‘Monster’: A Telling of the Real Life Consequences for Violent Women

Throughout her life, Wuornos experienced horrific instances of gendered abuse, which eventually lead to a violent outlash at her unfair circumstances. ‘Monster’ vividly documents the life of a woman whose experiences under a dominant patriarchal culture racked with abuse, poverty, and desperation led to a life of crime, imprisonment, and eventually death.

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This guest post by Danika Kimball appears as part of our theme week on Violent Women.


American film audiences love the idea of violence, especially in regard to justice. From Bruce Wayne’s masked forays as Batman, to Frank Underwood’s signature House of Cards sneer, pop culture and media landscapes are bombarded with the image of a vigilante bringing matters into their own hands to enact justice. But what is almost more widely revered is the concept of a woman taking matters into her own hands, as it defies societal norms on numerous levels.

We see this depiction in numerous films. To the audience’s delight, heroine Beatrix Kiddo takes vengeance on her abusers in the Kill Bill series, and Furiosa defiantly defends her right to redemption from evil doers in Mad Max: Fury Road. But sometimes, females who resort to violence aren’t celebrated, and there is perhaps no greater depiction of this than Charlize Theron’s embodiment of Aileen Wuornos in the widely acclaimed dramatic film, Monster.

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Monster is a film based on the life of Aileen Wuornos, who was one of the first female serial killers in the United States. Wuornos, an impoverished former prostitute, was executed in Florida in October 2002 for the murder of six men, each of whom were her former customers. She was only the second woman in Florida and the tenth women in the United States to receive the death penalty since the landmark 1976 Supreme Court decision that restored capital punishment.

The film made an impact on most for its graphic depictions of murder, but upon re-watching the film 10 years later, the portrayal of Aileen’s life in Monster was a cruel visualization of the impacts of patriarchy, poverty, and the ways in which the criminal justice system fails violent women.

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In the opening scenes of Monster, we see Aileen as an adult sitting under a busy highway overpass, replaying her life story. We see her as a young child, dreaming of being an icon like Marilyn Monroe, wealthy, loved, and the center of attention.

Her fantasy fades as she walks into a gay bar with the five dollars she had just earned from a John which she was determined to spend before she ended her life. It’s here she meets a woman named Selby, a person she would later devote to protect at any cost.

The pair eventually find solace in their shared loneliness and fall in love, which pushes Selby out of her compulsory heterosexuality. Aileen, finally having someone to care for, takes it upon herself to be a provider for Selby. The film follows Aileen’s struggle to support her newfound family, her efforts in making sure that Selby is happy, and the struggle to maintain her own dignity.

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After being raped and brutalized by a client, Aileen kills him in self-defense, vowing to quit prostitution. She confesses her crime to Selby, as Selby has been angry with her for not supporting the two of them.

Aileen’s efforts to find a job prove to be difficult she has no marketable skills, and no job history outside of her years of prostitution. Any prospective employers reject her, some openly volatile, accosting her for wasting their time. We see throughout the film that everyone in Aileen’s life believe that no man will ever pay her for anything aside from her body.

With nowhere to turn, Aileen returns to a life of prostitution, each time killing and robbing her Johns more brutally than the last, as she is convinced they are all trying to harm her.

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In this context, it becomes difficult for a viewer to see her actions as evil. Aileen’s actions almost appear to be rational, even moral decisions, when viewed through the lens of extreme gender and class oppression. We see this in her explanations to Selby later, where she implores that she is helping to protect the other women in the world, who might also be victimized these men. She says,

Who the fuck knows what God wants? People kill each other every day and for what? Hm? For politics, for religion, and THEY’RE HEROES! No, no… There’s a lot of shit I can’t do anymore, but killing’s not one of them. And letting those fucking bastards go out and rape someone else isn’t either!

Eventually Aileen’s murders catch up with her, and she is arrested at a biker bar. While speaking to Selby on the phone, Selby reveals incriminating information over the phone while the police are listening in. As her last display of protection, Aileen admits she committed the murders alone. During the subsequent trial, Selby testifies against her in the courtroom hearings. Aileen is executed by lethal injection on October 9, 2002.

Part of what makes Monster so honest and relevant to feminists is the way that it recognizes and points to the patriarchal conditions in place that frame and constrain women’s choices, sometimes leading to a life of crime.

