Masculinity – Page 4 – Bitch Flicks

‘Little Miss Sunshine’: Masculinity’s Losers

As each male character tackles a personal problem which has either implicit or explicit links to normative constructions of successful masculinity, ‘Little Miss Sunshine’ examines the burden of this masculine ideal. So difficult to maintain yet so embedded in the social, cultural, economic, and political conceptualization of “manliness,” men who fail to embody this ideal inevitably become marked out as “losers.”

Written by Sarah Smyth.

When talking to a group of high school students, Arnold Schwarzenegger apparently claimed, “I hate losers. I despise losers.” Multi-Mr. Universe and Mr. Olympia winner, Hollywood mega-star, entrepreneur and Governor, Schwarzenegger dedicates his life to the pursuit of the hyper-masculine ideal and American dream. Wealthy, powerful and incredibly buff, Schwarzenegger embodies the Western conceptualization of a successful man.

The men of the 2007 hit film, Little Miss Sunshine would be, in Schwarzenegger’s eyes, “losers.” Indeed, Michael Arndt, the film’s scriptwriter, claims this troubling quote provided the framework through which he constructed the characters and deconstructed the notion of “loser.” As each male character tackles a personal problem which has either implicit or explicit links to normative constructions of successful masculinity, Little Miss Sunshine examines the burden of this masculine ideal. So difficult to maintain yet so embedded in the social, cultural, economic, and political conceptualization of “manliness,” men who fail to embody this ideal inevitably become marked out as “losers.”

The poster for 'Little Miss Sunshine' — *Little Miss Sunshine*

Little Miss Sunshine tells the story of the Hoover family, which includes the heroin-snorting grandpa, Edwin; the failing motivational speaker father, Richard; the suicidal uncle, Frank; politically mute brother, Dwayne; and stressed mother, Sheryl; as they go on a road trip from Albuquerque to California to support 7-year-old Olive as she competes in a beauty pageant. Along the way, they face many setbacks – some mechanical but many personal – as each character comes to face the primary difficulty in their life.

Before I examine the particular ways in which Little Miss Sunshine deconstructs the image of “failing” or “inadequate” masculinity through the male characters, it is crucial to examine the ways in which this impinges on women. For one, the film most obviously and explicitly highlights and examines the markers of success which are most acutely and destructively felt by women. For another, the metaphor of the beauty pageant which, as I will examine later, comes to define the identification of the “successful” masculine existence, is literalised in the film through Olive’s narrative. Although only seven years old, Olive’s body is subject to the social, cultural and familial surveillance which continues to monitor a woman’s body for the rest of her life, identifying her body as a “success” or “failure.” The opening credits make clear the juxtaposition between Olive’s body and the pageant queen’s body; whereas the pageant queen is “slim,” Olive is “chubby.” Later, after Olive orders ice-cream for breakfast, Richard explains to her that “the fat in the ice-cream will become fat in your body.” Even though Sheryl explains to Olive that “it’s OK to be skinny, and it’s OK to be fat if that’s what you want,” Richard makes clear that in order to be a winner, she must be thin, claiming, “Ok, Olive, but let me ask you this. The women in Miss America: Are they fat or are they skinny?” Despite the rest of the family’s encouragement to not listen to Richard and eat the ice-cream, Olive is visibly shaken by this and later asks her grandpa, “Am I pretty?” She’s upset because, as she says, “Daddy hates losers.”

The film identifies the beauty pageant as "grotesque", and marks Olive's body as "failing" to conform to the beauty standards put forth by the pageant — The film identifies the beauty pageant as “grotesque,” and marks Olive’s body as “failing” to conform to the beauty standards put forth by the pageant

The surveillance of Olive’s body eventually culminates as the family arrive at the beauty pageant. Exaggerated and (arguably) grotesque in fake tan, makeup, big hair and swimsuits, the other pre-pubescent contestants demonstrate the complex way in which we monitor young girls’ bodies. On the one hand, we may identify these bodies as freakish, suggesting our rigid policing of the presentation of the young female body, particularly with reference to sexuality. On the other hand, through Olive, we are also presented with another kind of bodily monitoring which, pitting her body against the other contestants, already marks her out as a unable to fulfill the requirements of being a beauty queen. Anticipating this assertion, Dwayne attempts to protect her by claiming, “I don’t want these people judging Olive.” Not embodying the beauty standards constructed by the pageant – slim, tanned, poised, with big hair and full make up – it’s clear that, within the context of the pageant, Olive’s body is identified as a “failure.”

In some ways, the male characters of the film embody a kind of privilege which makes them exempt from this monitoring and, by extension, marking out as a “failure.” At no point does the male body become subject to the superficial yet extremely destructive bodily surveillance in the film which so rigorously contours the female existence. In fact, the film suggests that male privilege not only makes them exempt from bodily monitoring but actually enables them the authority to construct the ideals through which female bodies are judged. During the ice-cream scene, Edwin tells Olive not to listen to her father because “I like a woman with meat on her bones.” The “success” of the female body, it seems, is still very much monitored by men. However, by presenting the ways in which the “failings” of each of the male character threaten to compromise his socially and culturally constructed masculinity, Little Miss Sunshine demonstrates the way in which his privilege is comprised by other conflicting factors.

Olive already begins to internalize the monitoring of her body

In Slow Motion: Changing Masculinities, Changing Men, Lynne Segal claims, “Dominant ideals of masculinity come from social meanings which distinguish these ideals from what they are not.” Therefore, to be “masculine” is to not be “feminine,” “queer” or racially, ethnically or bodily “inferior.” In Little Miss Sunshine, the male characters attempt to battle various “weaknesses” that may comprise their masculine identity. Edwin attempts to maintain a tough exterior despite his aging body. He claims to “fuck a lot of women” and “still has Nazi bullets in [his] ass.” Yet, he cannot escape the fallibility of his body as a drug overdose eventually leads to his death. Dwayne, also, attempts to harden and toughen his body in preparation for joining the hyper-masculine world of the US Air Force Academy. He continually works out in the film and even takes a vow of silence, suggesting the determinacy of his ambition. However, his body also lets him down as he discovers he’s colorblind, shattering his dream to fly planes. Frank, on the other hand, feels threatened primarily through his academic failings. This is particularly significant because, as a gay man, the narrative could have easily slipped into exploring the “failings” of Frank’s masculinity through his queer identity. After all, as Leo Bersani claims in Is the Rectum a Grave?, phallocentrism aligns women and gay men, particularly through their bodies and the way in which they are penetrated. Therefore, dominant images of masculinity must deny these bodily “weaknesses.” However, rather than attempting to commit suicide due to any queer masculine crisis, Frank tries to kill himself after his academic rival, Larry Fisherman, won a genius award, threatening his position as the number one Proust scholar in the USA. Representing a particular image of masculine competitiveness, Frank fears being considered a “loser.”

The men of 'Little Miss Sunshine' all face being marked as a "loser" — The men of *Little Miss Sunshine* all face being marked as a “loser”

Richard, however, most explicitly reflects the masculine anxiety of being marked out as a “loser.” A motivational speaker and life coach, throughout the film Richard attempts to secure a contract to turn his “Nine Steps to Success” program into a lucrative business. For Richard, winning is paramount. At one point, he tells Olive that luck has nothing to do with winning. Rather, it’s about “willing yourself to win.” In fact, he emphasizes the point of winning so much that he claims that “there’s no point going [to the pageant] unless you think you’re going to win.” Richard’s desire to win or, to put it another way, his fear about being marked as a “loser,” explicitly intersects with Schwarzenegger’s definition of “successful” masculinity. Both Richard’s program and narrative uphold the American Dream. Stating that prosperity, success, and upward social mobility can all be achieved through hard work, the American Dream advocates the kind of success represented by Schwarzenegger; despite not being a born-and-bred American, he is the ultimate self-made man. However, maintaining the Liberal and Neoliberal structures of economy which privileges the economic freedoms of individualism and laissez-faire, the American dream, will always privilege the straight white man.

As Lisa Duggan claims in The Twilight of Equality? Neoliberalism, Cultural Politics, and the Attack on Democracy, “Neoliberalism, a late twentieth-century incarnation of Liberalism, organizes material and political life in terms of race, gender, and sexuality as well as economic class and nationality, or ethnicity and religion.” In this way, Schwarenegger’s definition of the “loser,” a definition which is explicitly embedded in the notion of a “failing” masculinity, refuses to acknowledge the privileges afforded to white, heterosexual, able-bodied, economically privileged and cis-gendered men. In this way, it refuses to acknowledge that hard work does not always turn you into a winner. Despite his many privileges, Richard’s program, ironically, fails. For one, as his potential business partner says, “no one’s heard of you.” For another, Richard’s current economic situation compromises his privilege. The success of the program is paramount to keeping the family financially afloat. Money issues plague the family throughout the film – indeed, the reason they travel to the pageant in their van is because they can’t afford flights – and Richard promises that securing this deal will “start generating some income.” Failing to provide for his family, Richard fails to fulfill the traditional male (and masculine) role of the breadwinner. More crucially, however, Richard demonstrates that the American Dream is not available to everyone. Not everybody, it seems, can be a winner.

Arnold Schwarzenegger: Embodying ideal masculinity a bit too much...? — Arnold Schwarzenegger: Embodying ideal masculinity a bit too much…?

In the end, Dwayne sums up the problems they all face: “Fuck beauty contests. Life’s one long beauty contest: school, college, work… Fuck that.” The emphasis on external appearance – enormous wealth, a slim body, successful career, big house and beautiful partner – ensures that dominant Western, Neoliberal and hyper-masculine ideals are maintained, and anything that may compromise this – what Segal identifies as “inferior”- remains rigidly monitored and surveyed. However, by “failing” to conform to these standards, by saying “fuck the beauty pageants,” and by willing ourselves to lose, we may find a way to resist these ultimately oppressive and destructive ideals.

______________________________________

Sarah Smyth is a staff writer at Bitch Flicks who recently finished a Master’s Degree in Critical Theory with an emphasis on gender and film at the University of Sussex, UK. Her dissertation examined the abject male body in cinema, particularly focusing on the spatiality of the anus (yes, really). She’s based now in London, UK and you can follow her on Twitter at @sarahsmyth91.

‘The Hunger Games: Mockingjay Part I’ and What Makes Katniss Everdeen a Compelling Heroine

While watching ‘Mockingjay Part I,’ I had an epiphany. I asked myself why Katniss Everdeen is such a compelling heroine to audiences and why other heroines modeled after her are popping up all over the place? There’s no denying that audiences (especially young women) are hungry for strong female representation on screen. We love to see Katniss use her wits and her bow to save the day, but in ‘Mockingjay Part I,’ there is very little action (Katniss uses her bow only once), and Jennifer Lawrence’s performance is still riveting. Why, do you think, that is?

Written by Amanda Rodriguez.

Mild Spoilers Ahead

First off, let’s get the unpleasant part out of the way. Serious fans of The Hunger Games series will likely hate me, but we’ve all got to face the truth. The third installment in the series, The Hunger Games: Mockingjay Part I should not have been made. Splitting movies into two parts is an ever-growing trend in Hollywood’s never-ending quest for more money. Over the course of the two-hour film, not enough happens to warrant its existence. There is little moving the plot forward, and the ending itself is anticlimactic as our heroine Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence) isn’t even involved in the ultimately uneventful final showdown mission to rescue the captive tributes. The vital events that do happen in Part I could have easily been condensed into the first 20 minutes of the finale of a legitimate trilogy.

With that out of the way, let’s talk about what does work in Mockingjay Part I. There are a lot of women involved in the film itself, from the writer of the novels, Suzanne Collins, who adapted her books for the screen, to Nina Jacobson, the producer of the entire series, to our tenacious heroine Katniss, played by the increasingly popular, amazing performer and feminist Jennifer Lawrence.

