, those long unstructured months that melt together in your own dream world where your parents have no authority. How many coming of age stories begin with something akin to “It was the summer I turned 16”? In honor of the summer months, I thought I’d take a look at some underrated coming of age films and what I learned from them.

Something about summer always makes me nostalgic.

Remember riding your bike around town? Remember waiting at the ice cream truck, or trying on new looks in front of the mirror, driving aimlessly around with a new license, or just listening to music in your room alone and having multiple epiphanies? ‘Tis the season to come of age. To be forever changed.

I think it’s that when you’re a kid, when you’re a teenager, it all seems so significant. You tend to measure time in summers, those long unstructured months that melt together in your own dream world where your parents have no authority. How many coming of age stories begin with something akin to “It was the summer I turned 16”?

In honor of the summer months, I thought I’d take a look at some underrated coming of age films and what I learned from them.

Slums of Beverly Hills

Like many coming of age classics, Slums of Beverly Hills is both semi-autobiographical (for writer-director Tamara Jenkins) and set in the recent past. 90s indie darling Natasha Lyonne plays Vivian Abromowitz, a girl struggling with her dysfunctional family, burgeoning sexuality and uncomfortably large breasts (an unusual teenage girl problem in a genre full of girls praying for big boobs), all while constantly moving between seedy apartments in Beverly Hills as part of her father’s plan to allow her and her brothers to attend prestigious schools. Through the course of the film, Vivian not only has her period and loses her virginity, clear markers of ascent into womanhood, but also realizes sex can be pleasurable and she has a right to demand that it is. She also comes to appreciate her eccentric father (Alan Arkin) for the sacrifices he makes to give his children the best futures possible.

Lesson: Learn to be amused, not afflicted. Practice saying, one day this will all go in my memoir.

Welcome Home, Roxy Carmichael

Welcome Home, Roxy Carmichael, like Heathers, Beetlejuice, and Mermaids, stars Winona Ryder back when she was the patron saint of “weird girls” who liked to wear black and didn’t talk much in class. Her unfortunately named character, Dinky, is a social outcast who prefers animals to her peers, who constantly taunt and torture her and disappoints her adoptive mother by rejecting feminine clothing. Though sometimes its hard to figure out whether Dinky is ostracized for being antisocial or has learned to be antisocial after years of being ostracized. Stuck in a quirky indie film style town where the childhood home of minor celebrity, Roxy Carmichael, is preserved as a museum, Dinky sets out to validate her existence by proving she is Roxy’s long lost daughter.

Lesson: You can’t develop in a vacuum. Spending time alone is valuable, but you really learn who you are from living in the world you have and getting to know the people around you, not from escaping into the world you wish you had.

Lisa’s whole understanding of the world is changed when she watches a woman die in her arms and knows she is partially responsible.

Margaret

Despite hitting some familiar beats (loss of virginity, teacher-student relationship, first encounter with death), Margaret is a very different type of coming of age story, and to my mind, a truer one, than I’ve seen before. As it begins, Lisa Cohen (Anna Paquin), a privileged Manhattan teenager, is just coming into her own. She has new and serious opinions about war and politics and passionately argues them in class and charges around the city casually flirting and testing out her new power. When she distracts a bus driver, contributing to a fatal accident, her grief and guilt lead her to seek the driver’s dismissal, which she feels is the only fair consequence. Here, Lisa shows how young she still is, as she doggedly seeks fairness, blind to the interests of the other parties involved and to any other option. She still sees the world as one where the guilty are always punished and the innocent rewarded, and in the moment where she learns things will not work the ways she imagined, she breaks down into a child-like tantrum.

Lesson: Life isn’t fair, it’s really not fair and sometimes there is nothing you can do to make things right.

Dirty Girl

Danielle Edmundson (Juno Temple) thinks God made her purely for sex. Known as the “Dirty Girl” at school for her promiscuity, Danielle looks down on the girls in her class who fuss over their appearance and wish for their Prince Charmings, and uses the boys to prove to herself she has a talent. In Clark (Jeremy Dozier), a shy, gay boy who also sticks out like a sore thumb in their 1980s Oklahoma town, she finds a kindred spirit and the two hit the road, ostensibly to find Danielle’s father, but really to find themselves. Neither Clark nor Danielle have it all figured out. At first she’s the cooler-than-thou mentor who ups his confidence, but in the last moments he’s the one who helps her figure out who she wants to be. Refreshingly, the narrative doesn’t suggest Danielle’s sexual experience is wrong or that she needs to be celibate, but that it’s not the only thing she has or only way people should define her.

