Mia Wasikowska – Bitch Flicks

Mining the Feminist Messages of ‘Crimson Peak’

In fact, she genuinely began to feel “depressed” from playing Lucille. However, when she confided this in on-screen brother Tom Hiddleston, who has famously played characters such as Marvel villain Loki, he shared that “you only have fun when your character is having fun,” and, as Chastain explains, “Lucille hasn’t had a fun day in her life.” As the victim of intense patriarchal oppression, it’s no wonder.

(Contains SPOILERS for Crimson Peak.)

When filming Guillermo del Toro’s most recent film, Crimson Peak, Jessica Chastain felt surprised that playing the villain, Lucille Sharpe, wasn’t as “fun” as other actors describe playing villainous roles to be. In fact, she genuinely began to feel “depressed” from playing Lucille. However, when she confided this in on-screen brother Tom Hiddleston, who has famously played characters such as Marvel villain Loki, he shared that “you only have fun when your character is having fun,” and, as Chastain explains, “Lucille hasn’t had a fun day in her life.” As the victim of intense patriarchal oppression, it’s no wonder.

As patriarchal values are all Lucille has known, those are the tools she uses to attempt to gain and maintain control over her own life and to protect her beloved younger brother, Thomas. By adopting patriarchal means of action, even while being miserable doing it, Lucille becomes a “formidable” antagonist to Mia Wasikowska’s protagonist Edith. This is despite Lucille being entirely (and sympathetically) driven in her actions by profound love and a deep-seated fear of being alone. Turning on other women, including Edith, leads to Lucille’s ultimate downfall, and at Edith’s hands, who was only trying to defend herself and others. As Lucille’s sad life portrays, oppression, such as that from patriarchy, cannot be combatted by becoming an oppressor oneself.

Like many of del Toro’s films, this film deals with knowing and learning about the past in order to move forward and not repeat past mistakes or crimes. Lucille experiences abuse, internalizes it, and then takes it out on other women. Edith, meanwhile, suffers minor abuse, is supported in her efforts to rise against it, and attempts to support other women herself. Though the men in the story make many mistakes in their attempts to be allies to Edith, some of their actions aide Edith when her strength and determination need a little boost. However, it is largely due to the help of other women, albeit none still living, that Edith is able to accomplish what she does, whether it is through the role model of “Frankenstein” author Mary Shelly, or the female ghosts that warn and aide her.

It is only when Edith chooses to listen to the messages that these female ghosts have for her, whether through old wax recordings or their own spectral presences, that Edith learns what she needs to know in order to move forward in her own life. Through joined female effort and learning about what came before her, Edith and the audience can effectively move into the present and take the most effective action in efforts to support the lives of women. With the help of other women, the occasionally non-burdensome help of male allies (again, the men make a number of dangerous mistakes – usually by underestimating both Edith and Lucille), and a lot of her own effort, Edith succeeds in getting through danger, not unscathed, but alive. She then publishes the fruit of her labor, her novel, under her own name – quite something for a woman to do in 1901. (The date is not provided in the film, but was given by Tom Hiddleston in this interview.)

Lucille is strongly compared to and contrasted against Edith throughout the film. Edith is an ambitious writer who defends her career choice and preferred suspenseful genres against patriarchal and condescending men and women alike. Edith marries the baronet Thomas Sharpe, who is “a dreamer” like her, in part because he is supportive of her writing. Edith continues to work on her novel after their marriage, just as Thomas continues to work on his mining invention (Yes, the “Sharpe Mines” – I see what you did there, del Toro). Lucille could have made a career as a marvelous composer and pianist, but lacked the supportive upbringing that Edith received, and rarely writes or plays (or, indeed, lives) except for her younger brother. At one point, Lucille throws Edith’s manuscript, page by page, into the fire, saying dismissively “You thought you were a writer….” Meanwhile Lucille never takes credit for the beautiful lullaby she seemingly wrote – for Thomas, naturally.

This reflects the internalization of her years of neglect and abuse, a childhood alternately locked away upstairs or physically beaten with a cane, forced to care at an early age for her abusive mother after her father “snapped [Lucille’s mother’s] leg under his boot,” and then sent to and locked away in a mental institution in continental Europe, away from her only comfort – her brother. So internalized is the abuse and pain, Lucille even thinks she is doing her female victims a favor by killing them, as shown in the scene in which Lucille feeds Edith (poisoned) porridge while speaking about her relationship with her mother.

Throughout her life, Lucille protects Thomas both from oppression and from becoming much of an oppressor himself, keeping him from having to “get [his] hands dirty.” Thomas therefore comes out of a patriarchal past relatively less broken than Lucille, and is able to maintain a bit more of his humanity. It is this humanity, which Lucille made sure to help him preserve in himself, that leads him to experience guilt for what Lucille and he do – exploiting and poisoning vulnerable women for their wealth. It is this guilt that Edith, the protagonist, inadvertently exploits when she encourages him to not live “in the past.” Edith does not seek out to reform Thomas, unlike in so many “romances” that glorify toxic and abusive relationships – he himself makes the choice to help and defend Edith against Lucille. In fact, when Edith finds out what he has done, she understandably does not hesitate to attack him in self-defense. Heartbreakingly, it is revolutionary even today that Edith is not a Bella Swan or a Manic Pixie Dream Girl used by Thomas to feel better about himself. Edith is romantic with Thomas only when she is unaware of what he has done, and then defends herself from her would-be co-murderer.

Meanwhile, while Edith moves into the future after learning from the past, Lucille is “entrenched” in the “history” of the house and the family, and does not “progress.” Lucille grew up in Victorian England and continental Europe being abused by patriarchal society, patriarchal figures, and patriarchal values. Much of what she does is in keeping with these values, clinging to “the past” and the “shadows” as the Edwardian era begins. Patriarchal values are all she has known, and her actions in the film reflect that, whether she is playing the role patriarchy expects her as a woman to play, such as caretaker, or when she emulates patriarchal violence in order to sustain the way of life she and her brother share, such as when she brutally murders Edith’s father Carter Cushing (played by Jim Beaver).

Patriarchy makes many demands on women. It demands that women internalize sexism and abuse, then take out their anger and frustration on other women in horizontal/in-group violence. Lucille fulfills this requirement of patriarchy many times and in many ways, as did her mother before her – and against her. Patriarchy demands that women lack confidence in themselves, and predominantly define themselves by how they do or do not look. Lucille implies that she feels that she “lack[s] beauty” and youth, while women are still fighting against confidence-destroying beauty and age standards today. Patriarchy demands that women value men more than other women, and more than themselves. Lucille centers her brother, Thomas, and her family’s history above all else, and even seems to blame her mother more than her father for the family’s suffering and destruction. This is especially sad, since it was her father’s abuse of her mother that made her mother take out her anger at him in abusing her children. Patriarchy demands that women compete with each other for the little that is offered them, and so Lucille preys upon other women to uphold the life she has created for her brother and herself.