I particularly liked that Mockingjay Part I also sets up the opposition between patriarchy and matriarchy with the introduction of Julianne Moore as President Coin of District 13. Under the patriarchal tyranny of President Snow (Donald Sutherland), the districts of Panem suffer as the people are used for their labor and their districts’ resources while fear and capital punishment are the norm. His Capitol, however, is rich, fashion-obsessed, and completely self-serving. The matriarchal President Coin, on the other hand, represents revolution with a strict focus on democracy and a socialist emphasis on the sharing of resources. District 13 is a militaristic, utilitarian underground compound that eschews fashion in favor of function (as evinced by the monotone uniforms all residents wear). Those of us who have read the books know that a lot will shift before the series concludes, but for now, this embodiment of a nontraditional representation of matriarchy in Coin is refreshing. She is decisive, smart, calm when under attack, and always thinking about the greater good of the people.

While watching Mockingjay Part I, I had an epiphany. I asked myself why Katniss Everdeen is such a compelling heroine to audiences and why other heroines modeled after her are popping up all over the place? There’s no denying that audiences (especially young women) are hungry for strong female representation on screen. We love to see Katniss use her wits and her bow to save the day, but in Mockingjay Part I, there is very little action (Katniss uses her bow only once), and Jennifer Lawrence’s performance is still riveting. Why, do you think, that is?

Two words for you: emotional range. While there are a plethora of limitations and stereotypes by which female characters are plagued, audiences are getting tired of the limited range of emotion that male heroes are allowed to exhibit due to the strictness of masculinity within our culture. Women are increasingly allowed to showcase a greater range of emotions without it damaging their perception as a strong, good leader.

In Mockingjay Part I, Katniss is suffering from intense PTSD. She has flashbacks, night terrors, uncontrollable bouts of crying, and dissociates from her surroundings. Throughout the film, she is an emotional wreck, as she should be after what she’s gone through, from being hunted and forced to kill for sport, to having her home of District 12 genocided as a result of her actions.

We watch Katniss go through an emotional roller coaster as she experiences shock, horror, terror, guilt, sadness, loss, anger, grief, and devastation. She is overcome with love for her family, Gale, and Peta, and, at her core, we are the most compelled by Katniss’ compassion and her instinctual drive to protect others. Katniss is sometimes wrong and often rash in her actions. In truth, it is her vulnerability displayed on screen like a raw wound from which we cannot look away.

This is the stuff of heroes. We see her experiences nearly break her time and time again, but she won’t give up. Carrying on is so hard that it nearly destroys her, but her sense of what is right is so strong that she cannot turn her back on her fellow oppressed district dwellers.

Like Katniss is the symbol of revolution as the mockingjay, she’s also the symbol of a movement that values women as nonsexualized leads with rich, complex characterization. We’re increasingly bored with the stoic male hero and instead crave the strength and vulnerability of the growing number of female sci-fi action heroines that are emerging thanks to the success of Katniss Everdeen and The Hunger Games.

Aside: The United States IS the Capitol. The storyline of The Hunger Games is so popular in the US, but we’re missing the point if we don’t confess that we are the oppressive world superpower that tyrannizes the rest of the word, exploiting the labor and resources of others so that most of us can live in relative wealth and comfort. End rant.

Bitch Flicks writer and editor Amanda Rodriguez is an environmental activist living in Asheville, North Carolina. She holds a BA from Antioch College in Yellow Springs, Ohio and an MFA in fiction writing from Queens University in Charlotte, NC. Her short story “The Woman Who Fell in Love with a Mermaid” was published in Germ Magazine. She writes all about food and drinking games on her blog Booze and Baking. Fun fact: while living in Kyoto, Japan, her house was attacked by monkeys.

The Notion of “Forever and Ever and Ever” in ‘The Amityville Horror’ and ‘The Shining’

The nightmare that Jack and George share signifies their innate fear—the possibility of destroying the family they, as men, have built.

This guest post by Rachel Wortherley appears as part of our theme week on Demon and Spirit Possession.

Two families in search of fresh start move into new homes: the Torrance family to the “Overlook Hotel” in Denver, Colorado, and the Lutz family to a beautiful Dutch-Colonial home in Amityville, New York. Unbeknownst to them, they will encounter horror in the form of demons and evil spirits attempting to destroy their “traditional” family dynamic.

Stuart Rosenberg’s The Amityville Horror and Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining focus on the prospect of renewal. Rosenberg’s film focuses on newlyweds George and Kathy Lutz (Josh Brolin and Margot Kidder) as they move into a new home with their three children and dog, Harry. There is one catch. The home’s previous inhabitants (two parents and their children) were killed by their son and brother. Audiences were also being presented a “tweaked” version of the nuclear family being that George is the children’s stepfather. It is noted that they have only recently begun to call him “George” rather than “Mr. Lutz.” George’s wish is for them to address him as “Dad.” The new marriage and their determination to make new memories inside a tainted house is George and Kathy’s attempt at growing closer as a family.

The Shining also begins similarly. Jack Torrance (Jack Nicholson), a schoolteacher turned writer, moves with his wife Wendy (Shelley Duvall) and son Danny (Danny Lloyd), to the “Overlook Hotel” where he is hired as the winter caretaker. While this is Jack’s opportunity to write in solitude, it is also an opportunity for their family to start anew–at least in the eyes of Wendy. Wendy reveals to Danny’s pediatrician that Jack, a recovering alcoholic, accidentally dislocated Danny’s shoulder in an attempt to pull him away from ruining important school paperwork. This unfortunate incident prompts Jack to quit drinking. As a result, Wendy forgives him and attributes it to being “just one of those things.” While the Lutz family in Amityville wants to create new memories, the Torrances want to erase their pasts. However, the memories within the walls of their respective households become imbued in the minds of the families, leading to madness and terror.

It should be noted that children and fathers appear to be greatly affected by the supernatural beings in their homes. Because of the innocence of children, the spirits readily reveal themselves. For example, seven-year old Amy Lutz in Amityville is seen conversing and playing with “Jody,” her imaginary friend who lives in the house. There is one pivotal moment when Amy sings “Jesus loves me” as her and Jody’s chairs rock back and forth. This suggests that the spirit is not evil, but in search of a companion. Jody also wants Amy to stay in the house “forever and ever,” presumably in the same ghostly state that Jody has taken. While Amy’s brush with the afterlife is playful and innocent, the same cannot be said for Danny Torrance.

Danny is a seven-year old boy who has the capability described as “shining.” He has terrifying premonitions and can telepathically communicate with others who “shine,” specifically the hotel chef, Dick Hallorann, who enlightens Danny to their capabilities. Danny’s gift materializes in the form of his imaginary friend Tony who Danny describes as “the little boy who lives in my mouth.” Tony appears to be a being that fosters Danny’s gifts, yet encourages him to conceal it from others, for fear of no one believing him. When Danny’s first premonition of blood cascading through the hallways of the Overlook Hotel occurs, Danny is unable to remember. Tony also appears when Danny is attacked by the demonic figure of the woman in the bathtub in the forbidden “Room 237.” It is also Tony who communicates the infamous word, “redrum” (murder spelled backward) to Danny to warn his mother of the pending murder that Jack wants to inflict upon their family, as well as the gruesome murders from the past. Wendy recalls that Tony made his first appearance after Danny’s incident with Jack. This suggests that Tony exists as a source of protection for Danny to shield his innocent consciousness.

While these otherworldly figures engage with children in a mild manner or as a scare tactic, they react entirely different with the fathers in the respective films. Rage and violent behavior are triggered within George and Jack. George, who desperately wanted the children to call him “Dad,” exclaims that Kathy needs to “discipline her children.” George’s physical appearance goes from strong to sickly. He sweats profusely, incessantly chops wood, and neglects work. The process of George’s descent into madness is a slower process whereas Jack’s descent appears to occur immediately. He also appears angrier than George. Kubrick goes from a casual scene when Wendy brings Jack breakfast in bed and he jokes about the ghosts in the hotel to a penultimate scene where Jack rages at her to never disturb him when he writes. This further suggests that while Jack wants to be with his family, he does not want to be “with” them. Sane Jack in the beginning of the film looks forward to the isolation of a large, empty hotel, yet this is impossible because his family is present.

The distance between Jack, his wife, and child is noticeable before his descent. Jack has minimal scenes with Danny and when sharing scenes, Danny is glued to Wendy. Jack barely interacts with him apart from instilling fear into Danny while in a trance-like state. In this scene, he simultaneously assures Danny that he would never hurt him while leering at him in a murderous manner. In comparison to George and Kathy’s marital bliss and passionate love scenes, Jack and Wendy appear too casual with each other. They almost seem like strangers. There is a sense that Wendy distrusts Jack. A scene that supports this occurs when Jack, screaming and crying in his sleep, awakens from a nightmare in which he murders and chops Wendy and Danny into pieces with an axe. As Wendy comforts him, a disheveled and traumatized Danny walks in with bruises on his neck–bruises inflicted by the ghostly woman in room 237. Remembering Jack’s drunken rage three years prior, Wendy immediately accuses him of abusing Danny.

As a result, Jack retreats in anger to the hotel bar where he encounters the ghost of Lloyd, the bartender. There he is satiated by alcohol while commiserating to Lloyd the complications of his marriage, specifically Wendy’s inability to forgive him for something that occurred “three goddamn years ago.” Unspoken anger and resentment clouds their marriage. In Amityville, George has the same nightmare and confesses it in tears to Kathy. The nightmare that Jack and George share signifies their innate fear—the possibility of destroying the family they, as men, have built.

The Lutz family manages to escape physically unscathed in the aftermath of their battle with the forces embedded within their house, whereas Wendy and Danny are the only two who escape their haunted home. A murderous Jack, wielding an axe, attempts to find his wife and son and ultimately succumbs to the bitter cold of Denver. Wendy is officially a single mother to Danny. However, a photograph from the Overlook Hotel in the 1920s depicts a smiling Jack with partygoers. He has found his new family.

Stuart Rosenberg’s The Amityville Horror (1979) and Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining (1980) are films that are released around the same time as family-centric films; specifically films that deal with the subject of divorce and single parenting. In Robert Benton’s 1979 film, Kramer vs. Kramer, audiences witness how a single father deals with raising his son in the absence of a mother, almost losing his child to the mother, and the mother ultimately granting him full custody. The parents also become civil toward each other. Audiences who are rooting for the father, played by the likeable Dustin Hoffman, gain a sense of satisfaction in the end. Meanwhile in its predecessor, Paul Mazursky’s An Unmarried Woman (1978), we watch how Jill Clayburgh’s character deals with a multitude of events: her husband divorcing her for a younger woman, teaching her teenage daughter to feel empowered, and having to start her dating life from scratch. While these images were progressive in its time, audiences were not shown the other perspective; the sometimes horrific nature of broken homes.

In Rosenberg and Kubrick’s respective films, outside forces attempt to help keep the nuclear family alive. In Amityville this materializes in the form of Father Delaney, who attempts to warn them about the house, yet is quelled by being struck mute and blind by the supernatural forces. This is reminiscent of the Catholic Church’s strict laws against divorce in favor of marriage counseling. In The Shining Dick Hallorann acts as a guardian to Danny. He comes to their rescue only to be cut down by Jack’s axe. Outsiders are not allowed to interfere. The family must deal with the uncomfortable and painful feelings within their household, as well as the aftermath. There lies the true test and the meaning of “forever and ever” as a family.

Rachel Wortherley is a graduate of Iona College in New Rochelle, New York and holds a Master of Arts degree in English. Her downtime consists of devouring copious amounts of literature, television shows, and films. She hopes to gain a doctorate in English literature and become a professional screenwriter.

Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

Check out what we’ve been reading this week–and let us know what you’ve been reading/writing in the comments!

Anita Sarkeesian shares the most radical thing you can do to support women online by Casey Newton at The Verge

A Reminder: Net Neutrality by Ali at Autstraddle

Girls on Film: Why the Toronto International Film Festival is the best platform for female filmmakers by Monika Bartyzel at The Week

TIFF 2014 Review: Few Movies Have Given Female Characters Such Prominence & Agency as in ‘The Keeping Room’ by Zeba Blay at Shadow and Act

The Renaissance Of Reese Witherspoon by Melissa Silverstein at Forbes

Afghanistan’s Teen Girls Turn The Camera On Kabul by Jackie Leahy at Bust

BitchTapes: Grrrlhood (Songs From Films With Female Directors) by James Anthofer at Bitch Media

The Most Radical Films About Young Women’s Lives by Alison Nastasi at Flavorwire

How Should We Remember Joan Rivers? by Gabrielle Moss at Bitch Media

‘Orange is the New Black’ Adds Another Black Corrections Officer by Jamilah King at Colorlines

Barrel Chests, Brawn, and Buffoonery: Controlling Images of Masculinity in Pixar Movies by Tristan Bridges at Feminist Reflections

“Strong Women Characters” Who Made Mistakes (And Learned From Them) by Diana Biller, Chaleece N. Johnson, Vesna Cemas and Kyra Baker at io9

What have you been reading/writing this week? Tell us in the comments!

When is This Movie Going to End? or, Extended Adolescence and Meta Moments in ‘Freddy Got Fingered’

I know the nineties are over, but I’m still a fan of Tom Green and his eccentric brand of humor. When critics and filmgoers dismiss ‘Freddie Got Fingered,’ I feel it’s for the wrong reasons; to pass the movie off as a cinematic abortion of sorts is narrow thinking. People probably still wonder, “Who gave Tom Green money to make a movie?” I know, it’s like writing a kid a blank check and sending him into a candy store. However, if we’re not receptive enough to uncover the ideas and themes Green presents, and to assess their relevance to Hollywood ideals, celebrity status, and family politics, we need to re-evaluate how we watch film. There’s good stuff to be found in ‘Freddy.’

Written by Jenny Lapekas.

I know the 90s are over, but I’m still a fan of Tom Green and his eccentric brand of humor. When critics and filmgoers dismiss Freddy Got Fingered, I feel it’s for the wrong reasons; to pass the movie off as a cinematic abortion of sorts is narrow thinking. People probably still wonder, Who gave Tom Green money to make a movie? I know, it’s like writing a kid a blank check and sending him into a candy store. However, if we’re not receptive enough to uncover the ideas and themes Green presents, and to assess their relevance to Hollywood ideals, celebrity status, and family politics, we need to re-evaluate how we watch film. There’s good stuff to be found in Freddy.

In the trailer for Freddy, Green tells us, “If you like acting, then you’ll like Freddy Got Fingered.” The film itself works as a commentary on the movie-making process and essentially laughs in its face. Green’s declaration is meant as a sneer at the generic nature of not only popular film, but the reasons behind that popularity: that many viewers hold low expectations when evaluating movie quality. The mantra throughout Freddy seems to be “I’m a 28-year-old man”: Green’s character asserting his maturity to his parents, who are well aware that their baby is still very much a baby at 28 years old. While his mother would prefer her baby boy to stay at home, Gordy’s father (played by the incomparable Rip Torn) wants to see his son succeed and make something of himself.

When Roger Ebert reviewed this film, he had this to say: “This movie doesn’t scrape the bottom of the barrel. The movie isn’t the bottom of the barrel. This movie isn’t below the bottom of the barrel. This movie doesn’t deserve to be mentioned in the same sentence with barrels.” Then why mention it? It’s clear that Green doesn’t want to be taken seriously. He spends his time satirizing movie tropes and evading the cinematic qualities that define film as a meaning-making process. To discuss Freddy alongside Hollywood blockbusters is apples and oranges.

Even the film’s cover–Green mimicking the gesture filmmakers use when describing their creation or cinematic vision–pokes fun at itself.

When we meet Gordy, his placement as an overgrown child is solidified when we watch him laying in bed, describing the absurd backstories that accompany the comics he’s drawn, which are actually quite good and show a great deal of artistic talent. Gordy’s job at the cheese sandwich factory is a satirical commentary on the struggling artist who works the meaningless, manual labor job while attempting to aspire to something greater in this life. Gordy’s departure from this job also serves to confirm his authentic identity as an animator.

The comical depiction of extended adolescence, especially in men, is seen often in film (see Step Brothers, Slackers, and Young Adult), yet it rarely seems tackled as a topic for discussion. Green’s lunatic brand of surrealist humor (see Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job! and The Mighty Boosh) and viewers’ not so warm reception of his film are a reflection of people’s desire for logic and the comfort we find in the assurance that gravity still exists each day when we wake. In an interview on the podcast “The Joe Rogan Experience,” Green even explains that he was trying to make the “stupidest movie ever.”

Green pokes fun at the “feel good” moments we come to expect in films, the moments that inspire us and evoke tears. We see such a moment when Gordy spontaneously delivers a baby and has a revelatory moment about his life (see Mixed Nuts and Saved!), and again when Betty (Gordy’s love interest) invents a rocket-powered wheelchair.

Signature of Green’s absurd humor, he shows up at a swanky L.A. restaurant to track down bigwig Dave Davidson (Anthony Michael Hall) to see if he can score his own television series based on his drawings, all dressed as an English bobby.

The head of Radioactive Animation Studio patiently explains to Gordy, “Your drawings are pretty good, but it doesn’t make any sense, OK? It’s fucking stupid,” which incidentally describes Green’s humor as well as the general theme of Freddy. We have these moments of raucous laughter, but we can’t explain the bizarre satisfaction we gain from watching Green’s stunts, which includes a fair amount of physical comedy in the same vein as Jackass, such as crashing into people and doors as he awkwardly moves around in the film, very much resembling a clumsy, pubescent boy. When Davidson tells him that his characters are lame, Gordy pulls out a gun and puts it in his mouth: more satire relating to the extreme measures artists take when their art goes unrecognized or they fail at becoming rich and successful (see Airheads).

"I'm a loser! I wish I was dead!!!" — “I’m a loser! I wish I was dead!!!”

Freddy is a hyperbolic look at the consequences of extended adolescence, and several scenes exemplify this theme, particularly those involving Gordy and his dad. When Gordy is forced to move back home, he insists he’s going to eat a fast food chicken sandwich at the dinner table after his mother has made a lovely roast beef dinner. He argues with his father, citing his age as the reason that he can do as he pleases–a sure sign of adolescence–and his father sarcastically tells him how “impressive” it is that he can eat the food he chooses independently. This scene of family dysfunction is so telling and significant; the child-parent relationship is just that: between parents and a temperamental child who desperately wants to convince his parents that he’s not worthless. Gordy’s insistence to his father that he’s an adult and can make his own decisions–at the very least, what he chooses to eat for his dinner–serves as proof that he’s in fact not an adult at all.

Amongst his antics, Gordy dons scuba gear in the shower, where he pretends he’s diving for buried treasure, and he dresses as “the Backwards Man,” a tragic inversion of the savvy businessman his father dreams he could become.

When Gordy decides to quit the “sandwich business” once and for all to fulfill his dreams of becoming an animator, his father even tries grounding him and sending him to his room. Ironically, Gordy’s fed up dad propels his son into success by showing up at his pitch and trashing the office of Davidson, who’s under the impression that it’s all a creative act. Although Gordy spends most of his million dollar check to drug his father and bring him to Pakistan, he finally proves himself by selling his “doodles” and taking on a job.

Aren’t we thankful there’s a movie out there where we can see Rip Torn spanking Tom Green like a naughty child?

The title, admittedly, has very little to do with the plot of Freddy, if we can get away with claiming that the film does indeed have a plot. Gordy accuses his father of molesting his brother, Freddy, which is, of course, untrue. In accordance with this theme of extended adolescence, the 25-year-old Freddy–ambitious and cocky, and hence Gordy’s polar opposite–is taken into custody by Child Protective Services, and we see him in an orphanage watching television with young children. Gordy also makes sure to downplay his little brother’s success by telling him over breakfast, “You work at a bank. Am I supposed to be dazzled? You live in a tiny little shit hole, and you can’t afford breakfast, so you come here and eat for free.” Gordy has a point and manages to cast doubt on Freddy’s pride and sense of accomplishment. Despite Gordy’s talent as a troublemaker and Freddy’s work ethic, Gordy somehow remains the favored of the two sons.

Gordy tries to impress Betty by pretending he works as a stockbroker. — Gordy tries to impress Betty by pretending that he works as a stockbroker.

The role of Gordy’s love interest, Betty, is interesting. Betty is in a wheelchair and is called a “retard slut whore” by Gordy’s dad, representing a demographic that mistakes physical disability with mental impairment. Gordy purchases a ridiculous bag of jewels that he presents to Betty after stepping off a helicopter on top of a building, and she rejects them, claiming, “I don’t care about jewels. I just want to suck your cock.” We’re confronted with an image of female sexuality that many viewers find problematic; disabled female characters tend to be desexualized in film and TV, and we’re also faced with the challenge of negotiating Betty’s voracious sexual appetite with our own misgivings about kink, foreplay, and sadomasochism.

While attempting to give Gordy a blow job, Betty finds his umbilical cord taped to his stomach, a clear reference to his permanent infantilization, which he seems to simultaneously embrace and loathe.

So why watch Freddy? How does the “stupidest movie ever” redeem itself for viewers unwilling to understand surrealist humor? The meta moments we find in the film culminate in the grand conclusion that “the Hollywood movie” can be interpreted as a pretentious joke, and Green is not taking his own film seriously enough to even stumble upon any form of success. Green’s treatment of this concept undermines critics’ ability to evaluate his film.

If you’re still skeptical, watch Freddy if only for Julie Hagerty’s performance. Hagerty, who’s always fabulous as “the mom” (see Just Friends, She’s the Man, and Storytelling) plays Gordy’s nervous, overprotective mother, even though Gordy is practically 30 years old.

At the advice of Gordy, Julie Brody leaves her husband and begins sleeping with Shaq.

Green explains that the point of the movie was to be polarizing and that he found further humor in the highly divisive viewer responses. Green makes us question our own sense of rationality and how we’ve constructed reality thus far in our lives. Freddy is funny for its unpredictable and nonsensical nature, not its inability to paint a picture of logic and reason. If viewers feel violated after watching a subversive film that simply cannot be explained away or dismissed, there are plenty of movies that contain tired tropes and stereotypes (see The Women–Bechdel Test, anyone?–and every Tyler Perry movie ever).

In the film’s trailer, Green even tells us, “I don’t really know how to make a movie.” When Gordy shows Davidson his drawings, he schools Gordy on narrative structure: “There actually has to be something that happens that’s actually funny. What the fuck is happening here?” We may ask that very same question about Freddy. What’s going on here? Using surrealist humor to question social contracts and deride an audience that is too entrenched in the trite, the cliche, and the creatively irresponsible, that’s what.

Moments before the film ends, a self-deprecating meta reference.

Any “hard-hitting” criticism of Freddy or movies like it is like judging the lasagna some nut brought to the National Pie Championships. Ebert was right: Freddy doesn’t scrape the bottom of the barrel, because Tom Green is too busy wearing the barrel on his head and making everyone uncomfortable to notice. Green’s movie inherently resists critique, which in fact makes this review, in a certain philosophical sense, nonexistent.

