The Internal Monologue of ‘Wild’: Lone Woman Walking, Lone Woman Writing

In a film, as in real life, with no language to defend herself, the lone woman is a suspect. She gets stared at and scowled at and catcalled and often told that she’s making herself vulnerable, or taking unnecessary risks. In short, our culture says she’s asking for what she gets. A woman alone is unloved, uncared for and written off. In ‘Wild,’ the film based on Strayed’s memoir of her months solo hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, she has several uncomfortable and frankly terrifying encounters.

Most of the film follows Cheryl as she walks alone
Most of the film follows Cheryl as she walks alone.

 


This post by Elizabeth Kiy appears as part of our theme week on the Academy Awards.


Right off the bat, I’m going to say that this essay might be more about me and my neuroses than the actual film, Wild. So I’m sorry for that.

I read Cheryl Strayed’s book, Wild: From Lost to Found of the Pacific Crest Trail a few years ago in a time in my life when I was feeling really lost and messed up. It helped me to the degree it could, reminding me of my own writerly quirks, my tendency to sentimentality and (for good or bad) feeding my desire to go off somewhere, somehow and find myself. There were lines I loved, but Strayed’s writing didn’t really get under my skin until I read Tiny Beautiful Things, her collected advice columns written for The Rumpus as Dear Sugar. That, I devoured in one night and cried and cried.

Being a woman and being a writer is a weird and fraught thing. Add to that a certain shyness and a lone wolf tendency and I’m a difficult person to get to know, even harder to like. I see endless versions of myself represented in fiction, in memoirs, as writers tend to write about writing and writing is inherantly isolating, but rarely in films or TV. In a book, we can sink into the central figure’s head and see her as a nuanced figure in multiple relationships and entanglements but in a film, as in real life, with no language to defend herself, the lone woman is a suspect. She gets stared at and scowled at and catcalled and often told that she’s making herself vulnerable, or taking unnecessary risks.

In short, our culture says she’s asking for what she gets. A woman alone is unloved, uncared for and written off. In the graphic memoir, Today is the Last Day of the Rest of Your Life , for example, Ulli Lust writes about her experiences backpacking alone through Italy, where she is told that a woman traveling alone is considered to be a prostitute. In Wild, the film based on Strayed’s memoir of her months solo hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, she has several uncomfortable and frankly terrifying encounters, particularly with two scary looking hunters who assess her body and make her feel unsafe. She is also frightened hitchhiking as she, like most of us, has been raised to believe that anyone who picks you up while hitchhiking is planning to murder and rape you. I particularly identified with the conflicted guilt she feels when she has to lie to the first man who picks her up, telling him she has a strong, loving husband waiting for her just a few miles up the trail. Though he is very kind to her, this lie is necessary for her to feel safe. She shouldn’t feel guilty for taking these precautions, but she does. She shouldn’t have to take these precautions, but part of being a woman in this culture is being afraid. As well as guilty and stupid for being afraid.

I work in a restaurant where I infrequently work night shifts that end at 4:30 a.m.; I don’t mind the work, but I hate having to pay for a taxi home multiple nights. Recently I was talking to a male coworker, kind of idly complaining about this fact. He said, “Well you could always just walk home.” I was stunned at the display of his privilege, that he was so completely unaware that a young woman might feel unsafe walking home, weary, through deserted city streets in the wee hours of the morning. Encounters like this tempt me to avoid precautions, to say, nothing could actually happen to me, that I’m being kind of vain to think I’m a target, but it’s against my programming.

Sometimes she is joined by other hikers along the way but is always alone again sooner or later
Sometimes she is joined by other hikers along the way, but is always alone again sooner or later.

 

I have met and interviewed Jean Béliveau , a man who left his home and spent 11 years walking around the world and read about Mike Spencer Brown, the Calgarian who become the world’s most travelled man after visiting nearly every country in the world. These stories fill me with anger and jealousy. When I decided to attend journalism school, my grandmother made me promise that I would not go to one of “dangerous countries” where we were always hearing about terrible things that happened to journalists. In school, I attended a lecture given by Amanda Lindhout, a woman who was kidnapped and tortured in Somalia after going there as a war correspondent. Some of my female relatives even sat me down to watch Taken, framing it as an educational film about what might happen to a woman if she is not careful traveling.

I wasn’t planning on war correspondence, but the idea that it was something denied to me as a woman, made it seem interesting to me. Just like hearing that women were not allowed to be priests the Catholic church made the priesthood seem tantalizing.

So on one hand, I want to see what Cheryl did as a super feminist act, rejecting this idea of special circumstances and extra vulnerability for women but on the other it seems like a deliberate denial of reality. Just because nothing horrible really happened to her, it doesn’t mean that it couldn’t have. It doesn’t mean that any other woman, inexperienced in hiking and all alone on the trail, who is inspired by her, could not meet a horrible fate.

Men walk around the world and women are told it is not safe for us to do. We are cowed by these warnings and unsure if by listening we are being smart or letting ourselves be subdued, just as we are uncertain what to do when we are told to dress in modest ways to avoid rape. This should not be our responsibility, and yet isn’t it smart to do all we can to keep ourselves safe, to be realistic?

With these ideas, Wild is very much a woman’s story, taking us deep into Cheryl’s head and her attempts to become a complete person. Though I enjoyed the direction by Jean-Marc Vallée (and as a Canadian, there’s always a tendency to cheer when one of us does a thing) and I’m fond of Nick Hornby, it’s a bit sad that this story of all stories was not given to a female screenwriter or director. That being said, I think the filmmakers did an adequate job addressing this conflict.

On top of this they achieved the near impossible, taking a book about a writer and a writer’s process, a young woman’s tortured internal life being perhaps the least cinematic thing in existence, and making it enjoyable to watch.

Cheryl considers her mother Bobbi, the love of her life
Cheryl considers her mother, Bobbi, the love of her life.

 

The majority of the film follows Cheryl’s hike through the PCT but it is frequently interrupted by flashbacks related to her relationship with her mother, Bobbi (Laura Dern), who she considered the great love of her life. We see her as a towheaded child (played by Strayed’s real life daughter) as her mother becomes her sole protector, whisking her and her brother away from their violent father, as a young woman whose embarrassment over attending college with Bobbi turns into horror over her mother’s sudden sickness and death, and finally as a self destructive grieving daughter, seeking solace in anonymous sex and heroin, both of which contribute to the destruction of her marriage. The idea to hike the PCT comes to her at what framed as her rock bottom, she sees the guidebook with the stunning vista she later visits on its cover, while waiting in line to buy a pregnancy test, sure that if it turns out to be positive, she will have to get an abortion.

 In a low point in her life, Cheryl finds the PCT guide book
In a low point in her life, Cheryl finds the PCT guide book.

 

In Wild, the use of flashbacks its accomplished with rare skill. They are not popped in arbitrarily, teasing the audience with tidbits of information parceled out through her story, as in many films with parallel timelines. Instead, we see these things as Cheryl is recalling them and become part of her attempts to process what has happened. There is no one single thing that set her on the path careening towards disaster, walking a thousand miles with no real plan for her life post-trail and no money to live on, but a mosaic of things that are revealed to us in and out of sequential order.

Moreover, the line between past and present is blurred by double exposure, images that will later have significance flashing briefly across the screen and the use of music. Diegetic music, music that is actually playing within the world of the film is rare, limited to flashbacks, trail stops and the Grateful Dead tribute she attends, but Wild is saturated with music, most of it, playing through Cheryl’s memory. The music that makes up the soundtrack becomes a hybrid of diegetic and non-diegetic as it is accompanied by Cheryl’s own singing, humming, and voiceover. She also engages with the music she imagines hearing, mentioning in voiceover a song she’d like to hear, that quickly becomes the soundtrack to the scene.

Witherspoon makes college age Cheryl seem real and familiar
Witherspoon makes college age Cheryl seem real and familiar.

 

This effect, Cheryl’s coming of age and self discovery is dimmed by Witherspoon’s age. Though she appropriately inhabits the character and her struggles, seeing a 40-something woman go through these things is not as harrowing as seeing a 20-something woman go through them. If Witherspoon’s Cheryl is struggling with the loss of her mother and her loss of self, we’re tempted to see her as a privileged whiner, not a girl suddenly on the brink of life without any life lines. In flashbacks, Witherspoon, aided by unfortunate bangs, also plays college-aged Cheryl. Though we never believe she is actually 22, she skillfully apes the mannerisms and posture of a haughty college kid. She never fully disappears into the character, but we get what she’s trying to do, just like we get that the cast member on Saturday Night Live aren’t able to pass a children but are able to remind us of children. For me, this is aided by her wardrobe, which is full of the sorts of pea coats, boots and denim shirts I wore as a millennial college student and see as signifiers of the breed.

The exploration of privileged is also an important aspect of the film. Though the extremes of Cheryl’s working class background mentioned in the book, that the house she grew up in did not have running water for example, make it into the film, it is still clear that she is not comfortably middle class. In one scene, she and Bobbi discuss their work as waitresses and how hard Bobbi had to work to support Cheryl and her brother on her salary. During her hike, Cheryl is approached by a man writing for The Hobo Times, who declares her the rare example of a female hobo. She argues, sure she has no money, no home, no family, but she is not a hobo, she is not homeless. Hobos are other people, she is just between homes.

As Cheryl becomes an educated woman, we see her begin to look down on her mother and her lack of sophistication, her poverty and her flakiness. As a college student, the first in generations of her family, Cheryl is posed to cross class lines. Her desire to be a writer, in some ways, a frivolous career choice, often seen as only accessible for the leisure classes, recalls this. Her education, which she takes for granted, is contrasted with Bobbi’s late in life decision to attend college alongside her, taking advantage of a program that offers free classes for parents of students. For Bobbi, it is a rush of pure freedom to finally get to read and write and engage with texts in literary theory and Women’s Studies courses.

 Cheryl’s break-up tattoo: another writerly trait
Cheryl’s break-up tattoo: another writerly trait.

 

To the extent that Wild can be looked at as a coming of age film, it is about Cheryl’s writing and the slow agonizing birth of her literary voice. The books she reads on the trail become important landmarks for her, such as the James Michener, an author her mother liked who is looked down on by literary types, and the Flannery O’Connor and Adrienne Rich that she sees as glimpses of how she would like to write. When she is told to burn the books she is finished reading, Cheryl recoils in horror; only truly evil people burn books. Though she ultimately begins burning what she had finished reading, Rich’s Dream of a Common Language  stays with her the whole way as a talisman. In the book Wild, She keeps a tally of books read and books burnt along the way.

Her decision to get a matching tattoo with her ex-husband, Paul to keep themselves tied together when they get divorced also strikes me as such a writerly thing to do. Getting a break-up tattoo seems bizarre to most people but as writer, I didn’t question it until someone told me it sounded weird. These tattoos make a good story, a symbol of Strayed which she references in various of her writings. They put a cap on her marriage and give it a narrative arc that makes her life seem more like a story, something comfortable and easy to enjoy, easier to gain distance from, than real life.

Cheryl also practicing becoming a writer in the literary quotes she loves in the trail guestbooks, which are set at intervals along the trail, which she attributes to herself as well as the author of the quotes. In this practice she enters into a long tradition of young writers copying out influential texts like The Great Gatsby to the rhythm of the words. In this way, Wild is about Cheryl’s growth and maturation as a writer as well as a woman.

This might be why so many uninformed critiques of the film compare it to Eat, Pray, Love ; if you ignore the grit of Cheryl’s desperation, youth and poverty, her trip would seem like a laughably naive attempt to “find herself.” This might be the only way our mainstream culture knows how to categories women’s stories, ghettoizing them as as non-fiction chick-lit.

