Kerry Washington – Bitch Flicks

While the show is not overt, at its core the story is about race and gender relations. Race- and gender-specific language is often omitted from the dialogue, yet the meaning is there. Rhimes takes the White patriarchy of America and individualizes its contributors so that neither (most of) the characters nor the audience realizes that they are contributing to harmful White patriarchal norms and internalizing them until the rare moments when they take a step back from the action.

This guest post by Jackson Adler previously appeared at his blog, The Windowsill, and appears as part of our theme week on Black Families. Cross-posted with permission.

Shonda Rhimes’ TV series Scandal is a political thriller about “fixer” Olivia Pope (played by Kerry Washington), who gets scandals in Washington, DC “handled.” All of the characters in the show have terrible flaws, do terrible things, question what is right, and whether the ends truly do justify the means. While the show is not overt, at its core the story is about race and gender relations. Race- and gender-specific language is often omitted from the dialogue, yet the meaning is there. Rhimes takes the white patriarchy of America and individualizes its contributors so that neither (most of) the characters nor the audience realizes that they are contributing to harmful white patriarchal norms and internalizing them until the rare moments when they take a step back from the action. Some of the characters claim to be colorblind, while others experience the effects of race in their everyday lives the way Black families across the country experience it.

Neither Olivia, nor her parents, nor the people she loves are free from this. The central relationship of the show is between Olivia Pope and U.S. President Fitzgerald (Fitz) Grant, with whom she has an ongoing affair. When Olivia, whose influence and position as a powerful African-American woman has often been challenged, confronts him about whether or not he is using her and in a position to control her (“I’m feeling very Thomas Jefferson/Sally Hemmings about this”), he skeptically responds, “You’re playing the race card on the fact that I’m in love with you?” and says that a comment like that “belittle(s)” their relationship and is “insulting and beneath [her].” “We’re in this together,” he says. However, he is in a more powerful position than she is, and he uses it. When he wants to speak with her and she doesn’t want to see him, he sends a private jet and secret service to collect her and bring her to him. He seems to claim to be colorblind in how he sees their relationship, and that he thinks of himself as just “a man,” but in other scenes proclaims himself as “the Leader of the Free World” in order to privately intimidate others and get his way. He says he would “give up” his position and influence to prove his love for her and start their life together, but each time it comes down to it, he chooses power – he chooses to be president instead of a loving and loyal husband to her.

Rowan (Joe Morton) confronts Olivia (Kerry Washington)

Olivia’s father, Rowan, is often the one to point out these problems in their relationship. Rowan calls Fitz a “spoiled, entitled, ungrateful little brat,” to his face, and says that he is not “a man” but “a boy.” Rowan reminds Olivia that “[white] power got [Fitz] elected” in the first place, and that Fitz will always choose his white male power over her well-being. Fitz’s words and actions are highly reminiscent of white #AllLivesMatter hashtaggers who are stubbornly ignorant about the dangers of being Black in America, and of members of the GOP who say that Obama supporters use “the race card” (thereby attempting to silence the argument) when they treat Obama worse compared to how they would treat a white president. Olivia’s parents call out Fitz’s behavior, but while Rowan mostly verbally attacks it, her mother Maya physically attacks it.

Olivia’s father, Rowan Pope, achieved a powerful position in the government as Command of a CIA subdivision called B613, through sheer ruthlessness and brain power. Olivia calls her father and his position “the thing that goes bump in the night” – he is someone who does all the behind the scenes dirty work (including assassinations) for the government. He was the first in his family to go to college, and got his daughter into “the best schools” through his own hard work. He regretted not spending more quality time with her when she was younger, but – in Rhimes’ riff on the narrative of the absent Black father – he was not very present in her life because he was so protective of her. He kept her from seeing the terrible things he did as a part of his work and his attempts to gain influence, and ended up sending her to the same boarding schools as “the children of kings” because of it. One of the main reasons Olivia achieved her powerful place in DC is because of him, and he never lets her forget it. While Rowan technically works for the government, unseen but literally calling shots, Olivia’s mother, Maya Lewis, is a terrorist mercenary whose main goal is to take out the patriarchy/white male presidency of the United States. While Rowan pushed Olivia to participate in/assimilate into the government/patriarchy in order to further herself and gain influence of her own, Maya wishes Olivia was not involved in it at all, and says she wished “better for [her].” In one scene, Maya only refrains from blowing up the president and his family because Olivia puts herself in the way. Though Rowan and Maya have very different approaches in how to deal with the government/white patriarchy, they each remind their daughter that being colorblind will only lead to her getting hurt before she even realizes what has happened – “Whose victory do you think they will fight for [when it comes down to it]? Whose body do you think they will bury?”

Olivia’s relationship with her parents is beyond dysfunctional, but her parents still love her very much and make their love known. Rowan alternatively helps Fitz and her other love interest, Jake Ballard, due to Olivia’s affection for them. However, Olivia believes her parents are dangerous and cannot always trust them, let alone support them in their violence. When Olivia teams up with Fitz and Jake, two white and powerful men, to assassinate Rowan, he gives her the benefit of the doubt. He provides her with a gun and the chance to kill him in order to test her loyalty to family, as well as race. The gun turns out to be bullet-less, so Olivia does not succeed in killing Rowan. However, the pain in his face and entire body is evident in the scene as he says, “Are you kidding me?!” He is angry and deeply hurt that his own daughter would have killed him were the gun loaded. For the first time, he tells her “Now you’re on your own.” Olivia turns away from Black patriarchy, but her actions benefit white patriarchy.

Jake Ballard (Scott Foley), Olivia Pope (Kerry Washington), and President Fitzgerald Grant (Tony Goldwyn)

Olivia is constantly asked to choose and re-choose sides, and race is not something she can or even is allowed to ignore in those decisions. Her father particularly challenges her to think in terms of race and familial loyalty in his numerous aggressive monologues. Meanwhile, her mother does what she wants regardless of what anyone thinks – even shooting and killing her white male lover when forced to choose him or give up her goals. Olivia despises the aggression of her parents, and loves the white men in her life who continually hurt and use her. Her dream is to go to Vermont with Fitz, settle down and “make jam” in their perfect home in a small town, but she has come to realize that her dream of Vermont might never become a reality. Fitz is drawn to the presidency/power, and Olivia is compelled to continue being the powerful “fixer” that she is – firmly establishing herself as an African-American woman in control of her own destiny. The Pope family loves each other, but their different approaches to white patriarchy turn them against each other. Whether or not Olivia will “fix” the white patriarchy, or continue to inadvertently contribute to and be crushed by it, remains to be seen – though I’m certainly hoping for and excited to see the manifestation of the former. Scandal challenges the members of its audience to think of institutionalized and internalized patriarchal norms, and how best to face them – and to what lengths they will go to do so.

Jackson Adler is a transmasculine aromantic bi/pansexual skinny white middle class dude with an Auditory Processing Disorder and a Weak Working Memory who enjoys cartoons, musical theatre, and vegan boba drinks. Jackson has a BA in Theater, and is a writer, activist, performer, director, teacher, and dramaturge.