____________________________________________

Jenny holds a Master of Arts degree in English, and she is a part-time instructor at a community college in Pennsylvania. Her areas of scholarship include women’s literature, menstrual literacy, and rape-revenge cinema. She lives with two naughty chihuahuas. You can find her on WordPress and Pinterest.

What ‘Baby Daddy’ Can Learn from ‘Parks and Recreation’

Baby Daddy and Parks and Recreation — *Parks and Recreation* and *Baby Daddy*

This is a guest post by Nia McRae.

Baby Daddy is a cute and funny show with a progressive edge. However, it’s not without its flaws. It deconstructs stereotypes in some areas but reinforces stereotypes in other areas. Its issues could be fixed by taking cues from one of my favorite modern comedy shows, Parks and Recreation.
First, the good: BD accomplishes its main goal which is to be funny. The funniest moments usually include Ben’s spitfire mother, Bonnie and goofball friend, Tucker, played by the talented Melissa Peterman and Tahj Mowry respectively. It shines in other ways too:

1. Male stereotypes are deconstructed.

Ben, Tucker, and Danny in Baby Daddy — Ben, Tucker, and Danny in *Baby Daddy*

Ben’s two roommates are Danny–his brother–and Tucker. All three of them are shown handling Emma with tender love and care. Their softness towards her is never framed as emasculating. In the beginning stages, the three bachelors fumble when it comes to taking care of Emma but it has less to do with them being guys and more to do with them being young and inexperienced when it comes to babies.

Danny is a handsome hockey player who predictably is a ladies’ man. In any other show or movie, he would be a dumb and/or mean sports player character or he would be an emotionally-stunted playboy archetype. He can be dumb at times but so can his brother who isn’t a sports player. So, Danny’s occasional dimwittedness is framed more as a family trait than a jock trait. He refreshingly contradicts the jock stereotype by being sensitive, romantic, and sweet. Despite his promiscuity, he is secretly in love with his childhood friend, Riley.

2. Old-fashioned mother stereotypes are dismantled.

Bonnie is far from the 1950s-stereotype perfect mother and that’s what makes her so entertaining. She’s a sassy, loving mother and just like her sons, she enjoys playing the field. Usually women, especially mothers, are expected to be the moral center. Sometimes, she is the voice of reason. But most of the time, she exhibits the same immaturity, narcissism, and selfishness as her sons but never does it go to the point of her being irredeemable. She isn’t demonized for being imperfect and free-spirited. Just like Elaine from Seinfeld, her quirks and flaws make her funny, charming and likeable.

3. Racial minority characters and gay characters aren’t stereotypical.

Tucker is one of the leads and he is African American. His personality has nothing to do with his race. Various racial minorities show up as minor characters throughout the series, never appearing as offensive stereotypes. Positive depictions of gay people are in the episode “The Christening” and a few other episodes too.

Now, let’s move on to the bad:

1. There are too many underwritten female characters.

In a show about a young man raising a daughter, you would think the female characters would be better than this. When it comes to the male characters on BD–like Tucker’s uptight dad, for instance–there are layers to them; they’re never as bad as they seem. However, if they’re not boring pretty faces like Tucker’s girlfriend, Vanessa, then most of the female side characters are just as evil as they seem. They’re also usually the source of conflict–whether it’s Riley’s childhood female rival or Danny’s female general manager. The worst offender was Emma’s mom, Angela, who was already framed as a terrible slut for forgoing being a mother. Her terribleness was further emphasized by having her be an evil seductress who tries to tear Riley and Ben apart.

Solution:

Add more three-dimensional female characters that have quirks and interests the way the male characters do. Every major and minor female character on P and R is unique and interesting because they aren’t solely defined by being a girlfriend. In P and R, April Ludgate could have easily been written as a one-dimensional vixen like Angela. But April’s meanness is not shaped by her sexuality. And every now and then, she shows her softer side. She’s grown over time, showing that she has great admiration and respect for Leslie even if outwardly she pretends to be annoyed by her.

Even though Tammy, Ron’s ex wife, can be argued to be similar to Angela of BD, she was written in a more tongue-in-cheek way for the audience to laugh at-especially considering the fact that the actors that play Ron and “evil” Tammy are married in real life. So, the character was more a parody on the seductress archetype.

Leslie & Tammy on Parks and Recreation — Leslie and Tammy on *Parks and Recreation*

2. There’s too much female rivalry and not enough female friendship.

Tucker, Ben, and Danny are roommates who have a friendship that’s a joy to watch; they joke with each other, they support each other, they tease each other, and they love each other even when they disagree. Their positive male friendship is at the center of the show while positive female friendships are sadly nonexistent. Female characters usually barely interact with each other. When they do, there’s either indifference or an adversarial feeling between them. Even Bonnie succumbs to it; she shows hostility towards the only other prominent female character, Riley. She gets along better with Tucker more than women her own age. There’s one episode where Riley explains she doesn’t have female friends because all girls are catty. I’m sick of male friendships being framed as superior to female friendships.

Cat Fight on Baby Daddy — Cat fight on *Baby Daddy*

Solution:

P and R portrays female friendships so much better by not flattening female characters or their relationship to each other. I’m not asking BD to romanticize female relations either. Leslie Knope gets along better with some women (like Ann) than she does with other women (like Joan Callamezzo) just like she gets along with some men (like Ron) better than other men (like Congressman Jamm). That’s life. The show did have women disliking each other–for example, April disliking Ann. But they also showed women getting along in the form of Ann and Leslie. Who someone gets along with depends more on how their personalities mesh together rather than gender. P and R doesn’t set up a false dichotomy that all women are catty and all men are nice. Women get to be individuals just like the men do. Please follow suit, BD.

Ann & Leslie on Parks and Recreation — Ann and Leslie on *Parks and Recreation*

3. There aren’t enough entertaining platonic male-female relationships

Just like I don’t like gender stereotypes being used to dismiss same-sex friendships between women, I don’t want gender stereotypes being used to dismiss friendships between men and women. If women can’t be friends with women because of cattiness and they can’t be friends with men because of sexual/romantic tension then who can women befriend? The love triangle between Ben, Riley, and Danny and then Ben, Riley, and Angela adds to the archaic belief that men and women can’t be friends. Making Riley the love interest/childhood friend is an easy trope to use to create drama between the male leads. Tucker is the only one of the three male leads that doesn’t have feelings for her.

Solution:

Being friends with people of the opposite gender is important because ideally it can bridge empathy gaps. Leslie and Ron have a mutual respect for each other even when they don’t see eye to eye. Despite Ron being a super macho guy that you would assume to be sexist, he’s actually very supportive of Leslie. Whenever they have disagreements, it’s more to do with her enthusiasm for government than with her gender. They advise each other on different matters and they help each other out when one is in trouble. Their friendship isn’t framed as a consolation prize to the “superior” thing of being a couple. Instead, their friendship is presented as an edifying, significant thing that helps make them better people. And it’s not just about deep connections, friendships between male and females can be fun and lighthearted. Just look at Donna and Tom.

Donna & Tom — Donna and Tom on *Parks and Recreation*

Add more compelling scenes with Tucker and Riley. Add to the community raising Emma by putting in female characters for the male characters to befriend. I’m not banning BD from showing romantic relationships. I’m just saying don’t add fuel to the “friend-zone” fire by showing male-female friendships as this desert/limbo/wasteland. Show the good sides of being platonic the way P and R does.

4. Stop scraping the comedic bottom of the barrel by making fat a continual punch line.

Riley, like Monica from Friends, goes from being fat and insecure to being skinny, still insecure, but more conventionally attractive and therefore, more aesthetically pleasing to the boy she likes. There are many jokes that refer to Riley once being fat. Danny loved Riley even when she was larger which I guess is supposed to show he has a heart of gold. But chubby women shouldn’t be framed as a walking punch line nor should they be viewed as unattractive beasts that only the purest hearted of men could love/pity.

Solution:

Take Donna of P and R for instance. She’s confident, witty, and beautiful and she has no trouble attracting men. She carries herself well and dresses in flattering clothing. She’s shown doing the rejecting rather than being rejected.

Donna on Parks and Recreation — Donna on *Parks and Recreation*

She doesn’t serve as a thing to be pitied. Unlike Riley, her weight isn’t a running gag. Riley’s transformation from ugly duckling to swan didn’t have to be the same old cliché of physical transformation. Why not have made her shyness the true problem instead of her perceived physical unattractiveness? Having her attractiveness stem from becoming more confident and vivacious would have been a nice change from the weight loss arc. It’s too late to alter her character back story now, so I suggest stopping the fat jokes altogether. Also, maybe introduce a Donna-like female character whose weight isn’t her sole defining trait.

I can see BD is trying to be an enlightened comedy and it has a lot of potential. By climbing out of its cliché pitfalls, it can become a truly modern show just like P and R has done. Not only can it improve in the ways I suggested and still remain funny, it can be even funnier. After all, the best humor comes from truth, not from stereotypes (unless you’re parodying those stereotypes, of course).

Nia McRae graduated summa cum laude from Medgar Evers College where she earned a Bachelor of Arts degree in Liberal Studies with a concentration in history. She has a strong passion for critiquing racial and gender politics in the media and putting it in historical context.

‘Gravity Falls’: Manliness, Silliness, and a Whole Lot of Awesome

Figuring out who you are in the face of societal pressures that buffet you every which way is the trial of growing up, and helping people to do that is one of feminism’s goals. It’s also at the heart of ‘Gravity Falls’, which helps cement this for me as an exciting show.

This repost by Max Thornton appears as part of our theme week on Children’s Television.

I am too old for the Disney Channel. The bright candy colors, the rapid-fire pacing, the saccharine music and headache-y flash-cuts and forced zaniness – it all adds up to one massively hyperstimulating, sugar-coated migraine. Half an hour of all that on a Saturday morning and I am ready to bounce off the ceiling before crashing to earth semi-comatose for the rest of the day.

If you can overcome (or, better, avoid entirely) the excruciating commercials and the overstimulation of the Disney Channel milieu, however, you can experience maybe the most exciting television debut of 2012.

Welcome to Gravity Falls.

Gravity Falls established a pretty dense mythology for itself, jam-packed with occult imagery, cryptograms, conspiracies, clever callbacks, and hidden Easter eggs (and there are already plenty of websites devoted to deciphering this stuff). It’s an enormously fun show, chronicling the supernatural adventures of 12-year-old twins Dipper and Mabel in the creepy, not-quite-right town of Gravity Falls, Oregon. The level of care and detail lavished on the world-building is matched by the depth and – if I can say this of an animated Disney Channel show – realism of the characters.

Dipper and Mabel, voiced by Jason Ritter and Kristen Schaal, are wonderfully characterized as not just siblings but true friends: despite their personality differences, they enjoy spending time together, and although they needle and mock each other, they always have each other’s back. As somebody whose siblings are my best friends, I find it rings very true to life, and the only other show I can think of with a comparably close sibling dynamic is Bob’s Burgers –where, coincidentally, one of the siblings is also voiced by Schaal.

The twins’ age is a savvy writing choice that allows for some spot-on exploration of themes of growing up, pitching the show niftily at the crossover-hit sweet spot for both younger and older viewers. A grown-up trying to convince other grown-ups to watch a Disney Channel animated show can certainly relate to the twins’ swithering between the childish excitement of their supernatural adventures and their desire to prove themselves cool enough for the local teenagers (including Dipper’s hopeless and completely understandable crush, Linda Cardellini-voiced Wendy). Two specific episodes of Gravity Falls work well as companion pieces exploring Dipper and Mabel’s respective struggles to establish their identities.

Season 1, Episode 6: “Dipper Vs. Manliness”


A cutie patootie.