But Wild is without the scenes of romance or consumerism, or even an assurance that Cheryl will be alright at its end. We see her leave the trail (and symbolically her trials) behind as she reaches The Bridge of the Gods in Portland, and hear her in voiceover reference her future husband and children, but we never see them. The story is not carefully wrapped up in a bow and Cheryl is not perfected. Though she “grows up” to give advice as Dear Sugar and become a celebrated writer, we’re able to like her, to identify with her because she isn’t living this perfect new life of food and love and prayer with nary a nagging worry. As Wild ends with a reprise of Simon and Garfunkel’s  “El Condor Pasa,” the film’s haunting “Que Sera Sera” theme, and a montage of photos of the young wild Strayed, her grit is the lasting image of the film.

The real Cheryl on the PCT
The real Cheryl on the PCT.

 


Also on Bitch Flicks: A Wild Woman Alone by Ren Jender.


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

 

 

Top Six Anthems Inspired by Kate Pierson’s ‘Mister Sister’

The painfully pungent overtones of Band Aid and Miley Cyrus kept me from appreciating the altruism.

Written by Andé Morgan.
Hey folks, remember that cis-origin trans anthem you didn’t ask for? Kate Pierson’s got you covered!
[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VZzSgYQl2RY”]
This weekend Pierson released the video for her  new single, “Mister Sister.” She’s accompanied by Fred Armisen of Portlandia (and “Estro-Maxx”) fame.
It also features Alyson Palmer of the band BETTY. Palmer is well-known for her strong opposition to trans inclusion (e.g., her support for Womyn-born Womyn policies) at the Michigan Womyn’s Festival.
Pierson said “I hope this becomes a trans anthem.”

WATCH: The B-52s’ Kate Pierson Is Back With A ‘Trans Anthem’ http://t.co/mekSiGFvjT

— KATE PIERSON (@THEKATEPIERSON) December 5, 2014

Some lyrics from the song:

Hey mister sister
You raid that closet for fish nets
It’s lonely
But you keep wishing
I know there is no one that listens
and these:
You hear the words
You make a beautiful girl
A beautiful girl
And nothing hurts when you are a beautiful girl
A beautiful girl

sarcasm gif photo:  e6b49580.gif

Wow, she gets it.
I hate to shade Pierson. Her intent seems good, she’s family, and her music resonates with many, including some transgender women. HOWEVER, Pierson is cisgender, and I don’t like it when cisfolks co-opt the trans experience for fun, profit, or even do-goodery. Really, the painfully pungent overtones of Band Aid and Miley Cyrus kept me from appreciating the altruism. To her credit, Pierson has indicated a willingness to have a dialogue on this.
In the meantime, here are some upcoming “helpful” songs soon to be released by your favorite artists!
1. “Feminists are Pretty, Too!” by R. Kelly
2. “I Wanna Touch Your Hair” by Taylor Swift
3. “I Like Mexican Ladies ‘Cus They Salsa While They Make Salsa” by Kenny Chesney
4. “Pink Tutus and Barbie Dolls (The Transgendered Kid at School)” by Macklemore
5. “Do Secular Humanists Even Know it’s Christmas?” by U2
6. “Queers, Am I Right?” by The Fred Durst/Chad Kroeger Steamroller Collective
OK, I’m done. At least James Nichols, HuffPo Gay Voices associate editor, keyed in on what’s really important here: “We’re loving the retro sound of this new single from Pierson.”
o-FRED-facebook
Also on Bitch Flicks: “The Joyful Feminist Killjoy” by Leigh Kolb

Andé Morgan lives in Tucson, Arizona, where they write about film, television, and current events. Follow them @andemorgan.

What’s in a Soundtrack? The Sweet Sounds of ‘Romeo + Juliet’

Zeffirelli’s ‘Romeo and Juliet’ is one told by the older generation. Luhrmann’s ‘Romeo + Juliet’ is one told by “unfaded” youth. When Des’ree was singing “Kissing You” as Romeo and Juliet kiss (and oh, how they kiss), she is singing with deep longing and pain. When Glen Weston sings “What is a Youth?” he sings at Romeo and Juliet, about how youth–and female virginity–fades.

William Shakespeare's Romeo + Juliet: Music From the Motion Picture (this CD was--OK is--one of my greatest treasures)
William Shakespeare’s Romeo + Juliet: Music From the Motion Picture

 

Written by Leigh Kolb as part of our theme week on Movie Soundtracks.

When you are 14, your senses are heightened–music permeates every part of you, a brush of a hand sends shock waves through your body, and the smell of someone’s shampoo and chewing gum is enough to evoke lust. It’s no surprise that for adolescents, music is a powerful, integral part of their self-identity and emotional expression.

I’m thankful that I was 14 in the mid-90s. I know it’s easy to be nostalgic and believe that the moment we came of age was the best moment in the history of the world (“When I was that age…”), but I’m confident in saying that 1996 was really an epic year for being 14.

Riot grrrl was hanging in the air. Female musicians were featured on the airwaves, many male rockers were feminist, and teen films featured complex female protagonists. I was saturated in feminist media. We were riding an idealistic wave of feminism–a new generation of daughters whose mothers had lived through the women’s movement, who lived in a world where Title IX and Roe v. Wade always existed.

When I was 14, Baz Luhrmann’s William Shakespeare’s Romeo + Juliet was released, and the play that has been speaking to and about teens for 400 years awakened my already heightened senses. As someone who identified more with Wuthering Heights than Pride and Prejudice as a teenager, this intense angst really spoke to me. And the music that accompanied the film was woven into the fiber of my life–I imagined it as my soundtrack, not just the film’s soundtrack.

I’ve written before about how I see the film (and Shakespeare‘s text) as challenging patriarchal social orders and revealing the toxicity of masculinity. Luhrmann’s version highlights this, certainly more so than Franco Zeffirelli’s 1968 version.

Zeffirelli’s soundtrack featured a score by Nino Rota and its “Love Theme” is known in two versions–“What is Youth?” and “A Time for Us.” “What is a Youth?” is included in the score, and features the lyrics that are sung on screen during the Capulet party when Romeo and Juliet meet. The lyrics to this version focus on how “cupid rules us all,” and that “youth” and the “fairest maid” all fade. In contrast, the lyrics to “A Time for Us” are more hopeful: “…some day there’ll be a new world / a world of shining hope for you and me.” Romeo and Juliet as a text can be read in both ways, of course. It’s important to think about Zeffirelli’s version in the context of the “youth” movement of the 1960s–anti-war rebellion, women’s rights activism, rising counterculture–and what Romeo and Juliet tells us about the utter ignorance and destruction of adults’ decisions.

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

Luhrmann also pulls Romeo and Juliet into the context of an era dominated by youth culture (see aforementioned links and 1,000 Buzzfeed posts about how rad the 90s were). However, this Romeo + Juliet is marked with much more poignant commentary on gender and culture. The “Love Theme” from Romeo + Juliet is sung by Des’ree, a Black woman (she performs on screen at the Capulet party, a nod to the Zeffirelli version). “Kissing You” is a more abstract look at love: “Pride can stand a thousand trials / The strong will never fall / But watching stars without you / My soul cries… Touch me deep, pure and true.” The entire scene, and the song itself, is a more intimate and moving addition to the party scene.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p7eH9qnH8TM”]

Luhrmann’s soundtrack (he is, after all, known not only for his showy films but also for his curated soundtracks) was the soundtrack to my teen years. If I want to really feel those 14-year-old feelings, I just need to listen to Romeo + Juliet. The choices of popular musical artists of the time (Des’ree, Garbage, The Cardigans, Radiohead, Butthole Surfers, Everclear, etc.) related the story of Romeo and Juliet through their own eyes, not those of a stodgy old narrator. And the diversity of the artists–male, female, Black, white–also reflects the progressive nature of youth culture.

Zeffirelli’s Romeo and Juliet is one told by the older generation. When Glen Weston sings “What is a Youth?” he sings at Romeo and Juliet, about how youth–and female virginity (eye roll)–fades. Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet is one told by “unfaded” youth. When Des’ree sings “Kissing You” as Romeo and Juliet kiss (and oh, how they kiss), she is singing with deep longing and pain.

Luhrmann’s soundtrack, then, does what we imagine Shakespeare aimed to do with this play–forces us to look critically at love and life through the eyes of youth to critique the patriarchal social orders that cause the tragedy.

Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet is often read in school when students are freshmen in high school. I would imagine the framers of this curricular choice were thinking that Romeo and Juliet is a cautionary tale against rebellion and teen lust. Instead, Romeo and Juliet really is about the absurdity and destructive nature of society’s bullshit norms and rules.

The songs in Romeo + Juliet aren’t just for backdrop; instead, these songs are characters–edgy, angry, beautiful, and poppy representations of the sweeping emotions of youth, love, anger, and rebellion.

Just listen, and be transported to a youth that won’t fade:

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V4xPXlneCGs”]

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dJbXjIEP6rM”]

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xkXdeUjM1pc”]

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_JNb93N3-ek”]

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GU6i_JhbVsc”]

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IIbiG04X3ws”]

 

See also at Bitch Flicks: The Tragedy of Masculinity in Romeo + Juliet

Recommended reading: Here is what I learned from Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo and Juliet at That’s Normal

 

___________________________

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

Creating the Mythology of Beatrix Kiddo Through Music

Tarantino’s vast knowledge of music is clear from the very beginning with ‘Reservoir Dogs.’ However, it isn’t until the ‘Kill Bill’ series when his soundtracks begin to drift away from pop and instead embrace more orchestral sounds like that of Ennio Morricone. Viewers need no knowledge of the genre to instantly recognize that spaghetti western feel. It’s that famous mix of Spanish guitar, orchestra, whistles, cracking whips, trumpet, flute and sometimes chorus that recalls images of Clint Eastwood clad in a green poncho and cowboy hat as the iconic Man with No Name.

The Bride/Beatrix Kiddo (Uma Thurman) in Kill Bill Vol. 1 and The Man with No Name (Clint Eastwood) in The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly
The Bride/Beatrix Kiddo (Uma Thurman) in Kill Bill Vol. 1 and The Man with No Name (Clint Eastwood) in The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

 

This guest post by Rhianna Shaheen appears as part of our theme week on Movie Soundtracks. 

I was obsessed with Kill Bill  in high school. While other kids from school went to see John Tucker Must Die (not that there’s anything wrong with that) I stayed home jamming out to the “Malagueña Salerosa” from the Vol. 2 soundtrack.  I legitimately thought I was Beatrix Kiddo.

Music is a hugely important aspect of Tarantino’s directorial style. In interviews, he often describes his creative process, which largely consists of writing scenes with a specific song in mind. It is how he defines the mood and rhythm of a film. He makes a song feel so organic to a scene that we forget its original source. I honestly can’t hear Nancy Sinatra’s “Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)” without associating it with Kill Bill.

Tarantino’s vast knowledge of music is clear from the very beginning with Reservoir Dogs. However, it isn’t until the Kill Bill series when his soundtracks begin to drift away from pop and instead embrace more orchestral sounds like that of Ennio Morricone. Viewers need no knowledge of the genre to instantly recognize that spaghetti western feel. It’s that famous mix of Spanish guitar, orchestra, whistles, cracking whips, trumpet, flute and sometimes chorus that recalls images of Clint Eastwood clad in a green poncho and cowboy hat as the iconic Man with No Name.