‘Our Song’: Teen Girls Of Color As Heroines of Their Own Lives

In the 90s and early 2000s we seemed on the cusp of a sea change in which a white male teenager wasn’t the default character audiences were supposed to identify with. While films about grown women had stars like Whitney Houston (in ‘The Bodyguard’) Angela Bassett (Oscar-nominated for ‘What’s Love Got To Do With It’) and a pre “J. Lo” Jennifer Lopez (in ‘Selena’), films about teenaged girls of color popped up too. Leslie Harris’s ‘Just Another Girl on the IRT’ was released in the early 90s. In 2000 writer-director Jim McKay’s gorgeous, melancholy ‘Our Song,’ about the friendship of three teenaged girls of color (which starred Kerry Washington–in her film debut) opened in theaters.

Coming-of-age films like the current art house hit Boyhood usually focus on…boys. A girl character can be, like in the Harry Potter films, The Sidekick, (Emma Watson as Hermione) or just The Girlfriend as in Wes Anderson’s early film Rushmore. If we’re lucky we get to see a complex teenage girl character who is The Daugher, like Shailene Woodley in The Descendants. Until recent YA adaptations like The Hunger Games and The Fault in Our Stars a teenaged girl was rarely The Person the film was about. And teen girls of color? Movies are still pretty much never about them.

In the 90s and early 2000s we seemed on the cusp of a sea change in which a white male teenager wasn’t the default character audiences were supposed to identify with. While films about grown women had stars like Whitney Houston (in The Bodyguard) Angela Bassett (Oscar-nominated for What’s Love Got To Do With It) and a pre “J. Lo” Jennifer Lopez (in Selena), films about teenaged girls of color popped up too. Leslie Harris’s Just Another Girl on the IRT was released in the early 90s. In 2000 writer-director Jim McKay’s gorgeous, melancholy Our Song, about the friendship of three teenaged girls of color (which starred Kerry Washington–in her film debut) opened in theaters.

McKay (who is white) has said in interviews that part of why he wanted to make the film was to include the Jackie Robinson Steppers marching band (now known as The Brooklyn Steppers) a Brooklyn institution of Black and Latino young people which incorporates R and B and hip-hop music and dance moves into its repertoire. The scenes with the band (which the three girls all belong to) are a resounding success: all marching bands should be like this one! The real marching band members and the main actresses, Anna Simpson as Joycelyn, Melissa Martinez as Maria, and a very young Washington as Lanisha blend seamlessly into the group. The band leader (Tyrone Brown) is a character many will recognize from their own lives, especially when he lectures the band in the manner of every teacher, advisor and coach who has implored students to please try harder. Also seamless is the way other scenes of the girls interacting with their acquaintances leaves us unaware of who is a professional and who is not (the film cast people in the neighborhood alongside actors with long lists of credits): this smooth interweaving of scripted and documentary elements reminded me of the Chilean film No and its mix of vintage documentary video with scripted scenes that take place during the same events. McKay also seems to have a talent equal to Lukas Moodysson’s in writing believable and affecting dialogue for teenage girls. The naturalistic acting of the leads, especially Washington, but also Simpson and Martinez, elevates the sometimes pedestrian talk about clothes and boys into a music of its own.

oursong-bandpractice — During band practice

Seen today, the film is an unwitting nostalgia piece: the Crown Heights neighborhood in Brooklyn where the scenes were shot is largely gentrified now. In the film’s action we rarely see a white face, a contrast with recent, independently made films that take place in Brooklyn like Obvious Child and It Felt Like Love in which–as in most mainstream films, no matter where they take place–the audience rarely sees anyone onscreen who is Black or brown. We get a hint of the white influx to come when Joycelyn learns from her new high-status friends what a “mocha” is and teaches it to Lanisha and Maria who, in their mostly low-income neighborhood (which they rarely leave) have never heard the term before. Joycelyn’s job is at what seems to be The Body Shop while Lanisha and Maria work at a local, decidedly non-artisanal bakery.

At work and off Maria and Lanisha sometimes speak Spanish to each other (in one of the film’s many instances of casual bulldozing of stereotypes, Maria starts out knowing no Spanish even though her family is Latino). In one scene Maria tells Lanisha she’s “embarazada.” Lanisha, used to correcting her friend, laughs and says, “‘Embarazada’ doesn’t mean ’embarrassed.’ It means you’re pregnant.”

Maria answers, “I know what it means. I looked it up.”

LanishaOurSong — Kerry Washington as Lanisha

Maria’s passivity and seeming apathy when confronted with making decisions about her pregnancy, practice with the band, or enrolling in a new school feel true-to-life: her response to these challenges, except in the scene where she confronts the father of her baby–who doesn’t even bother to take off his headphones when she tells him the news– seems to be one big shrug, with a teenager’s lack of regard for later repercussions. Of course, of the three mothers we see, Maria’s is, by far, the least understanding and most strict: teenagers who figure out that their parents are unreasonable are usually the ones who get into the most trouble.

The film is a treasure trove of thoughtful characters who are women of color, not just the three girls but also Marlene Forte as Lanisha’s mother, gently trying to warn her daughter about her charming father’s broken promises, and even, in a brief scene, a counselor (Iris Little Thomas) who makes Maria laugh when she tells her that she too was quiet when she was her age, but now nobody can get her to shut up. About Maria’s pregnancy the counselor says, “I was just remembering ’15’ and just wondering what you might like to do.”

In the film’s closeups (the stunning cinematography is by Jim Denault) we see how little imagination fashion magazines and mainstream TV and films have in their extremely narrow vision of what makes girls and women “beautiful.” On nights out, when she undoes her usual thick braid, Maria has a glorious, long, full, frizzy lion’s mane of hair, set off by huge hoop earrings; Joycelyn’s almond eyes and velvety, dark skin are highlighted by her sparkly eyeshadow (which her very young mother, to whom she has a strong resemblance–and who acts more like her buddy and roommate–seems to borrow) and Lanisha, whose radiant, expressive face is both familiar to us, from Washington’s later stardom, and not–Washington is less slender here than we’re used to seeing her, with shorter hair and in belted, baggy jeans (fashionable for teen girls then) instead of the well-cut designer clothing she wears on the red carpet or on Scandal.

At a time when neighborhoods of mostly Black and Latino people were demonized as full of gangs and lawlessness, the only crime we see is when the girls shoplift new clothing for themselves. The film’s one instance of deadly violence is a despair-ridden murder-suicide. At the makeshift, poster board memorial for the victims, the three girls solemnly place the roses Joycelyn, though she is spending more and more time with her new friends, bought at the bodega for each of them.

The “our song” of the title is “Ooh Child” which the band rehearses and we also hear on the radio (the 1990s Chyna version, not the original Five Stairsteps’ version from the 70s). The girls first hear the song together and then, more poignantly, when they’re apart.