Dipper is the more introspective, bookish twin – as Mabel puts it, he’s “not exactly Manly Mannington.” When an old “manliness tester” machine at the local diner declares him “a cutie patootie,” Dipper’s insecurity about being a man goes into overdrive, and he seeks training in the ways of manliness from a group of Manotaurs (“half man, half… taur!” “I have three Y-chromosomes, six Adam’s apples, pecs on my abs, and fists for nipples!”).

Anyone who’s been a feminist longer than five minutes knows that the enforcement of gender roles harms men as well as women, and this episode features a lot of great jokes lampooning the sheer absurdity of what’s considered manly in our society: the pack of REAL MAN JERKY emblazoned with the slogan YOU’RE INADEQUATE!, the Manotaur council that involves beating the crap out of each other, Dipper convincing the reluctant Manotaurs to help him (“using some sort of brain magic!”) by suggesting they’re not manly enough to do it.

In the end, it’s Dipper’s love for a thinly veiled “Dancing Queen” pastiche that causes him to defy the Manotaurs’ stereotypical definition of manliness. His enjoyment of something considered “girly” opens his eyes to the nonsensical restrictiveness of traditional gender roles. As he says in his climactic speech to the Manotaurs: “You keep telling me that being a man means doing all these tasks and being aggro all the time, but I’m starting to think that stuff’s malarkey. You heard me: malarkey!”

Rejecting the Manotaur’s version of manliness does not, however, answer Dipper’s agonized question about the nature of masculinity: “Is it mental? Is it physical? What’s the secret?” (And how many times have I myself asked that question?) Although the episode puts a neat bow on Dipper’s arc by offering a pat moral – “You did what was right even though no one agreed with you. Sounds pretty manly to me” – it’s made fairly clear that masculinity and femininity do not have to be discrete, oppositional spheres rooted in stereotypes, and the question of what makes a man is left open – as, perhaps, it should be.

Season 1, Episode 8: “Irrational Treasure”

Mabel is the best. She’s my favorite character, and with every episode I love her even more. Her quest for self in “Irrational Treasure” is not a direct counterpart to Dipper’s search for manliness – Mabel is pretty comfortable with both the ways in which she is conventionally feminine and the ways in which she is not (reflecting the sad reality that girls’ freedom to express masculinity is not mirrored by an equivalent freedom for boys to express femininity). In the show’s fourth episode, “The Hand That Rocks the Mabel,” she confronts the societal pressures around dating while female, as she struggles with how to extricate herself from a coercive romantic relationship with the creepy Lil Gideon – an object lesson in how messed up are our society’s ideas of the romantic pursuit of uninterested women by persistent men – but in this episode she faces a less explicitly gendered problem: how to convince everyone that she’s not silly.

The delightfully goofy hijinks of this episode – involving a conspiracy to cover up the existence of Quentin Trembley, the peanut-brittle-preserved eighth-and-a-half president of the United States – are propelled by Mabel’s quest to prove her seriousness to rival Pacifica Northwest. Pacifica is a pretty stereotypical stuck-up-rich-mean-girl archetype thus far, but it seems distinctly possible that an interesting character arc could await her in future. “You look and act ridiculous,” she tells Mabel with scorn, and Mabel takes her peer’s cruelty to heart the way only a pre-teen can. “I thought I was being charming,” she says dejectedly, “but I guess people see me as a big joke.”


Don’t worry Mabel, you really are so so charming.

As it was Dipper’s non-manliness that ultimately proved him a real man, so it’s Mabel’s silliness that saves the day here, allowing her to crack all the clues for the conspiracy and help President Trembley escape the local police (who, despite being called serious by Mabel, are in fact extremely silly). By the episode’s end, Mabel is impervious to Pacifica’s jibes: “I’ve got nothing to prove. I’ve learned that being silly is awesome.”

Figuring out who you are in the face of societal pressures that buffet you every which way is the trial of growing up, and helping people to do that is one of feminism’s goals. It’s also at the heart of Gravity Falls, which helps cement this for me as an exciting show. (Plus, it’s apparently indoctrinating kids into occult symbolism. Cool.)

‘A Streetcar Named Desire’: Female Sexuality Explored Through a Bodice-Ripper Fantasy Gone Awry

‘A Streetcar Named Desire’ (1951), a classic movie based on a Tennessee Williams play, presents how society shapes, shelters, and shames female sexuality. Williams is well-known for writing plays that dealt with the gender-specific issues women faced, sympathizing with the way women were kept from being whole and balanced human beings.

'A Streetcar Named Desire' poster — *A Streetcar Named Desire* poster

This guest post by Nia McRae appears as part of our theme week on Representations of Female Sexual Desire

For better or worse, sexuality can be deeply influenced by social expectations. Even with the independence women have gained, it’s been reported that one of the top fantasies women have involve being dominated by a man in the bedroom. There’s nothing wrong with that, but what does it say about our biology, or social conditioning, or both? A Streetcar Named Desire (1951), a classic movie based on a Tennessee Williams play, explores this question. It presents how society shapes, shelters, and shames female sexuality. Williams is well-known for writing plays that dealt with the gender-specific issues women faced, sympathizing with the way women were kept from being whole and balanced human beings.

Stanley Kowalski is probably the best remembered character Marlon Brando played in the early part of his acting career. The female gaze shows up in different forms regarding the character of Stanley Kowalski. Stan’s body is the one that is objectified. Kim Hunter’s Stella exhibits whatever the female equivalent is of “thinking with your penis,” because she’s both excited and hypnotized by his ruggedness and looks. Blanche, played by Vivien Leigh, isn’t unaware of his physical charms either. When Blanche first meets Stan, the camera operates as Blanche’s eyes, admiring the way muscle-bound Stan looks in his tight, sweat-stained clothing. It is unmistakably not love at first sight but lust at first sight, which is surprising because a woman being depicted as having the same carnal desires as a man was unheard of in the 1950s.

Stanley and Blanche — Blanche and Stanley: lust at first sight

Marlon Brando’s performance is the main aspect that gets talked about (understandably so), but the way female desires are acknowledged is impressive too. Movies during Hollywood’s Golden Age usually catered to the stereotype of only men being sexual creatures. Women were only shown as using sex to receive gifts or money or marriage, never enjoying sex for the sake of sexual gratification. Marilyn Monroe is a great example of this. She is considered one of the most famous sex symbols of all time but as was expected of women in her time, she was always shown as the object of desire and never the person desiring. In movies, her characters were typically ogling material things a man had, never the man himself. Of course, maybe if her leading man was Marlon Brando, it would have been different.

Before the audience can become too transfixed by Stan’s looks, the movie wisely demonstrates that what works as a lustful fantasy may backfire in real life. Stan doesn’t keep his wildness contained like Stella prefers which leads to devastating consequences by the end of the movie (I’ll revisit this later). At a card game with his friends, he smacks his wife on the butt and she chastises him. She tells Blanche afterwards that she doesn’t like when he does that in front of company, implying that she only approves of spanking when they are alone. It can be deduced that, like a lot of women, Stella wants “a gentleman in the streets and a caveman in the bedroom.” In an example of life imitating art, Marlon Brando explained in an interview once that many of his paramours requested he be “Stanley” during intercourse.

The problem with Stan is that he isn’t playing the part of a caveman simply to titillate his wife. He really is a caveman; he’s emotionally stunted, he’s insecure. and he’s short-tempered.

Stanley loses his temper. Stella and Blanche cower.

He’s everything patriarchy tells him a “real man” is supposed to be and Stella is both seduced and repulsed by it. Whenever he goes too far, she runs away but she always returns back to him. It can be argued that the wife keeps running back to Stan because she is blinded by love. But realistically, love involves respect, which she doesn’t have for him. Stan seems to be viewed by his wife as only good for two things: love-making and money-making. She laughs at his attempts at being smart. For example, when Stan tried to explain to her what a “Napoleonic Code” is, she responds like someone who is humoring a baby’s nonsensical ramblings.

Along with her sister, Blanche can be condescending to Stan too. Her condescension is more obvious than Stella’s and in one scene, Stan blows up at Blanche for talking down to him. This type of dynamic is usually gender-flipped. Stan is the male equivalent of the bimbo archetype; he’s eye candy that the sisters enjoy looking at and possibly sleeping with and not much else. He’s not too bright but that doesn’t matter because the wife clearly didn’t marry him for his mind. She’s the one with the brains, which is evidenced again in one scene where she explains to him what rhinestones are. She’s married to a man who doesn’t respect her and who, honestly, she doesn’t respect either. Their marriage seems to be based on carnal feelings only. So, the more accurate description of what Stella feels for Stan is lust.

Stella is living in a bodice-ripper fantasy gone awry. There’s a part in the movie where, after a night of seemingly amazing make-up sex with Stan, Stella regales Blanche about her and Stan’s wedding night, explaining that he broke all the light bulbs and how that “excited” her. Blanche tries her best to talk sense into her, reminding her of the importance of valuing civilization and gentleness over barbarism. Just when it seems like Blanche is getting through to her, in walks Stan with something that is framed as more powerful than reason–animal magnetism. The camera works as Stella’s eyes, admiring how he looks in grease-stained tank top, sweaty from his mechanic work. Stella ogles him and jumps into his arms as if to suggest she’s ready for another round of make-up sex.

But even if Stan is treated like a sex toy, he’s not willing to be quiet like one. He’s boisterous, rude, entitled, and disrespectful to both Blanche and Stella. Much like a child who is willing to either scream or cry to get his way, Stan is not above resorting to theatrics to win her favor which is evidenced in the iconic scene where Stan drops to his knees, tears his shirt open and screams “STELLA!” which is followed by her walking sensually down the stairs and embracing him.

While it’s great that female sexuality is being presented, it can be argued that this movie is doing the time-honored tradition of only presenting female sexuality in order to condemn it. Does this movie want us to use Stella as a lesson on why it’s wrong for women to embrace themselves as sexual creatures?

I think the answer can be found in the scene where Karl Malden’s character, Mitch, finds out that Blanche has a past. He slut-shames her, likening her to damaged goods even though, up until now, he had been depicted as a nice and understanding guy. But even though Malden shames her, Blanche is never framed as the bad guy. It’s easy to sympathize with her character as someone who wasn’t given the proper tools in life to handle tough situations. Her sexuality isn’t the enemy, it’s her naiveté that is. A Streetcar Named Desire makes an important point about the importance of teaching your daughters to be self-sufficient. It is hinted at that the sisters grew up sheltered and privileged, causing them to be immature and emotionally undeveloped. Once her husband committed suicide, Blanche looked for love in all the wrong places. And in a society that teaches women to be fantasies, Blanche unquestioningly avoided being true to herself.

Stella, on the other hand, rebelled in an unhealthy way. She embraced the cruelties of life in the form of Stan. Neither sister found balance because men and women weren’t conditioned to be whole people. When Stan criticizes Blanche, Stella defends her and explains she’s fragile and broken from mean people being so harsh to her. This scene gives us further insight into Blanche. She enjoys creating a fictional world rather than facing the harshness of reality. As many middle to upper class white women historically were, she was babied and it kept her from learning how to be a stable adult. By the end, adding to the theme of barbarity smothering gentleness, Blanche is raped by Stanley, which utterly destroys any mental stability she had left.

Stanley did it because he resented Blanche thinking she was smarter and better than him. Finding out about her soiled past made him feel entitled to harming her. After all, traditionally, an unmarried woman who is impure is worthless. The sexual assault is his twisted way of reclaiming manhood by destroying her spirit–this confirms he is patriarchy personified. Blanche’s ending line is one of the most often quoted: “I’ve always depended on the kindness of strangers.” Part of Blanche’s tragedy is that she was too dependent on other people taking care of her. She was never allowed to grow and take care of herself. That’s why I don’t think the movie is condemning female sexuality but more so showing female sexuality as a reality in the lives of two sisters whose sheltered upbringing and gendered socialization influenced them both to make questionable life choices.