Tarantino enjoys honoring his film inspirations and obsessions by making countless references to them. However, his use of spaghetti western music is much more deliberate and masterful than just calling attention to older work. Through music he creates a mythology surrounding his heroine.

Bill: “I find the whole mythology surrounding superheroes fascinating. Take my favorite superhero, Superman. […] The mythology is not only great, it’s unique. […] Superman didn’t become Superman. Superman was born Superman. When Superman wakes up in the morning, he’s Superman. His alter ego is Clark Kent. His outfit with the big red “S”, that’s the blanket he was wrapped in as a baby when the Kents found him. Those are his clothes. What Kent wears – the glasses, the business suit – that’s the costume. Sorta like Beatrix Kiddo and Mrs. Tommy Plympton. […] You would’ve worn the costume of Arlene Plympton. But you were born Beatrix Kiddo. And every morning when you woke up, you’d still be Beatrix Kiddo.” (Kill Bill Vol. 2)

In the above quote, Bill argues that Kiddo is a “natural born killer,” making her no better than the clean slate she strives to achieve for herself and her daughter.  Whether or not she indeed fits the anti-hero role in this story is arguable. Yes, the means to her ends are violent and ruthless, but the film does not exactly take place in the real world. It’s an ultra-violent world of revenge and vengeance where Beatrix Kiddo is the hero. She could have fled her assassins after waking from that coma but instead she decides to go on a “roaring rampage of revenge” for the sake of her daughter.

In Vol. 2, music becomes the climactic expression of Beatrix Kiddo’s heroism.

Where Vol. 1 is driven by action-packed fight scenes, Vol. 2 is driven by emotion and reflection. Through music the film delves much deeper into the transformation of Beatrix Kiddo from passive victim to active avenger. For me, this is really what makes it the stronger half of the story.

During her quest, Beatrix tracks down Bud, Bill’s brother and former assassin. She arrives at his trailer ready to ambush him when he thwarts her attack and shoots her in the chest with rock salt. He was expecting her all along. As an act of his own revenge, Bud seals her in a coffin and buries her alive for “breaking [his] brother’s heart.” This seems to be the end of the road for Beatrix Kiddo.

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After a flashback to her master’s training, we return to her present state six feet underground. She lays there in complete darkness awaiting her Texas funeral when Ennio Morricone’s “L’arena” chimes in. The track was originally used in a duel scene from Il Mercenario (1968).  Here it is repurposed to a similar effect. As the music swells and Beatrix slams her fist into that pine wooden box the scene becomes a showdown of epic proportions. The guitar and snare drum charge on and we think she has a chance. This song exemplifies Morricone’s “heroic style” that carries our character through the action. This scene is not action-packed with a ton of kung fu moves but the music makes this scene just as gripping if not more. It encourages us to spur on our heroine.

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The Burial scene is a defining moment for our character in which we as audience witness her willpower and perseverance even on the verge of death.

After her escape, there is a short sequence of The Bride, worn and sand-ridden as she treks across the vast desert. She has come a long way on her journey. While this bit is not necessary to our understanding of the plot it is stylistically significant to our understanding of the character. A sun flare introduces the track “Sunny Road to Salina” from La route de Salina (1970) as a blurry haze of Beatrix emerges. The music is epic and grand, telling us that nothing will stand in her way in the final stages of her quest. This use of this soundtrack and this shot mirrors a similar long walking scene in The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly (1966) in which the Man With No Name is dragged and tortured across the desert by his adversary. Similarly, this is seen in the final scene of A Fistful of Dollars (1964) as the Man with no Name returns to confront the bad guys in the final battle.

Beatrix makes her heroic return in Kill Bill Vol. 2
Beatrix makes her heroic return in Kill Bill Vol. 2

 

The Man With No Name returns in A Fistful of Dollars
The Man With No Name returns in A Fistful of Dollars

 

Throughout the film Tarantino makes inter-textual references to Dollars trilogy, often comparing Beatrix Kiddo with the Man With No Name. Clint Eastwood’s iconic character is the stoic good guy with a strict but unorthodox sense of justice, a trope that has been repeated countless times since. These musical references not only make The Bride’s action sound absolutely badass but they also elevate her story to an equally heroic status as that of the Man With No Name. This is not to say that her story relies on his validation. That’s certainly not the case. I would argue that she is superior. While the Man With No Name is a mysterious trope Kiddo is much more three-dimensional. She has something worth fighting for. These musical choices only reinforce the mythology that Beatrix Kiddo’s story enters.

In the film’s final confrontation Beatrix must cut herself away from Bill for good. After giving each other their last words, they fight while their daughter sleeps. To Bill’s surprise, Beatrix uses the Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique, resulting in his fated death. Morricone’s “The Demise of Barbara and the Return of Joe” from Navajo Joe (1966) enters as an emotion outpour from The Bride.

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Although Beatrix’s intense resentment for Bill drives the series what it has all built up to is in fact bittersweet. This is not an act of hate. Beatrix does this as an act of love for her daughter who should never have to live in a world of bloodshed and deceit. This moment is the ultimate catharsis for Beatrix Kiddo. As Bill walks to his death the song’s vocal rings like a heartbreaking cry, perhaps it is that of The Bride. Her journey has come full circle.

 


Rhianna Shaheen is a student filmmaker and artist with hopes of writing more in the future. She recently graduated from Bryn Mawr College with a BA in Fine Arts and Minor in Film Studies and Art History. She currently spends most of her time on an epic quest for a full-time job. Check her out on twitter!

 

 

Was ‘Jem and the Holograms’ a Good Show for Little Girls?

Though the show’s focus on romantic love, fashion, and female rivalry are of dubious value, there are definitely a lot of good things going on with ‘Jem and the Holograms’: the notion that fame and fortune should be used for philanthropic means, that female friendships can be strong and form an important network of support, and that a sense of community is crucial.

Jem Coloring Book

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

As a little girl growing up in the 80s, I loved the show Jem and the Holograms. I confess that I still have a bunch of the songs from the show that I listen to from time to time (occasionally subjecting my spin class attendees to a Jem track on my workout playlists). Looking back now as an adult feminist, I’ve wondered how the show influenced me and whether or not that influence was a positive thing. *I did a similar assessment of another of my much-loved 80’s cartoons called: She-Ra Kinda Sorta Accidentally Feministy.*

There are a few potential not-necessarily-empowering aspects of Jem. Firstly, the show is fashion-obsessed and revolves around the characters’ fashionability. Unlike most cartoons where the characters mostly wear the same outfit in every episode, the thin female bodies of Jem‘s characters are adorned in multiple wardrobe changes often within a single 20-minute episode. Fashion and modeling, we know, are traditionally coded as female. The fashion world is extremely hard on women, placing undue emphasis on their bodies, especially on the thinness of those bodies. The drummer (and Black bandmate) Shana, however, designs clothing, so there is an aspect of fun creative expression at play here. Not only that, but the band Jem and the Holograms gets into the world of fashion and music in order to maintain the foster home for young girls that they run.

Starlight Girls

In this light, being on the cutting-edge of fashion, making money, being famous, and maintaining their record label (Starlight Music) is all a means to a philanthropic ends. The band often performs benefit concerts, singing many songs that deliver a positive message about fair play, hard work, creativity, education, and friendship to its young, predominately female audience. Jerrica Benton (Jem’s alter ego) must become a savvy business woman in the advent of her father’s death in order to run her inherited huge record label while living with her beloved foster girls, trying to give them good, happy lives. Jerrica and her friends are capable, ambitious women who thrive in the business world and do so for noble reasons. That type of female representation is all too rare in any pop culture medium, and it definitely had a positive effect on my impressionable younger self.

Another aspect of the show that could be a negative for little girls was all the female rivalry. The primary focus of the show was the often high-stakes band rivalry between Jem and the Holograms and their nemeses (another all-female band), The Misfits.

Misfits Close-up
The Misfits: Roxy, Pizzazz, & Stormer

 

The Misfits were mean, reckless, and ruthless in their pursuit to beat Jem at everything. They’d lie, cheat, commit crimes and sabotage, and endanger the lives of Jem and her bandmates in order to win at any cost. They even had a song called “Winning is Everything.” True story.

[youtube_sc url=”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CMlneySmI3g”]

Though Jem passes the Bechdel Test with flying colors, this dangerous female rivalry is troubling, reinforcing mainstream media’s insistence that women can’t be friends; they must, instead, compete for resources, men, and general approval. Instead of the bands being able to cooperate and collaborate, they are mostly at each other’s throats (with The Misfits, of course, being the instigators). The upside of this rivalry is that the major players are all women. The characters with all the talent, power, and agency are women. The epitome of this is the all-powerful matriarchal figure of Synergy. She’s a basically sentient hologram generating computer system. She gets Jem and her crew out of countless jams, operates as home base for their operations, and acts as a concerned, maternal mentor for them. Though Synergy is a computer system, she has awesome power and Jerrica/Jem often goes to her for counsel.

Synergy to Jem
“Synergy, create a hologram of Jem.”

 

Not only that, but even the cruel Misfits are given depth over time. My favorite character (on whom I had a serious girl-crush) was Stormer, the blue-haired Misfit who was a bad girl with a heart of gold. When her bandmates crossed the line, she would always undermine their machinations in order to do the right thing, often saving the day. We also learn that Pizazz, the ringleader and front woman for the band, struggles with her former identity as: Phyllis, a rich girl with a neglectful father whose approval and attentiveness she could never garner. Despite the contentiousness of the rival bands’ relations, the fact that women are the primary actors and reactors gives the show a variety of female perspectives and permutations, which is what’s so often lacking in current female representations in film and on TV.

My beloved Stormer storms off.
My beloved Stormer storms off.

 

In fact, there are hardly any male characters in the show at all. There are only two to speak of: Jem/Jerrica’s love interest and road manager, Rio Pacheco, and The Misfits’ slimy band manager, Eric Raymond. Later the lead singer of The Stingers, Riot, enters the scene with his ridiculous hair and obsession with Jem. These male characters’ relevance and even usefulness was often in question. Eric was incompetent at all of his scheming in a distinctly Road Runner style. Jem/Jerrica couldn’t even confide her secrets in Rio, and he was often left waiting in the dark for situational resolutions. I often questioned how healthy for young girls the representation of the love triangle involving Rio, Jem, and Jerrica was. It was bizarre that Jem was Jerrica, so Rio was essentially cheating on his girlfriend…with his girlfriend. There was even an episode where Jerrica gets tired of being herself and her Jem personae, so she dons a hologram of a completely new appearance. Rio falls in love with her, too, and they share a kiss. Though the inherent deception on all sides of the relationship is not good role modeling, maybe it’s important that Rio loves Jerrica no matter what physical form she takes on.

I am in love with this Rio & Jem cosplay duo.
I am in love with this Rio and Jem cosplay duo.

 

The band itself, Jem and the Holograms, was also surprisingly racially diverse. The drummer, Shana, was Black, and the lead guitarist, Aja, was Asian. They later added a new drummer, Raya, who was Latina, when Shana took up bass guitar. Though the front woman for the band (who couldn’t actually play an instrument) remained a white woman, with the addition of Raya, there were actually more women of color in the band than white women. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen that kind of ratio on a TV show that wasn’t specifically targeted at people of color.