The girls’ increasing estrangement is a reality not often depicted on film, where friendship (unless it involves an obvious villain or some big blowout fight) usually equals “forever.” But for most of us, different people drift in and out of our lives in high school and beyond. In the last shots of the film we see a long closeup of Lanisha by herself, without either friend at her side. We recognize she is having her first, sad inkling that most of her “best friends” will move on and away from her–or she will move on from them.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jINf6OTWyUE”]

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Ren Jender is a queer writer-performer/producer putting a film together. Her writing. besides appearing every week on Bitch Flicks, has also been published in The Toast, RH Reality Check, xoJane and the Feminist Wire. You can follow her on Twitter @renjender.

Women Who Steal: ‘The Life and Crimes of Doris Payne’ and ‘Lift’

The eponymous center of Kirk Marcolina and Matthew Pond’s documentary ‘The Life and Crimes of Doris Payne’ (the opening night selection of the Roxbury International Film Festival) is an anomaly, a woman who steals and is not only unrepentant, but takes great pride in her skill. Doris is a slim, elegant, 80-something African American who has spent much of her life stealing jewelry, from a watch in the Jim Crow southern town where she grew up, to top-price diamonds she accrued while staying in luxury hotels throughout Europe.

In films and TV male characers are usually the ones who get to have all the fun, especially when their characters commit crimes. Women characters aren’t allowed the relish many male characters take in stealing–and getting away with it. Though some exceptions to the rule exist–Bridget/Wendy in The Last Seduction and Melina Mercouri’s character in Topkapi–more often women play party-pooper roles like Jennifer Lopez in Out of Sight as the U.S. Marshall trying to capture George Clooney’s escaped, bon vivant bank robber.

The eponymous center of Kirk Marcolina and Matthew Pond’s documentary The Life and Crimes of Doris Payne (the opening night selection of the Roxbury International Film Festival) is an anomaly, a woman who steals and is not only unrepentant, but takes great pride in her skill. Doris is a slim, elegant, 80-something African American who has spent much of her life stealing jewelry, from a watch in the Jim Crow southern town where she grew up to top-price diamonds she accrued while staying in luxury hotels throughout Europe.

Part of Doris’s ability to steal undetected was, she explains, her creation of a persona, whether she played the “nurse” to a white accomplice or, while wearing impeccable clothes, she casually mentioned to the jewelry store staff the name of her famous (though not well known enough for anyone to know better) “husband.” We spend a lot of time hearing Doris’s stories and even see, when Doris meets with a jewelry store proprietor (who shares Doris’s obsession with gems: they seem to get along well), a security officer approach her to tell her that she can’t be in the store because of outstanding charges against her. She tells him that she didn’t know the restrictions applied to the whole mall and not just Macy’s and she leaves without an argument, explaining politely and meekly to him that she knows he’s just doing his job. Later she tells us, in a very different tone and stance, that she knew the best way to play the situation was to show the guard more respect than he deserved. As we hear from an academic, “Doris Payne for me is someone who manipulates people. I mean, that’s her job.”

Doris’s stories become more far-fetched: in Switzerland she sews a diamond into her girdle, dropping the setting into the sea, and later escapes “through cornfields” after she is taken to a hospital, eventually catching a cab to the airport where she boards a plane out of the country. So we begin to wonder whether she is playing us the same way she played the guard (though one of the directors confirmed in the Q and A afterward that records show Doris was indeed arrested in Switzerland–and did escape). The screenwriter who adapted Doris’s life story into a script (optioned by Halle Berry but progress on production seems to have stalled) says, “Doris is the protagonist and the antagonist in the screenplay Doris Payne writes herself every day.”

DorisPaynemugshot2 — Another vintage mugshot of Doris

We also wonder about the current charges against her. Doris has an excellent lawyer (whom the co-director explained in the Q and A, ended up working pro bono for Doris, which wasn’t the lawyer’s original intention) who exploits every angle to make the jury doubt Doris’s guilt. Doris herself interjects “facts” about the main witness/clerk’s testimony which make us think her identification of Doris is erroneous. With people of color more likely to be accused of stealing and white people (like the witness) more likely than people of color to mistake one Black woman for another, we go back and forth on ascertaining Doris’s guilt even as we see (or don’t see) her steal a ring in front of the camera, while she talks to an outdoor jewelry vendor with her friend from childhood, Jean.

Is Doris, like some older shoplifters, addicted to the thrill of stealing? We see, that, in spite of her expensive-looking clothes she shares a room–and a small closet–with another woman in a halfway house. So does she steal because she has no other means of support? The co-director mentioned during the Q and A that because Doris has spent her life as a jewel thief, she doesn’t have Social Security–and the estimated 2 million dollars worth of jewels she has stolen isn’t much when divided over her career of 60 years. Doris also takes obvious pleasure in recounting her adventures, so excitement and money are probably both factors in her continuing to steal.

The prosecutor at her trial says, “She has made a lifelong career out of stealing and taking advantage of people.” As the judge at the end wonders what to do with her, so do we. Prison seems even more of a waste of resources for Doris than it does for other nonviolent criminals: it doesn’t deter her (she has been imprisoned before, including the time when her white ex-boyfriend/accomplice turned her in as part of a plea deal) and because of her advanced age, even a truncated sentence could mean that she would die behind bars. The filmmakers, with their clumsy reenactments, don’t seem quite up to dissecting the complexities that Doris’s life presents, but we still think about them, even after the movie is over.

[youtube_sc url=”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WQ5Cwax-aik”]

Lift, the closing selection from the festival, is a film which the festival originally premiered in 2001, when the star, Kerry Washington, was largely unknown. The movie, filmed on location in Boston and Roxbury offers a fictional counterpoint to Doris Payne. The protagonist, Niecy (Washington) is a chic window-dresser, who uses wire cutters, a big, bulky sweater and fake credit cards and identities to shoplift expensive designer clothing, which she either sells to people she knows in her neighborhood or keeps for herself or her family.

Washington isn’t quite the actress here that she was in the excellent Our Song (released shortly before Lift started filming), and the script by co-directors DeMane Davis and Khari Streeter has a muddled and clichéd it’s-all-Mom’s-fault subplot about Niecy’s relationship with her mother (Lonette McKee), but the scenes of Niecy trying to navigate between her criminal, personal, and family lives present questions that don’t have easy answers. Her extended family know (like everyone else in the neighborhood) that she steals, but are (except for her mother) glad for her gifts–since, except for her mother, they don’t have much money themselves. They also enjoy her company: we rarely see in films criminals who are “good” or even “normal” people when they aren’t breaking the law.

But unlike in Doris Payne, we see that Niecy’s “victimless” crimes do have consequences. Greed, revenge, and a distaste for leaving witnesses behind means people get hurt, and although Niecy isn’t directly responsible, she’s not blameless either. In spite of a “silver lining” ending that seems tacked on, when Niecy finally decides to stop stealing, she does so too late–for herself and for her loved ones.