Maybe if she lived in today’s America, Blanche could have learned to be self-reliant and to engage in sexual activity for gratification rather than self-esteem. Unfortunately, slut-shaming would still be a reality but at least she could be empowered enough to better handle it and stand up for herself. And maybe if raised differently in a more enlightened era, Stella could live out her bodice-ripper fantasy with a man who behaved properly outside the bedroom. The men suffer too. Stanley’s insecurity is driven by being the product of an unhealthy definition of masculinity. By the end of the movie, it’s obvious that Mitch still cares for Blanche but his sexist ideas about female purity stifles his chance with her. Maybe if he lived in a more enlightened era, his knee-jerk reaction to Blanche’s past promiscuity wouldn’t have been so rash and backwards.

Overall, Streetcar is showing the downfalls of letting lust eclipse your reason while doing the rare thing of showcasing female sexuality in the context of a society that dismissed and condemned it. Tennessee Williams was a gay man who is noted for having a great deal of empathy toward women. He also knew the frustration of living in a time period that demanded his sexuality be repressed (except in his case it wasn’t due to his gender but due to his sexual orientation). That’s why A Streetcar Named Desire shouldn’t be dismissed as another cautionary tale that warns women not to embrace desires. On the contrary, this is a story that condemns society for keeping women from being stable, whole, and sexual human beings.

Cowboy Justice: Rape Revenge in Mainstream Cinema and TV

So maybe what had looked like a trend toward marginalizing rape survivors was actually a move toward bringing them into the fold of the American action hero? This is a move that discloses a terrible truth about the handling of rape cases in our legal system, but can be viewed as a genuine attempt to find a way to make the cowboy narrative, and the catharsis that comes with it, available and relevant to survivors of rape.

This guest post by Morgan Faust appears as part of our theme week on Rape Revenge Fantasies.

When I set out to research and write this article, I assumed (can you make an ass out of me and you when it’s just one person?) I would be writing a piece on how American cinema has let down women when it comes to reflecting and portraying a constructive image of rape and it’s aftermath. The rape revenge fantasy genre of exploitation films a la I Spit on Your Grave certainly did, striking me as cinematic renderings of discomfort and titillation wrapped in the guise of catharsis (I mean….look at the poster art). However, only a niche audience seeks these out, so while these films certainly have their fans and detractors, most people have never seen them.

What I wanted to know was how is mainstream cinema and tv presenting the topic? Outside of afterschool specials and the life and times Kelly Taylor? What I found was a trend of well-drawn female heroines, marginalized by society, who in the aftermath of being raped, had become, to some degree, vigilantes. OK, not terrible, but why were these survivors all presented as isolated loners? Usually viewed as crazy? And then I realized something: in its own limited way, American cinema has tried to comprehend the complexity and challenge of dealing with the issue of rape, an issue that brings up deep feelings of anger, shame, guilt, arousal, questions about gender and power dynamics, the woeful reality that only 3 percent of rapists ever spend a day in jail, by forcing these storylines into our most American of male hero molds: the lone cowboy.

Thelma and Louise—the most critically acclaimed, mainstream of all the rape revenge movies–seemed like a great starting point. This is a movie about a rape survivor (Louise) and a woman who was almost raped (Thelma) evolving from, respectfully, a repressed waitress and a subservient housewife into a pair of vigilante outlaws with an aim to better the world by teaching men how to treat women better.

On Becoming Cowboy: Louise (Susan Sarandon) and Thelma (Geena Davis)

The near rape of Thelma is the inciting incident that gets this story rolling; however, the roots of their cowboy nature run much deeper with Louise, which is why she is the mentor figure of the duo. Louise’s entire character is built out of her rape: she is a highly controlled individual (look at that hairdo at the beginning of the movie), unwilling to trust others, completely self-reliant, and since she uprooted herself and fled her home in Texas (in an attempt to get as far from her rapist as possible), she has little in way of a family or community outside of Thelma and boyfriend Jimmy, both of whom she keeps at a safe distance. In the first few minutes of the movie we’re told that Darryl (Thelma’s husband) thinks Louise is “out of her mind.” In a different movie this could simply seem like an insult a controlling husband uses against his wife’s friend, but in this movie the women have reclaimed the word crazy to mean self-actualized, truly yourself, truly a woman, truly a cowboy.

See what I mean (this is taken from the cop chase near the end of the movie):

THELMA

I guess I went a little crazy, huh?

LOUISE

No… You’ve always been crazy.
This is just the first chance you’ve
had to really express yourself.

Thelma and Louise serves as a kind of origin story for many of the women in other rape revenge movies. Louise’s rape, and the near-rape of Thelma sever them from society, forcing them into a life where they must seek justice on their own.

Veronica Mars, another marginalized loner, despised by her fellow classmates and working as an amateur PI, has a very similar backstory to Louise: once a naive, happy, student with a popular boyfriend, she was drugged and raped at a party, contributing to and the result in her ostracization from society. The private eye, of course, is the narrative twin of the cowboy: “The private-eye novel was a western that happened somewhere else,” William Reuhlmann says in Saint with a Gun. Veronica only becomes the strong, smart, dogged, lone gun vigilante we know and love in part as a result of the rape.

By keeping this secret inside of them, these women had been transformed. In rape revenge films, that transformation is from an open, trusting person to someone isolated, and alone, but damn tough.

But why were all these women alone? Why after so much discussion on college campuses of coming forward, not being ashamed, speaking out about what had happened, was I finding this pattern of women in cinema having to seek justice on their own rather than through their community? It just seemed to reinforce ideas that contradicted the messaging around rape I’d heard from crisis centers and abuse shelters. There is of course The Accused….but that actually is a movie that proves just how difficult it can be to get justice against rapists in the court of law (let’s look again at that disturbing statistic of only 3 percent of rapists serving time in jail).

The Accused: Sarah Tobias (Jodie Foster) fighting to get her day in court. — *The Accused*: Sarah Tobias (Jodie Foster) fighting to get her day in court.

Rape is an intensely personal violation, something you live with for the rest of your life. On cinematic terms, it is equivalent to murder–the kind of thing that John Wayne seems to be speaking about directly when he said in Stagecoach, “There’s some things a man just can’t run away from.” So if society isn’t providing women with the means to achieve justice, perhaps this cinematic response of the isolated vigilante made real sense. Veronica Mars explains her choice to seek vengeance on her own saying that she didn’t tell her father because “no good would’ve come of it.” For a recent reminder of just how difficult our society makes it for women to confront their rapists, look to the ongoing “Girl who Ratted” scandal unfolding at Vanderbilt University, where a woman reported a rape and was immediately torn to shreds on the University’s messaging boards. Thankfully, there is a support structure building around her; however, the culture of shaming, ridiculing and marginalizing rape victims is still going strong, giving Veronica’s comments a reality and weight more profound than most network TV programs care to touch.

Before there was Thelma and Louise ... Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid — Before there was *Thelma and Louise*… *Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid*

Is the cowboy actually a cathartic outlet for the “fantasies” of women who found society turning against them in their time of need, rather than offering support? America suffers from a schizophrenic sense of cinematic self-identity: we should all be patriots and defend the American way of life to the death, yet a extremely high number of individuals are forced to take the law into their own hands when society lets them down. So maybe what had looked like a trend toward marginalizing rape survivors was actual a move toward bringing them into the fold of the American action hero? This is a move that discloses a terrible truth about the handling of rape cases in our legal system, but can be viewed as a genuine attempt to find a way to make the cowboy narrative, and the catharsis that comes with it, available and relevant to survivors of rape.

In most westerns or private eye movies our hero is tasked with saving a vulnerable person. Sometimes it’s a kid, but usually we are talking about a damsel in distress. With rape revenge stories, the damsel needing saving is the woman herself; in order to save herself, she must become the protector of other weak and vulnerable people.

In the rape revenge films the damsel in distress and her savior are one and the same — In rape revenge films, the damsel in distress
and her savior are one and the same

Veronica Mars is an entire show about how she uses the skills she has honed in response to going through the crucible of tragedy that was her rape and the death of her best friend to serve the student body of Neptune High and right the wrongs inflicted upon them. Think of Thelma and Louise blowing up the rig of the dirty truck driver. Why? To teach him to stop harassing women. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo’s Lisbeth Salander, a hacker–the modern version of the cowboy, policing uncharted virtual terrain, living by his/her own moral code–is a highly introverted woman, isolated and unwilling to conform to social norms, the victim of sexual abuse and rape. She uses her power to solve the mystery of Harriet’s disappearance and uncover the culprit behind a number of murders of young women.

Lisbeth Salander (Noomi Rapace), modern Cowboy — Lisbeth Salander (Noomi Rapace), modern cowboy

In one rare example, Hard Candy, we have a protagonist in Hayley Stark who is never identified as having had any sexual abuse in her own past, but has taken on the mantle of vigilant to make the men responsible for the rape and death of a 14-year-old girl (and possibly others) pay for their crimes. Here we have a far more traditionally male hero set-up, as she is avenging the death of a loved one. She is presented as a wanderer, and since she is a con artist we can presume we know nothing about her past, except that she has killed before and is methodical in her approach to administering her own form of justice against these pedophiles and killers. She is, in a way, our Man without a Name.

The Kid without a Name (Ellen Page), seeking vengeance for those who can’t do it for themselves

I was feeling fairly positive about this new spin I had found. I was a little frustrated that so few action-oriented female characters exist without the rape back story, but intrigued to discover that the isolated vigilante trope was actually aligning these women with a strong American tradition of self-reliance and cowboy caretakers. And then I looked at a few films where the victims of rape are men. Outside of Sleepers, I had a hard time finding films that fit the rape revenge model, so I expanded to films that contained significant rape sequences–Pulp Fiction, Deliverance, American History X–and you know what I found? A whole different set of storylines–no isolated, marginalized characters. In fact, quite the opposite. I saw men working together to help each other deal with both the rapists and the aftermath of the act. I saw men transformed into more understanding, caring individuals in the aftermath of being raped. What the hell?

Sleepers, victims, but they are not alone — *Sleepers*–victims, but they are not alone

One takeaway here is the very likely possibility that filmmakers are even less comfortable with exploring the psychological effects of being raped when the victim is man so they treat it lightly; however, I can’t help but ask what it says about us if the stories we tell about female rape victims continue to be ones of trauma and marginalization, while men remain well-adjusted members of their community?

I think what it says is that we (and when I say we I am making the assumption here that cinema reflects us) still don’t know how to respond to incidences of rape.We still have difficulty talking about it, and are unsure how to understand the nuances of each case and how it differs when it is a stranger, or a friend, or a spouse, or a relative, or when the victim is a child, or an elderly person, or when the victim is drunk or high. Choosing to make these women into cowboys is ultimately a safe choice. The women are presented as brave and strong; the catharsis is satisfying–there are good guys and bad guys, and no outside forces (like police or lawyers) have to get mixed up in it, confusing the issues, bringing up unwanted questions. I am eager to see more films that tackle this subject with a new perspective (Black Rock gave it a shot, with limited success), films that don’t reinforce the notion that female victims of rape have no place in common society. But I have to admit that I have found a greater respect for the existing canon.

Morgan Faust started working in film as an intern for the Squigglevision classic Dr. Katz and never looked back. A graduate of Columbia University’s MFA program, she now works as half of BroSis, a brother/sister writing and directing team with brother Max Isaacson in Los Angeles, where they are finishing up their first feature script (a female-helmed actioner), and ramping up to direct a pair of films in 2014. Her short film Tick Tock Time Emporium won numerous film festivals and is distributed in the US, India, Greenland, Denmark, the Faroe Islands and is available online at Seed & Spark. Her other credits include Gimme the Loot (editor), 3 Backyards (editor) and Mutual Appreciation (producer).