Jem and all the Holograms
Jem, Kimber, Aja, Raya, and Shana

 

Though the show’s focus on romantic love, fashion, and female rivalry are of dubious value, there are definitely a lot of good things going on with Jem and the Holograms: the notion that fame and fortune should be used for philanthropic means, that female friendships can be strong and form an important network of support, that a sense of community is crucial, especially that of an older generation of women actively participating in that of teenage girls, that the arts should be respected and fostered, and that the virtues women should value in themselves should include honesty, compassion, fairness, determination, and kindness. Maybe I’m biased because I always thought the show was “truly outrageous,” but the good seems to outweigh the bad, giving us a series about women that tried to teach little girls how to grow up to be strong, ethical, and believe in themselves.


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. 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.

Pussy Power and Control in ‘Pussy Riot: A Punk Prayer’

And it sinks in. We can, half a world away, celebrate Pussy Riot’s name. We can listen to their music and cheer them on. What our challenge as feminists needs to be is to take their cause as seriously as those Carriers of the Cross take it. We must hold on so tightly to our convictions–at home and abroad–that the utter fear and terror of female power that those enmeshed in the patriarchy are emboldened by is neutralized.

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Written by Leigh Kolb.

Pussy Riot–the Russian feminist anti-authoritative protest punk band–staged a protest at Moscow’s Cathedral of Christ the Saviour two years ago. Their subsequent arrest, trial, and incarceration has been broadcast to a world both condemning and sympathetic of their cause.

Because of this, we’re hearing the word “pussy” thrown around on the news and in the classroom like never before. Teaching film and journalism, I think I said it in class a half dozen times in the last 24 hours. NPR’s calm deliverance of the word is almost soothing.

It’s hard to not delight in so much “pussy”—the word, as they use it, is threatening, terrifying, and forceful. It’s also a word that is used to belittle women or shame men. There’s power in the word, but there’s also silliness in the reception. The word itself is analogous to women themselves and how we inhabit this world—we often aren’t taken seriously, but us having power (especially sexual power) is terrifying to patriarchal forces. Pussy Riot has shown us this in a loud, brightly colored way.

The documentary Pussy Riot: A Punk Prayer–now available on DVD—traces the path of Pussy Riot’s inception and worldwide explosion. The dozen or so women who gathered to form the punk collective in 2011 were galvanized by pro-feminist, anti-capitalist, pro-gay rights, anti-authoritarian, anti-Putin, anti-church/state ideologies. Their guerrilla-style performances with their signature brightly-colored balaclavas became known in feminist circles, but their February 21, 2012 performance was what made them a household name.

[youtube_sc url=”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=acMN8xUWqUQ”]

The documentary shows the group preparing for a concert/protest at the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour, Moscow’s Orthodox church. It feels voyeuristic (in a good way) to watch this guerrilla punk group practice just like any other band.

As the film’s exposition builds, the group plans to storm the cathedral (which they say is the ultimate symbol of the relationship between the church and state), go up to the altar (where they point out women are now allowed, and they believe they should be), and perform “Punk Prayer.” The lyrics to the anthem include the lines,

“Virgin Mary, Mother of God, banish Putin, banish Putin,/ Virgin Mary, Mother of God, banish him, we pray thee!…/ Freedom’s phantom’s gone to heaven,/ Gay Pride’s chained and in detention… /Don’t upset His Saintship, ladies,/ Stick to making love and babies./ Crap, crap, this godliness crap!/ Crap, crap, this holiness crap!/ Virgin Mary, Mother of God./ Be a feminist, we pray thee…”

However, they are only able to perform for less than a minute before being dragged away by security officials and grabbed at by angry cathedral visitors (there was not a service going on at the time). Three of the members were arrested—Nadezhda Tolokonnikova (Nadia), Maria Alyokhina (Masha/Maria), and Yekaterina Samutsevich (Katia)–and Pussy Riot: A Punk Prayer delves into their lives and the court case that awaited them.

Pussy Riot performs briefly at the cathedral
Pussy Riot performs briefly at the cathedral

 

The film–directed by Mike Lerner and Maxim Pozdorovkin—does an excellent job of letting us into the women’s lives. Their testimonies, their words to the press, and their families’ words, along with the footage of their performances, illuminate their entire story. While it’s clear that the filmmakers are pro-Pussy Riot, their allegiance isn’t distracting. For the first part of the film, as they cut between images of church, state, and protest, Pussy Riot’s performances seem like performance art, not acts of all-out revolution. We viewers think to ourselves as they get dragged off and arrested at the cathedral, “Really?”

And that’s the point. Ms. Magazine says,

“Their actual ‘offending’ performance was a quick and amateurish mess. It was a poorly organized and naïve display by the young women, making the punishments placed upon them—two years in intensive labor camps—appear even harsher by comparison. Out of this, the directors are able to show the growing maturity of the women’s court statements as their ‘show trial’ cage inevitably provides them an international platform on which to express their views.”

When the women are shown speaking (whether in detention or in court), they sometimes smirk and smile and certainly use the platform as activists. At one point, they say to each other that the press will use these photos of them smiling to show that they’re happy, and they say that they are actually laughing at the press. We know that their punishment hasn’t started in earnest yet, and so do they.

I found myself wanting, at times, to judge them for those smiles and testimonies that didn’t defend them sufficiently against the charges (“hooliganism motivated by religious hatred”). I realized, in my judgment, that I am part of the problem. Would I have responded that way to a documentary about young male activists? The rarity of seeing women fight and be punished on a national stage feels too rare. We—around the world—notoriously dismiss young women and find them silly. Our response to their name is indicative of that reality.

From left: Katia, Masha, and Nadia await their sentencing in a confined box in the courtroom.
From left: Katia, Masha, and Nadia await their sentencing in a confined box in the courtroom.

 

We find them silly, or we find them terrifying. Rarely do we give them power.

The chilling reality of Pussy Riot’s case sets in when the filmmakers follow the anti-Pussy Riot protesters, Orthodox worshipers, and men who belong to “The Carriers of the Cross.” Women holding images of Madonna and child are disgusted with Pussy Riot, and the men say,

“Those girls really offended me… in the 16th century, they would’ve hanged them, they would’ve burned them.”

“The main one, she is a demon with a brain. She’s a strong demon. She is stubborn, you can tell by her lips, her mouth.”

“There have always been witches who won’t repent.”

And it sinks in. We can, half a world away, celebrate Pussy Riot’s name. We can listen to their music and cheer them on. What our challenge as feminists needs to be is to take their cause as seriously as those Carriers of the Cross take it. We must hold on so tightly to our convictions—at home and abroad—that the utter terror of female power that emboldens those enmeshed in the patriarchy is neutralized.

The disgust for female power is palpable in these scenes, and it is familiar. While America doesn’t have the same history as Russia, that vitriol feels familiar.

In the St. Petersburg Times, mere days before the arrest at the cathedral, a lengthy feature was published about Pussy Riot:

“The group cites American punk rock band Bikini Kill and its Riot Grrrl movement as an inspiration, but says there are plenty of differences between them and Bikini Kill. ‘What we have in common is impudence, politically loaded lyrics, the importance of feminist discourse, non-standard female image,’ Pussy Riot said. ‘The difference is that Bikini Kill performed at specific music venues, while we hold unsanctioned concerts. On the whole, Riot Grrrl was closely linked to Western cultural institutions, whose equivalents don’t exist in Russia.'”

We can watch this documentary and the news reels of Bolshevik Revolution and the footage of the original Cathedral of Christ the Saviour being demolished under Stalin. We don’t have the same history. But we have the same enemies.

Pussy Riot: A Punk Prayer is an excellent documentary that reminds us of the threat women pose to the patriarchy–literally and figuratively. And when the women might seem young and naïve at the beginning of the film, we watch them mature, and we realize how serious both their punishment and the society that accepts such a punishment are. We hear Pussy Riot’s performance at the end of the film (footage from an earlier performance) as brilliant and powerful. And we realize, deeply, that we live in a world that needs Pussy Riot.

Kathleen Hanna said,  “Anything is possible, if anything, this band has reminded us of that.”

Katia was granted a suspended sentence during the filming of the documentary, but Nadia and Masha went on to serve almost two years in labor camps. They were released in December 2013, which many saw as a false show of amnesty before the winter Olympics began in Russia.

And they haven’t stopped fighting or being fought against, as footage of them being beaten and detained in Sochi was just released this morning.

wornfashionjournal_pussyriot2

 

Recommended Reading: “Putin’s God Squad: The Orthodox Church and Russian Politics” at Newsweek, “Female Fury” at The St. Petersburg Times, “Pussy Riot’s Punk Prayer is pure protest poetry” at The Guardian“Take Me Seriously: Why Pussy Riot Matter” at PitchforkNew Book Pussy Riot! A Punk Prayer for Freedom is a Tragic Read” at Bitch MediaPussy Riot: A Punk Prayer at The Female Gaze


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

Becky, Adelaide, and Nan: Women with Down Syndrome on ‘Glee’ and ‘American Horror Story’

Characters with physical or developmental disabilities are rarely given prominent roles on television ensembles, much less well-developed characters. ‘Glee’ and ‘American Horror Story,’ TV shows created by Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk, both feature important characters with Down Syndrome and have received much praise for it. However, the mere existence of these characters is not enough to suggest they are well portrayed and in each character there are several questionable areas that warrant discussion.

Characters with physical or developmental disabilities are rarely given prominent roles on television ensembles, much less well-developed characters. Glee  and American Horror Story, TV shows created by Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk, both feature important characters with Down Syndrome and have received much praise for it. Glee’s Becky Jackson and AHS’s Adelaide Langdon and Nan are all portrayed as flawed women and are allowed their own inner lives, desires, and triumphs.

However, the mere existence of these characters is not enough to suggest they are well portrayed and in each character there are several questionable areas that warrant discussion. Though one must take this criticism with a grain of salt, as Glee is a surreal over-the-top comedy where everyone is made fun of to a degree (though has been consistently problematic in its portrayal of women, the disabled, bisexuality and transwomen, among others) while American Horror Story is literally a horror show, where nearly everyone suffers and dies and indulges in many horror movie cliches–among them the child-like prophet and the martyr.

Becky

Becky Jackson (Lauren Potter) was introduced in Glee’s first season to as a means to character development for the show’s previously one-dimensional villain, Sue Sylvester. She was a shy, young girl with Down Syndrome, a social outcast who just wanted to be a cheerleader.

 

As a Cheerio, Becky is among the most popular girls in school
As a Cheerio, Becky is among the most popular girls in school

 

When Sue put her through a rigorous audition process, viewers and Glee Club leader Will Schuester assumed this was yet another of Sue’s cruelties. Obviously Sue was just torturing this girl for her own amusement with no hope of her actually making the squad, but this assumption was proved wrong when the show revealed that she reminds Sue of her sister Jean, who also has Downs.

Sue tells Will she is treating Becky just like everyone else because that’s what she wants and from then on Becky is a Cheerio, Sue’s constant sidekick and assistant and frequently recurring character.

Becky also continues to aid in the development of Sue’s character, as she becomes her voice of reason, being the the only one who can criticize Sue’ behaviour and talk to her on her level without fear of retaliation. For example, when Becky learns that Sue’s baby will likely have Downs, she is able to tell Sue that she needs to work on her patience to be a good parent. Becky functions as Sue’s heart and when Sue is shattered by her sister’s death, she expresses her grief by casting aside the only other thing that made her human, and kicks Becky off the Cheerios. Their bond is restored when Sue welcomes Becky back to the squad and promotes her to captain, after realizing how much it helps her to have Becky in her life.