Lesson: The people you want in your life are the people who like you for who you are–the people that encourage you to be yourself, but only the best version of yourself.

Danielle appraises her peers and dislikes what she sees.

Haunter

Most teenagers feel bored and trapped at some point, in their small towns or in their families. Haunter twists teenage alienation into a ghost story centered around Lisa Johnson (Abigail Breslin), another 80s teen, the only person in her family who realizes they’re dead. I chose to read Haunter as coming of age story, despite the fact that the central character will never get any older because it’s all about what Lisa learns. She becomes responsible for her family as the only one that knows the truth and her world becomes a nightmare none of them are aware of, as she is tormented by an murderous spirit. Unlike most alienated teenage girls she also finds herself through taking on the mission of trying to save the family currently living in the house from being the murderer’s next victims. And Lisa also grows in the expected ways for a coming of age heroine, as she goes from blaming her parents for their weaknesses and feeling superior, to allowing herself to understand, and walk in their shoes.

Lesson: Some of your angsty feelings are legitimate, some are self-indulgent. It’s a great skill to know the difference.

Lisa’s clarinet practice fills her time as she remains stuck in her house, the same day repeating endlessly.

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Elizabeth Kiy is a Canadian writer and freelance journalist living in Toronto, Ontario.

Seed & Spark: Gaslighting, Demonic Possession, and the Unreliable Female Brain

I love a good psychological thriller, especially if it involves insanity. The fear that I might be insane, that my perception might be warped, that instead of calmly walking to the bus stop, I am actually muttering to myself (scraping my clawed fingers along the yellow wallpaper) is a driving force in my creative process. The boundary between perception and reality is fertile ground for filmmaking, but I wonder why it’s always women whose brains get warped or permeated? I know our lady parts are conduits to Satan, and old Hollywood liked us vulnerable and prone to hysteria… But are we really getting tricked all the time, or is there a feminist edge to the gaslight thriller?

Juno Temple in "Magic Magic" — Juno Temple in *Magic Magic*

This is a guest post by Elizabeth Brooks

Gaslighting is a psychological term that actually comes from cinema. In the 1944 film Gaslight, an evil husband convinces Ingrid Bergman that she’s losing her mind, so he can steal her inherited jewels. (That film was based on an earlier film and a play before that, but let’s give the credit to Ingrid B. because she made it glamorous). Gaslighting is a form of manipulation and abuse where the victim’s sanity is questioned, and they are made to doubt their perception of reality. In real life, the use of gaslighting to undermine a victim is the terrain of deranged psychopaths and sociopaths, but like a lot of twisted stuff, it makes a great film plot.

Ingrid Bergman in "Gaslight" — Ingrid Bergman in *Gaslight*

Take, for example, The Innocents from 1961. Miss Giddens, a blonde and naïve nanny accepts a job to care for orphans at a creepy English estate. The children behave strangely, and we’re not sure if Miss Giddens is insane or if ghosts have possessed the little ones (spoiler: the kids are possessed). Gaslighting creates unstable narration, a protagonist who doesn’t trust her own brain. The trick works best when it catches the audience. We see through the eyes of the heroine, and it makes us paranoid: Is she crazy? Am I crazy? The tension delights us.

Deborah Kerr in "The Innocents" — Deborah Kerr in *The Innocents*

In the classic film Rosemary’s Baby, Rosemary Woodhouse is paranoid about her pregnancy pain, her neighbor’s herbal remedies and her husband’s secret plotting. The trick to good gaslighting is to hover on the edge of normalcy, to implicate the audience in the character’s insanity. But, like Miss Giddens, Rosemary was right to be paranoid. She had been raped by the devil and was carrying his child.

Mia Farrow in "Rosemary's Baby" — Mia Farrow in *Rosemary’s Baby*

What I’m trying to say is that classic cinema is really hostile towards women, constantly questioning their ability to perceive reality, calling up the old “hysterical women” stereotype. These women, though, aren’t crazy. They live in fucked-up supernatural worlds. In that sense, a film like The Innocents actually affirms its female characters: Miss Giddens is a capable detective, in spite of her swooning and fainting.

Magic Magic, the best film you didn’t see in 2013, plays on some of the traditional gaslighting structures, but takes them in new directions. (You didn’t see the film because Sony got pissed that it wasn’t an out-of-the-box horror thriller and chose not to release it). Like The Innocents, it stars a young blonde, Alicia (Juno Temple), in the creepy and isolated environment of a vacation cottage on an island in Southern Chile. Her companions are hostile strangers, friends of a cousin who mysteriously left the group and returned to the city. The camera lingers in mirrors and paranoia blossoms.