On ‘Heavy Weights’ and the Power of Perkisizing

I’m a 90s kid, and I can vividly remember watching Disney’s ‘Heavy Weights’ (Steven Brill, 1995) and cracking up over Ben Stiller’s performance as the deranged Tony Perkis. Stiller’s hysterical role as Perkis is clearly an early preface to his infamous role as White Goodman in ‘Dodgeball’ (Rawson Marshall Thurber, 2004), a film that contains the same elements of fat-shaming and the subversive power of owning your own happiness. Brill’s film examines fat culture and American boyhood, a theme I don’t think we see enough in mainstream film today (more recently, see ‘The Kings of Summer’ (Jordan Vogt-Roberts, 2013)).

How can we not love to hate Tony Perkis?

Written by Jenny Lapekas

I’m a 90’s kid, and I can vividly remember watching Disney’s Heavy Weights (Steven Brill, 1995) and cracking up over Ben Stiller’s performance as the deranged Tony Perkis. Stiller’s hysterical role as Perkis is clearly an early preface to his infamous role as White Goodman in Dodgeball (Rawson Marshall Thurber, 2004), a film that contains the same elements of fat-shaming and the subversive power of owning your own happiness. Brill’s film examines fat culture and American boyhood, a theme I don’t think we see enough in mainstream film today (more recently, see The Kings of Summer [Jordan Vogt-Roberts, 2013]). When we invest ourselves in the cinematic experience of growing up as a boy in America, audiences can better understand how young boys relate to girls, and how gender expectations are developed and executed amongst characters who are attempting to become comfortable in their own bodies–a task many adults are still mastering. This Disney film provides this binary, along with plenty of campers who simply won’t be defeated due to their plus-size status.

Co-written by Judd Apatow, Heavy Weights contains many elements that are signature of his trademark humor, filtered by the film’s friendly Disney rating. However, the narrative flirts with solemn issues surrounding body image, gender relations, and American adolescence. Upon meeting, Roy (the still very funny “fat kid” Kenan Thompson) tells Gerry that at fat camp, “everybody’s the fat kid.” The camp allows the boys to avoid the stigmatization associated with obesity, which often results in bullying and issues with self-esteem. Here, we see boys rather than girls being fat-shamed and pressured to lose weight. In fact, in the opening scene, Gerry’s father refers to his son’s weight as a “problem” they need to “nip in the bud.”

Jerry is skeptical as he views the promotional video for Camp Hope with his parents.

Although Gerry’s fat and he knows it, he still claims he doesn’t want to spend his summer with “a bunch of fat loads”–pointing up the idea that even overweight people are quick to point to other “fat loads” as being undesirable company. The central idea behind the movie seems to be a male version of the 2010 ABC television series Huge (2010), developed by Winnie Holzman, who also created the amazing series My So-Called Life (1994-1995), starring Hairspray’s (Adam Shankman, 2007) plus-sized Nikki Blonsky. The show’s Camp Victory is akin to the Camp Hope we find in Heavy Weights, both names implying that obesity is a problem that must be solved. While Huge only lasted one season, and I was never a viewer since I found its previews to be alienating and overzealous, I’m assuming that Camp Victory was not governed by a fitness lunatic attempting to profit from child obesity.

Pat is Jerry's only source of comfort when Tony takes over and Jerry's family dismisses his complaints. — Pat is Jerry’s only source of comfort when Tony takes over and Jerry’s family dismisses his complaints.

The only woman of any importance we see throughout the film is Julie (Leah Lail), the camp nurse and love interest of long-time camper and counselor, Pat (Tom McGowan). Pat has the boys’ best interests in mind as he encourages them to adopt a healthier lifestyle rather than determining their identities according to their weight and ages, as Tony does. What strikes any vigilant, feminist viewer is that there are no portrayals of fat women in Heavy Weights either–provided, yes, it is a boys’ camp, but Pat’s girlfriend is a petite redhead, who merely serves as a prop to prove that a beautiful, thin woman can love chubby, run-of-the-mill Pat. Due to this noticeable absence, and after watching the film about a dozen times, I’m still mildly surprised to see a dance filled with beautiful young girls, along with our socially awkward bunch at Camp Hope.

The boys cower as a pretty girl asks where the bathroom is.

“Tony’s arranged a dance with the girls’ camp so he can humiliate us into losing weight,” Gerry writes in a letter to his grandmother. The girls are visibly agitated, and body weight rests at the forefront in this scene. When one girl snaps, “Why don’t those guys just lose weight?” another girl quickly retorts, “Why don’t you tell them how to throw up after meals like you do?” This fleeting exchange points up the idea that these girls–and many girls and women like them everywhere–are no better than the boys of Camp Hope. Indeed, the negative feminine archetype highlighted here is one of denial and joylessness, yet the tone of this dance scene is comedic, not tragic. While bulimia is obviously no joking matter, Heavy Weights crystallizes the preference for a fulfilling life that includes go-carting, summer friendships, and yes, food, as opposed to an existence that’s based on appearances, defensiveness, and self-loathing. After Tony abruptly ends the dance after he sees that he’s failed at embarrassing the boys, he tells the girls, “I appreciate your efforts–I know this hasn’t been easy,” meaning that this group of girls is far too attractive to have any degree of fun with “a bunch of fat loads.”

Although an adult, Pat is just an uncomfortable around girls as his teenaged counterparts.

While Tony advocates dangerous methods of fitness and weight loss, and represents many unattainable ideals in America, we laugh because he’s a harebrained caricature of that gym teacher we had in school, the family member we must deal with, or the misinformed fitness fanatic who can never get enough. I’m almost tempted to brand him an “anti-hero” because, quite honestly, I want to see him succeed. Combined with a balanced diet, we could all benefit from some Perkisizing.

The boys' failure to lose weight reflects poorly on Tony and impedes his business venture. — The boys’ failure to lose weight reflects poorly on Tony and impedes his business venture.

What’s entertaining about Stiller’s dramatic character is that he’s essentially starving his new campers as the new owner of Camp Hope, while any sensible person knows that abstaining from eating actually encourages the human body to store fat so that it can survive. I think what also makes this film easy to laugh at is the fact that both our campers and villain are males. Just like my last post on Deuce Bigalow, I’ve spent maybe a bit too much time wondering how this movie would work if the protagonist and other cast members were predominantly female, or if it would work at all. Would our girl campers be caught eating fast food in the bathroom stalls like we see in Heavy Weights, or would we observe them sticking their fingers down their throats?

Even Tim, the "skinny guy" who they boys tease, participates in the food orgy that takes place once Tony's rule is overthrown. — Even Tim, the “skinny guy” who they boys tease, participates in the food orgy that takes place once Tony’s rule is overthrown.

So, although 20 years old, does this Disney film reinforce today’s stereotypes about fat culture? Sure, it does. Fat people are jolly and likable while those who are beautiful with glistening abs of steel are shallow, like the boys’ rival camp across the lake, Camp MVP; thus, the stereotypes attached to those who are “fit” are equally damning and ridiculous. The film’s exclusion of women is not what I would call offensive, however. The marked absence of women by no means amounts to sexism on the parts of Apatow or Brill. Heavy Weights does not purport to be a feminist masterpiece, but it’s certainly not anti-feminist either; rather, it offers the idea that fat-shaming does not discriminate based on sex, gender, or age.

Tony organizes an over-the-top presentation to introduce himself to the campers.

We can appreciate that the film’s message is not to lose weight if you are unhappy with your body. Instead, you should be mindful of nutrition, exercise, and a healthful lifestyle. Indeed, Gerry’s mother is happy to hear that her son “feels good,” while “he looks the same,” according to his mildly disappointed father. Although Heavy Weights focuses exclusively on childhood obesity in boys, this theme reflects on girls as well, and the female campers we meet are placed within the narrative to illustrate the quintessential boyhood issues–typically overshadowed by girlhood studies–of gaining and maintaining self-confidence, discovering one’s body, and navigating how to interact with the opposite sex, through the lens that identity, both adult and adolescent, is mistakenly constructed from digesting the bullshit fed to us by a body-obsessed culture.

Recommended reading: What’s Wrong with Fat-Shaming?

________________________________________

Jenny has a Master of Arts degree in English, and she is a part-time instructor at Alvernia University. Her areas of scholarship include women’s literature, menstrual literacy, and rape-revenge cinema. You can find her on Pinterest and WordPress.

‘Deuce Bigalow’: Pleasure, Male Likability, and Finding Love Through “Man-Whoring”

Navigating male prostitution has always been tricky, but ‘Deuce Bigalow: Male Gigolo’ (Mike Mitchell, 1999) unburdens audiences from tackling any heavily philosophical explications through its potty humor, shallow characters, and offensive depictions of ailments such as Tourette Syndrome, Gigantism, Narcolepsy, and obesity. This same brand of mindless humor is found in ‘Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo’ (Mike Mitchell, 2005). However, despite what the movie lacks (and it’s certainly aware of itself as a raunchy, unconventional rom-com), its central themes are love and kindness, and what is perhaps less apparent is the seemingly rare ability to pause and see someone for who they truly are, as opposed to how they may be of service in terms of sex or money. This goofy film featuring Rob Schneider begs a feminist critique not only because the film lacks many multi-dimensional characters, but because it is a prostitution narrative encoded as a story depicting the pursuit of romantic love, rather than a cautionary tale about the dangers of the world’s oldest profession.

Written by Jenny Lapekas.

Navigating male prostitution has always been tricky, but Deuce Bigalow: Male Gigolo (Mike Mitchell, 1999) unburdens audiences from tackling any heavily philosophical explications through its potty humor, shallow characters, and offensive depictions of ailments such as Tourette Syndrome, Gigantism, Narcolepsy, and obesity. This same brand of mindless humor is found in Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo (Mike Mitchell, 2005). However, despite what the movie lacks (and it’s certainly aware of itself as an unconventional rom-com), its central themes are love and kindness, and what is perhaps less apparent is the seemingly rare ability to pause and see someone for who they truly are, as opposed to how they may be of service in terms of sex or money. This goofy film featuring Rob Schneider begs a feminist critique not only because the film lacks many multi-dimensional characters, but because it is a prostitution narrative encoded as a story that illustrates the pursuit of romantic love, rather than a cautionary tale about the dangers of the world’s oldest profession.

vlcsnap-2014-01-26-16h50m48s24 — We see Deuce’s priorities are obviously askew when he pours Fiji water into his fish tank while he drinks murky tap water.

While sex for pay is in fact criminal in most places, we’re positioned to believe that any form of prostitution is also unsafe and downright gross. However, audiences respond differently to Deuce due to his male status. Female prostitutes are typically interpreted as vulnerable, desperate, and revolting–quite the contrary, we sympathize with Deuce, we root for Deuce, we like Deuce. Would most audiences feel the same way about a woman protagonist? Probably not. In fact, TJ’s (Eddie Griffin) continued use of terms like “he-bitch” and “man-gina” only serve to further affix a pseudo-stigma to Deuce in his pursuits as a hooker. Indeed, Deuce is not stigmatized; rather, he’s reigned a sort of hero for his accomplishments as a “he-bitch,” as he helps to develop the self esteem of his clients and urges them to remember that they’re worthy of love. Also, Rob Schneider is not a traditionally handsome man, which may aid audiences in feeling more at ease with Deuce’s profession. Gender in comedy is certainly an issue here–many viewers find male characters like Deuce funny precisely because we don’t take men seriously when they’re sexualized, especially awkward, goofy Schneider. It is this quietly confident brand of masculinity that feminist viewers endorse, if we can excuse the insulting placement of minorities, people with disabilities, and others. TJ fulfills the stereotyped role of the token Black friend and the experienced pimp, yet he’s Deuce’s only source of guidance in his misadventures as a gigolo. What is perhaps most troubling is when, in the film’s concluding scene, Deuce spots TJ sitting behind him in court, disguised in “white face” to avoid being accosted by the police for his involvement in pimping. This disguise surely eliminates any suspicion of wrongdoing or affiliation with the prostitution business.

vlcsnap-2014-01-26-17h46m45s41 — We’re struck with the sobering fact that Deuce is indeed desperate, and yet the effect is still one of comedy and likability.