 

Becky and Sue have a strong relationship that gives Sue humanity and Becky, a role model
Becky and Sue have a strong relationship that gives Sue humanity and Becky, a role model

 

However, for Becky, her relationship with Sue results in the loss of her own personhood. In a relatively short length of time, Becky gives up any other interests or ambitions she had and becomes a miniature version of her hero, Sue (even dressing her for Halloween). For most of the show, Becky is Sue’s mouthpiece, echoing her criticisms and opinions and making snarky and frequently offensive comments in the same manner that Sue is known for. She even shares Sue’s grossly inflated sense of self worth and importance (Helen Mirren is her inner voice) and heckles and sabotages other students when given the opportunity.

For brief period, it was fun that Becky could be as mean and snarky as almost all the other characters, but as the show dragged this on to become Becky’s defining characteristic, it become patronizing and unfunny. Becky is not portrayed as an otherwise ordinary teenage girl with interests in sex and blue humour but as low comedy, like a child swearing. The joke wasn’t what she was saying but that she was saying these kind of things at all.

 

Becky is disturbingly infantilized as Baby Jesus in the school’s nativity scene
Becky is disturbingly infantilized as Baby Jesus in the school’s nativity scene

 

In addition, Becky is constantly prepositioning other characters and making crude sexual comments about them. She lusts over the Glee Club’s Men of McKinley calendar and claims ownership of one-time date, Artie Abrams when she sees him kissing his girlfriend, calling him her future husband. However, none of her attractions are treated as valid. When she pays for a kiss at a kissing booth run by quarterback Finn Hudson, he kisses her on the cheek; when she and Artie bond over their disabilities on their date, he breaks up with her after she asks him to “do it” with her (in an alternate reality where Artie never went out with her, Becky became “the school slut”); and when she seems to find happiness with Jason, who also has Down Syndrome, she claims the relationship couldn’t work because he liked hot dogs and she liked pizza. By hypersexualizing a character who is treated as humourous for having a sexual desire and never considered as a viable romantic option, she is also desexualized and infantilized, treated like a child who doesn’t understand that (from the narrative’s perspective) the conventionally attractive characters aren’t interested in sleeping with her and she’ll never be prom queen.

There have been two particularly problematic plot lines featuring Becky in Glee’s recent seasons, both which could be essays in their own right. In season four’s much-maligned Shooting Star , Becky brings a gun to school because she fears the world outside the safe bubble of McKinley High, suggesting individuals with Down Syndrome are unstable and dangerous. In season five episode, Movin’ Out,  frequent misogynist Artie decides to “save” Becky and helps her find a college with programs for people with developmental disabilities, something she hadn’t considered previously. While this recent story has a positive message about Becky’s future and her abilities, the fact that another character, one who she stalked after he rejected her, imbues it with the same patronizing dynamic found in much of the plot lines featuring Becky.

Adelaide

The first episode of American Horror Story: Murder House opens in 1978 with Adelaide Langdon, a young girl with Downs ominously warning two boys they will die if they go into the titular house. In the next scene, her warning comes true.
As an adult over 30 years later, Adelaide (Jamie Brewer) continues to given warnings, frightening the Harmon family who have just moved into the house, next door to where she lives with her mother Constance (Jessica Lange). Though she is well meaning and friendly, her warnings are constantly misconstrued as threats due to her creepy habit of starring unblinking and appearing out of nowhere in the Harmon house.

Addy’s mother Constance is relentlessly cruel to her
Addy’s mother Constance is relentlessly cruel to her

 

Being a character on a horror television show, Addy’s Down Syndrome is used to frame her as an uncanny figure, an other in the style of Tod Browning’s Freaks. In horror or gothic media, the uncanny  is something that is familiar, yet strange at the same time, producing an unsettling and comfortable feeling, such as identical twins, mutes or people with developmental disabilities. Seemingly, Addy is able to enter the house whenever she desires, no matter what barriers are in her way, suggesting a magical, otherworldly aspect of her character. Her Down Syndrome alone is meant to produce discomfort in the viewer, manipulating them into wondering if she is evil or will, even unthinkingly, harm the family, for no other reason than that she is so othered.

Raised to believe she is an ugly monster who should keep out of sight, Addy wants nothing more than to be “a pretty girl” and mourns that she doesn’t look like the women in her fashion magazines. Her mother frequently insults her, calling her a burden and a ‘mongoloid’ and reinforcing over and over that Addy’s dream will never happen. Cruelly, Constance punishes her by locking her in the “Bad Girl Room,” a closet full of mirrors, further reinforcing Addy’s monstrous self-image.

As punishment, Addy is terrorized in a closet full of mirrors, where she is forced to see her face
As punishment, Addy is terrorized in a closet full of mirrors, where she is forced to see her face

 

Addy’s story ends sadly on Halloween when she is hit by a car and killed. Here, the show’s treatment of Addy continues to be problematic as it tries to have it both ways, portraying her as both something to fear and as an object of pity, a tragedy for viewers to mourn. When Addy dies she is wearing “a pretty girl” Halloween mask and just minutes before, she was ecstatically happy to finally be the person she’d always wanted, even if it was only in a small, temporary way. Like Sue, Addy is also used to humanize a bigoted character, as Constance, who caused most of the problems in Addy’s life puts makeup on Addy’s corpse and cries while telling her she’s “beautiful.” This suggests that Addy’s purpose in the narrative was chiefly to facilitate Constance’s character development, rather than a storyline or a life of her own.

 

Dressed as a “pretty girl” Addy is hit by a car and killed on Halloween
Dressed as a “pretty girl” Addy is hit by a car and killed on Halloween

Nan

Unlike Adelaide, whose story is presented as a tragedy centered around her Down Syndrome, Nan’s condition is never mentioned but subtly informs how she is treated by the narrative and the other characters. A young clairvoyant on American Horror Story: Coven, Nan (Jamie Brewer) is in most ways, portrayed as a normal girl. She admires the hot neighbor with her classmates, joins in on their catty comments and using her powers for cruel, teenage girl teasing (trying to make Madison put her cigarette in her vagina) in a way that doesn’t seem like the joke is that she is saying these things at all.

Nan is however, constantly dismissed even within the  group that tacitly includes her (problematically, Queenie who is Black is treated as the real outsider). She is never considered a serious contender in the season long competition to see who is  the most powerful witch of her generation, the Supreme, called ugly by Queen Bee Madison and the discovery that the neighbor, Luke is interested in her is treated as unbelievable by other characters.

Nan and Madison (Emma Roberts) compete for the affections of their neighbor Luke
Nan and Madison (Emma Roberts) compete for the affections of their neighbor Luke

 

However, sad as it may be, this is probably be an honest portrayal of how such a character would be treated in such an environment full of bitchery and backstabbing over any character flaw or deficit in appearance. Unlike Queenie, whose difference and feelings about her exclusion from the coven’s majority of white witches are explored in detail, Nan’s feelings are glossed over. She is different, but her difference is never examined, so it becomes an elephant in the room.

Like Adelaide, Nan insists she is not a virgin when it is assumed by other characters. She says she has sex all the time and men find her hot, however because the show never gives any background on who Nan was before she came to the school (as is given for all other characters), it is not clear whether this is true. The storyline of her romance with Luke is never able to progress to a romantic or sexual relationship as he is quickly murdered by his mother so he will not reveal her secrets.

Nan is portrayed as the moral center of the school/coven as her power, allows her to see into the hearts of the people around her. She mediates in fights and threatens to tell the police about the baby Marie Laveau had kidnapped earlier. However, Nan has a dark side which is briefly explored when she uses her powers to kill Luke’s mother, by compelling her to drink bleach, as revenge for her murder of Luke.

After her murder, Nan’s spirit looks down at her body and decides to leave the coven
After her murder, Nan’s spirit looks down at her body and decides to leave the coven

 

She is ultimately murdered by matriarchs Marie and Fiona Goode, functioning bringing them closer together. Her death is used as the sacrifice of an innocent soul, but it is suggested that Nan had some choice in the matter and decides to leave the coven to destroy each other so she can be at peace. The one bad thing she does, the neighbor’s murder is excused because it was deserved and as she is accepted as an innocent, a soul too pure for this world. In this manner, Nan comes close to the stereotype of the saintly disabled person, and is portrayed as a martyr, the lone character over the season who is never resurrected.

Ultimately, though are three characters discussed here have problematic and debatable qualities, both in their personalities and in the way they are framed by their respective narratives, they offer unique portrayals of women with Down Syndrome. If nothing else, they are all prominent characters who are treated as people rather than public service announcements in major television shows. Hopefully they are seen as steps in the right direction.

 

Recommended Reading: Will This Depiction of Down Syndrome be a Horror Story? ; Exploring Bodily Autonomy on American Horror Story: Coven ; Glee’s Not so Gleeful Representation of Disabled Women; The Complicated Racial Politics of “American Horror Story: Coven”; Disability Advocates Call ‘Glee’ Portrayal ‘Poor Choice’

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Elizabeth Kiy is a Canadian writer and freelance journalist living in Toronto, Ontario. She recently graduated from Carleton University where she majored in journalism and minored in film.

Fandom, Feminism, and One Direction

One Direction is, first and foremost, a product. And yet I think the consumption of 1D by fans demonstrates that young women are not completely manipulable by corporatocracy, but rather comprise a powerful grassroots movement capable of taking what they are fed and reappropriating it on their own terms, often in ways that defy the design of the corporate media producers.

L-R: Louis, Niall, Liam, Zayn, Harry
L-R: Louis, Niall, Liam, Zayn, Harry

As feminist critics, we get very frustrated by the constant cultural devaluing of media aimed primarily at girls. It goes farther than just a lot of people saying, “Twilight sucks,” because Twilight does suck, but it’s not always clear if people are making a legitimate critique. Are they saying, “Twilight is poorly written and full of problematic assumptions and messages,” or are they saying, “Ew, it has a female creator, a female protagonist, and a predominantly female fanbase”?

Even the former can contribute to the cultural devaluing of girl stuff. I’ve read literally dozens of feminist critiques of Twilight, some of them very detailed and very thoughtful; but I just don’t see an equivalent barrage of critique leveled at, say, Transformers (which could be considered the masculine-coded equivalent of Twilight). Of course the reason for this is that Twilight, being “for girls,” is more interesting from a feminist standpoint than Transformers and offers a richer vein of potential for feminist analysis; but the upshot is a net contribution to the vastly greater cultural scrutiny of products for girls than of products for boys.

One solution is to quit scrutinizing stuff for girls so closely, but if we do that we lose valuable feminist analysis. Another is to start scrutinizing stuff for boys with the same critical eye, but Jesus Christ, have you seen a Michael Bay Transformers movie? Nobody should be subjected to that. Perhaps the correct counterbalance to feminist critique of bad stuff for girls is the feminist championing of good stuff for girls.

Caveat: when I say “for girls” or “for boys,” I am not being prescriptive. I’m a 24-year-old man writing publicly about my love of One Direction. I do not believe that any book, movie, music, TV show, article of clothing, color, website, philosophy, job, hobby, interest, or anything else is inherently “for girls” or “for boys.” I use the terms advisedly, to refer to the demographic towards which a product is primarily marketed and the demographic that comprises the majority of its consumers (which are not always the same demographic).

one-direction-rudd-1 one-direction-rudd-2 one-direction-rudd-3 one-direction-rudd-4

Let’s get the unavoidable critiques out the way first. One Direction is the product of a cynical capitalist empire and when you buy your 1D concert tickets (assuming you can – they’re way outside the grad student price range) you are lining the pockets of Simon Cowell and perpetuating the manufacturing of lowest-common-denominator entertainment where artistic merit is firmly subjugated to the concern of profit margins. The band is designed as a hegemonic artifact servicing the production of heteropatriarchal capitalist values: five cute but non-threatening boys for barely-adolescent girls to swoon over and spend their (parents’) money on.