In some ways, Lucille opposes patriarchal ideas of women, but only as manifestations of her role as protector for Thomas. Del Toro describes Thomas as “a stunted man, an adolescent,” and Lucille fills the roles of both mother and wife to him. As depicted by Katherine Fusciardi on Bitch Flicks, violence by women is seen as justifiable by society if it is committed by a mother to protect her child. Lucille takes on the role of violent protector for Thomas, the masculinity of it being emphasized when she crossdresses in order gain access into a men’s club. There, she violently kills Edith’s father, who was “coarse and condescending” to her beloved younger brother. Her role as protector, her clothing, and her violence in that scene are all culturally seen as masculine. When she emulates patriarchy, it is in order for her and Thomas to maintain a place in it, thereby attempting to be free from patriarchal oppression themselves. However, as stated in Alize Emme’s review of Heathers, “the power” of patriarchy to oppress others “is not something to aspire to.” Instead, female friendship creating support systems are all important. In order to gain true power and freedom, patriarchy must be overthrown in a group effort lead by women, not emulated by the individual. Though Lucille gains much needed money by oppressing other women, it hardly relieves her misery from years of external and internal abuse.

Not only does the story of Crimson Peak have many messages that can be mined (I would say the pun wasn’t intended, but that would be lying) for feminists, but del Toro’s casting choices reflect the feminism of his piece, with Jessica Chastain and Tom Hiddleston being open feminists. What is disappointing is that hardly any women were involved at all behind the camera, not even on the script, with the notable exception of Kate Hawley’s beautiful costume design. Del Toro then, unintentionally it seems, highlights his theme that men can make mistakes as allies, even when they have the best of intentions. Jessica Chastain is particularly vocal about the need for all women and all People of Color to be hired for work behind the camera, and for “all stories” to be told, not just that of “the few.” Hopefully del Toro and the other men onset learned these lessons while filming Crimson Peak, and they continue in learning how to be better allies.

‘Stoker’–Family Secrets, Frozen Bodies, and Female Orgasms

Her uncle’s imposing presence has awakened in her at the same time a lust for bloodshed and an intense sexual desire, and she promptly begins to experiment and seek out means with which to satisfy both.

This guest post by Julie Mills appears as part of our theme week on Violent Women.

Turning 18 is a big deal for any teenager. It’s a huge milestone on the rough road to adulthood, a time of change and discovering one’s true self. For India Stoker (Mia Wasikowska), it is so much more. Her whole world is about to be turned upside down.

Right from the beginning, Stoker pulls you into India’s own special microcosm, which is as captivating as it is haunting. This girl is highly intelligent, but introverted and socially awkward, and it is hinted that she has a mild autism spectrum disorder. She is playful and ever curious to feel, to experience, to know everything. She has been raised in a privileged, protective environment and is quiet, shy, and innocent–innocent as a baby predator before she has made her first kill.

India surrounded by her shoe collection. She gets a new pair every year for her birthday.

India has just lost her father, and the arrival of her uncle Charlie (Matthew Goode), who seems to appear out of nowhere and whom neither India nor her mother Evelyn (Nicole Kidman) have ever met before, throws her life off balance even further.

Uncle Charlie is handsome, charming, and creepy as hell. He has “danger” written all over him, and Evelyn falls for him right away, seeing in him a younger version of her late husband. While expertly weaving his web of charms around his sister-in-law, Charlie also immediately starts to subtly influence his niece, deliberately provoking her and testing her reactions, following her every move with his piercing blue eyes. His moving in with India and her mother sets off a new dynamic that might have been a love triangle, but turns out to be more of a three-way power struggle.

A rare moment of intimacy between mother and daughter.

India’s relationship with her mother is distant at the best of times. In focusing all his attention on their daughter, India’s late father had severely neglected his wife Evelyn, who has turned lonely and bitter over the years. There is hardly a scene with her in it where she is not holding on to a glass of wine as if it were a lifeline. Her husband’s death might have finally provided an opportunity for the two women to bond, but their intense jealousy over Charlie threatens to drive them even further apart.

Stoker was Hollywood actor Wentworth Miller’s stunning debut as a script writer, as well as the first English-language work of South Korean director Chan-wook Park (Oldboy), which explains why in some places the film comes across as a little rough around the edges, but on the whole is fresh and highly intriguing. As with Tideland, Pan’s Labyrinth, or Hannah, to truly appreciate the story you must allow yourself to take on the lead character’s unique perspective, to lay aside your judgment and morality and simply enjoy the disturbing yet engrossing visual ride. Just don’t expect an orgy of violence or bloodbath as can be found in some of Park’s previous movies. This is a psychological thriller, not an action movie. The pace is slow, peeling away layer by layer of deceit and building the suspense gradually like a Hitchcock film (the name “Uncle Charlie” is actually a reference to Shadow of a Doubt).

Who knew how much sexual tension can be in a piano duet?

Among other portrayals of violent women, Stoker stands out because there aren’t many stories about female psychopaths around, and because India’s attraction to violence is closely intertwined with her budding sexuality. Her uncle’s imposing presence has awakened in her at the same time a lust for bloodshed and an intense sexual desire, and she promptly begins to experiment and seek out means with which to satisfy both.

What bothered me most about the story was the fact that in the beginning India is presented as passive like a stereotypical female, waiting and longing to be rescued. Apparently she has to rely on male assistance and guidance in order to discover and awaken her full potential. Her father had, not unlike the father of TV’s Dexter, been systematically grooming her all her life, training her to deal with any “bad” feelings by keeping her isolated and taking her hunting regularly, teaching her that “sometimes you need to do something bad to stop you from doing something worse.” And after his death his brother Charlie takes over, leading India in a completely different direction, but still exerting control over her.

This doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, even in the story’s universe, because India’s dark urges are presented as an inherent part of her nature (her uncle mentions the two of them sharing the same blood), yet have remained inexplicably inert. If her violent impulses had been so strong as to warrant the long lasting control by her father, she wouldn’t have needed her uncle’s encouragement to be set free, and vice versa. In contrast, Charles had discovered his lust for killing on his own, when he was just a boy. Also, when her uncle gives India her first pair of high-heeled shoes that somehow instantly completes India’s transformation into womanhood, which feels like a weird variant of the makeover trope.

BAM.

Personally, for me the most gratifying parts are when India resists Charlie and questions what she has been told, even while she is becoming increasingly infatuated with him. She sets off to seek out her own answers, going through her late father’s things and uncovering dark secrets both her father and her uncle had been keeping from her. In the end, the student surpasses the teacher. India breaks free of her uncle’s control and acts out of her own volition, leaving her old life behind.

I would just love a sequel to this, to see the story escalate from here, preferably in the style of Natural Born Killers or The Devil’s Rejects. Unleashed, India is glorious. She is a true psychopath, hurting people and killing without remorse, simply for her own pleasure. She was neither forced to become violent to fight for survival, nor is she looking for retribution for something that has been done to her in the past. It’s just in her nature.