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Ren Jender is a queer writer-performer/producer putting a film together. Her writing besides appearing every week on Bitch Flicks has appeared in The Toast, xoJane and the Feminist Wire. You can follow her on Twitter @renjender.

Women of Color in Film and TV: Mammy, Sapphire, or Jezebel, Olivia Pope is Not: A Review of ‘Scandal’

Scandal, created by Shonda Rimes and starring Kerry Washington

Guest post written by Atima Omara-Alwala.

Like every other woman of color who enjoys film and probably many film and TV critics alike, I waited with baited breath to see what the debut of Scandal, the first major network television show in nearly 40 years with an African American woman in the lead would bring. Even with a number of film awards that many black actresses have received in recent years, there has always been the criticism, and justified, that they are stereotypical limiting roles. With Shonda Rimes as creator of Scandal (the godmother of Grey’s Anatomy and Private Practice), whose work pioneered color-blind casting and complex characters regardless of race, I had exceptional high hopes this show would be different. Shonda didn’t disappoint.

Many writers and film critics have written about the three usual archetypes that black women have fit into in popular culture representation. And it is through this prism Scandal is viewed. The Jezebel, who is very sexually promiscuous; the Mammy, who is the tireless devoted mother like figure regardless of all the wrong you did; and the Sapphire, a head-whipping, finger-snapping, anger-filled black woman. These stereotypes permeate all aspects of the American black women experience.

In Scandal, the actress Kerry Washington (from Save the Last Dance, The Last King of Scotland, and Django Unchained) plays Olivia Pope. Olivia Pope is based loosely on the life of Judy Smith, a real Washington operative who is a former member of the George H. W. Bush White House and a well-known crisis manager in DC circles. Like Judy, Olivia works with her team of lawyers, former CIA operatives, and political operatives to fix the problems and very real scandals of her very prominent clients.

Olivia Pope is tough but not in a stereotypical overbearing black woman portrayal like Sapphire. She is tough with necessity. She works in Washington DC and is in the thick of national politics and crisis managing. As someone who actually has worked as a woman of color in politics, I know for a fact no shrinking violets need apply to a world where required skills to success are extreme confidence, intelligence, and very quick thinking, and in Scandal, apparently very fast talking. Among Olivia’s clients are Congressmen, candidates for public office, corporate executives, a renowned pastor, a President, and a former Presidential candidate.

Olivia is not a tireless devoted Mammy because to fix other people’s problems and scandals, Olivia takes a NICE check to clean up your mess. (Evidence: A townhouse in Washington DC and a designer wardrobe to die for, ladies!!) Olivia truly is the lady boss. Her team is fiercely loyal to her as she takes care of them and they do the best for her because she is the best at what she does. It’s established within the first couple of episodes how good she is at what she does. The White House, which she left, calls her back often, and people come to her because her gut, as she infamously says, “is never wrong.” While many of us have seen this in our personal and professional lives (eg. Judy Smith), Olivia Pope is something rarely seen in black women representation on screen and is LONG overdue.

Being a Shonda Rimes created character, Olivia is like all of Shonda Rimes’ female characters: while tough and brilliant, Olivia is a flawed and complicated women. Kerry Washington is a great actress with a broad range who can pull this off well. In one second Olivia is talking tough and intimidating even world officials and next she is sensitive woman with a trembling lip in the next.

But even though Olivia is the great fixer of other people’s problems and scandals, she hides and really can’t fix her own major one: Olivia has a long running affair with the President of the United States, Fitzgerald “Fitz” Grant III (Tony Goldwyn), from when she worked his campaign, who is also white.

Herein lies the debate on Scandal: Is Olivia a Jezebel dressed up in 21st century political correctness? Instead of being a hooker on the stroll, slave mistress, or black girl in heat, she has her own job and career but still got to be all up on someone else’s man, especially a white man? The black blogosphere and Twittersphere debate and differ in opinion. Some say yes: 45-year veteran in advertising Tom Burrell, who has worked to promote positive portrayals of black people in media, calls Oliva Pope “a “hot-to-trot” sexually aggressive trope as old as the institution of slavery itself in the character” (damn!). Some brought up, by extension, the inevitable comparison to a Thomas Jefferson/Sally Hemings drama pretty darn quickly (of course) and some go as far as to guilt other black women (specifically) viewers for watching the show, in one popular meme (seriously?). Others defiantly say no, Olivia Pope is NOT a Jezebel. For my part, I tend to agree with the naysayers.

Olivia Pope is a groundbreaking black female character on television, period. She is a self-reliant, highly accomplished most sought-after professional. But she also made the mistake (something which she very much realizes) of falling in love with a white married man, who also happens to be, oh, the leader of the free world. The show is sharp in that it doesn’t make Olivia blind to her circumstance as any black woman in her shoes wouldn’t be. You find out in Season 2 that not only does she leave the White House to start her own firm but to get herself away from the President and let him focus to be the President he needed. Even in a fit of frustration she says of her relationship with Fitz to him, “I’m feeling a little Sally Hemings-Thomas Jefferson about all this.” Later Fitz confronts Olivia and tells her that the comment was “below the belt.” Because, he said: “You’re playing the race card on the fact that I’m in love with you.” He then proceeds to soliloquize his love so intensely for Olivia, that she (and even I) were a bit worried for his mental state.

Olivia is no Jezebel, because she takes control of her destiny being tied to Fitz and leaves it to chart her own path. Olivia is no Jezebel because the show has progressed long enough for her to have built a relationship with another man, a highly accomplished black man at that, while she still unquestionably loves Fitz she actually attempts to move on with her life, unlike him. No, she’s not perfect, but raise your hands in the air and wave them like you just don’t care if YOU are. As a black woman I realize we want to see ourselves escape the stereotypes because we’ve been held down by these images so much that we inevitably hold ourselves up to perfection to escape it. But this is also damagingly unrealistic for the black woman to do that not only to our mental health but perception from others. Frankly, the more of our stories are out there, the more we’ll reach parity in representation in film and television.

If I have any criticism on Scandal, it’s who IS Olivia, before Fitz, before the White House, and how she came to do what she does. We have a better snapshot, if not complete, on most characters, and knowing Shonda likes to take her time unfolding a character, I am looking forward to what that brings.

All in all, I think Shonda Rimes has done an outstanding job breaking barriers and it looks like she has struck a chord with African American audiences, according to the latest New York Times article. According to Nielsen, Scandal is the highest rated scripted drama among African-Americans, with 10.1 percent of black households, or an average of 1.8 million viewers, tuning in during the first half of the second season. Real life crisis manager Judy Smith live tweets during the show as do other prominent black political operatives and commentators, namely Donna Brazile and Roland Martin. Among the group aged 18 to 34, the show typically ranks first in its 10 p.m. Thursday time slot, which means success to the industry. It’s fast moving, jaw dropping, how-in-the-hell-did-I-not-guess-that cliff hangers that Shonda Rimes is so good at, combined with great actors, projects nothing but continued success for Scandal.

And I will be there every Thursday to watch.

