neo noir – Bitch Flicks

The Modern Femme Fatale in Nicolas Wending Refn’s Neo-Noir ‘Drive’

Irene comes across as sexually inhibited in her relationship with Driver because she knows that her husband will soon return home from prison. However, from the moment that she meets Driver, she relies on him for help.

The Modern Femme Fatale Irene (Carey Mulligan)

This is a guest post by Giselle Defares.

The alluring femme fatale always played an important part in our Western cinematic history. The archetype of the errant woman was present ever since Theda Bara graced the screen in the silent film era of the 1920s. Nevertheless, it was film noir that polished the archetype. The highly stylized and suspenseful film genre formed the basis of the Hollywood creation of the femme fatales in the 1940s and 1950s. The genre broke the conventional stereotypes of one-dimensional, insecure and dependent women. Instead women were vivacious, captivating, seductive female characters who owned the screen while sashaying through their own created webs of deceit and betrayal (although some would say they were manipulative and cold-blooded with an sexual self-serving attitude). The archetype changed over time, which is intertwined with the modernization of the film industry. The femme fatale is in its essence a tool to help us understand the limits of social and cultural roles surrounding women. The neo-noir Drive (2011) is an homage to the old-fashioned art form of escapism.

It took more than six years before Drive was shot. The film adaptation of the novel by James Sallis initially appeared to be heading in the same direction as the popcorn flick The Fast and the Furious. Hugh Jackman and director Neil Marshall (Doomsday, Centurion) were first attached to the project. When Gosling took the place of Jackman, he specifically asked for director Nicolas Winding Refn. The quirky Danish director debuted with the raw thriller Pusher, and followed it with Bronson with Tom Hardy as lead about Britain’s most violent prisoner and he also directed Valhalla Rising, a Viking movie filled with brutal fights, but ends in silent contemplation. Winding Refn is an unpredictable director with his own peculiar visual style. The film has similarities with an ’80s classic. In 1978, Walter Hill created The Driver with Ryan O’Neal as nameless hero. Similar to the main character in Drive, we will never know his name. They do share a profession: if somewhere in the city a robbery is committed, they are the cold-blooded drivers of the getaway car. In 2011, Winding Refn won the award for Best Director at the Cannes Film Festival for Drive.

Drive centers around Ryan Gosling as a handsome loner, silent, gentle and a master on the road. He works in the garage of Shannon (Bryan Cranston), who gives him criminal jobs and occasionally work as a stunt driver on Hollywood film sets. Shannon wants his most talented driver to start a new career in the professional racing circuit and concludes a deal with two mafia business partners, Bernie Rose (Albert Brooks) and Nino (Ron Perlman). The young driver, meanwhile, gets acquainted with his neighbor, Irene (Carey Mulligan) and her son, Benicio. Irene immediately falls for his charm. Only the scorpion on the back of his jacket recalls the dark aspects of his existence. And that one, beautiful, ominous shot where we see him on a film set as a stand-in with a latex mask over his head.

Irene (Carey Mulligan) and Driver (Ryan Gosling)

Is Irene the modern femme fatale in Drive? One of the interesting aspects of the character is that she’s played by Mulligan. The original character in the script was an Hispanic woman named Irina. In a conversation with Interview Magazine, Winding Refn bluntly states that he gave Carey Mulligan the part because she “seemed pure,” like someone he wanted to protect. Apparently he couldn’t imagine a Latina actress in the part. He picked Mulligan specifically because she fits the mold of the damsel in distress that in Hollywood is synonymous with white.

Irene is described as a beautiful and seductive woman but she’s not a direct danger to Driver. We can see that there’s tension between Driver and Irene, but Irene is more insecure than hyperaware of her sexuality. Irene is the object of sexual desire of Driver and because he becomes intrigued by her, he will do anything to help her. The classic femme fatale is often seen as sexually uninhibited, independent, and ambitious. Irene comes across as sexually inhibited in her relationship with Driver because she knows that her husband will soon return home from prison. However, from the moment that she meets Driver, she relies on him for help.