Michael Cera’s character, Brink, relentlessly hits on Alicia in deranged and unsettling ways, one of them involving a dead parrot. Alicia retaliates by pussificating him, i.e. suffocating him in her crotch, but it’s not really her who’s doing it—she is in some kind of a hypnotic trance. The film hovers on the edge of sanity, builds layers of unreality, but it doesn’t reveal and redeem. Magic Magic ends with a sharp turn; instead of affirming good female detective work, it doubles back and eats its tail. I won’t say more because I want you to see the film, but it’s a real creeper.

Gaslighting isn’t inherently gendered. It’s just that our culture prefers watching a woman on the brink. Weird films, art films and experimental cinema have been writing weak-minded men for decades. My favorite example of a man in the gaslight is Possession, a 1981 French horror film by Andrzej Zulawski.

Isabelle Adjani in "Possession" — Isabelle Adjani in *Possession*

The basic plot is that this guy, Mark, comes back from a sketchy business trip (briefcases stuffed with cash) and notices that his wife Anna is acting really strange. She tells him that she wants a divorce and then she moves out. He hires a private investigator to follow her, and reality starts to shimmer like the tarmac on a hot day. Actors play multiple characters. Dialog becomes disjointed. Turn a corner, and you’re back where you started. We’re not sure if we’re inside Mark’s paranoid mind.

It’s hard to say that Possession is a true feminist film because it does turn out that Anna is having lots of sex with a demon/alien and she pukes extraordinary amounts of green, slimy bile in a subway station…but at least it’s Mark who gets confused. And Anna and the alien do win in the end, though it’s hard to say if she wins or if the alien devours her completely like it does Charlize Theron in The Astronaut’s Wife.

Given these examples, one might conclude that men can gaslight women, but only aliens can gaslight men. I say: stay hopeful, female fans of the supernatural thriller. One of these days, the women will overpower the aliens.

Elizabeth Brooks is the director of Kibuki: Spirits in Zanzibar. She is a mixed media artist and a member of the San Francisco experimental cinema community. Her work explores the boundary between fact and fiction, using film, video, writing, and sound to blur the line between memory and imagination. She holds an MA in African Studies from the School of Oriental and African Studies at the University of London and an MFA in Photographic and Electronic Media from the Maryland Institute College of Art. She was a 2010 recipient of a Fulbright grant to Tanzania. She currently works as the Youth Curriculum Manager at the San Francisco Film Society, and her bilingual children’s book, Mama Has a Job, was recently selected for publication by Mkuki na Nyota publishers in Tanzania.

‘Afternoon Delight’: Don’t Hang Your Shame on Me

Let’s face it: many of us feminists will pay lip service to sex workers’ rights while at the same time hold within us a mess of conflicting feelings around the subject. In fact, many of us are probably a bit more repressed about sex than we’d care to admit. The idea that there are women who voluntarily seek out such work has long been a feminist conundrum. But perhaps the bigger problem is the paternalistic impulse of feminists trying to rescue sex workers. Jill Soloway, the writer and director of Afternoon Delight knows this all too well. As she says in an interview about the film, “It’s not just about rescue. If you’re into rescue go rescue the garment workers. It’s about amping up your own relationship to your own shame around sex.”

Afternoon Delight movie poster — *Afternoon Delight* movie poster

This is a guest post by Heather Brown. [contains spoilers]

Let’s face it: many of us feminists will pay lip service to sex workers’ rights while at the same time hold within us a mess of conflicting feelings around the subject. In fact, many of us are probably a bit more repressed about sex than we’d care to admit. The idea that there are women who voluntarily seek out such work has long been a feminist conundrum. But perhaps the bigger problem is the paternalistic impulse of feminists trying to rescue sex workers. Jill Soloway, the writer and director of Afternoon Delight, knows this all too well. As she says in an interview about the film, “It’s not just about rescue. If you’re into rescue go rescue the garment workers. It’s about amping up your own relationship to your own shame around sex.”