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Atima Omara-Alwala is a political strategist and activist of 10 years who has served as staff on 8 federal and local political campaigns and other progressive causes. Atima’s work has had a particular focus on women’s political empowerment & leadership, reproductive justice, health care, communities of color and how gender and race is reflected in pop culture. Her writings on the topics have also been featured at Ms. Magazine, Women’s Enews, and RH Reality Check.

2013 Oscar Week: Heroic Black Love and Male Privilege in ‘Django Unchained’

Guest post written by Joshunda Sanders.

Quentin Tarantino’s Django Unchained was a movie I never thought I’d see or write about. As much as I adore movies and popular culture, particularly when black characters are front and center, well, the Crunk Feminist Collective put it best:

“… I am not a fan of Tarantino at all. At all. Generally, I find his work contrived, overly self-conscious, and, frankly, boring. Plus, to me he’s like the worst kind of hipster racist, a grown up version of Justin Timberlake desperately trying to affirm his black card at all times, while thoroughly proving himself to be white as hell…”

I’ll add the caveat that I like Tarantino’s gumption, but that’s where the warm feelings end. Tarantino is the Kanye West of moviemakers: obnoxious as he is talented, arrogant and flippant as he is hard to ignore. America loves men like him. For that reason, he brings up all my contrarian cockles. Between the grotesque violence and excessive use of the N-word in his movies, combined with the fact that I did not appreciate Pulp Fiction or From Dusk ‘Til Dawn, (the only movie I stomped out of mid-way) I saw no reason to spend money to see another Tarantino production.

What led me to the theater, finally, was what always leads me there: deep curiosity and a good friend.

Salamishah Tillet, writing for CNN’s In America blog, wrote: “There is much to criticize in this film: the excessive use of the N-word, gratuitous gun violence and its male dominance. Women are objects of apathy or sympathy and are not as nearly as complex or charismatic as any of the male characters. This is very much a movie about how men, white and black, navigate America’s racial maze.”

Dr. King Shultz (Christoph Waltz) and Django (Jamie Foxx) in Django Unchained

I enjoyed Jamie Foxx at the center of this inverted spaghetti Western. German King Shultz, a hilarious German bounty hunter riding in a carriage with a giant bouncy tooth swaying from its roof, plucks Django from a group of weary slaves and transforms him into a superhero. Viewers are shown flashbacks of Django with Broomhilda, (Kerry Washington) his slave wife who was taken from him. So we get the moments of tenderness without oversexed images. But as Tillet mentions, Washington, like other women, are one-dimensional with no agency.

I feel that I should make the case for a better use of Washington in Django, but it makes sense to me that Tarantino wouldn’t provide any context for black women with agency — he did it with limited success in Jackie Brown as homage to Blaxploitation because the agency of Pam Grier was a seductive plot point. I also would have had to support Tarantino movies for the rest of my life if he had gotten it right. Instead, I felt a sense of relief that a black woman was depicted a damsel in distress, exoticized (she speaks German) but not hypersexualized.

Hildi is worth fighting for and she maintains her dignity. It’s a story I’ve not witnessed before in a Western on the big screen, and rarely anywhere else.

Obstensibly, Django is allowed to exact his revenge on white slave-owners and black men who would keep him from being great. Foxx is the best at this kind of cool glee. He has come a long way from playing the buffoonish Wanda on In Living Color. That his bloodlust is inspired by love and winning back a black woman as a prize allowed this black woman viewer to construct an alternative narrative for his motivations and for the justification of mass murder.

I have also never had the privilege or pleasure of laughing deeply or sincerely during any film set against the backdrop of slavery in the antebellum South. It is humor and wit that carries Tarantino in Django, the unexpected surprise.

In a scene that evokes the KKK with white racist men wearing bags over their heads, there’s a bit where they start arguing about the fact that they can’t see, that one of their wives put a lot of time and effort into the thing and can’t y’all just get over this whole can’t seeing thing? I’ve got a goofy, dark sense of humor, so maybe it was just me, but I could not stop laughing loudly during that scene, in part because it humanizes virulent racists while also mocking their stupidity and vanity in a surprising way.

It also makes you forget what they are, though his accurate portrayal of the harrowing, sickening depth of racist terror reminds the viewer. That felt dangerous and provocative to me. The type of emotions we go to the movies for. Ditto for the score, which blends Blaxploitation with hip hop fantastically, updating the Western with a big of swag.

Stephen (Samuel L. Jackson) and Broomhilda von Schaft (Kerry Washington) in Django Unchained

Because slavery and violence are rarely spoken about as a kind of spiritual terrorism to say nothing of emotional and psychological antagonism against blacks, I was pleasantly surprised by that accuracy here, explained by Jelani Cobb as violence “deployed as a kind of spiritual redemption” at The New Yorker:

“And if this dynamic is applicable anywhere in American history, it’s on a slave plantation. Frederick Douglass, in his slave narrative, traced his freedom not to the moment when he escaped to the north but the moment in which he first struck an overseer who attempted to whip him. Quentin Tarantino is the only filmmaker who could pack theatres with multiracial audiences eager to see a black hero murder a dizzying array of white slaveholders and overseers. (And, in all fairness, it’s not likely that a black director would’ve gotten a budget to even attempt such a thing.)”

Like Cobb, and, more famously, Spike Lee, some of my hesitance to support Django had to do with the unfair privilege afforded Tarantino to take creative liberties with not just using racist language with such entitlement (which is how it comes across even if it’s not his intention) but also with the power and assumption of greatness that would never happen for a black director. I find the idea that Tarantino should not be allowed to be great because he calls black folks out of our names to be a symptom of our greater anxieties. The issue to me is not whether or not Tarantino is racist, but that he benefits from the privileges afforded him as a white male to pick and choose his racist tendencies.

There are tons of creative men — white, black, brown — who have this privilege. If they make mediocre films or books, do we stop to analyze why? Well, sometimes. With Tarantino, all the time. In the case of this film, that criticism was a relentless din. I don’t have an answer for why I find that odd and complicated, except that creativity, racism and privilege are embedded in American culture. All creative products are considered superior if they are made by white people. That Tarantino benefits from this is neither his fault, nor is it new. I’m not apologizing for him, I’m simply pointing out why I think the discussion of the flaws in his movie as historical sticking points and the use of the word Nigger miss the point.

Django (Jamie Foxx) and Broomhilda von Schaft (Kerry Washington) in Django Unchained

But I’m also a sucker for a love story, so because Django is about heroic love, about the kind of victory that necessitates revenge, it thrilled me unexpectedly.

Not just any heroic romantic love, which we never see, really, between black men and women anymore, but also about the love of freedom, the universal thirst for power. At the end of the day, I cared much more that Tarantino was true to that than I do about the Spaghetti Western genre or whether or not the details of slavery were historically accurate. I know enough about history that I would not ever expect Tarantino to offer me an accurate lesson on the institution of slavery.

So, the film is not perfect but as critics agree, it is clever. It is also as close to perfect as we can hope for until someone writes the perfect heroic black love story and revenge fantasy.