At first glance this appears to be a classical story about a dangerous predator seducing and corrupting the innocent. But maybe India was never innocent to begin with. Maybe she was simply inexperienced.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YJWrXKoTpL0″]

Julie Mills is in the process of throwing away a perfectly fine, well-paying career to become a full-time writer. At the moment she is working on her first NaNoWriMo project, which is about a female serial killer. You can find her on Twitter @_Julie_M_

‘Crimson Peak’: Guillermo del Toro’s Gothic Romance Offers a Gorgeous Chill

‘Crimson Peak’s connection to the “women’s pictures” of the ’40s and ’50s, and particularly Hitchcock’s ‘Rebecca,’ is instructive in reading it as a feminist film. Del Toro takes the tropes of a goodhearted, innocent protagonist, an oily older suitor, and a dangerous female rival whose hostility to the heroine is in part motivated by an “inappropriate” sexual desire, and recontextualizes them.

Guillermo del Toro’s eye-poppingly gorgeous new horror film/gothic romance, Crimson Peak, has generated mixed reviews, even getting panned by critics who acknowledge its aesthetic strengths. While complaints about the script (by del Toro and Matthew Robbins) aren’t entirely unfounded, complaints about the film’s excesses — from its gore to the batshit commitment of Jessica Chastain’s over-the-top performance, to the visual splendor itself — seem to misunderstand the filmmaker’s aim. Your mileage may vary, as always, but del Toro seems to be in complete control here. The movie is consistent in its vision, and consistent with the filmmaker’s work as a whole.

As he’s done throughout his career, del Toro mines the past for inspiration, then puts his own dark twist on the material. Crimson Peak‘s antecedents include Jane Eyre, Hitchcock classics like Suspicion and Rebecca, and the equally blood-drenched Hammer horror films of the 1950s-1970s. A horror geek of the highest order, del Toro makes loving use of the mood and plot elements of these older works, but makes the material his own.

Crimson Peak‘s connection to the “women’s pictures” of the ’40s and ’50s, and particularly Hitchcock’s Rebecca, is instructive in reading it as a feminist film. Del Toro takes the tropes of a goodhearted, innocent protagonist, an oily older suitor, and a dangerous female rival whose hostility to the heroine is in part motivated by an “inappropriate” sexual desire, and recontextualizes them. He makes the heroine, Edith Cushing (most likely named for Hammer star Peter Cushing), not merely an aspiring author who’s recently written a ghost story (“the ghost is a metaphor,” she explains), but the author of her own fate. As played by the consistently excellent Mia Wasikowska, Edith is a brave, resourceful, and powerful woman, with her own sexual desires.

Tom Hiddleston is Thomas Sharpe, British nobility fallen on hard times. Thomas is charming but weak, as he is batted about by the passions of the two powerful women in his life.

Chastain plays Lucille Sharpe, and from the beginning, both actor and director relish the character’s seething menace. There’s no doubt from the moment Lucille is introduced that she’s bad news, and that she’s running the show. As she explains threateningly to Edith early on in the film, Lucille is that black moth, thriving on dark and cold, and feeding on Edith’s pretty butterfly. It’s not a logical point in the film for Lucille to issue that veiled warning, but it delivers the intended chill, and, as with those ghosts, is a keen metaphor.

Edith is a frustrated author, living in turn-of-the-last-century Buffalo with her wealthy industrialist father, Carter (the great Jim Beaver, beloved of HBO’s Deadwood, bringing an unusual but perfect gruffer-than-thou haughtiness to the role). Edith has personal experience with the supernatural. Her mother’s ghost issued a mysterious warning to her, as a child: “Beware Crimson Peak!” But Edith’s ghost story is not taken seriously because of her gender. She has a suitor, Dr. Alan McMichael (Charlie Hunnam), an ophthalmologist with an interest in Sherlock Holmes, but he clearly doesn’t inspire her. Then Thomas Sharpe comes into her life. He’s handsome and charming and seems genuinely interested in her work. Sharpe is looking for a partner to fund some technical advances at his red clay mine in England, but Carter sees through Sharpe’s charm to his financial desperation.

Noting Sharpe’s interest in Edith, Carter hires a private investigator (Burn Gorman) to look into Thomas and Lucille, and what he uncovers (not revealed to the audience until later in the film, but it should be increasingly clear to all but the densest viewers what’s going on here) is unsettling enough that he threatens Thomas and Lucille with exposure if they don’t leave town immediately, sweetening the deal with a bribe, payable only if Thomas breaks Edith’s heart before he leaves. Thomas knows just how to do it, too, attacking her writing ability.

One gruesome, beautifully staged murder later, Edith is a new bride on her way to Allerdale Hall in England. Her mother’s ghost probably should have told her, “Beware Allerdale Hall!” and not referred to the place by its nickname, which Edith doesn’t find out about until it’s too late.

Allerdale Hall is a wonderful, creaky setting for a ghost story. It’s a classic haunted house, ancient and decrepit, filled with secrets and fluttering black moths. It’s built atop a deposit of red clay, and the blood red seeps into the building through the floors, walls, and pipes. Filled with mournful ghosts, it’s the perfect setting for a scary story, even if its true horrors are contained within the hearts of its living inhabitants.

It seems clear to me that del Toro is less concerned with creating a steel trap of a plot, which he fails to do in any case, and more concerned with atmosphere and with the emotional twists and turns of the story. If you’re chuckling and aghast at the film by turns, it’s working.

Even its detractors admit that Crimson Peak has atmosphere to spare, but they don’t give enough credit to del Toro and his collaborators (chief among them cinematographer Dan Laustsen and production designer Thomas E. Sanders) for creating a work that’s both gorgeous and extremely personal and unique. Crimson Peak is beautiful, but it’s not picture-postcard beautiful. It doesn’t look like a commercial for anything. It’s a fully realized vision of decay, gore, and grue. The playful transitions del Toro uses, those endearing wipes and irises, make it clear that del Toro is relishing the artificiality of it all. The performers play it straight, though, giving the story emotional heft despite that artifice.

Some have complained about the role the ghosts play in the film, but it’s as Edith says, they’re only a metaphor. They serve their function by being beautifully terrifying in their warnings to Edith. And their look — captured in the horror of their untimely deaths, wispy, smoke-like tendrils splaying out in every direction like flayed skin — is unique. It’s one of the few examples I can think of where CGI brings a unique visual sense to the horror — where it’s used expressively, and not just as a way to indicate scale, or to do things to the human body that can’t actually be done on a film set. These beautiful, unsettling ghosts are unlike any I’ve seen onscreen before.

Edith falls ill as she unravels Lucille and Thomas’s plot. Thomas begins to develop genuine feelings for his mark, enraging Lucille. Alan, meanwhile, begins his own stateside sleuthing, uncovering the truth about the Sharpes. During the film, I felt like Hunnam’s adenoidal performance was the weak link of the film, but again, I feel like this is something del Toro intended. It’s clear that neither Alan nor Thomas is truly worthy of Edith.

Her passion for Thomas is real, however, and eventually, she gets him away from Lucille long enough for him to have sex with her, on her terms. He’s weak and devious, but she wants him, and takes control of the situation to have her way.