Irene’s husband asks Driver for help when he comes back from prison because of an outstanding debt. Driver wants to protect Irene and as a result he becomes entangled in a criminal job to raise the money, and that’s eventually his downfall. Irene never explicitly asked Driver for help. Instead of the so-called “evil seductress who tempts the man and brings about his destruction,” Irene seems more a passive, innocent woman who indirectly without intent, will perish the man.

Irene seems to be a combination of the femme fatale and the femme attrapée. The femme attrapée is, according to Janey Place in “Women in Film Noir,” a woman who “offers the possibility of integration for the alienated, lost man into the stable world of secure values, roles and identities. She gives love, understanding (or at least forgiveness), asks very little in return (just that he come back to her) and is generally visually passive and static.”

Driver is here the alienated, lost man and Irene gives him love and understanding. Both characters seem lonely and find solace in their relationship. Irene comes across as a passive, brave, and sweet woman but functions in the story as a femme fatale. Her innocence ensures that Driver makes the wrong choices. In film noir, the male protagonist would make the wrong choices because the femme fatale has instigated him with her sexuality, but Drive allows Driver to make these choices to save Irene. Drive has an open ending so the future of Driver remains unclear.

The femme fatale in the modern neo-noir films from the 1960s, 1970s and onward transformed into a more passive role, rather than active and manipulative. We see elements of Irene herein. Irene doesn’t fit the classic description of the femme fatale. She’s no Gloria Swanson, Marlene Dietrich, Barbara Stanwyck or even a Sharon Stone. It’s not the loss of control by a seductive woman that resulted in the downfall of Driver but instead taking the rains, coercion and protective instinct. The archetype will pop up in films in years to come since it always captures our imagination.

The tight script was penned down by the Academy Award-nominated screenwriter Hossein Amini. Amini was hesitant at first because of the non-linear structure of the novel but he definitely made the transition from page to screen work. Cinematographer Newton Thomas Sigel neatly used wide-angle lenses instead of handheld camerawork to capture Winding Refn’s visual style. The film was shot digitally and Winding Refn was able to capture evocative, intense images of Los Angeles. The film has a 1980s atmosphere which comes true via the cars, music, clothes, but especially with the architecture in downtown Los Angeles. It all reflects the art house approach of Winding Refn.

Wending Refn follows the beat of his own drum. As a result, Drive isn’t your run of the mill action flick. The emphasis in Drive lies first and foremost on the characters, accompanied by the speed, and the wonderful soundtrack. Winding Refn managed to create an enigmatic film that engages, shocks, and surprises–old fashioned escapism and inescapable at once.

See also at Bitch Flicks: Drive and the Need to Identify the Virgin or Whore in the Passenger Seat, by Leigh Kolb

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pe6eOqheva8″]

Giselle Defares comments on film, fashion (law) and American pop culture. See her blog here.

Bewitched by Bridget: Female Erotic Subjectivity in ‘The Last Seduction’

Female viewers may derive psychological pleasure from watching Bridget’s erotic, self-interested shenanigans. It’s exhilarating to see a female cinematic character take sexual control and outwit her male partners. It makes a refreshing change from watching women suffer the pain of romantic love. We know that Bridget will never be a victim. She will never tolerate domestic drudgery or the compromises marriage brings. In fact, it’s pretty much a given that she will always overcome her opponents. Life is a pitiless yet entertaining Darwinian game in ‘The Last Seduction,’ and Bridget plays it brilliantly.

Written by Rachael Johnson as part of our theme week on Representations of Female Sexual Desire.

Bridget Gregory is one of American cinema’s great anti-heroines. Flawlessly played by Linda Fiorentino, she is the amoral yet captivating protagonist of John Dahl’s 1994 thriller, The Last Seduction. Fiorentino’s Bridget is a lithe, beautiful woman, and her look evokes heroines of post-war noir. Her sleek, dark hair has a Golden Age cut and style, and a cigarette is never far from her perfect lips. But Dahl’s neo-noir offers an original, post-modern female villain. She’s a femme fatale for the 90s. Bridget is, at heart, a tough, lone wolf entirely dedicated to serving her own interests and ensuring her self-preservation. A female lone wolf is rare in American movies and one of the pleasures of The Last Seduction is watching her survive and thrive. Bridget is, also, gender-subversive as well as a desiring and assertive erotic subject. It is her sexual subjectivity that enthralls, amuses, and entertains.

