Romance – Page 14 – Bitch Flicks

Reproduction & Abortion Week: Mother and Child

Kerry Washington and David Ramsay in Mother and Child

This is a guest post by Candice Frederick.

While many continue to castigate the HBO series, Girls, for its lack of female diversity (with good reason), I’d like to look back at a 2009 film which gave voices to an assortment of female characters, a gem that eloquently showed both the beauty and plight of motherhood in extraordinary fashion.

Shareeka Epps as Ray in Mother and Child, along with Washington

In writer/director Rodrigo García’s Mother and Child, something as complex and precious as motherhood is broken up into a kaleidoscope of elegant vignettes capturing the lives of several mothers—hopeful, expecting and recovering mothers.

Annette Bening stars as Karen, a woman who remains deeply affected by the baby she gave up for adoption as a pregnant teen. At 50 years old, childless, and significant other-less, Karen begins to feel the emptiness of the child she once carried. As she continues to take care of her dying mother, Nora (Eileen Ryan), who encouraged her decision to give her child to another, she feels her first pangs of regret exacerbated by years of resentment.

Annette Bening as Karen in Mother and Child

Bening bestows the ornery characteristics we’ve all come to know and love from past performances in her vast oeuvre. But this particular role stands out in the natural way she sheds Karen’s bitter exterior, and finds the strength to move past the loss that’s been eating away at her. Her impressively nuanced portrayal by the end of the film brings the audiences to their knees even after pushing them away for the better course of the movie.

Part of that recovery to self is attributed to Jimmy Smits’ character Paco, Karen’s reluctant love interest, who sees more in Bening than she sees in herself. While Smits is very subtle in this role, the gentleness he brings to Paco is one that few critics remarked on but was pivotal to the emotional compass of Karen’s character (but does not define it).

Bening with Jimmy Smits as Paco in Mother and Child

Kerry Washington plays Lucy, a married woman who’s unable to conceive a child of her own with her husband Joseph (David Ramsay). Desperate for motherhood, she dreams of being able to rock her very own baby to sleep at night. She thinks she’s finally found the child she’s always wanted from a young mother who’s putting her child up for adoption but, in a drastic change of events, her dream is snatched away from her. And it’s the single most devastating moment in the film, marked by a performance by Washington that’s so raw and heart wrenching that it would move even the most jaded viewer.

To me, this is Washington’s best performance to date, and it—as well as this film—goes entirely unnoticed, which is a crying shame. Her portrayal is crushing, real, and simply mesmerizing to watch unfold. The only comparable performance I can think of is that of Jennifer Garner in Juno, another performance that fell right through the critical cracks.

Samuel L. Jackson and Naomi Watts in Mother and Child

The talent Washington brings to this role isn’t the only thing that’s wonderful about it. It’s the fact that her character is so relatable to watch. I’m not sure if García intentionally sought an African-American woman for this role, but Lucy’s story—like all the characters—is drawn in a way that every woman could appreciate. Also, García doesn’t shy away from highlighting black love onscreen. While mainstream Hollywood nowadays often ignores black love in films by neglecting it altogether by creating somewhat asexual black characters or only showing an interracial romantic angle (i.e. Will Smith and Eva Mendes in Hitch, or Zoe Saldana and Michael Vartan in Colombiana), Mother and Child refuses to hide behind the Tinseltown taboo with Lucy’s character.

As a matter of fact, Lucy and Joseph are really the only married couple in the movie who are shown having sex. Though Lucy and Joseph don’t exactly have a happy fairy tale ending, at least we get to see a black couple getting busy. So yes, Hollywood, two black people do have sex. Passionate, unapologetic sex in a committed relationship, and it’s about time we see that again.

Naomi Watts as Elizabeth

But let’s get back to some of the other characters. The eternally underrated Shareeka Epps (Half Nelson) plays Ray, a pregnant teen who decides, mostly with her mother’s influence, to give her child up for adoption. While she awaits the birth of her baby, she mulls over the decisions she’s made and will make, decisions that will have a major impact on her life. She genuinely seems to be a good kid, but, like Karen, she seems to be conceding to the outcome of her actions, without really thinking about them. It’s a very subtle performance by a young talent who’s known for playing young women struggling with their own sense of identity, which works well for this role. In her performance here, you see the charm of her youth and the complexity of her womanhood.

This brings us to Naomi Watts’ Elizabeth, whose role we don’t fully learn until nearly the end of the movie. She touchingly steers the film full circle. But Elizabeth is a woman who’s suffering from bouts of desolation as an emotionless attorney at a law firm. She gets involved with Samuel L. Jackson’s character, Paul, a fellow attorney, and what happens next can only be described as a full realization of her own character, which leads her to make a decision that will not only change her life, but also Paul’s. This is the perfect role for Watts, whose quiet ferocity works well here simply because she tries to remain in such tight control of her life that when it begins to blossom, we finally get to see her heart.