For a while it seems Alan might save Edith, the damsel in distress. Those familiar with del Toro’s work know better, though. Since his second feature, Mimic, he has always had strong female characters in his films. In this instance, the strongest, Edith and Lucille, are destined to settle their score while the men look on from the sidelines.

If you’re alternately giggling and gasping, the movie is working. It’s outlandish and baroque, but the actors keep it grounded, and I found myself moved, not just by the passion of the characters, but by the evident passion of the filmmaker for the material. Crimson Peak may actually be Del Toro’s masterpiece. I’m convinced it is every bit as heartfelt and coherent as Pan’s Labyrinth, widely considered his best. This is a filmmaker working at the height of his abilities to deliver a grandly entertaining, uniquely gorgeous, and emotionally involving work of cinema, with a pronounced feminist bent.

Click here to see Del Toro discussing the film.

‘Stoker’: Love, Longing, Desire, and Acceptance

In addition to telling a great story, ‘Stoker’ also shows an open and often eerie portrayal of female sexual desire, longing, perception of love and acceptance of one’s self as an autonomous sexual being. The film doesn’t shy away from pure desire and want as justifiable means to actions.

This guest post by Shay Revolver appears as part of our theme week on Representations of Female Sexual Desire.

A good psychological thriller pulls its viewers in like a spider web. The director and cinematographer work together like a couple of spiders, the actors and their performance become the web. If all of these elements come together as they should, a trap is set and the viewer becomes a fly. There is a sense of magic in Chan-wook Park’s Stoker. The story is compelling, the stage wonderfully set , the camera work is intense and the actors are amazing. If you haven’t seen the film yet, I urge you to check it out for these reasons alone. I will warn you, however, that there is an attempted rape in the film, and some of the other scenes might be a bit disturbing to watch. The beauty of the film isn’t the only thing that makes this film amazing. In addition to telling a great story, Stoker also shows an open and often eerie portrayal of female sexual desire, longing, perception of love and acceptance of one’s self as an autonomous sexual being. The film doesn’t shy away from pure desire and want as justifiable means to actions. Seeing such an open portrayal on screen is refreshing.

Virginal India Before the Sexual Awakening

Stoker tells the story of the newly 18 India Stoker, played by a very stoic and introspective Mia Wasikowska. India is coming to terms with the recent death of her father, Richard. He died in a tragic car accident on her birthday, leaving her alone to enter young adulthood with her cold and often irrational mother, Evelyn, played by Nicole Kidman. As if all of these feelings and emotions weren’t enough on their own, the funeral brings India’s uncle, Charlie, into the mix. The women have never met him because he has spent his life traveling the world and he offers, and by offers, I mean tells them that he is going to stick around and help out.

This is the point in the film where female desire starts taking shape and bringing itself to the forefront as a real theme of Stoker. Evelyn is a woman with needs and desires. With her husband now gone she finds herself in need of someone to connect with, someone to take care of her and make her feel wanted, desired, and loved. Her husband devoted himself to their daughter India, which gave India a sense of under-the-surface confidence and stripped away Evelyn’s “value” as a sexual, desirable woman. Because of this shift in the marriage you get the sense from the very beginning of the film that Evelyn has been alone in a sense for a very long time. With her husband now out of the picture, she finds herself alone with her daughter to lean on. However, India has just turned 18 and is trying to figure out who she is as a woman and what she wants. This leaves Evelyn vulnerable and hurt. This desire for a connection and to be needed that exists inside of her makes her easy prey for Charlie’s charm. She welcomes him into the home and her life to fill the hole inside of her.

India, on the other hand, is far more skeptical of her uncle and his motives. While she is mourning the loss of her father, she is not in such a rush to have another male figure come in and take his place. Having recently turned 18 and trying to figure out her place in the world, she’s already begun separating herself from her mother and her father’s death, while hurting her deeply, gave her an added sense of freedom. She also finds herself drawn to her uncle in an odd way. Having never met him she finds his gaze strange and his seduction of her mother even stranger. She watches him with equal parts curiosity and annoyance.

Charlie continues his seduction of Evelyn, which delights Evelyn because she has wanted to be desired for so long. However, the closer that the two of them become the further India pushes both of them away. Soon India’s great aunt arrives to visit and check up on India and Evelyn. This visit and subsequent conversations with her great aunt solidify India’s distrust of her uncle and his motives. Evelyn, on the other hand, believes that great aunt Gwendolyn is just continuing her pattern of being judgmental towards her and ignores her subtle warnings. Evelyn is finally feeling like a woman again, and she refuses to have this feeling ruined.

One of the interesting things about Stoker is that while it doesn’t shy away from female desires or awakenings, it doesn’t exploit them either. It treats them as part of the story. Both female leads are experiencing a sexual awakening of sorts but from different ends of the spectrum. Evelyn is finding a second life through her intimate interactions with Charlie. She’s starting to feel alive again, wanted. Her needs are being met. India is experiencing an awakening as well. She’s exploring her sexuality and figuring out what excites her. After a rather violent day at school where she stabs a bully in the hand with a pencil, she returns home to witness Evelyn and Charlie exploring each other. This drives her from the home and into fellow classmate Whip. Wanting to explore her own sexual feelings she goes with him into the woods, they make out for a while and she begins to discover where her desires lead. As the make-out session gets more exploratory she bites Whip. Not in the playful coy way–in a violent way. A way reminiscent of the stabbing of the bully at school so much so that a correlation can be seen between the penetration of the male bully by the less-than-helpless India as the catalyst to her sexual awakening. This awakening is confirmed by her interaction with Whip.

This interaction with Whip starts to take a turn for the worse and Whip attempts to rape India; this interaction ends with Whip being buried in India’s garden. Her Uncle Charlie shows up at the last minute and breaks Whip’s neck with his belt buckle. This tragic experience doesn’t mortify India like such an horrifying back-to-back interactions would mortify most young women; instead, it excites her. So much so that her awakening comes to a head while she masturbates in the shower and climaxes to the memory of Uncle Charlie breaking the neck of her would-be rapist.

India Stoker masturbates in the shower — India masturbates in the shower

By this point in Stoker, Evelyn has begun to feel alive again and like a vital wanted woman and India has realized that her uncle is a murderer. While going through her dead father’s office, she finds letters from her uncle and realizes that her suspicions were founded–he’s crazy and she shouldn’t trust him. She confronts her uncle and you discover that not only is he delusional and probably in love with her, but he also killed her father. She covers her anger well and plays along nicely when Charlie steps in to save her again by giving her an alibi when the sheriff comes around to find out what happened to Whip, whom he believes has disappeared. As a thank you, India uses her new-found sexuality and seduction techniques on her eager uncle just in time for her mother to catch them before things go too far. Evelyn is hurt. Her need to be desired and to feel like a woman and sexual being seems to be on the verge of yet again being taken away by India. Evelyn begins to verbally attack India in a very cold way before confronting Charlie with the truth–something she plans to use to keep Charlie around as her lover and separate him from her daughter.

Evelyn and India have a mother-daughter talk

Her plan goes awry, and after an intense seduction by Charlie, he attempts to do what he does best and kill her. His plan doesn’t quite go as planned because the very capable India shows up and kills Charlie before he can kill her mother. She buries her uncle in the backyard and decides to follow her original plan and move to New York to start a new life.