One Direction is, first and foremost, a product. And yet I think the consumption of 1D by fans demonstrates that young women are not completely manipulable by corporatocracy, but rather comprise a powerful grassroots movement capable of taking what they are fed and reappropriating it on their own terms, often in ways that defy the design of the corporate media producers.

Fan participation is key to how 1D is consumed by its fans. Fanfiction platforms are abuzz with works about 1D, some of it even officially endorsed, and there’s even an iPhone app specifically for 1D fanfiction. Even the lead animator for Archer has gotten in on the action. Of course, it would be remiss of me to talk about 1D fandom without mentioning the Larry shippers – the people who want Louis and Harry to be in a relationship. Obsessive shipping of real people is damn creepy, and when the shippers try to bend reality to their will it gets a little horrifying. But I think for the most part, barring the tinhat fringe, it’s not the “real people” that many shippers are interested in. It’s “Harry” and “Louis,” the public personae, who are by design not real people. The artifice is part of the point. The fantasy of fan participation is the way in which fans, mostly young women, can reclaim agency by writing themselves and their desire into the corporate product they are fed.

Like this one.
Like this one.

The movie One Direction: This Is Us is just one part of the 1D package. It’s a bit of fluff comprising ninety minutes of concert footage and squeaky-clean depictions of the 1D lads being Nice Boys. As an official production, it naturally doesn’t address fan reappropriations, but there’s the kernel of something interesting there. The boys repeatedly thank their fans, claim to have the best fans in the world, say they would be nowhere without the fans. On the one hand this is kind of true, but on the other hand they are a manufactured group who started on a reality TV show and are in the pocket of the most powerful mogul in pop music. The fans may have made the band, but the media empire made the fans.

This is why I think it’s so important to see the fans reacting in ways the media empire couldn’t predict or endorse. These fans are an extremely powerful force, sometimes for ill, sometimes for good, and that cannot be ignored.

Of course, all the focus on the behavior of the fandom can obscure the basic fact that 1D are feelgood and fluffy. Even taking them at face value, they don’t on the whole have a bad message. In a pop milieu that elevates Robin Thicke, 1D are noticeable for their deference to female agency. Every song on their first album, and most of the songs on the subsequent two, are addressed to a non-specific (but usually female) “you.” They are all expressions of blisteringly sincere emotion within the completely artificial framework of the manufactured boy band talking to the generic listener, but the emotions are always gentle. There are the Sad Songs, where the singer (who is, it must be noted, never singular: the five lads divide up lines in all the songs) laments his deep, sincere, unrequited feelings for You; and there are the Happy Songs, where he/they rejoices in deep, sincere, requited love. The subtext of many of these Happy Songs is pretty explicitly sexual, but it’s always entirely reliant on Your – the implied young female listener’s – consent. Take one of my favorites, “Kiss You”:

 [youtube_sc url=”http://youtu.be/T4cdfRohhcg” title=”One%20Direction,%20%22Kiss%20You%22″]

Tell me girl if every time we touch
You get this kind of rush
Baby say yeah, yeah, yeah

If you don’t wanna take it slow
And you just wanna take me home
Baby say yeah, yeah, yeah

And let me kiss you

You’ll never convince me that this song is actually about kissing. Not only do the opening lines talk about “turn[ing] your love on,” that stuff about not taking it slow and taking the singer(s) home is language more usually associated with sex. Even if you accept the naivety of “kiss” at face value, though, rather than reading it as coy metonymy for sex, the song is explicitly about consent and communication. From the opening verse’s “Tell me how to turn your love on” to the chorus’ exhortation to “say yeah, yeah, yeah,” this whole song is about talking about what you want and making sure your partner is enthusiastically consenting before anything happens. Almost all of the songs, Happy or Sad, grant the (female) listener agency. The narrator lays his feelings bare, and You can prolong or end his misery or joy by reciprocating or not; but the decision is always Yours, and You are never coerced or ill-treated. “Blurred Lines” this is absolutely not.

Let’s get back to the gay shipping though. This Is Us doesn’t address it directly, but it takes care to show the lads’ uniquely close relationship with one another, in a way that’s surely grist to the shippers’ mill. There’s a certain queerness inherent to the homosocial structure of the boy band, noticeably in the collectivity: 1D don’t harmonize all the time, nor do they take turns on songs, but they share lines within the songs. Their songs seem to have a clear, singular narrator, but the five boys take turns being that narrator. The 1D collective addresses the (collectively-singular) listener. In some ways you’re being invited into a relationship with all five of these fellas, even though it is the done thing to have a favorite.

And Zayn is clearly the best.
And Zayn is clearly the best.

I’m not saying that One Direction is a feminist triumph. It’s still a manufactured boy band, and as such it’s not reinventing the wheel, and the fandom can be absolutely vicious. But I think it’s about time we started giving young girls a little more credit for the way they consume the things they like.

Max Thornton blogs at Gay Christian Geek, tumbles as trans substantial, and is slowly learning to twitter at @RainicornMax. He’s not afraid of all the attention, he’s not afraid of running wild.

 

‘Inside Llewyn Davis’: A Moving Tribute to Music While Transcending Gender Tropes

At first, Jean appears like a stereotypical shrew, a misogynistic trope. The shrew often serves the purpose to show us that the male lead is a put-upon nice guy. The intention is for her nastiness to reinforce our sympathy for him. But ‘Inside Llewyn Davis’ differs in that we inevitably sympathize with Jean, or at the very least, we understand where she’s coming from. We understand her vitriol and frustration towards Llewyn. Jean’s role isn’t hollow. Beyond her rage and meanness, there’s a melancholic sadness behind her eyes. She embodies far more complexity than a mere trope.

Inside Llewyn Davis

Music can wordlessly stir emotions and move us. A song can provide a glimpse into a moment in someone’s life. Music can mark the borders of a cultural era. A lyrical love letter to folk music, Inside Llewyn Davis brilliantly captures all of these.

I didn’t know what to expect. While I love folk music — the acoustic guitar, the harmonies, the raw emotion, the social justice messages simmering under the surface — I’m not the biggest Cohen Brothers fan. So it surprised me that the deceptively simple yet complex Inside Llewyn Davis is one of my favorite films of the year.

Set in 1961, the film chronicles a few days in the life of a folk musician. It takes place at a time on the cusp of Bob Dylan’s breakout, right before folk when from an intimate circle of musicians to exploding on a national and global scale.

Oscar Isaac captivates and mesmerizes as protagonist Llewyn Davis, a fictitious character but an amalgam of folk musicians Dave Van Ronk, Ramblin’ Jack Elliot, and other performers who played in NYC’s Greenwich Village. Sure, Llewyn isn’t exactly a great guy. In fact, he’s kind of an asshole. He’s self-involved. He’s obnoxious. But he instills curiosity. I wanted to see what he would do next.

The musical performances were all performed by the actors and performed live. It lends an authenticity and electricity to the film. The emotive music feels like another character in the film. Llewyn (and Oscar Isaac) comes alive when he performs. He’s a soulful and raw musician, which encompasses the evocative feeling of folk music in the 1960s.

Epitomizing many folk musicians of that era, Llewyn doesn’t want to sell out. He wants to remain a solo artist after the suicide of his musical partner. Yet he struggles to make a living out of his art. Both music manager Bud Grossman (F. Murry Abraham) and jazz musician Roland Turner (John Goodman) don’t take folk music seriously, as a viable commercial endeavor or as an art form respectively. Roland even tells Llewyn, “What’d you say you played? Folk songs? I thought you said you were a musician.” But Llewyn is determined to stay true to his art.

For many young musicians in the Village, the emerging pop-folk trend “represented the bland conformity and commercial culture they hated and were trying to escape.” Beyond music, American culture was shifting to greater commercialism. The striking yet bleak cinematography, desaturated of color, echo this theme.

Inside Llewyn Davis cat

Ulysses the cat, Llewyn’s frequent companion, was my favorite part of the film. But not only because I’m a sucker for a cat (which I am). The cat’s name, a form of Odysseus, who tries to find his way home in the Greek mythological epic The Odyssey, is a fitting allusion. Llewyn is a wayward traveler physically, as he flits from couch to couch crashing at various friends’ houses, artistically, as he doesn’t feel appreciated, and emotionally, as he doesn’t really connect with anyone and doesn’t belong anywhere.

Which brings us to the women in Llewyn’s life. We see the women in the film through Llewyn’s eyes, just as we do everything else. And as Llewyn is cynical, viewing everyone and everything as a nuisance or obstacle obstructing his path, we see the women skewed in the same light.

Jean (Carey Mulligan), the most prominent female character, is a folk musician too. We see her sing on-stage with Jim (Justin Timberlake), her husband and Llewyn’s friend. Of course we’re treated to a lovely objectifying commentary by the bar owner Pappi about how he wants to fuck Jean. Nice.

Inside Llewyn Davis Carey Mulligan 2

Full of wrath and fury, everything Llewyn does enrages her. Immediately hostile, she spouts venomous lines at him such as, “Everything you touch turns to shit,” and he “should wear two condoms” when he has sex. “I loved her spiteful, vitriolic rants,” said Carey Mulligan, who found the role “liberating” and “great fun.” While the entire film is told from Llewyn’s perspective – not really a surprise as the film title alludes – we do eventually understand why Jean feels the way she does towards Llewyn.

His own worst enemy,” Llewyn is a selfish jerk. He’s unreliable and lashes out at people, sabotaging his relationships. It’s interesting because a musician is supposed to entertain people, not alienate them. Yet that’s precisely what Llewyn does to nearly everyone in his life.

When Jean discovers she’s pregnant, she fears that Llewyn might be the father of her unborn baby, catalyzing her to want an abortion. Needing the money to fund Jean’s abortion spurs Llewyn taking a job recording with Jim — an interesting scene in and of itself as it seems to encapsulate the disconnect between the folk music Llewyn wants to create and the commercial pop music Jim that’s making him money. Jean says she would keep the baby if she knew for certain Jim was the father. Despite being about Llewyn, I appreciate that the film affords Jean the opportunity to express her wishes.

As a reproductive justice advocate, I always appreciate abortion in a film as a choice people make. 1 in 3 women will have an abortion in her lifetime, not to mention the trans* men, genderqueer and non-binary individuals who have abortions too. It’s a common, routine medical procedure. Yet it’s still rare for a film or TV series to depict a character choosing and having an abortion.

At first, Jean appears like the stereotypical angry shrew, a misogynistic trope, reminding me of Rachel McAdams’ trope character in Midnight in Paris. The shrew often serves the purpose to show us that the male lead is a put-upon nice guy. The intention is for her nastiness to reinforce our sympathy for him. But Inside Llewyn Davis differs in that we inevitably sympathize with Jean, or at the very least, we understand where she’s coming from. We understand her vitriol and frustration towards Llewyn. Talking about her role, Carey Mulligan said Jean started off optimistic and hopeful, till “the world came along and hit her in the face.” Jean’s role isn’t hollow. Beyond her rage and meanness, there’s a melancholic sadness behind her eyes. She embodies far more complexity than a mere trope.

Inside Llewyn Davis Carey Mulligan

The other female characters we see in the film are Llewyn’s sister Joy and Lillian, the mild-mannered wife of his professor friend. Llewyn argues with his sister about their father and tells him to quit music, admonishing him for not having his life together. When Lillian asks him to sing at a dinner party and then (horror of horrors!) she sings along with him, Llewyn rages at her, making her cry. Llewyn is angry as Lillian is singing the harmony that his deceased partner sang. But he doesn’t want another filling his shoes. He wants to perform solo. It’s an interesting juxtaposition to Jean and Jim who encourage people to sing along with them when they perform onstage. But Llewyn must be the center of attention.