Smits and Bening

I’d be remised if I didn’t mention the ever talented Jackson. Yes, the guy who has been in a plethora of movies—both great and terrible—can file this particular performance under great. The sensitivity and compassion he brings to Paul perfectly complements Elizabeth’s emotional impotence. Jackson aptly tucks away his signature swagger and wild fury found in many of his roles to reveal a softer side for Paul. He reminds is of why we fell in love with his talent in the first place. You can see the love in his eyes each time Elizabeth enters the scene, and it’s enough to crush your soul.

Alluring, delicate and simply exquisite to watch, Mother and Child tackles the inspiring and sometimes heartbreaking aspects of motherhood with a range of characters in which every woman, whether or not she’s a parent, can see themselves. Perfectly intertwined stories yield a gorgeous singular concept of love and maternal grace that steals your heart.

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Candice Frederick is an NABJ award-winning journalist, film critic, and blogger for Reel Talk. Follow her on twitter.

Reproduction & Abortion Week: Fingernails and Shmushmorshmins: Abortion and Privilege in ‘Knocked Up,’ ‘Juno,’ and ‘4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days’

This is a guest review by Tom Houseman.

As abortion has become more accepted and less taboo in mainstream America—despite Republican lawmakers doing everything they can to appeal Roe v. Wade—films about pregnancies have had difficulty depicting its characters talking about or even considering abortion. If the movie is about pregnancy, and the journey that the characters take during the course of the pregnancy, then abortion would erase not just the main conflict, but the entire plot of the movie. You would be left with a twenty minute film about characters who neither grew nor changed, because we all know that having babies makes everyone into better-adjusted and more-fulfilled people. In 2007, two American comedies failed spectacularly in realistically addressing the issue of abortion, while a Romanian drama delivered one of the most stark and honest portrayals of a woman obtaining an illegal abortion.

Juno and Knocked Up were two of the biggest comedy hits of 2007, while 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days was completely ignored outside of the arthouse circuit. But both comedies not only do an awful job of treating abortion in a realistic manner, they completely ignore the privilege that their characters have, privilege that not only allows them to consider having a safe, legal abortion, but to decide instead to carry the fetus to term. Every decision that their protagonists make is driven by completely unacknowledged privilege, whereas the decisions that the protagonists of 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days make are greatly influenced by their lack of privilege. By comparing Juno and Knocked Up to the Romanian drama 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days, we see the enormous, and largely overlooked, impact that privilege has on both the decision to have an abortion and the decision not to.

Alison shopping for the baby in Knocked Up

Knocked Up gives the most half-assed head nod to the idea of abortion possible and does not remotely recognize the role that class privilege plays in the decision to have a child. The protagonists of Knocked Up are Alison, an uptight TV producer who lives with her sister, and Ben, an unemployed, undocumented Canadian immigrant who spends his days getting stoned with his friends. The two meet at a bar and engage in a drunken one-night stand that, due to a communication error, does not involve contraception. When Alison discovers that she is pregnant, she is faced with a serious decision… kind of… but not really.

The idea of abortion is lazily floated in two scenes adding up to maybe a minute of the two-hour film. The only remarkable thing about these scenes is that throughout both of them nobody actually says the word “abortion.” While Ben bemoans his bad luck at having gotten a woman pregnant after deciding to have unprotected sex with her, his friends suggest plans of action. When Jonah makes the obvious suggestion that Alison simply “take care of it,” Jay is so outraged and offended by the mere idea of abortion that he refuses to let anyone say the word. From then on, Jonah says that what Alison should do “rhymes with shmushmorshmin.” Jay apparently is fine with people having premarital sex, but has deep moral conviction only when it comes to people dealing with the consequences of premarital sex.

Alison also has a very brief conversation about abortion with her mother, who makes very valid points about the impact it will have on Alison’s career. Even though Alison’s mother believes that Alison should get an abortion, saying that having the child would be “a big, big mistake,” she too does not say the word, also using the euphemism “take care of it.” Alison’s conversation with her blunt, critical mother is contrasted by the conversation Ben has with his jovial and supportive father. Ben’s father calls the pregnancy “a blessing,” and the implication is that his upbeat attitude is vastly preferable to Alison’s mother’s negativity.

Do we ever see Alison’s perspective on the issue? What are her thoughts on abortion, both as a legal concern and a personal one? Considering she seems like the type of person who had planned out her entire life, had she planned on having children, and if so, when? We do not see Alison deal with any of these questions, nor does she explain how or why she came to the decision to have her baby. Between the homophobic mockery and the jokes about how uptight and controlling women are, there is no room for serious discussion about abortion.