As India drives off into to sunset in her/Charlie’s car, you can tell something is different about her. No longer the same unsure little girl she was at the beginning of the film , India had evolved into something altogether new. She experienced her awakening; she discovered the art of seduction. She knew what turned her on, what excited her, and you get the sense that she was going forth to find it. One of the great things about this film is that there is no judgment. Charlie’s character, while prominent, is more of a supporting role than a lead. His sole purpose in the film is to facilitate the awakening of Evelyn and India. His violent actions open the gateway for India to explore her masochistic , violent and dominating desires and his charm facilitate Evelyn’s return to being a sexual being after what the viewer can assume has been an 18-year void.

The film doesn’t ever fully punish the women as they go through their sexual transformations or subject them to a gratuitous male gaze-focused sex scenes like most films would have done. It treats their desires, needs, and curiosities as matter of fact and a part of life. It acknowledges that all women are, at their core sexual, beings just as much as men are, and they have needs and wants. Stoker never once shies away from these needs and desires. It even shows how these desires and awakenings can come on slowly over a period of time, like India’s, or can be latent and come on quick and all at once like Evelyn’s. It gave an actual unapologetic portrayal of women coming alive and actually wanting to be sexually and physically satisfied without condemnation or shame placed upon the act or their desire for it. And that makes Stoker not only an amazing psychological thriller with a gripping story, but also a representation of being a woman: discovering what turns you on and what you need from other people and from yourself, going for it, and being unapologetic for what you want.

Shay Revolver is a vegan, feminist, cinephile, insomniac, recovering NYU student and former roller derby player currently working as a New York-based microcinema filmmaker, web series creator and writer. She’s obsessed with most books, especially the Pop Culture and Philosophy series and loves movies and TV shows from low brow to high class. As long as the image is moving she’s all in and believes that everything is worth a watch. She still believes that movies make the best bedtime stories because books are a daytime activity to rev up your engine and once you flip that first page, you have to keep going until you finish it and that is beautiful in its own right. She enjoys talking about the feminist perspective in comic book and gaming culture and the lack of gender equality in mainstream cinema and television productions. Twitter: @socialslumber13.

‘Stoker’ and the Feminist Female Serial Killer

Move poster for Stoker

Written by Amanda Rodriguez

Spoiler Alert

(Read my fellow Bitch Flicks writer, Stephanie Roger’s, review of Stoker here.)

The first time you watch Stoker, it’s something of a perplexing experience because the narrative is such a genre-bender. I spent at least half the movie wondering what kind of movie I was watching. Not to toot my own horn overly much, but I’ve got a bit of an eye for formulas and am pretty good at spotting them. A film that can keep me on my toes like Stoker did is a rare, commendable animal. The direction Stoker did end up taking was also surprising, unique, and oddly feminist.

Ultimately, Stoker is the coming-of-age tale of a blossoming female serial killer. A “true” female serial killer is not only rare in cinema, but in real life as well. You’re probably thinking, “What the hell is she talking about? There are a slew of female serial killer movies and real-life figures I can think of off the top of my head.” In truth, women serial murderers kill for reasons different from their male counterparts. Typically, women kill for money or revenge, targeting people they know or to whom they’re related. Whereas male serial killers tend to predominantly kill strangers with the motivation being sexual in natural. To clarify, male serial killer motivation surrounds power and usually displays itself in sexualized killings or in the sexual response the killer has to his murders. Not only that, but some of the world’s most famous female serial killers work in partnership with a male serial killer, thus simulating that psychosexuality inherent in their murders.

India Stoker (portrayed by the amazingly talented Mia Wasikowska) meets her creepy serial killer uncle Charlie (Matthew Goode), and the more strangely he behaves and the more evidence India has of his murderousness, the more attracted she is to him.

Finds housekeeper’s dead body in the basement freezer. Starts hanging out with Charlie more.

Their unsettling, incestuous flirtation culminates in their joint murder of India’s classmate, Whip. The boy and India make out in the woods, and when she decides she’s had enough of him, the boy tries to rape her. Charlie swoops in to rescue her, and, together, the two kill India’s assailant. The movie makes it clear that Whip is an utter piece of shit and totally has it coming, so there’s little moral ambiguity in this kill, which differentiates it from Charlie’s prior murders (the housekeeper, an aunt, and, at this point, we suspect India’s father). India’s actions of self-defense and the shittiness of the victim leave the lingering possibility that India is not, in fact, serial killer material.

The following scene is the classic post sexual assault shower scene with a twist. We see India hunched over and whimpering in the shower intercut with flashbacks to the assault and Whip’s death. It gradually dawns on the audience that India isn’t weeping, she’s masturbating. This scene is pivotal and is, in fact, one of the major climaxes of the film, which makes the structure of the film itself more feminist. Feminists have noted for many years that the typical story structure with the single climax near the end of the film followed by the denouement more closely resembles the pattern of male sexual pleasure. A more feminist structure would allow for multiple climactic scenes, which Stoker does. (There are more climactic moments nearer the end of the film, which I’ll get into shortly.) Not only is the film’s first climax a scene that ends with a woman actually orgasming, it is a masturbation scene wherein India is pleasuring herself.

That’s a boat-load of female agency right there.

India comes to realize in yet another climactic, pivotal scene that Charlie is mentally ill (perhaps even more than she is herself), that he wants to take her away with him, and that he has always wanted to be with her. Not only that, but the film reveals to the audience what India strongly suspects: Charlie murdered India’s father in order to be with her.

India goes through the stack of Charlie’s letters addressed to her over the years. She realizes that though Charlie claims to send them from around the world, in fact, they’re all sent from a mental institution.

Despite her realization that Charlie is insane, India agrees to leave with him because his presence and guidance have triggered her coming-of-age and shown her that she isn’t alone in her proclivities. It turns out, though, that a prerequisite for running away with Charlie is allowing him to kill off her mother, Evelyn (Nicole Kidman). Because India and Evelyn have a difficult relationship in which they don’t relate to one another with no love lost between them, Charlie supposes this is an easy enough task to get out of the way before spiriting his beloved India away. While he brutally strangles Evelyn with his belt, India calmly puts her rifle together, aims her sights (at who? Evelyn or Charlie?), and fires.

Let’s take a quick second to examine Charlie and India’s choice of weaponry. Charlie favors a belt, stolen from his brother/India’s father, with which he strangles his victims to death. India, we learn, favors her hunting rifle. Not choosing the tool of her mentor differentiates her from him, allowing her an identity unique to him despite their overwhelming similarities. Not only that, but you could get all psychoanalytic on this shit and view their weapon choices as a form of gender role reversal. Charlie’s belt, which encircles and constricts could be viewed as vaginal, while India’s gun with its shape and its firing of bullets is a common phallic symbol. Within our world that views masculinity and masculine symbols as superior, India’s weapon of choice subtly establishes her dominance over Charlie, a fact that is further reinforced when she kills him.