After hearing club owner Pappi say that he slept with Jean because that’s the price women pay to be able to perform onstage in his establishment (wow, swell guy), Llewyn proceeds to heckle a female folk singer. So he makes two women cry in the film but doesn’t stand up to the men in his life. Is his male posturing an attempt to assert his masculinity? Is he lashing out at women because he feel he can’t change the course of his life? Is he depressed that he’s disconnected from others? Does he feel Jean belongs to him like a possession? Is he just a misogynistic douchebag? All of the above?

Tinged with sadness and yearning, the crux of the film rests on Llewyn struggling to maintain balance, trying to do the right thing but then getting frustrated and saying fuck it. He strives to be a “true” artist rather than a commercial commodity. He tries to get Ulysses the cat back to his human family. He tries to take responsibility and pay for the abortion of not only Jean but a previous girlfriend too. He tries to be a good son and visit his father in a retirement community. He tries to reach out to people and forge relationships. But he inevitably annihilates his best intentions.

Llewyn is a filter for not only the women but everyone in the film. It’s all about him. And normally that would bother me. I can’t stand when movies don’t pass the Bechdel Test or the Mako Mori Test, when everything revolves around men. The women in the film don’t interact with one another. Okay, that is annoying. But Inside LLewyn Davis is such a captivating character study, a beautiful testament to the power of music, a brilliant exploration of art and what deems an artist a failure or success, an intriguing commentary on how we connect and disconnect with those around us, and it includes an abortion storyline and a female character transcending gender tropes — that I almost don’t care. Almost.


Megan Kearns is Bitch Flicks‘ Social Media Director and a feminist vegan blogger. She blogs at The Opinioness of the World and Fem2pt0 and she’s a member of the Boston Online Film Critics Association (BOFCA). She tweets at @OpinionessWorld.

Eddie Vedder’s Feminism: Flannel-Clad Activism

Vedder has spent his career fighting for a modern world that accepts and promotes women–he’s fought for reproductive rights, spoken out against sexual assault, and worked for worldwide safe pregnancy/childbirth.

Gloria Steinem and Eddie Vedder
Gloria Steinem and Eddie Vedder

 

Written by Leigh Kolb as part of our theme week on Male Feminists and Allies.

Toward the end of Pearl Jam’s Oct. 16 show in Oklahoma City, Eddie Vedder turned the microphone over to a woman in the front row who wanted to propose to her boyfriend. She got down on one knee, proposed, and kissed the man who had said “yes.”

Vedder congratulated them and said, “That’s beautiful–it’s a modern world.”

Vedder has spent his career fighting for a modern world that accepts and promotes women–he’s fought for reproductive rights, spoken out against sexual assault, and worked for worldwide safe pregnancy/childbirth. Vedder’s feminism has followed him from the highest rafters at Lollapalooza in 1992 to being the father of two daughters in 2013.

Justin Hampton’s PJ20 poster, featuring Neil Young, Gloria Steinem, and young Pearl Jam members.
Justin Hampton’s PJ20 poster, featuring Neil Young, Gloria Steinem, and young Pearl Jam members.

His politics have never taken second stage, and his feminism has always been a part of what is stereotypically a masculine, male-dominated, female-unfriendly world of rock.

Vedder’s ethos shaped my adolescence, and normalized feminism. While Pearl Jam as a whole (Jeff Ament, Stone Gossard, and Mike McCready)  presented itself as a progressive force in the grunge scene, taking female protagonists and feminist issues to the radio and MTV, Vedder’s voice and actions made an incredible impact on me as I fully realized my own feminism, even if I couldn’t name it at age 10.

Listening to Pearl Jam growing up, I consistently heard songs with female protagonists. I loved reading the lyrics–they weren’t against me or at me. The lyrics told stories about women and girls facing mental health issuesdisappointing relationships, being misunderstood by parents and men, and aging in a small town–all from the woman’s perspective. They commented on the privilege of being white and male in our society, the ramifications of not having that privilege, and the damaging and idealized masculinity of guns.

No question: pro-choice
No question: pro-choice

When Vedder scrawled “Pro-Choice” on his arm with a Sharpie during an MTV Unplugged performance, he did what many celebrities don’t–loudly proclaim to a huge audience a commitment to the right to choose. Pearl Jam performed at Rock for Choice concerts. Vedder wrote an essay for SPIN magazine in 1992 (“Reclamation”) looking at abortion on a macro and micro level.

Penning first-person narratives of abortion experiences is still groundbreaking 20 years later, and too often women are held responsible for telling stories to effect change.

Vedder’s essay is gorgeous and powerful–he manages to stress that reproductive choice is a human rights issue, and men and women must come together and “shout” to make their voices heard. He points out that if it were about men’s bodies, “there would be no issue.” In just a few paragraphs, he acknowledges patriarchy, religious influence, the notion of “freedom,” women’s autonomy, and weaves in his personal experience with abortion.

Twenty years later–we still need more of these voices. And although I’ve read Vedder’s account over and over, I’m moved every time.

 

Voters for Choice concert
Voters for Choice concert

 

In 1995, Vedder took to the airwaves, citing Ms. Magazine and Gloria Steinem, and reading a lengthy memo from Voters for Choice about the heightened violence against abortion providers.

 

Eddie Vedder and Gloria Steinem at a Voters for Choice press conference
Eddie Vedder and Gloria Steinem at a Voters for Choice press conference

 

Vedder still brings up a woman’s right to choose as one of his top priorities when talking about his activism.

Anti-rape messages have also been woven through Vedder’s rhetoric over the years. At the very beginning of their career, Vedder commented on a Red Hot Chili Peppers’ song entitled “Party On Your Pussy” before launching into a cover of Fugazi’s anti-rape “Suggestion.” He said, “Don’t go partying on anybody’s pussy unless they want you to.”

What a novel idea… one that still doesn’t seem clear in our culture.

While Vedder and Pearl Jam’s commitment to reproductive rights and women’s sexual and bodily autonomy stand out, they’ve also consistently been outspoken about other feminist causes–environmentalism, gun control, the justice system, health carebullying, unjust war, and child abuse. Certainly not all of their fans appreciate their politics, which makes their conviction all that more poignant.

Vedder has also recently contributed “Skipping” (which features his daughter’s voice) to the compilation Every Mother Counts, an album that raises funds for women and maternal health in underserved areas around the world. Fatherhood hasn’t softened Vedder beyond recognition; in fact, he’s said that fatherhood just “fueled” his anger about the world around him and the injustices he sees. In a recent interview, he discusses the importance to be present as a father, reasons to celebrate in our society (increased gay rights and pot legalization), and reasons to mourn (compromised voters’ rights).

 

Vedder showing support for Every Mother Counts
Vedder showing support for Every Mother Counts

 

The company that Vedder and Pearl Jam have kept over the years–Sleater-Kinney, Cat Power, Natalie Maines, Carrie Brownstein–certainly add to their feminist cred.

Pearl Jam and Sleater-Kinney
Pearl Jam and Sleater-Kinney

 

As Pearl Jam wrapped up their weekend-long 20th anniversary PJ20 celebration in Troy, Wisconsin in 2011, Vedder said to the crowd, “Everybody, every member of this group has a very powerful woman next to us, behind us and in front of us… We love you.”

Their career has proven that they see women in general as behind, beside, and in front of them. This clearly goes for the women in their personal lives, but it has always felt that way for their audiences as well.

As a girl, I would press my forehead against the cool glass in the backseat of my parents’ car, having convinced them to put in Vitalogy as I flipped through the fascinating liner notes. I never felt like a girl or an object, or otherized by their music and lyrics. It was just part of me. As I grew older, and more political–naming my feminism and activism–how surprised and relieved I’ve been to realize that Vedder and company have been there all along. Next to me, behind me, and in front of me, normalizing women’s stories, fighting for women’s rights, and working for a greater, more equal world.

Cheers to feminism (and Eddie Vedder and Ani DiFranco tattoos)
Cheers to feminism (and Eddie Vedder and Ani DiFranco tattoos)

 

Recommended Reading/Listening: “Reclamation,” by Eddie Vedder; Transcript of Vedder’s Radio Broadcast (1995); “Better Man”; “W.M.A.”; “Why Go”; “Glorified G”; “Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town”; “Daughter”; “Porch” (pro-choice performance); Carrie Brownstein Interviews Pearl Jam; Sleater-Kinney Reunite at Pearl Jam Show (Nov. 29, 2013)

Related: “Nirvana’s Secret Feminism,” by Amanda Marcotte



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

Margaret Cho: On Topping Trans* Queer Political Correctness

Let me begin by saying I’m queer-identified. I have trans* family, but it’s impossible for me to speak for trans* people of experience. I can share concepts, however. Too, my general line of thought in terms of sexuality, gender identity or personhood is that no matter how often your definition changes, you “are” what you tell me that you are.

 

“I refer to myself as gay, but I’m married to a man.”

                                                                                      – Margaret Cho

Margaret Cho. Photo: MargaretCho.com.
Margaret Cho. Photo: MargaretCho.com.

I’m the One That I Want: Can Queer and Trans* Folks Really Reclaim the Word “Tranny?”

Let me begin by saying I’m queer-identified. I have trans* family, but it’s impossible for me to speak for trans* people of experience. I can share concepts, however. Too, my general line of thought in terms of sexuality, gender identity or personhood is that no matter how often your definition changes, you “are” what you tell me that you are.

Along with Stephen Fry, I feel that language and politically correct linguistic constructs can at times become as bullying, domineering and “victimizing” as those who claim to be victimized by language. What with people being as individualized and fluid as language is, sometimes experience does indeed trump the words we use to describe and protect it.

All Margaret Cho Everything

Margaret Cho (“Drop Dead Diva,” “I’m The One That I Want”) is as scrappy as she is electric.

She’s “scrappy” because she’s taken so much guff, sharing her multiple talents on and off-screen (she acts, sings, directs, writes, designs clothes, and is a walking-tattooed work of art and standout standup comic, for starters). Cho’s speech can transition from elegant purrs to lioness’ growls without hesitation. She’s electric because she sings the body electric: she’s sensual, naughty, flirtatious, often bawdy and ultimately playful.

If you’ve seen her comedy flick “I’m The One That I Want,” the efforting in her journey to long-term success is palpable. You get the sense she’s had to claw her way all the way up to the glass ceiling, brace herself with her back up, and kick the glass away with a pair of steel-toed Doc Martens just to disappear the whole damn thing. As she unfolds her own narrative in this cathartic and she-larious comedy film, we discover that now she’s not even in the friggin’ building. So, damn a glass ceiling anyhow.

Cho doesn’t “play the queer card” or the race card. Rather, she is always and forever queering play. She is queering entertainment. When cameras roll as you share minute details of your open relationship on morning chat shows, segue seamlessly into outing fellow celebs, put the world on notice that you will happily eff anything that moves as you like/when you like (just like men do), and always leave ‘em laughing…if anything, you could say Cho plays “the laugh card.”

Yes. We’re laughing. But to what end?

Well, they don’t call it “gender wars” just because.

Margaret Cho’s comedic M.O. doesn’t feel like a manipulation. Rather, it’s a weapon.

As she’s currently promoting her latest comedy project The MOTHER Tour, thoughts and themes come to mind about Margaret Cho’s presence in the world.