Nor, of course, is there room for Alison to acknowledge the privilege that goes in to making her decision. Despite not having her own apartment or house, Alison is very well off. She has a very well paying job that gives her financial freedom, a luxury that depressingly few in the United States have. In the flash of a second that abortion is considered, never is the question of whether or not Alison can afford the operation raised, likely because her job gives her health insurance that would cover such a procedure. The cost of raising a child is similarly never considered as a serious issue. Alison buys numerous books and various supplies without ever checking price tags or hunting for bargains. At one point, her sister Debbie offers to buy her a $1,400 crib without batting an eyelash.

In addition, Alison mentions that her employer, E!, will give her three months of paid maternity leave, so she will be able to give birth and care for her baby without having to worry about how she can afford to feed and clothe her newborn child. Alison is fortunate enough to work for a company with at least fifty employees, and to have been employed by them for at least a year. Otherwise she would not qualify for the Family and Medical Leave Act of 1993 mandate which requires companies to provide paid maternity leave for employees who meet the above conditions. This is just one of the many privileges that grant Alison the freedom to choose whether or not to abort her child without fear of any serious consequences except for “sacrificing [her] vagina.”

Juno tells a very different story about pregnancy, but still creates a remarkably ideal situation for its protagonist to make the issue of abortion and childbirth seem easier and free of life-changing repercussions. Juno is the eponymous protagonist of the film who, after losing her virginity, discovers that she is pregnant. Unlike Knocked Up, Juno spends a considerable amount of time debating whether or not abortion is the right decision for its protagonist to make, and gives us some insight into her thought process. The first person that Juno tells about her pregnancy is her friend Leah, and in the conversation that they have they both work under the assumption that Juno is going to abort the fetus. Compared to other teen pregnancy narratives that feature swelling music and melodramatic conversations, Juno’s discussions about abortion are straightforward, blunt, and reasonable.

Juno getting an ultrasound

Yet after some deliberation, and actually going to an abortion clinic, Juno decides not to have an abortion. What changes her mind? When walking into the abortion clinic she has a conversation with a classmate who is standing outside protesting. Her classmate informs her that at this period in her pregnancy her “baby” has already grown fingernails, which seems to force Juno to reevaluate her decision. Ignoring not just the relevance of this fact, but the accuracy (fetuses develop fingernails between weeks ten and fifteen, while by Juno’s estimation she is in her ninth or tenth week), we at least see multiple discussions that influence the character’s thought process and lead her to her final decision.

But while Knocked Up was at least realistic in depicting the privileges that allows Alison to have and raise a child with as little stress as possible, Juno‘s portrayal of teen pregnancy creates a situation so ideal for its protagonist’s pregnancy that it borders on fantasy. After choosing not to have an abortion, Juno decides instead to give her baby up for adoption, and finds an attractive, white, upper-middle class couple looking to adopt her baby. That stroke of luck not only stretches credulity, it paints a far rosier picture of the adoption process than reality. In 2007, when Juno was released, 133,640 children in the United States were waiting to be adopted, including 1,674 in Minnesota, where the film takes place.

Of course, one way in which this remarkably easy adoption process is realistic is the role that white privilege plays, although this privilege is of course never acknowledged in the film. White babies are typically far more in demand than babies of color; of all adopted children in the United States in 2000, 64% were white, while white children made up only 40% of children in the Foster Care system. If Juno were black or hispanic, would it have been so easy to find a well-off couple to adopt her child? Statistically, no, and it is likely that her child would have ended up in the foster care system. In 2009 the median amount of time spent in foster care was 13.7 months, and over half of children that were removed from foster care were taken back in by their birth parents, compared to only 20% that were adopted.

The ease with which Juno finds a family to adopt her baby is steeped in privilege both realistic and otherwise, but that is not the only way that Juno’s pregnancy is made as easy as possible for the sake of the narrative. Juno is a high school junior during the course of the film, and makes no effort to hide her pregnancy in any way. We get no sense that she is ostracized, bullied, or shamed for her decision, either by her classmates or by the school itself. Nor do we ever see any indication that her pregnancy interferes with her school work. Considering that approximately 70% of pregnant teenagers drop out of school, it is fair to say that the miniscule impact that pregnancy has on Juno’s life bears little resemblance to the reality of teen pregnancy.