In spite of the sexual connection India has with Charlie, in spite of their shared interests and secrets, in spite of the estranged relationship she has with her mother, India chooses to save Evelyn and nonchalantly shoots and kills her uncle. I admit I was worried for a minute because it’s not a very strong feminist statement when a young girl must essentially murder her mother in order to come into adulthood and into her sexual identity, even if we’re talking about a budding serial killer. India, unlike her mother, does not choose a man fresh on the scene over the woman with whom she’s been sharing a home and life for 18 years. Neither, though, does India stick around to live out the rest of her life trapped in a mother-daughter dynamic wherein neither one of them is capable of loving the other. Instead, she takes off in her new black pumps wearing her father/Charlie’s belt with her rifle and her uncle’s flashy convertible. If it’s unclear which path she’s chosen, we have a final climactic moment in which India shoots the sheriff (har, har) who pulls her over for speeding.

India with the rifle

The more I think about this movie, the more I like it, and the more feminist tropes I see in it. The Freudian parallels, genre subversion, and feminist subtext (or just regular text?) didn’t happen by accident; director Chan-wook Park is meticulously deliberate about his imagery, symbolism, and delivery of dialogue. The strict, generally accepted, masculine definition I gave above for what constitutes a serial killer is, in itself, a gender-biased, sexist definition that gives legitimacy and near rockstar status to men who murder multiple people (predominantly women) in order to feel a sexualized rush of power. By this definition, serial killers are an elite boys club of He-Man Woman Haters who don’t allow female participation. Trying to make a woman fit into this masculine mold is a dubious honor, but I can’t help but appreciate the deft skill with which Park makes this a believable possibility. Not only is India a multifaceted character, but she is strong, smart, independent, and finds her own path while creating her own moral code outside the patriarchal strictures that Charlie attempts to impose upon her. India may transition from heroine to anti-heroine throughout the course of Stoker, and she may be a scary-ass serial killer, but she is, nonetheless, a powerful, feminist figure.

‘Stoker’: The Creepiest Coming-of-Age Tale I’ve Ever Seen

Stoker movie poster

Written by Stephanie Rogers.

If I were asked to describe my reaction to Stoker using an acronym, I’d go with “WTF,” although I definitely experienced some “OMG” and “STFU” moments here and there. By the end, I could hear myself mentally reviewing the film and toying with the idea of titling this piece merely, “OFFS.” That’s the overall reaction, distilled, I had to Stoker from the first five minutes of watching the film all the way to the final credits. I mean, I’m not saying I didn’t like it. Or even love it. Or possibly want to find all existing film reels (and whatever digital incarnations exist) and set them on fire. I just won’t be able to tell for a few months or so. It’s one of those movies.

Uncomfortable mother-daughter interaction

In a lot of ways—okay, like, two—it reminded me of Silver Linings Playbook. Its genre-mixing, unpredictability, and innovative storytelling, particularly with how it illustrates the hereditary aspect of mental illness, works incredibly well. Of course, while Silver Linings Playbook can make a person joy-cry at the end, Stoker’s ending (and beginning and middle) should come with a Serious Trigger Warning for depictions of violence, sexual assault, and incest. I plan to address those things in this review as well, and I’ll also add a Spoiler Alert, if only to avoid writing a horrible paragraph like this ever in my life:

It’s hard to avoid spoilers at this point, but let’s leave it at this: India discovers that her parents have been concealing something very important regarding her uncle—and, given her emotionally close relationship with him, something very important about herself, about character traits that are a part of her own blood. When the truth comes out, her world is overturned, her monsters are unleashed, and she finds herself without the solid footing of character, self-knowledge, and moral clarity to fight them.

(It’s probably not nice to make fun of Richard Brody of The New Yorker, but since Vida’s Count recently showed us in its annual illustration of literary journals that unapologetically refuse to publish women writers or review the work of women writers, The New Yorker can go fuck itself. Also: “her monsters are unleashed” … No.)

Evie (Nicole Kidman) and India (Mia Wasikowska)

Seriously though, what the hell did I just watch? One could categorize Stoker as any of the following: a coming-of-age tale, a crime thriller, a sexual assault revenge fantasy, a love story, a murder mystery, a slasher film, a romantic comedy (I’m hilarious), or even an allegory about the dangers of bullying, parental neglect, or keeping family secrets. Throw a recurring spider in there, some shoes, a bunch of random objects shaped like balls, along with a hint of incest, some on-screen masturbation, imagined orgasmic piano duets, and a handful of scenes that rip off Hitchcock so hard that Hitchcock could’ve directed it (see Shadow of a Doubt), and you’ll have yourself a nice little freakshow!

Seriously though, shoes and balls are really important in this movie.

Saddle Shoe (girlhood!) and High Heel (womanhood!)

Unlike this review, Stoker starts off straightforwardly enough. Mia Wasikowska (our favorite) plays India Stoker, a comically quiet teenager reminiscent of Wednesday Addams, at least until she evolves into a full-blown psychopath, who hates to be touched, gets bullied by boys at school—they call her “Stroker”—and mourns her father (Dermot Mulroney) after his suspicious death in a car accident on her 18th birthday. Nicole Kidman plays Evie, India’s mother, in typical Kidman as Insufferable Ice Princess casting, and there’s pretty much nothing redeeming about her. She gloms onto her dead husband’s estranged brother Charlie at the funeral (played by Matthew Goode), whom she’s never met and never once questions the presence of, and when Mrs. McGarrick, her housekeeper of a million years mysteriously vanishes, she says things like, “Oh no, what will we do for dinner now!” with earnest incredulity.

Evie loses her shit on India (finally!)

I realize Evie isn’t supposed to be likeable, that we’re meant to roll our eyes at her upper-class privilege and displays of affection toward her husband’s mysterious younger brother, that maybe we’re even supposed to feel a tiny bit sorry for her. But I despise one-dimensional women characters onscreen, and Evie is just that, a collection of simplistic tropes used to move the narrative forward: a bad wife, a bad mother, a bad boss (like, aren’t you even going to look for your missing housekeeper?), and a bad niece-in-law (Aunt Gin needs to talk to you alone for a reason, you idiot.) Her obliviousness to everything happening around her doesn’t read as the dissociated or even unstable response of a wife in mourning; it reads as the selfish and feigned cluelessness of a generally awful person.

Goodbye, Auntie Gin

Evie—hats off to Nicole Kidman—eventually delivers one of the scariest monologues I’ve ever seen on film. It’s the first time she utters anything longer than a few sentences at once (which are usually about the importance of polite behavior and playing the piano), but this monologue, I mean, chills. It’s also the only time Evie exhibits just as much overt “crazy” as the other characters, and I found myself savoring that moment. Isn’t it funny how a character can become interesting once she’s allowed to do things other than comment on etiquette and pass out drunk?

I wish we got to see that less passive side of Evie earlier in the film because, the thing is, we don’t need to dislike Evie in order to feel sympathy for her daughter. It’s certainly possible to make characters bad and villainous while also making them complex and even charming. The makers of this film know that, too. You know how I know that? Because Charlie Stoker exists.