Here’s the story: a bored woman named Rachel (Kathryn Hahn) lives in a bright, airy Silver Lake, L.A. home with her app-designing husband and toddler. Rachel doesn’t work but busies herself with event planning and local charities linked to her local Jewish Community Center. We see her in therapy sessions, spinning her wheels to justify and normalize her ennui (“Six months, no sex…I feel like there are a lot of couples who go through dry spells.” Her therapist, played by a wry Jane Lynch, replies, “Not healthy couples”). Her best friend, Stephanie (Jessica St. Clair), suggests that Rachel go to a strip club for a change of pace. She says of she and her husband: “We go there, get all hot, and then we bang each other when we get home.” Then, a night out with friends at a strip club finds her face-to-face with a young woman named McKenna (Juno Temple), who delivers Rachel a lap-dance at the behest of her husband. She’s sufficiently discomfited, but her curiosity is awakened.

McKenna (Juno Temple) and Rachel (Kathryn Hahn)

It’s Rachel’s curiosity that leads her back to the neighborhood of the strip club in the sober light of day, where she happens to see McKenna in the midst of one of those breakups where everything you own ends up in the trunk of a car and strewn on the sidewalk. Rachel invites McKenna to stay with her for a few days, and then offers her the long-term gig of being her live-in nanny. Soon, Rachel learns that McKenna is more than a stripper when McKenna reveals matter-of-factly, “I’m a full service sex worker.” This knowledge changes Rachel’s posture toward McKenna, and she tells her, “If you want out of that life, I can help you.” So it begins: Rachel attempts to take McKenna under her wing, but as the film progresses, we start to wonder exactly who most needs being saved—and all signs point to Rachel.

While the film crescendos with a big “uh-oh” scene, the most compelling moments are those in which women are sharing experiences of raw, ugly honesty. These are instances when shame is pulled back, and we see the guts and blood of their perfectly curated lives. Two scenes are especially haunting (you won’t see these in the trailer).

In the first, Rachel accompanies McKenna on a call to one of her clients. This is a man who enjoys having another woman watch him while he is having sex with McKenna, and Rachel tells her she wants to do it. Rather than giving us just a taste of what happens in a before-and-after editing sequence, Soloway brings us into the room to watch Rachel watch McKenna on the job, as it were. The camera holds the gaze of the client, an overweight middle-aged man with ample body hair, who remains fixed on Rachel as he climaxes with McKenna sitting on top of him.

To me, what’s most troubling is the way that Rachel regards McKenna afterward. She becomes withholding, and in a symbolic rejection, prevents McKenna from babysitting a large group of her friends’ kids so they can have a ladies’ wine night. Rachel blames McKenna for what she has now learned about herself—which is a dehumanizing act. Yet, Kathryn Hahn imbues such a degree of sympathy to the performance that we can almost forgive her. This brings me to the second scene.

Ladies’ wine night: as the night begins, women are talking, laughing, over-sharing in ways that are funny and blunt. Soon, the teeth become wine-stained and—yep—out pours Rachel’s shame. When Stephanie reveals that she’s pregnant (no wine for her), Rachel’s first response is that this now means she’s going to be the only one among them with just one child. Later, as she’s drunker and drunker, Rachel weeps and self-flagellates for never printing out any of the photos of her child (she only has them on the “cloud”).

What I find so amazing about these two scenes (and don’t worry, there’s plenty I didn’t spoil) is that they show how Rachel is so desperate to reveal herself, to be intimately known. But when confronted with someone like McKenna—who is in the business of doing this and lot more—she can’t handle it.

I was reminded of another film after I saw this one: Elles (2011), in which Juliette Binoche plays a journalist writing a profile of French student prostitutes. She becomes involved in their world to an extent that it complicates her relationship to her bourgeois married, family life. There seems to be a subgenre of films featuring women who reckon with—or perhaps imagine—the role of the sex worker. While this can make for intriguing and rich storytelling, I can’t help but wonder what would happen if we made sex workers the subject, rather than the object.

Heather Brown lives in Chicago, Ill., and works as a freelance instructional designer and online writing instructor. She lives for feminism, movies, live music, road trips, and cheese.

‘The Brass Teapot’: A Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy

The Brass Teapot is a black comedy with a premise straight out of Aesop or The Twilight Zone: a struggling young couple come to own a teapot that generates cash in exchange for pain. How much hurt will they inflict on themselves and others for money?

The Brass Teapot is a black comedy with a premise straight out of Aesop or The Twilight Zone: a struggling young couple come to own a teapot that generates cash in exchange for pain. How much hurt will they inflict on themselves and others for money?