Yes, We Recruit: She’s All About Her Funny Business

Cho is forever quotable (damn skippy, and Bitch Flicks knows it) and impossible to ignore.

Case in point: In Conan O’ Brien’s documentary Conan O’ Brien Can’t Stop, the uber-successful talk show host and fellow comedian makes it a point both to “ignore” and dismiss Margaret Cho. On film.

An ever-irrepressible social sharer and networker, Cho was waiting to have a little comedic kiki with O’Brien as he slunked away, cheating to camera as he let us know he had to ditch her because he didn’t “want to get Cho’d.”

This sarcastic film bit could have been classified as gag reel material if O’Brien hadn’t spent the rest of the film kiki’ing it up with cameos by Jim Carrey, John Hamm and Jon Stewart, along with his cast and crew. (He preferred to be Carrey’d Hamm’ed and Stewarted.)

No doubt, comedy is a cutthroat business: Cho and O’Brien still work together and socialize, but O’Brien’s production choice and life decision in his own docu-pic is a telling one. So-called avoidance and disgust is attraction’s twin. C’mon Conan, fess up! Fully-embodied and empowered women carry with them a transformative energy that cannot be controlled. People can often find that to be at-once infuriating and hot.

There’s Some Tranny Chasers Up In Here

“ A few words about ‘trannychasing.’ I am not a trannychaser. Ok, actually I am a trannychaser. No I am not. I am a trannycatcher! Just kidding!”

                                   – Margaret Cho

As a self-confessed “tranny chaser,” Margaret Cho’s taken a good amount of flak for expressing her trans* chasing feelings and affirmative desires without too much apology. It’s a tough concept to think about, as she’s done so much brilliant work and she’s really been out there on the road, touring with Ani  DiFranco and Lilith Fair, indie all the way for decades on end, fearlessly advocating for trans* and queer rights, feminist and race equality, and respect of her own in the entertainment industry.

Making Visibility Sexy

Margaret Cho and Ian Harvie
Ian Harvie and Margaret Cho – Promotional Photo by Kevin Neales

 

There’s no doubt Cho is sex positive (she’s on the Good Vibrations board, and her activist and fund-raising work is notable).

She is queer-identified and trans* inclusive: she directed the highly acclaimed “Young James Dean” video by Girlyman, featuring trans* peers and allies covering lyrics about coming up in the world as genderqueer.

Her comedy routines, filmic work, creative projects and writing boast a high trans* visibility ratio, including her clearing the floor for trans* folks, often guys, to speak and co-create with her. These men need to be mainstreamed, as success for trans* persons of experience is exceptionally important and more common than we’re led to believe. Trans* folks face harrowing odds when attempting to begin any new business or creative venture, even if that enterprise was something they’d become successful at and mastered pre-transition.

Margaret Cho big-ups trans* men regularly, and we don’t see this enough elsewhere in the world in terms of proactive, high profile allies doing so. Cho supports fellow trans* comics and entrepreneurs and leverages her celebrity to help folks earn a steady income who might not do so otherwise, or as quickly. She will tweet, promote, and help to encourage business ventures for others—often tirelessly so. Her podcasts likely do much more for her regular indie artist guests than other shows whose DJ isn’t a comedy diva who reigns supreme.

Community leaders and others have voiced concern about Cho’s humor and “tranny chaser” (or catcher) jokes and statements. Cho has formally explained her views, stating these are just jokes based on reverence and respect, and that people are taking things out of context—too seriously.

Writer/filmmaker Tobi Hill-Meyer states Cho is objectifying trans* men like cis gender men often do with  trans* women, fetishizing them and changing people into “things.”

Trans IS a legitimate gender” is one trans* man’s defense against such an idea, posited by Cho’s comedic peer and BFF, Ian Harvie. Harvie wrote, “ If you believe Transgender IS a legitimate gender, how can you argue that it’s wrong to eroticize Trans people? If you do not see Trans as a legitimate gender, then what’s wrong with you?! I’m Trans, I’m Butch, and identify as a Trans man, regardless of my given biological sex. I absolutely believe it’s okay to be attracted to, exoticize, fetishsize, and eroticize any and all Trans people. After all, a fetish is something that we desire or that turns us on.”

Too, RuPaul penned the song “Tranny Chaser” as a declaration of sexuality, desirability, and a playful take on the concept. “Do you wanna be me?” That’s how the song’s bridge begins.  Fully aware of the seduction in the words, RuPaul goes on, “That don’t make you gay. Or do you wanna [beep] me? That don’t make you gay….”

It’s hard to laser-focus down to one “right take” on topics like trans* and queer sexuality when so many folks in-community with so many different experiences feel empowered by erotic aspects of being queer or trans* as well as desired. Other bloggers and commenters have called Cho’s tranny chaser phraseology disgusting. Meanwhile, she is blowing heteronormative minds open simply by sharing these concepts, matter-of-factly and without shame. No one has accused RuPaul of anything similar.

Seemingly pointless rhetorical questions arise: is it better to be vilified or romanticized? Dehumanized, or eroticized? If we’re all “in on the desire,” is it wrong? Is there a happy medium that requires no context or linguistic boundaries and protections when you’re speaking to heterosexual or heteronormative folks?

Cho grew up in San Francisco, which could better explain matters somewhat. In the City (at least in most LGBT circles), you are what you say you are. Period. Middle America doesn’t quite resonate with such a mindset (yet?).

Issues of class and power can’t be ignored. Though they all had challenging beginnings in their careers, now relatively better-paid or well-paid performers Cho’s, Harvie’s and RuPaul’s experiences differ by definition from that of a queer or trans* man or woman who doesn’t have the same means or sense of empowerment to feel okay leading with sexuality or identity. Harassment is much more difficult, to say the least, when you don’t have financial or social resources to work your way out of it or away from it.

When these issues and conundrums arise, I consider them to be a gift: because they grant us the opportunity to be honest with ourselves about them, regardless of political correctness.

We have to name and claim the final word(s) about our experience. We have to find our own ways to survive and to thrive in the world.

~

“Bitch,” Please

In a previous Bitch Flicks Quote of the Day update, Margaret Cho waxes fantastic about the word “bitch.” Have a look: you don’t want to miss it.

The first draft of this post appeared at Gay Agenda online.

 

Reproduction & Abortion Week: Dirty Dancing

Dirty Dancing


This is a guest post by Meghan Harvey.

I was born in 1977, four years after Roe v. Wade became the law of the land. Though I would see the moral debate play out many times over the course of my life, the legality of a woman’s right to choose was always a non-issue in my mind. It was always just the law. When I say always, I truly mean always. I have absolutely no memory of learning what an abortion was, or why it was so important to have it legal. I just always knew. Mainly because I grew up in the post Roe v. Wade world.

Most women I know around my age (whether liberal or conservative) all agree that despite their personal feelings on abortion, that a woman has the right to choose. Most women all agree, it’s better legal. By better of course, I mean safer.

Part of growing up in this post Roe v. Wade world meant that for us the picture painted of life before Roe v. Wade was different. A world that existed before we were born and it was not a pretty one. No movie or pop culture moment painted that picture clearer than the 80s classic, Dirty Dancing.

For most girls my age it was the first time we saw what “abortion” meant in the days before Roe v. Wade. It was simply “a dirty knife and a folding table.”

For those of you who are not familiar with the legendary movie, here is the main gist of it in a nutshell. Dirty Dancing takes place in upstate New York’s Catskill Mountains in 1963. Frances “Baby” Houseman is visiting Kellerman’s summer resort with her family for the summer before starting college in the fall. Baby, a rich privileged girl with a strong sense of right and wrong, meets Johnny the dance instructor from the wrong side of the tracks with the heart of gold.

When Penny, Johnny’s dance partner, finds herself pregnant Baby steps in to take her place on the dance floor while Penny has a back-alley abortion that almost kills her. Not only does Baby cover for Penny, she also gets the money to pay for the abortion from her Dr. father (without telling him what it’s for).

Many of you who have seen the movie a hundred thousand times like I have may very well be reading that description and realizing that the abortion storyline, though not actually the main part of the movie, is the cornerstone of the movie. Without it there is no movie.

Penny, after discovering she’s pregnant

In fact the film’s screenwriter and producer Eleanor Bergstein was asked by a potential national sponsor (an acne cream company) to remove the abortion storyline from the film out of fear of a backlash and protests. Bergstein told them, “Oh, I’d be so happy to, but as it happens, it’s so into the plot that if I took it out, there’s no reason for Baby to learn to dance. There’s no reason for her to dance with Johnny, to dance at the Sheldrake, to fall in love with him, to make love with him, so the whole plot falls apart, so I can’t do it.” The sponsor pulled out and the abortion stayed in.

An abortion to most of us was an icky medical procedure. You went to a doctor and had it done, end of story. I for one was still too young to understand the moral debate or logistics of abortion, just that it was something that happened.

Dirty Dancing opened an entire generation’s eyes to the fact that it had not always been that simple. For the first time we were seeing it described as being done by a man with a “a dirty knife and a folding table.” Penny’s screams are described as being heard all the way down the hall.

Those screams in Dirty Dancing were the first time my generation would hear those screams and understand that the right to choose was not something that had always been ours. It was the first time that we opened our minds to the reality that illegal abortions were deadly, dangerous and horrific. Suddenly to a generation of young girls the protests outside abortion clinics that were so prevalent at the time seemed different. Suddenly it occurred to us, in the simplest way, that these people protesting must not have seen Dirty Dancing.

They must not have seen the Pennys of the world. Women who didn’t have health insurance, support, or a job with maternity leave. Women who didn’t even the money for an abortion, let alone to give birth to a child. Penny was not perfect, but she was not an evil harlot either. She was a woman in a hopeless situation with no choices. Not that different than our aunts, big sisters, or even our moms. In another time, we could have been Penny. But on some level, my generation understood that part of the message of the movie was just that. No, we would never be Penny. Our generation would never have to face the dirty knife and folding table down the hall. We were the lucky ones, and Dirty Dancing ensured our entire generation understood that.

Eventually that first experience of what a back-alley abortion actually was would help us understand later that the debate raging was much more simple than Women’s Rights. Much less official than Roe v. Wade. Dirty Dancing made that first picture of abortion something that had nothing to do with moral or constitutional implications. There is no discussion in Dirty Dancing about when a fetus becomes a life. In fact Baby’s father, the Doctor, never says one word about whether abortions are right or wrong, just that they are illegal.

This debate was about our lives.

A few years after Dirty Dancing came out I entered high school and took a debate class. One of my first debates was debating whether Roe v. Wade should be reversed or not. I stood up in front of my class and described in detail what a back-alley abortion was. I explained how it was the leading cause of death for young women before 1973. I told the story of the real Pennys of the world. I won the debate.

I have a vintage Dirty Dancing shirt that I like to wear. On the back it has the most famous line from the movie, “No one puts Baby in a corner!” Though what that line means to each one of us may differ, as an adult today I can’t help but think that it’s a line symbolic for all women. It sums up the lesson on abortion that is told throughout the movie.

Our lives mean something. Our choices mean something. And we do not deserve to be pushed into a dark corner to sit quietly. Its not just Baby, it’s all of us.

None of us deserves to be put in a corner.

———-

Meghan Harvey is a blogger, New Media Manager, Mom, and 80s movie obsessed women out the Bay Area. She contributes to SheHeroes.org, Life360.com, MOMocrats, and her personal blog Meg’s Idle Chatter. You can find her on Twitter at @Meghan1018.