Made crystal clear from the very start of the film, Bridget is a colorful piece of work. She’s the manager of a New York telemarketing company, and we first see her taunting and egging on her subordinates with inspirational insults such as “maggots,” “suckers,” “bastards,” and “eunuchs.” Dahl cuts between this scene and another involving a man meeting two younger guys under a bridge. The man, we will discover shortly, is Bridget’s husband, Clay Gregory (Bill Pullman). A medical resident desperately in need of cash, he is presently selling drugs to pay off a loan shark. The dangerous, nerve-wracking deal scores the couple a handsome sum.

Husband and wife — Clay and Bridget: husband and wife

Clay is also a piece of work. As acquisitive as Bridget, he is also capable of violence. When Bridget later calls Clay an “idiot” back in their apartment for carrying the money around in broad daylight, he strikes her. He makes the cowardly excuse that he was shaken up by the deal, and Bridget fakes forgiveness. When he’s in the shower, however, she runs off with the stash. Before she quits the city, Bridget takes off her wedding ring. The act signifies a rejection of domesticity and traditional coupling as well as a repudiation of age-old ideas of female subservience and sacrifice. It also signals that she will now drive the narrative. Although the act of abuse serves as a trigger, the viewer is, in fact, encouraged to believe that Bridget is motivated by more than vengeance. She wants total mastery of her destiny and will do anything to achieve it.

She flees north. Stopping in a small, characterless town in “cow country,” she drops into a run-of-the-mill bar. A gorgeous, svelte yet foul-mouthed New Yorker, Bridget is perceived as an exotic figure in these parts. A young, attractive man with a pleasant personality and the very ordinary name of Mike, is drawn to her. Mike (Peter Berg) buys her a drink when her ungracious demand for a Manhattan is, quite understandably, ignored by the bartender.

Their first encounter serves as an amusing, outrageous antidote to the saccharine meet-cutes of 90s romantic comedies. Bridget initially refuses Mike’s quite ordinary advances in inimitably impolite fashion: “Go find yourself a nice little cowgirl and make nice little cow babies and leave me alone.” But when Mike good-humoredly makes the claim that he’s “hung like a horse,” Bridget offers him a seat. She proceeds to unzip his pants, fondle his dick, probe him about his sexual history, and, then, smell her fingers. Inspection over, the newly acquainted couple head off to his place and spend the night together. The morning after, she heads off without telling him her name or saying goodbye.

Their next meeting, at Mike’s place of work, is pure coincidence. Deciding to lay low in the town, Bridget secures a managerial position at the same insurance company as her new lover, and takes on the name of Wendy Kroy. She wants distance from Mike at work and warns him: “Don’t fuck with my image.” She is, however, more sociable when she meets him again at the bar.

They soon have sex near the dumpster behind the bar. Bridget directs their love-making and plays the more sexually dynamic part. Hanging onto the rails, in an elevated position, Bridget fucks Mike against a fence. With his pants down to his ankles and knees bent, he looks the more vulnerable partner in this al fresco erotic episode. He is also the emotionally vulnerable lover. “Where do I fit in?” Mike asks Bridget. “You’re my designated fuck,” she replies. She later rides him in her car.

Bridget, for the most part, assumes the traditionally dominant position in her love-making sessions with Mike. The filmmakers’ characterization of their female protagonist’s desire is unusual for American cinema. Bridget’s physical beauty is certainly not obscured, but she cannot be characterized as a classic Hollywood sex object. She is, instead, presented as an assertive, dynamic sexual subject. Intense physical pleasure is not bound up with the self-abandonment of romantic love. Nor does it signify psychic self-annihilation. Reproduction, furthermore, does not play a part in Bridget’s world. She and her husband are childless. Love has an ideological import, and it has often, let’s face it, been a trap for women in patriarchal society. Bridget, however, is not confined by love. Sex, for her, is about control, pleasure and play.