———-

Joshunda Sanders is a writer and journalist based in Austin. She blogs at jvictoriasanders.com.

The Power of Narrative in ‘Django Unchained’

“The past is never dead. It’s not even past.” – William Faulkner

Written by Leigh Kolb

Spoilers ahead

In 2011, two presidential hopefuls signed a pledge that, in its original form, insinuated that African-American children had families that were more cohesive and better off during slavery.

Texas and Tennessee both in the last two years have seen school boards and political activist groups push K-12 curriculum that “softens” slavery references, explores the “positive aspects of American slavery” and downplays minority struggles throughout American history.

A southern governor issued a proclamation for Confederate History Month with no references to slavery in 2010.

Quentin Tarantino’s Django Unchained, an anti-slavery revenge fantasy (based more in fact than fiction) was released just a few days before the 150th anniversary of the Emancipation Proclamation, which was passed on Jan. 1, 1863 (however, it would be almost three more years until slavery was outlawed in the United States with the Thirteenth Amendment).

If you find the above information upsetting–that many are trying to whitewash a history so fresh and raw (after all, 150 years is not that long ago)–then Django Unchained is for you. If you don’t find the above information jarring, then perhaps the film is especially for you.

Tarantino has been candid in many interviews about his desire to showcase this time in American history (the film is set in 1858, two years before the start of the Civil War). His 2009 film Inglourious Basterds was a Holocaust revenge fantasy–not historically accurate, but emotionally fulfilling. Django Unchained‘s fiction isn’t as factually inaccurate, but the cathartic nature of looking at a historical horror through the lens of revenge is still there.

Tarantino recently explained this catharsis on NPR:

“… to actually take an action story and put it in that kind of backdrop where slavery or the pain of World War II is the backdrop of an exciting adventure story — that can be something else. And then in my adventure story, I can have the people who are historically portrayed as the victims be the victors and the avengers.”

He goes on:

“You know, there’s not this big demand for, you know, movies that deal with the darkest part of America’s history, and the part that we’re still paying for to this day. They’re scared of how white audiences are going to feel about it; they’re scared about how black audiences are going to feel about it.”

This fear is certainly understandable, since America’s history of slavery, racism and subjugation is still, in many ways, a taboo topic (or a topic rife with revisionism). Django Unchained, however, does everything right.

The opening scene of the film is a line of raw, whipped black backs. This image is not foreign to audiences–people are generally well-versed in that aspect of violence against slaves. The image is awful and uncomfortable, but eases the audience in to this time period with something familiar. As the film progresses, layers of violence and misery are peeled back until audiences are squirming and uncomfortable. As they should be.

For the first part of the film, Dr. King Schultz (Christoph Waltz) and Django (Jamie Foxx) are portrayed as partners. Both have stories, and basically split the role of protagonist. Schultz frees Django to aid in his bounty hunting. In their time together, Schultz teaches Django to read, shoot and “act” however he needed to in order to accomplish his goals.

Schultz teaches Django how to shoot and read, granting him access to the free world.

The poignant scenes where Schultz and Django are eating together in their camp highlight the importance of authentic voices. They ask one other questions and learn one another’s stories. Schultz acts shocked when he learns that Django’s wife, Broomhilda (Kerry Washington), speaks German. He was intrigued by their story, and asked Django about her and their life together.

The importance of the authentic voice and hearing people tell their own stories is essential. How, then, can Tarantino, a white man in 2012, effectively bring the injustice of slavery to mass audiences?

The answer can really be found in the film itself.

Schultz tells Django the legend of Brünnhilda (which mirrors Django’s own journey for his wife). Django asks Schultz why he is helping him, and why he cares whether he finds his wife, and Schultz answers, “I’ve never given anybody their freedom before. I feel responsible for you.”

This responsibility to give Django access to the free world is similar to Tarantino’s responsibility to bring this black empowerment film to mass audiences. It’s about access, not help or hand outs. Access is what white Americans (especially white American males) still have at this point, and they should be responsible for sharing that access with others and telling important stories. Tarantino’s popularity and neutrality (as a white man with no other “agenda”) gave access to this story.

Could a black man have made a film with a celebrated hero who says, “Kill white people and get paid for it? What’s not to like?” I can’t imagine that would have had the same mass appeal. While I’m not suggesting that this is a fair or good scenario, that’s where we are in our history. And if we’re going to continue to have people downplaying our nation’s history of oppression and “softening” slavery, we need these stories more than ever.

As this access is granted to Django, the story becomes more and more his own. He changes after the first bounty kill. Two men are getting ready to whip an enslaved woman; Django shoots the one who is quoting Bible passages and holding the Bible (he shoots him through a Bible page that is stapled to his shirt) and whips the other. He has claimed his place, and his journey begins to be more wholly his own. (The shot to the Bible page is also important considering pro-slavery factions would use the Bible as a defense for owning slaves.)

Django turns the whip on the oppressor.

By the time the two reach Candyland, Django has truly come into his own. As they travel across the horizon, rapper Rick Ross’s “100 Black Coffins” plays as Django struts on his horse (Foxx was instrumental in helping choose this music). The rap works, and indicates a shift in whose story we’re really starting to see. When Schultz warns Django to stop “antagonizing” plantation owner Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio), Django asserts that he’s just “getting dirty,” and acting like he knows he needs to. This dialogue upends the “know your place” rhetoric that even well-meaning, slavery-hating Schultz falls into.

The use of mandingo fighting as a plot point (both to get Schultz and Django to Candyland, and also to horrify the audience) is important. While forcing slaves to fight or entertain for sport and profit was not uncommon, this kind of fighting until death didn’t appear to happen. And before you take a big sigh of relief (it wasn’t that bad, then), the main reason this kind of fighting would not have happened is because it was economically unwise to kill someone who would be a strong worker. It’s all business.

Candie’s continued references to phrenology remind us that in addition to the perceived Biblical support of slavery, pseudoscience of the time also supported racist (and sexist) ideas about people’s capabilities.

When he breaks apart old Ben’s skull at the dining room table, one can’t help but think about poor Yorick in Hamlet. As Hamlet cradles the skull of his father’s jester who he knew well as a child (much like Ben’s role as Candie’s father’s slave), he considers life and death and reflects upon how we all end up the same. Ben’s skull, however, launches Candie into a tirade about phrenology, as he breaks a piece off to show the indentions that prove black people are biologically subservient.

House slave Stephen, left, Broomhilda and Candie.

Behind Candie always in these dining room scenes is a marble statue of two Roman gladiators fighting (his hobby is nothing new), and is Stephen (Samuel L. Jackson), his house slave. Stephen embodies the Stockholm Syndrome kind of subservience that Candie sees as inherent. He plays the ultimate “Uncle Tom” character to foil Django’s free and increasingly independent and violent nature. Of course, in keeping with the Ben/Yorick parallel, Stephen also is much more clever than Candie is, and has wisdom and knowledge (Shakespeare often gave the jesters/fools much more wisdom than their masters).

Stephen.