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Throughout her life Aileen has been victimized, raped, and violence is a part of her day-to-day existence.

Emily Salisbury, a professor at Portland State University’s Criminology and Criminal Justice Program, suggests that patriarchal conditions are often a huge part of the reason for women’s participation in criminal activity and subsequent incarcerations. She remarks,

With the work of feminist scholars such as Mita Chesney Lynn, Kathleen Daly, Regina Arnold, Barbara Owen and many others, new ideas about female offending were established. The qualitative life history interviews that these scholars conducted with girls and women suggested that their lives leading up to criminal justice involvement were extremely complex and disadvantaged, with unique daily struggles…such as struggles with child abuse, depression, self-medicating behavior, self-hatred, parenting responsibilities, domestic violence and unhealthy intimate relationships. It’s argued that these problems create unique pathways to crime for women.

Many of the struggles listed are applicable to Aileen’s incarceration. In a documentary called Aileen Wuornos: Life and Death of a Serial Killer, director Nick Broomfield speaks to the infamous murderer, where she expresses that if her life leading up to adulthood had been more ideal, she wouldn’t have entered a life of crime in the first place. Family members and close friends remark throughout the film that she was the product of homelessness, violence, abuse, prostitution, poverty, incest, rape, and mental illness.

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Throughout her life, Wuornos experienced horrific instances of gendered abuse, which eventually lead to a violent outlash at her unfair circumstances. Monster vividly documents the life of a woman whose experiences under a dominant patriarchal culture racked with abuse, poverty, and desperation led to a life of crime, imprisonment, and eventually death.

Though on-screen depictions of violent women are portrayed as empowering, as is the case with vengeful Furiosa in Mad Max, or the cathartic revenge plot for Beatrix Kiddo in Kill Bill, Aileen Wuornos’ story tells a different story for violent women. Monster illustrates that all too often, violent women’s pasts are rifled with oppression, and in defending themselves, they face consequences from legal systems that have proven to fail them in the past. For Aileen, violent self-preservation ended in demise.

 


Danika Kimball is a musician from the Northwest who sometimes takes a 30-minute break from feminism to enjoy a TV show. You can follow her on twitter @sadwhitegrrl or on Instagram @drunkfeminist.

 

 

‘Tales of the Grim Sleeper’ and ‘The Central Park Five’ Show Whose Lives Matter

These same voices weren’t heard or listened to in the various investigations conducted by the LAPD in the 1980s. The film tells the story of Enietra Washington, Franklin’s only known survivor. In 1988, after Franklin picked her up and attempted to kill her, she gave the police a description of Franklin’s car (an orange Pinto) and described his face to a sketch artist.

Pam Brooks guides filmmaker Nick Broomfield around her LA neighborhood in Tales of the Grim Sleeper.
Pam Brooks guides filmmaker Nick Broomfield around her LA neighborhood in Tales of the Grim Sleeper.

This post by Leigh Kolb previously appeared at Bitch Media and is cross-posted with permission. 


The chilling new documentary Tales of the Grim Sleeper makes it clear that our society values the lives of white people differently than Black people.

At the beginning of director Nick Broomfield’s new documentary, the audience sees a Google Map of Lonnie Franklin Jr.’s home in South Central Los Angeles. In 2010, Franklin was arrested and charged with 10 counts of murder and one count of attempted murder—he heads to trial this June. Many say, however, that Franklin killed more than 100 women in the 25 years since 1985. All of his alleged victims were Black. “How did this happen?” Broomfield asks in voice-over.

How could it happen? Later in the film, Pamela Brooks, a resident of the neighborhood and a former sex worker supplies the answer: “We don’t mean nothing to them. It’s Black women. I’m a Black woman. Who gives a fuck about me?” Brooks offers comic relief at times and hard, tragic truths at other times. She evaded Franklin’s attempts to lure her in one night. He would often pick up sex workers in the middle of the night—promising them crack—and then take them to his home to photograph them, assault them, and often kill them. The numerous cases that Franklin was allegedly involved in are referred to by police as “NHI” cases: “No Humans Involved”—as if killing a Black woman (especially a sex worker or drug addict) doesn’t involve a human.