Evie and Charlie (Matthew Goode)

This fuckin’ guy. He rolls onto the family estate during his brother’s funeral like he’s been there all along, and somehow, “I’ve been travelling the world for 20 years” seems like a reasonable excuse for his lifelong absence. Naturally, he decides to move in with Evie and India because why not, I’m sure everyone will be totally fine with that, nice to meet you! And they are. Except for Aunt Gin and Housekeeper McGarrick, who genuinely—rightfully—fear this bro, even with all his charisma and sexy-sheepish smiles. They know some shit. India mistrusts him at first, too, but the more she learns about him, and the creepier (and more murderous) he becomes, the more India identifies with him. Queue The New Yorker’s Richard Brody: her monsters are unleashed.

Accompanied by a few feminist themes.

India imitating a yard statue, accompanied by saddle shoes

For one, I don’t think it’s possible to not read Stoker as a coming-of-age tale, mainly because it puts so much emphasis on India’s burgeoning womanhood. We see her in flashbacks as a young girl, a semi-tomboy who hunted birds with her dad, who wore the same pair of black-and-white saddle shoes all her life—she received a bigger size every year on her birthday (remember, shoes and balls are really important in this movie)—who never identified with her beautiful, quintessentially feminine mother, and whose experiences with boys include stabbing one in the hand with a sharpened pencil (loved that) when he and a group of friends sexually harass her behind their high school.

These fucking shoes!

That foreshadows India’s upcoming attempted rape … because what would an onscreen coming-of-age tale of burgeoning womanhood be without an attempted rape scene? (I’m only half-joking here; considering one in three women lives through a sexual assault in her lifetime, and most films seek to reveal some Truth About Humanity, I’m surprised the issue of sexual assault and rape isn’t addressed more often—and accurately—onscreen. Oh wait, I forgot we’re talking about women’s stories here: UNIMPORTANT.) Um.

In my mind, the film exists in two parts: everything that happens before the attempted rape and everything that happens after it.

I’m sure this is a 100% acceptable uncle-niece interaction

Stoker addresses India’s sexual feelings early on; she clearly feels an attraction toward her uncle, and she seeks out a boy from school immediately after she catches her mother and uncle kissing. The juxtaposition of these scenes—India watching two people engage in sexual activity and her subsequent desire to do so herself—touches on a couple of familiar adolescent emotions. One could read India’s reaction to discovering her mom and uncle’s indiscretion as a big Fuck You to both of them. One could also read India’s reaction to discovering her mom and uncle’s indiscretion as an attempt to behave like an adult, to emulate what she sees (remember: coming of age!). Both of those responses ring true to me, and Stoker effectively captures the confusion inherent in leaving the familiarity of girlhood and entering a not-yet-entirely-defined womanhood.

But India decides during her make out session in the woods with the rapist that she doesn’t want to do anything more than kiss, at which point she tells him she wants to go home. He ignores her, physically assaults her, and attempts to rape her. And that’s when her monsters are unleashed. (I can’t stop saying it.)

India as Hunter

I won’t reveal what happens during this scene because—damn—but believe me, it changes everything for India, for everyone. From here until the end of the film, Stoker explores India’s equating of death and violence with sexual awakening, and it looks at the relationship between power, innocence, and what it means for a young woman to lose both. It also asks a question about choice, about how much power we really have over ourselves, our actions, over who we become.

The film opens with a voiceover (that bookends the film) of India telling us, “Just as a flower does not choose its color, we are not responsible for what we have come to be. Only once you realize this do you become free.” This, contrasted with what the film reveals about Charlie’s past and India’s present—and the similarities of both—raise an important, albeit subtle point regarding mental health and the genetic predisposition of mental illness. Stoker takes it even further though, with a welcomed feminist slant; because, while India seems to make difficult choices to protect her mother and herself from violence at the hands of men, we’re ultimately left wondering just how much of a choice—like many women in relationships with abusive men—she really has.

LGBTQI Week: ‘Albert Nobbs’ Review: Exploring Constrictions of Gender & Class

Mia Wasikowska and Glenn Close in ‘Albert Nobbs’

This review by Staff Writer Megan Kearns previously appeared at Bitch Flicks on February 2, 2012.

“You don’t have to be anything but what you are.” Hubert Page (Janet McTeer) tells the titular Albert Nobbs played by Glenn Close. But in a time where women possessed no status, no rights – when your only options were as a wife, servant or prostitute – how could you be yourself if you yearned for another life?

Haunting and sad, Albert Nobbs tells the tale of a woman who disguises herself as a man in order to survive in 19th Century Ireland. A “labor of love” and a “dream fulfilled,” Oscar nominee Glenn Close, who co-wrote the screenplay, tried to get Albert Nobbs made into a film for 30 years. Adapted from the play, which Close starred in on Broadway in 1982, is itself adapted from George Moore’s short story. Moore’s books were controversial “because of his willingness to tackle such issues as prostitution, extramarital sex and lesbianism.” Rodrigo Garcia’s poignant film Nine Lives, which Close also appeared in, showcasing 9 vignettes of women’s lives, is one of my favorite films. So my expectations were high for Albert Nobbs.

Was this a “jaw-dropping performance” by Glenn Close? She was absolutely outstanding. I didn’t realize at first just how good of a job she did until I realized I completely forgot that it was Glenn Close! I’m used to seeing her play strong, confident or assertive women. Here, Close plays a character shy, awkward, guarded and desperately lonely. She melts into the role. She’s as straight-laced and tightly wound as the prim and proper world around her.

It might be easy to initially dismiss Close’s performance as merely donning make-up and male garb, forever sporting a stoically immutable countenance. But Close completely lets go in Albert’s few aching outbursts of emotion. With a child-like naïveté, Close played Albert as an “homage to Charlie Chaplin.” About the role, she said:

“Albert was particularly tricky because there’s always the question of how much should show on her face because a lot of it is somebody who’s totally shut down, who doesn’t even look people in the eye. Servants weren’t supposed to look people in the eye, but she’s an invisible person in an invisible job. And then her whole evolution is slowly being able to look up – the first time she really looks someone in the face is after she’s told Hubert her story and then she kind of looks out to her dream.”

Janet McTeer and Glenn Close

Albert’s world begins to change after she meets outgoing house painter, Hubert Page (McTeer). In her well-deserved Oscar-nominated role, Janet McTeer exquisitely steals every scene. Hands down, she’s the absolute best part of the film. I couldn’t wait until her magnetic presence appeared on-screen again. McTeer, who plays the qualities of the character, not the gender, exudes a soulful swagger and charismatic kindness. She radiates confidence, warmth and a bold assertiveness. McTeer, also playing a woman in disguise, possesses a strong sense of self, the complete polar opposite to Albert who has no idea who she is as a person. About her character, McTeer said:

“I tried to be, on the one hand, very male, by which I mean large and expansive and confident and sitting on the back of the heels, as it were, and on the other hand I wanted [my character] Hubert to have as many as what we consider to be the loveliest of the female qualities — empathy, compassion, kindness. I wanted Hubert to be a really good mixture of both.”