The way Candie and Stephen treat Broomhilda is abhorrent, and Django predicted correctly that she was used as a “comfort girl” (sex slave). While her part is the damsel in distress, she’s clearly as fierce and independent as she can be (when they arrive at Candyland, she’s being brutally punished for trying to escape).

As business is being settled toward the end, Schultz cannot stop the images of a dog killing a runaway slave they’d encountered earlier. He’s not angered by losing a much larger amount of money than he’d anticipated, or being “caught” in a scheme. He’s haunted by the brutality he’s seen at Candyland. He starts discussing The Three Musketeers with Candie, and tells him that Alexandre Dumas was black (again reinforcing the idea that it is important to have the whole story to avoid reducing people to stereotypes). A demand for a handshake becomes too much for Schultz, and he shoots Candie, setting off a bloodbath. He knows he’s sacrificing himself with that gesture, but it’s worth it to him.

Few remain alive after the resulting gunfight, but Django and Broomhilda are both caught and punished. Django, in the throes of torture and seconds away from castration, is visited by Stephen, who rattles off all the ways they could have punished him, but Candie’s sister ordered that he be shipped to a quarry, where he’d be enslaved again.

“This will be the story of you, Django,” says Stephen.

While Django’s story began by being freed by Schultz and partnering with him, thus receiving access to the free world, he long ago became the author of his own story. And Stephen’s wrong–Django wins. Django frees himself this time.

As Django kills Stephen, Stephen screams, “You can’t destroy Candyland–there’ll always be a Candyland!”

And while Django does effectively end Candyland, Stephen isn’t incorrect. Candylands will exist for years after Django leaves, and we are still feeling what Candyland was in America today.

In an interview with VIBE, DiCaprio, Washington and Foxx discussed their reactions to the screenplay. DiCaprio said,

“For me, the initial thing obviously was playing someone so disreputable and horrible whose ideas I obviously couldn’t connect with on any level. I remember our first read through, and some of my questions were about the amount of violence, the amount of racism, the explicit use of certain language. It was hard for me to wrap my head around it. My initial response was, ‘Do we need to go this far?'”

Foxx and Washington said,

Foxx: “When President Obama became president in 2008, a blemish on my hometown was the fact that it wasn’t on the front page of the newspaper. When they went down to talk to them, they went [country accent] ‘Hey listen, we run a newspaper, not a scrap book.’ I’m paraphrasing. So I had both of my daughters come down to the plantation, and I walked them through and I said, ‘This is where your people come from. This is your background.’ And I said, ‘this is more than just a movie for your father.’ My little daughter, I took her into the shack, and I said, ‘these are where the slaves stayed.’ Every two, three years there is a movie about the holocaust because they want you to remember and they want you to be reminded of what it was. When was the last time you seen a movie about slavery?”
Washington: “When is the last time you saw a movie about slavery where a black man frees himself?”
Foxx: “We read back in the day about Nat Turner and other guys who were not taking it. That’s why, when I read the script and we went back to the plantation, there were certain things inside me bubbling up.”

These responses are indicative of the conversations about our own history. White people frequently echo variations on a theme of “I didn’t have anything to do with that.” It’s easy to denigrate and forget a past that we keep ourselves disconnected from. For black Americans, however, there is a sense of connectivity, of history, to that time and place. As there should be–for everyone, no matter how painful it is.

Django leaves a pile of bodies in his trail to freedom.

Django Unchained is an excellent film. The writing, direction, acting and soundtrack are powerful. And while it’s poised to be at the receiving end of many accolades this awards season, the best, most lasting impression it can leave is to change conversations and common narratives (even fictional ones) so that whitewashing our history becomes impossible.

—

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

Women in Politics Week: Roundup of Feminist Celebs’ Political Videos

Screenshot of Amy Poehler in the Center for Reproductive Rights’ Draw the Line campaign

This post by Megan Kearns originally appeared at Bitch Flicks on November 5, 2012.

Many assume Hollywood is a liberal nirvana (or I guess a hellhole if you’re a Republican). But that’s not exactly true. Not only do films lack gender equality, they often purport sexist tropes. While many participate in fundraisers or ads for natural disasters or childhood illnesses or breast cancer, most celebrities remain silent when it comes to supposedly controversial human rights issues like abortion and contraception. But not this year! Because of the GOP’s rampant attacks on reproductive rights (gee thanks, GOP!), more celebs are adding their voices to the pro-choice symphony dissenting against these oppressive laws.

Now some people say, “Who the hell cares what celebs think??” Okay, sure. But I care. I care that people with money, visibility and power use their sway to speak out against injustice.

As I’m kind of obsessed with feminist celebs (aren’t we all??), I thought I would post a roundup celebrating some of the awesome videos featuring Hollywood celebs advocating for reproductive rights and women’s equality and speaking out against “legitimate rape” bullshit and discriminatory voter ID laws. So kudos to Amy Poehler, Meryl Streep, Kerry Washington, Tina Fey, Eva Langoria, Joss Whedon, Martha Plimpton, Lena Dunham, Sarah Silverman, Kevin Bacon, Kyra Sedgwick, Audra McDonald, Scarlett Johannson, Tea Leoni, Mary J. Blige, Julianne Moore, Kathy Griffin and Cher for taking an unapologetic stand and speaking up for our rights.

Women in Politics Week: With a Complex Black Female Protagonist Created by a Black Female Showrunner, I’m Rooting for ‘Scandal’

This post by Megan Kearns previously appeared at Bitch Flicks on April 17, 2012.

Kerry Washington as Olivia Pope in Scandal

I love Grey’s Anatomy. Is it melodramatic? Absolutely. But its dramatic storylines, sharp dialogue and diverse cast have hooked me from the very first episode. So when I discovered writer, producer, showrunner Shonda Rhimes created Scandal, a political thriller TV series revolving around a woman of color, I knew I had to watch.

Kerry Washington (a feminist in real life…huzzah!) plays Olivia Pope, an assertive attorney who’s a “crisis management expert,” inspired by former George H.W. Bush administration press aide Judy Smith (who also happens to be a producer of the show). Olivia runs a small organization of lawyers who fix scandals and clean up messes like murder charges and infidelity. With a subtle and nuanced performance, Washington is definitely the best part of the series.

What’s so interesting (and fucking sad) is that Scandal is the only prime-time TV show on right now centering around an African American woman. And it’s the first network show with a black female lead in 30 years (that is horrifying). I’ve often heard Washington is a fantastic actor and she was great in the heartbreaking For Colored Girls. Here she commands the screen with confidence and poise. Olivia is an intelligent, successful and empowered woman. Others look up to her, revere her and even fear her shrewd insights and relentlessness to finish a job. She’s demanding, requiring her staff to pull all-nighters and enforcing rules like no crying in the office and not answering “I don’t know” to a question she asks. Powerful politicians turn to her for advice. She negotiates deals on her terms. While new employee Quinn (Katie Lowes) idolizes her, Olivia is far from a paragon of perfection. She’s vulnerable with a messy and complicated love life. She’s flawed, not always likeable (although I personally love her!) and uses Machiavellian tactics to complete a job. But this mélange makes her all the more interesting.