Broomfield has worked on numerous intimate, low-budget films before, including documentaries about Sarah Palin, Tupac, and military killings of civilians in Iraq. In Tales of the Grim Sleeper, Broomfield could have easily constructed a film in which his authoritative voice drove a persuasive narrative. Instead, he allows the people—Franklin’s friends, victims, and neighborhood residents who fought for justice—to dominate the screen. Brooks’ knowledge and connections specifically give him access to the world that he, as a white British man, is not a part of.

Lonnie Franklin's booking photo, as seen in Tales of the Grim Sleeper.
Lonnie Franklin’s booking photo, as seen in Tales of the Grim Sleeper.

 

These same voices weren’t heard or listened to in the various investigations conducted by the LAPD in the 1980s. The film tells the story of Enietra Washington, Franklin’s only known survivor. In 1988, after Franklin picked her up and attempted to kill her, she gave the police a description of Franklin’s car (an orange Pinto) and described his face to a sketch artist. The sketch was never released and neither were details about his car. While Franklin was “hunting” women and killing them, the police didn’t even tell the public that the killings were the work of a serial murderer. Washington explains the role of racism in the police handling of the case. “Every Black woman is a hooker, don’t you know?” she says with a flippant resignation, explaining why the information wasn’t deemed relevant. It was 20 years before the public was shown the sketch and given details about the suspected serial killer.

To combat that lax institutional attitude, a neighborhood group called the Black Coalition Fighting Back Serial Murders formed in the 1980s to attempt to get more media and law enforcement attention on the crimes. One of the most powerful voices in Tales of the Grim Sleeper is Margaret Prescod, a leader of the Coalition. She deserves her own documentary and she makes delivers many of the most powerful truths in the film. “We’re here to say, loud and clear, that every life is of value. Could you imagine if these murders had happened in Beverly Hills?” she asks.

Tales of the Grim Sleeper aired on HBO on April 27, but I first saw it at the True/False Film Festival in Columbia, Mo. After the film, both Broomfield and Brooks took the stage. Brooks received wild applause, which intensified after she said that she was still clean and sober. She commented on the institutional cycle that allowed the murders to continue for so long. Broomfield added that the issues presented in the documentary and the issues that were unveiled in Ferguson are national issues, revealing “systematic institutional racism.”

While watching Tales of the Grim Sleeper, I couldn’t stop thinking about 2012 documentary The Central Park Five, a film by Sarah Burns, Ken Burns, and David McMahon that tells the story of the five men wrongfully convicted for raping and beating a jogger in Central Park in 1989. The jogger was a young, white woman who worked as an investment banker. The crime made national news—that year, Donald Trump took out full-page ads in New York newspapers demanding the return of the death penalty for “criminals of every age.” Four Black men and one Hispanic man were convicted of the crime. In 2002—after the young men had served years of prison time—a serial rapist admitted to the rape and DNA tests corroborated his confession. In contrast to their trials, the vacating of the five young men’s convictions was quiet.

The New York Daily News front page reporting on the 1989 beating. Via PBS.
The New York Daily News front page reporting on the 1989 beating. Via PBS.

 

Pairing these films creates a powerful narrative that reveals something about whose lives matter in our society. Contrasting every part of these cases—both of which originated in the 1980s, but have been working through the police and justice system for 20 years—shows how law enforcement and media help shape the narrative that Black lives matter less. Certainly more people know about the Central Park Jogger than they do about the dozens of women in South Central Los Angeles who were beaten, raped, strangled, and shot. These women, it would seem, are disposable. And more people know about the “Central Park Five”—Kharey “Korey” Wise, Kevin Richardson, Antron McCray, Yusef Salaam, and Raymond Santana—being convicted, rather than their innocence.

While the films chronicle events that happen on the opposite sides of America, the strength in both of the films is that people are allowed to speak for themselves and we are held responsible as not-so-innocent bystanders. At the end of Tales of the Grim Sleeper, photos of Black women—Franklin’s victims—flash by on the screen, just slowly enough that we feel properly uncomfortable and ashamed of the society we live in.

In an interview with The New York Times in 2012, The Central Park Five co-director Sarah Burns said of her film, “Part of our goal is simply to inform people about what happened in this case. But we also want people to think about how this happened.”

Broomfield clearly attempts—and succeeds—to reach that same goal in Tales of the Grim Sleeper. He asks at the beginning of the film, “How did this happen?” The answer is much greater than Los Angeles—the answer stretches from Los Angeles, to Ferguson, to New York City. It’s America’s problem.

 


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