John and Alice Macy (Michael Angarano and Juno Temple) are a young married couple clearly in love despite their relatable 20-something struggles to find employment and manage their finances. The teapot comes into their lives after Alice steals it from the site of a minor car accident (rigged by the previous owner of the teapot to generate a payday on the drivers’ pain). She discovers the teapot’s powers after accidentally burning herself with a curling iron, and continues to injure herself until they have enough to pay the bills and then some.

A lot of the first act of the movie treads dangerous waters by depicting self-harm and quasi-consensual partner violence and BDSM sex with a decidedly lighthearted and quirky tone set by director Ramaa Mosley. I can easily see this triggering some people. I was able to buy into it as twisted dark comedy, but your mileage may vary.

Of course the teapot’s cruel bargain becomes more and more vicious. Alice and John find diminishing returns on their own pain, so they bring the teapot around others in pain (cue hijinks like crashing a maternity ward). Then they have to turn to emotional pain, and so they lay all their cruel thoughts and marital indiscretions out on the table to make rent. Finally they contemplate inflicting violence on others to keep the teapot’s magic going.

There is so much in The Brass Teapot that makes it sound like the movie will be painful (appropriately enough) to watch. There are plenty of things to cringe at even if you can get past the pitfalls of the premise. The film unfortunately employs some racist caricatures, like poor Stephen Park as Dr. Ling, who attempts to save the Macys from the teapot by employing his ancient Chinese wisdom, as well as a bizarre subplot about the Hasidic nephews of the previous owner (who do at least bring about one hilarious joke toward the end of the film). The Brass Teapot dabbles in class commentary (Alice and John are middle class kids unable to capitalize on their privilege, and we see that their high school social circle has divided into the haves and the have-nots), but it is never properly developed as the plot focuses on the more simple moral questions presented by the teapot.

Given some of these sensitivity shortcomings, I became particularly worried as the plot carried forward that Alice was going to become the Eve to John’s Adam and he was going to be the innocent man seduced by her greed. Fortunately I think The Brass Teapot sidesteps that trope. While Alice is usually the one to raise the stakes to get more money out of the pot, she also pulls back in at least one crucial scenario where John was ready to bring the pain. The character works because Juno Temple balances her admirable willingness to play an unsympathetic character with her ample charisma, so you end up at least being willing to continue to watch Alice on screen if not outright liking her.

Overall, I feel The Brass Teapot demonstrates the value of commitment in storytelling. Even when it is to the film’s potential detriment and the alienation of its audience, this movie doesn’t shy away from the horror of its premise. I found myself completely in this movie’s grip, absolutely believing that anything might happen as the stakes got higher and higher, while somehow still able to root for the characters and laugh at the comedic moments. It is the kind of movie I’d enthusiastically recommend if I thought my experience was universal, but I realize this movie is probably—oh no, someone please stop me, don’t let me say it—not everyone’s cup of tea.

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Robin Hitchcock is an American writer living in Cape Town, South Africa, and she is terribly sorry for that last sentence.

Poster Analysis: Summer Movie Preview

We all know that summer is the worst season for movies. It’s when the heat melts all of our feeble brains into mush and we’re only capable of grunting approval at explosions, special effects, scantily clad women, and the most simplistic plots, while sitting in icily air-conditioned theatres and shoveling $7 bags of popcorn into our face holes. Here’s a sampling of films opening in wide release that we have to look forward to, now that summer has officially begun.

In these posters I see a “maneater,” a teacher who is bad at her job, a “dirty girl,” some arm candy, black maids, almost up a Disney princess’ dress, a scooter passenger, and an invitation to ,ahem, a hole. The Debt offers the only poster with not one, but two women showing agency. One Day might be interesting, as we see Anne Hathaway’s pleasured expression while kissing a man. The Help could possibly be progressive, since it at least shows the black women in the more active, central position. Maybe.

In these posters I also see a bunch of white dudes who win battles: Harry Potter, Conan, Captain America, and that guy from Transformers. I see male-driven comedies (Horrible Bosses, 30 Minutes or Less, Change Up). I see one “idiot,” although it seems “our” in the title might refer to women. I see machines. And those damn dirty apes are back.

As we’ve pointed out in other Poster Analysis pieces (often in the comments), the way a film is marketed can have very little to do with the actual content of the film. But by choosing to market films in a way that presents women as passive or as objects for male admiration, or that excludes them completely, production companies tend to reveal internal biases and expectations, and who their target audience actually is.

What do you think of this year’s crop of summer movie posters? (I am actually happy to see the Transformers babe fully clothed.) Did I leave out any movies on your radar? Finally, what movies do you plan to see in the theatre this summer?