Washington was recently on The Melissa Harris-Perry Show (one of my absolute favorite feminist icons EVER!!!). She talked about inclusivity and how she and Harris-Perry, as two women of color on TV, are “expanding the idea of who ‘We the People’ is.” She also discussed playing a complex female character on-screen:

“…When I read this script, I was so blown away by this woman who in one area of her life, in her professional life, she’s brilliant and sophisticated and in power. And then in her personal life she’s vulnerable and torn and confused. And I thought this is an incredible challenge for any actor. But we also don’t get to do that often — as women in this business, as people of color in this business — to have all of that complexity to explore.”

And she’s right. We too often don’t see complex women, especially women of color, on-screen.

I loved the political intrigue and the focus on a single, accomplished, career-driven woman. And of course how could I not be delighted that Henry Ian Cusick (aka dreamy Desmond from LOST) has found a new series. I was thrilled that the show opens from Quinn’s perspective, taking a job with Olivia because of her reverence for her stellar reputation. I also loved that within the first 7 minutes, a character derided a potential client because he was an anti-choice, anti-gay Republican. While many people assume the media suffers from a liberal bias, too few shows actually discuss abortion or LGBTQ issues.

While most of it is good, some of the dialogue felt a bit staged or forced. I cringed when Olivia body polices and chastises new employee Quinn for displaying too much cleavage and when Abby (Darby Stanchfield), one of Olivia’s employees, gleefully calls a female murder victim a whore…and drops the whore word a few more times in the next episode too. While there are several female characters (none of whom are really fleshed out yet beyond Olivia), most of the time they’re interacting with men. Although Olivia does have conversations with a young woman who claims is having an affair with the president (Olivia’s former boss) and with the wife of a Supreme Court nominee. No strong female friendships emerge yet. But we’re only 2 episodes into the series. Female friendships comprise the cores of Rhimes’ other shows, Grey’s Anatomy and Private Practice. So I’m hopeful that we’ll see more female interaction as the series progresses.

Much like its complicated protagonist, the series isn’t perfect yet. But it’s got potential. I’m rooting for it because we can never have too many sharp political dramas. And we can never have too many female leads, especially with women of color.

Scandal is a big deal. Not only do we have a woman of color protagonist, we have a series written and created by a woman of color. With Grey’s Anatomy, Private Practice and Scandal, Rhimes belongs “in an elite group of TV show runners who have multiple series on the air at the same time.” In each of Rhimes’ television shows, she puts women at the forefront. While she has held open casting calls for all ethnicities and has African American, Latina, Asian American and white women in her shows, she’s never had a series revolve around a woman of color. Until now.

In an Essence interview, Kerry Washington said she felt “lucky” to be a woman of color in Hollywood right now:

“I think it’s a really special time to be a woman of color in this business. The landscape of who has the power is changing. We are in more influential positions and are able to have a say in the stories that are told. I feel very lucky to be in the business now…”

But The Grio’s Veronica Miller asserts that it’s hard to have faith in “Hollywood’s relationship with black actresses:”

“It will be easier when black actresses become more visible in roles across the spectrum, (think fantasy hits like Harry Potter, or romantic dramas like The Notebook) and not just ones that call for an African-American female.”

Racialicious’ Kendra James points out the pressure TV shows like Scandalwith black leads face:

“It’s risky for a network that depends on millions of viewers for advertising revenue to cast a lead that the majority of viewers (read: white people) may not relate to. While a show like Pan Am (fondly known as Carefree White Girls Explore the Third World) can fail to take off without consequence, it feels, at times, as if the fate of every black actor and actress on television rides on the success or failure of one show each season.”

Here at Bitch Flicks, we talk a lot about the need for more women in film and TV, in front of and behind the camera. Women comprise only 15% of TV writers and 41%-43% of TV roles are female. But we also desperately need more women of color.

In a time when Trayvon Martin was shot for being a young black man wearing a hoodie…when racist Hunger Games fans can’t empathize with a black character in the film adaptation…when accomplished and ridiculously talented black female actors like Viola Davis have a hard time finding roles…when black female actors must play either maids or drug addicts or sassy best friends…when female actors of color get sidelined from the cover of Vanity Fair — our society tells people of color over and over and over again implicitly and explicitly that their bodies and their lives don’t matter.

It’s time to change that. It’s time for our media to stop revolving around white men’s stories and reflect the diversity of our world.

Women in Politics Week: Seeing My Reflection In Film: ‘Night Catches Us’ Struck a Chord With Me

This guest post by Arielle Loren was previously published at Bitch Flicks on December 22, 2010. It originally appeared at Arielle Loren, daily musings for ladies and curious men.

It is rare that a film invades my imagination to the point of insomnia. After seeing Tanya Hamilton’s Night Catches Us starring Kerry Washington and Anthony Mackie, I felt a sense of deep pride wash over my body and nudge my mind into continuous thoughts about the potential for independent productions to rebalance diversity in black film.

Based in Philadelphia, Night Catches Us tells the story of two former black panthers trying to re-establish life after leaving The Party and the death of a fellow panther years ago. While the central plot revolves around these two characters’ lives, Hamilton integrates into the film historic footage of the Black Panther Party. As this era of black history often is pigeonholed to radicalism, Hamilton truly humanizes The Party through several scenes of police brutality, corruption, and community gatherings. For instance, Washington’s character, Patricia, would raise money to pay the legal fees for her less fortunate clients and feed every child on the block even when she couldn’t pay her light bill.

This sentiment of “community first” is the history with which I identify and the one that I wish we could spread to more mainstream screens. While watching this film, I saw my reflection. From Washington’s afro to her desire to serve her community, I felt hope again for the half-baked images rummaging through mainstream black film. Night Catches Us only is playing in select theaters, BUT you can rent it on iTunes and On Demand via Comcast. Thus, there’s no excuse not to support this film; we’ve got to support the films that we want to see in the mainstream.

I hope Night Catches Us will be nominated for an Oscar and brought to larger screens. As a first time director, Hamilton has left me quite impressed and I can’t wait to see what other stories she will bring to life during her career. Additionally, I am truly proud to see my reflection in her too.

Check out the trailer for Night Catches Us below and if you haven’t seen the film, view it on iTunes. Tell me, how can we get more films like this onto the big screen?

——

Arielle Loren is a gender and sexuality writer, filmmaker, and web personality. Recently, she directed and produced The Bi-deology Project, a media-acclaimed, online documentary series that chronicles the experiences of straight women dating bisexual men.

Roundup of Feminist Celebs’ Political Videos

Screenshot of Amy Poehler in Center for Reproductive Rights’ Draw the Line campaign

Election Day is tomorrow, people! So I’m going to chat a bit about politics.

Now some people say, “Who the hell cares what celebs think??” Okay, sure. But I care. I care that people with money, visibility and power use their sway to speak out against injustice.