It’s the embodiment of these qualities that makes Hubert unique. But we also see this mélange in Albert. Helen (Mia Wasikowska) tells Albert, “You’re the strangest man I’ve ever met.” What makes Albert so strange? Is it that she treats women with thoughtfulness, kindness and equity stereotypically lacking from the other men Helen met?

After Albert meets Hubert, she realizes she could have a life of companionship. SPOILER -> Hubert is married to a woman she adores and a beautiful scene between the two portray a tender, loving and devoted couple. <- END SPOILER Hubert gives Albert hope for a different future: a life free from the shackles and confines of loneliness. In a bittersweet scene, Hubert and Albert walk along the beach together. Albert in a dress, the first she’s worn in 30 years, runs along the beach. Reminded of her old identity, in a rare expression of emotion, she’s unconstricted, buoyed by freedom and sheer joy.

Many movies contain cross-dressing plotlines for comedic effect. But not a lot exist that focus on gender-bending from a dramatic angle. Boys Don’t Cry and Transamerica explore the lives of a trans man and woman while Yentl and The Ballad of Little Jo both echo Albert Nobbs as they feature women who choose to live as men in order to survive or pursue their dreams. An act of violence as a young girl catalyzes Albert to live as a man to protect herself and survive.

Critics have focused on the gender components. But class, an equally important theme, threads throughout the entire film. Albert Nobbs depicts how women contended with and endured poverty. We witness the stark dichotomy between the lavishly wealthy clients and the servile wait staff in the hotel. Servants in the Victorian Era were to be invisible, never looking the upper class in the eye. With her downcast eyes, Albert remains dutiful. Yet she begins to aspire for more. Albert has been saving her money all her life and hopes to open a shop of her own.

The film portrays relationships and courtship as an economic contract. When Albert courts the coquettish Helen (Wasikowska), Helen expects and asks for all sorts of gifts and trinkets. SPOILER -> We also see class play out after Helen gets pregnant. Women needed men in order to survive financially. Women who give birth to children out of wedlock were punished fiscally, fired from their jobs. Husbands provided fiscal security. <- END SPOILER Gender and class coalesce. You realize Helen’s gender and station in life condemn her situation. Albert and Hubert would never be able to attain their dreams (and Hubert her independence) had they retained their identity as women.

I perpetually worry audiences watch period films with dangerously confining gender roles and then sit back thinking, “Phew, we’ve come so far!” Yeah, no, we so haven’t. Albert Nobbs raises so many thought-provoking questions. Why is the male gender the more “desirable” gender in society? What does it say about a society where half its population has a mere two options for their lives? How can women take charge of their own lives amidst confining gender norms? But therein lies my problem with the film. It provides no conclusions, the answers remain elusive.

It’s a slow and unassuming movie that at times moves at a methodical pace. But the more I pondered, the more I realized the film possessed many intricate layers. Throughout we see women’s perspectives and hear women’s voices. Albert Nobbs contains not one but two powerful female actors with other women in memorable supporting roles; a film rarity. Neither Albert or Hubert are defined by their gender or sexuality. They both transcend gender.

The tragic story of Albert Nobbs lingered in my memory long after I left the theatre. Its exploration of female friendship, lesbian love, class and poverty, gender roles and a woman’s self-discovery, truly make it a rare gem.

———-

Megan Kearns is a Bitch Flicks Staff Writer. She’s a feminist vegan blogger and freelance writer living in Boston. Megan blogs at The Opinioness of the World, a feminist vegan site she founded in 2010 which focuses on gender equality and living cruelty-free. She writes about gender and media as a Regular Blogger at Fem2pt0, a site uniting social issues with women’s voices. Her work has also appeared at Arts & Opinion, Feministing’s Community Blog, Italianieuropei, Open Letters Monthly, A Safe World for Women and Women and Hollywood. She earned her B.A. in Anthropology and Sociology from UMass Amherst and a Graduate Certificate in Women and Politics and Public Policy from UMass Boston. You can follow all of Megan’s opinionated musings on Twitter at @OpinionessWorld.

‘Albert Nobbs’ Review: Exploring Constrictions of Gender & Class

Mia Wasikowska and Glenn Close in ‘Albert Nobbs’

“Albert was particularly tricky because there’s always the question of how much should show on her face because a lot of it is somebody who’s totally shut down, who doesn’t even look people in the eye. Servants weren’t supposed to look people in the eye, but she’s an invisible person in an invisible job. And then her whole evolution is slowly being able to look up – the first time she really looks someone in the face is after she’s told Hubert her story and then she kind of looks out to her dream.”

Janet McTeer and Glenn Close

“I tried to be, on the one hand, very male, by which I mean large and expansive and confident and sitting on the back of the heels, as it were, and on the other hand I wanted [my character] Hubert to have as many as what we consider to be the loveliest of the female qualities — empathy, compassion, kindness. I wanted Hubert to be a really good mixture of both.”

Preview: Albert Nobbs

Albert Nobbs (2011)

Playing in limited release since December 21st, Albert Nobbs opens in full theatrical release this coming weekend. There’s been a lot buzz about the film (much of it surrounding star Glenn Close and whether this role will finally win her that Oscar), but aside from clips on the 2012 Golden Globes (where it received nominations for Best Original Song, Best Actress, and Best Supporting Actress), I hadn’t even watched a full trailer until today.

Here it is, in case you haven’t seen it either:

Judging from the trailer (including the music), the film looks romantic and sad, with the hint of danger that always seems to come with bucking traditional gender norms. Although the film is set in 19th century Ireland, contemporary Hollywood is a place of traditional gender roles, so I’m always excited to see a big, mainstream movie that takes on gender as a major subject and theme–although I suspect class will also feature heavily (another subject Hollywood has trouble with), as the film’s official synopsis places work at the center of Nobbs’ motivation:

Award-winning actress Glenn Close (Albert Nobbs) plays a woman passing as a man in order to work and survive in 19th century Ireland. Some thirty years after donning men’s clothing, she finds herself trapped in a prison of her own making. Mia Wasikowska (Helen), Aaron Johnson (Joe) and Brendan Gleeson (Dr. Holloran) join a prestigious, international cast that includes Jonathan Rhys Meyers, Janet McTeer, Brenda Fricker and Pauline Collins.

Rodrigo Garcia directs from a script that Glenn Close, along with Man Booker prize-winning novelist John Banville and Gabriella Prekop, adapted from a short story by Irish author George Moore.

Although period pieces about sexism, the difficulty of of transcending social class, and conforming to gender roles seem to emphasize “how far we’ve come” rather than tuning us in to how far we still need to go, I’m still interested in this movie. Glenn Close is a great actor, and I must say I resent the cynicism surrounding discussions of her supposed motivation (Oscar!) to take on this role. Similar accusations flew around Kate Winslet for her role in The Reader, which won her an Academy Award in 2008 (her first, despite several prior nominations). As usual, I wish the buzz focused more on the actual film, rather than its lead actor.

I’ll have to wait and see how well Albert Nobbs handles its themes, but until then:

Have you seen Albert Nobbs yet? If so, what do you think?