A particularly significant scene in this discussion depicts Deuce accidentally taking home an actual prostitute in a classic case of mistaken identity. Claire adamantly requests $500 for her services, and they argue over who exactly pays who. We find ourselves comfortable with Deuce’s new career when he insists that he wants only $10, which is clearly the price he believes he’s worth after a kinky woman dresses him as a German tourist and her rabid dog chases him out. This run-in with a female prostitute is a refreshing reminder to audiences that sex workers can indeed be ambitious and business-savvy, and works as a wake-up call to Deuce that perhaps he should stick to cleaning fish tanks for a living.

TJ uses the term “man-whoring,” which implies that “whoring” itself is a practice reserved exclusively for women. Deuce agrees to “man-whore” to replace the expensive fish tank that he breaks in Antoine’s home. However, money is not the motive; Deuce simply wants to do what’s right by replacing the expensive item he broke while housesitting. We may also note that Deuce returns the money given to him by Kate’s (Arija Bareikis) friends to take her out, and also stands up for her when they argue that she’s “not normal.” When Deuce first meets Kate, he’s thrilled that she seems so “perfect,” of course not like his other clients who attract unwanted attention in public. Also vital to unravelling character development is that Deuce’s discovery of Kate’s prosthetic leg takes place during foreplay: an act of intimacy, exploration, and trust–and he doesn’t bat an eyelash.

vlcsnap-2014-01-26-16h51m17s69 — A portly girl scout serves as our surrogate when Deuce answers the door to offers of cookies shortly after he accidentally turns on pornography. “You’re a sick man, and I’m gonna tell!”

Each of Deuce’s clients present a challenge: to “normalize” their bizarre behavior and off-putting appearances. Deuce takes Ruth (the lovable Amy Poehler), a woman with Tourette Syndrome, to a baseball game so her disorder doesn’t alienate her in public. He exercises with the hefty Fluisa (Big Boy) and even plays a food trivia game with her, and he accommodates Carol’s (Deborah Lemen) Narcolepsy to prevent self-injury.

vlcsnap-2014-01-26-17h43m19s47 — Detective Fowler can’t seem to stop whipping out his junk for Deuce to assess.

The film is resolved in a court scene where all of Deuce’s “clients” testify on his behalf. Tina (Torsten Voges), an exceedingly tall woman from Norway, declares, “Deuce and I never had sex. It was physically impossible. It’s true I paid him money to be with him, and I’d do it again because he made me feel good about myself.” Deuce must admit that he did, in fact, sleep with one woman who was a client, but he asserts that he is in love with her. He is pardoned since she never actually paid him for sex. “This whole gigolo thing was just a mistake,” he tells Kate. His time as a man-whore essentially leads him to love, to a woman he finds ideal. Deuce refuses to ostracize any of these women simply because they are society’s “throwaways,” and other men have perhaps rejected or abandoned them due to their quirks or impairments. We can argue that the film hates fat women, tall women, perhaps all women, but we must consider the possibility that these characters represent the hyperbolic caricature images many women imagine of themselves: “I’m too fat,” “my feet are too big,” “I’m no fun to be with.” We all have insecurities, especially about our bodies and social identities; however, enter Deuce to confirm that we all have the right to unapologetically be who we are.

All of the “flaws” Deuce’s clients exhibit only serve to highlight that nothing is actually wrong with any of them at all. Every woman Deuce “pleasures” is “broken” in some way, as the film seems to insist. Even Kate’s roommate Bergita, a very minor character, is newly blind, a disability which serves as comic relief throughout the movie. While the placement of disabled, queered, othered, or otherwise “damaged” women in the film is no doubt offensive, these characters undeniably aid in the narrative structure of Deuce Bigalow. Although Deuce is obviously not destined for life as a sex worker, his sampling of the trade offers viewers the reality that prostitutes are indeed hard workers and human beings.

vlcsnap-2014-01-26-17h38m14s75 — Bergita worries that something is wrong with her “cat.”

Deuce actually grows by choosing to become a prostitute, primarily because he’s so horrid at it. His redeeming quality, amid choosing such an unsavory career path, is his unrelenting kindness, his willingness to please, and his natural role as the “good guy.” Deuce tells Kate, “This whole gigolo thing was just a mistake…but I’m glad it happened, cause I never would have met you. I never would have known what love was.” Throughout Deuce’s time as a man-whore, he comes to know himself well, he forges authentic friendships, and he finds the girl of his dreams. Deuce tells one client, “I just can’t do this. I’m head over heels for a girl. We’re going through a rough time, me being a man-whore and all, but I know it’s gonna work out because I love her,” a moment that negotiates the shady boundaries between romance and plain raunchiness. Although he initially recoils at the idea that he doesn’t bring any women “pleasure,” Deuce provides comfort, support, and friendship to all the women he takes on as clients. As Ruth explains in court, “Deuce taught me to be comfortable with who I am.” If we pause to look past the poop jokes, the unoriginal stereotypes, and a cop who can’t stop flashing Deuce his “thin” dick, we can easily detect a genuine person who simply wants what we all want: love.

_______________________________

‘The Pod People’: Sympathy for Trumpy’s Mom

Written by Andé Morgan.

I was born in the 80’s, and the 80’s are in me. When I hear that harem pants are back, I’m all like “XXL in gold lamé, please.” Watching a bad 80’s science fiction movie is like being born again: loud, frightening, painful, and (ultimately) so worth it. From Escape From New York to Robocop, cheesy 80’s movies have an essential optimism that often defies the best dark intentions of their screenwriters and production designers. Maybe this was due to subconscious anticipation of the “digital cinematography” revolution? Of course, 80’s movies also often contain a startling amount of misogyny, sexism, chauvinism, homophobia, and racism. This is unfortunate, but useful in its own way. Just as negative space is useful for defining an object, bad movies are useful for defining what a good movie isn’t. The Pod People is a negative space movie.

You may be familiar with Pod People from the third season of Mystery Science Theatre 3000 (ep. 0303, really the best way to watch it). Originally released as Los Nuevos Extraterrestres in Spain in 1983, Pod People answers the question: what if E.T., but they’re a psychopath? Directed by Juan Piquer Simón and starring a smorgasbord of European actors, this movie is ranked #28 on IMDB’s Bottom 100 list.

The film open on several men (poachers, we learn hours and hours and hours later) driving into the woods to poach. A bright light streaks across the sky and crashes to Earth, prompting one of the men to investigate (on his own, of course). He finds a cave glowing with unholy red light; inside he finds a clutch of large eggs. Inexplicably offended, he proceeds to destroy them, but is slain by a POV monster before the last, portentous, egg can be smashed.

Tommy (Óscar Martín) is a child living in isolation in the forest with his subservient mother Molly (Concha Cuetos) and his curmudgeonly uncle, Bill (Manuel Pereiro). While out collecting bugs, he finds the cave and brings the surviving egg home. The egg hatches and overnight the spawn grows as large as Tommy. He names it “Trumpy” because it looks like an abbreviated elephant. Trumpy impresses Tommy with some bootleg E.T. stop-motion psychokinesis. Meanwhile, Rick (Ian Sera) and his so-called bandmates Brian (Emilio Linder), Kathy (Sara Palmer), Sharon (Nina Ferrer), and Tracy (Maria Albert) stop at Tommy’s house for help after honorary band member Lara (Susanna Bequer) is injured in a fall while running from Mother Monster.

Trumpy’s mom soon goes on to kill another poacher, as well as bandmates Brian and Tracy. Eventually, Trumpy’s mother sneaks into the house and kills Kathy while she’s taking a shower. Summoned by the screaming, Bill wounds Trumpy’s mom with a rifle. The remaining men pursue the alien as she retreats to the woods. Trumpy, hiding through all this, then reappears in the house, frightening Molly and Sharon . Molly tries to shoot Trumpy, but Tommy shields the alien while they exit out the back door. Molly and Sharon follow Tommy into the woods. Trumpy and his mother have a quick reunion before she is shot to death by Rick (at least she gets to kill Bill first). Trumpy recedes into the bush, and the survivors return to the cabin. The end.

Like I said, this was a bad movie. It featured poor lighting, creepy dubbing, questionable continuity, and jarring scene changes. I will say that it’s amazing the they were able to make Trumpy and his mother so damned creepy on such a low budget.

Unexpectedly, the movie actually passes the Bechdel test. Technically. Midway through, Tracy and Molly share a scene where they discuss cooking. However, since this dialogue occurs in the context of a conversation about attracting men, one might argue that it doesn’t count. Later, there is a short bit of dialogue where Sharon admonishes Kathy against taking a shower while a killer is on the loose (a good idea, it turned out).

Pod People is a trove of clichéd horror and alien movie tropes, and this certainly applies to the portrayals of the female characters. We see Molly, the subservient mother figure, focused entirely on caring for the Man, Uncle Bill (Her brother? Her late husband’s brother? Some guy? Thanks for the help, movie) or the Child, Tommy. Her chaste devotion keeps her upright through the last frame. By contrast, Lara the Slut/Rich Bitch is depicted as a grown woman with the mind of child, which makes the earnest delivery of her sex-focused dialogue extra creepy. She shows no guilt over insinuating herself into camping trip for the sole purpose of sexy times with Rick, even though she knows that Sharon (Rick’s girlfriend) will be there and is not about that polyamory life. Of course, as punishment for her entitlement and sluttery, Lara is the first of the bandmates to die.

Tracy is the Ugly Girl/Odd Duck. Unlike the other women, she is not paired up with a male character, and spends almost all of her screen time lamenting about how she can’t attract a man. She meets her end in the back of a motorhome, while Tommy looks on through a telescope. It was an unsettling scene to watch. Even the crew of the SOL note that Tracy’s death scene seems…rapey. After the screaming and gyrations subside, her lifeless body is thrown from the camper like so much trash. Kathy’s death, by way of an extraterrestrial POV variation on the Psycho-Shower scene, is less disturbing but leaves another young, female character just as dead.

Sharon survives. Throughout the movie she is little more than a prop, prone to arguing and alternatively pursued or spurned by Rick. If the first act, when she learns the Lara will be coming on the camping trip, there is a scene where Rick silences her protests by grabbing her upper arms with his meat hooks and forcible pulling her in for kiss. Simón probably this would come across as romantic, because women love to be sexually assaulted, right?

So bad men and flawed women are killed, and ultimately, the alpha male uses violence to save his woman-property (Sharon), the chaste mother, and the child. Pod People would be just another 80’s Spanish mockbuster if not for one glimmer of a redeeming female character: Trumpy’s mother. Compelling female monsters are rare; most tend to be some variation of the sexy flawed woman, the sexy vampire/succubus, or the sexy space woman. Trumpy’s mom doesn’t fit the sexy cliché. Understandably angry about the mindless murder of her unborn progeny, her initial attempts at contact with humanity are met with screams and violent gestures. It’s no wonder she lashes out. She’s a strikingly sympathetic character, and I found myself rooting for her to just nuke the whole planet from orbit. Maybe in the sequel, Pod Peoples?

Andé Morgan writes about culture, politics, race, and LGBTQ issues. Her perspective stems from a life spent always on the boundary: white and black, rich and poor, masculine and feminine. She takes shelter under the transgender umbrella.

Check out her blog, NoAccommodation, and tweets at @noaccommodation and @andemorgan.