Mike, however, falls in love with Bridget and craves a more emotionally intimate relationship. He is flattered that she has chosen him, as he believes himself to be “bigger than this town.” Although he bemoans, in a somewhat boyish way, her arrogance and dominance. Mike realizes, a little late, that Bridget is a dangerous, amoral woman. He calls her “sick” and “deranged” when she suggests they “sell murder” to people (for example, to women who have been betrayed by their husbands), but he is ultimately ignorant of her true intentions. She becomes increasingly calculating with her lover, and he just can’t keep up. Although Mike is horrified when Bridget (falsely) tells him that she has successfully sold murder, he is eventually manipulated into agreeing to kill Clay. Note that Bridget has lied to him about the identity of his target. Mike is unaware that he has been sent to New York to murder Bridget’s husband; he believes his target to be a man who’s been driving old ladies out of their homes. I will not tell you what happens when Mike encounters Clay.

Bridget’s treatment of people, particularly men, remains consistently appalling throughout the film, but it goes beyond crude invective and exploitation. Bridget admits to Mike that she enjoys “bending the rules, playing with people’s brains.” She exploits both society’s moral codes and prejudices and takes advantage of the kindness of others. She espouses a certain moral relativism. When Mike says, helplessly, “Murder is wrong,” Bridget counters, “Unless the President says to do it.” In fact, Bridget gains an almost sexual pleasure plotting her clever moves. She screws men both literally and metaphorically.

Bridget’s unbound sexuality and gender-subversive behavior make her evil more interesting and radical. She knows how to manipulate the gender order and succeed in a phallocentric world. She is unfailingly resourceful and supernaturally resilient. In a way, this amoral female protagonist functions to strip patriarchy bare. Her cynical, manipulative words and acts serve to expose the weaknesses and wickedness of men: their insecurities, secrets, and vulnerabilities as well as their aggressive, acquisitive traits.

Bridget, as we have seen, does not conform to culturally constructed norms of femininity. She also manipulates and mocks conventional expectations of gender. Her parodic skills are neatly demonstrated in one short, entertaining scene when she offers cookies to a local detective her husband has recruited. Wearing a lace apron and a smile, she delivers the sweet gift to the man watching her movements in his parked car. He does not, however, see her placing a plank of nails by his tires, and he has only himself to blame when she drives off to an unknown destination.

The Last Seduction does not, of course, endorse a reversal of domination, but the movie makes for a playfully, and knowingly, subversive viewing experience. Although Bridget’s actions should not be read in a literal, man-hating way, female viewers may derive psychological pleasure from watching Bridget’s erotic, self-interested shenanigans. It’s exhilarating to see a female cinematic character take sexual control and outwit her male partners. It makes a refreshing change from watching women suffer the pain of romantic love. We know that Bridget will never be a victim. She will never tolerate domestic drudgery or the compromises marriage brings. In fact, it’s pretty much a given that she will always overcome her opponents. Life is a pitiless yet entertaining Darwinian game in The Last Seduction, and Bridget plays it brilliantly.

An in control Bridget — An in-control Bridget

Fiorentino’s interpretation of our deeply sexy, whip-smart anti-heroine is supremely persuasive. The casting is perfect; the actress should have won an Oscar for her performance, but the movie was shut out of the nominations because it was first shown on cable television before being given a cinematic release. Rules may be rules, but it’s nothing less than a sin that both Fiorentino and John Dahl’s smart, stylish film were deemed ineligible.

The Last Seduction is elegantly shot, well-paced and cleverly constructed. Bridget is the dominant sexual and narrative subject. The story is primarily shaped by her sensual, self-interested needs. If she can be characterized as a feminist cultural icon, she’s an amusing, distinctly anti-humanist one. One thing that’s certain is that watching her at work and play is the cinematic equivalent of an empowering Manhattan cocktail.