Knocked Up and Juno paint an unrealistically bright picture of how pregnancy can impact a woman’s life. Both films take advantage of privileges without acknowledging them and even invent privileges that their characters would likely not have in the real world. In doing so, they create situations in which abortion does not have to be seriously considered. By giving abortion short shrift these films allow viewers to forget how serious and important a woman’s right to choose is, and how serious the consequences would be for real women in the same situations as Juno and Alison if abortion were not an option. 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days makes a strong case for legal abortion by showing just how terrible it is in the real world to be faced with either having to bear a child or to obtain a legal abortion. The film stands in stark contrast to Juno and Knocked Up not only because it released in the same year as those two films, but because the film treats pregnancy and abortion as serious issues, not fun jokes.

Cristian Mungiu’s film is set in Romania in the late 1980s, when the country was still part of the Soviet Union. This is a very different setting than either Minnesota or Los Angeles circa 2007; milk is a luxury, gasoline is a rarity, and cigarettes are contraband. The protagonists of the film are college students, not mired in poverty or starving, but well off and stable. This disparity between what it means to be well off in the United States and what it means in the Soviet Union makes it clear how difficult living under Soviet rule was. Otilia is a young woman trying to help her friend Gabriela get an abortion. While for Juno this is as simple as making an appointment at a clinic and attempting to not be swayed by the lone, peaceful protester, for Gabriela it is much more complicated. She and Otilia must contact a man who performs abortions, make an appointment at a hotel, and borrow enough money from friends to pay for everything. Every step of the way they know that if they are caught they will be arrested and imprisoned.

Gabriela attempts to lie to the man performing the operation, claiming that she is in her second month, but he realizes that she is further along than that (she never says how far she is but we glean that the film’s title is referring to the actual answer). He refuses to perform the procedure after he realizes that Gabriela was lying and that she does not have as much money as he wants, but decides that in addition to the payment that he wants to have sex with Otilia. This is the sort of situation that women can find themselves in when legal abortion is not an option. Otilia is faced with the decision of either making her friend carry her fetus to term–which would result in the end of any sort of academic career and would likely lead to a life of poverty if the father refuses to support the child–or to prostitute herself for the sake of her friend. Otilia is raped so that she can help her friend, a circumstance that feels a universe away from the witty quips and hamburger phones that make up Juno’s life.

The procedure itself is dangerous and potentially life threatening. It involves the man inserting a probe filled with fluid into Gabriela’s vagina while she lies still from between two and forty-eight hours. The unspecified fluid induces a miscarriage, which causes Gabriela to bleed significantly as she births her stillborn fetus. The unsanitary location and lack of professional medical equipment make it likely that Gabriela will either bleed out or get an infection during the course of the procedure. However, in the film, the procedure works effectively and Otilia disposes of the fetus while Gabriela rests and recuperates.

Gabriela and Otilia from 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days

Cristian Mungiu does not depict Gabriela’s abortion as relatively free of incident because he wants to portray this sort of illegal abortion as easy or simple. There are enough traumatic moments throughout the film to reinforce how dangerous and awful a backdoor abortion can be. Rather, the abortion itself is free of incident because Mungiu is making it clear that this is normal. We see Gabriela and Otilia mention other women who have had abortions, and they only find this man because he was recommended to them by a friend. In this society, illegal abortions are as common as legal abortions are in our society. But instead of going to a hospital or a clinic to have the operation done, women in Romania had to find people willing to perform the procedure in hotel rooms late at night, with the threat of imprisonment hanging over their heads the whole time.

For Juno and Alison, the decision to have a child is not easy, but it is simple. There is deliberation, and there is drama, and both of them consider their options carefully—although Alison mostly does so offscreen—but their choices are either to have a safe, legal abortion, or to have a safe, complication-free pregnancy and birth with a happy ending that involves for Juno giving the child to a well-off, stable woman, and for Alison raising the child in a well-off, stable household. Both films create characters and situations that are as conducive as possible to happy, healthy pregnancy and birth, and in some instances even strain the boundaries of reasonable possibility.

4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days presents a character in a situation who has none of the advantages and privileges that Alison and Juno have. In our current political climate that seems intent on repealing every reproductive right women have gained over the last fifty years, it is important for us not to take the right to choose for granted, to treat it like a joke, or to discuss it with hushed tones and euphemisms, as if it is something embarrassing that no respectable, reasonable woman would do. By presenting abortion as the wrong choice, and pregnancy and birth as easy and spiritually fulfilling, movies like Juno and Knocked Up support the conservatives in the culture war, no matter how progressive they might seem to be. Movies with these messages are dangerous for women, because they drastically misrepresent reality, leaving it to low-budget foreign dramas to tell the truths that desperately need to be heard.

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Tom Houseman was born white, straight, male, cis, and rich. He has done a lot of work unpacking and understanding his many forms of privilege. He is far from perfect, but he is learning. He writes film reviews and analysis for BoxOfficeProphets.com. If you want to officially like him, you can do so at Facebook.com/tomhousemanwriting.

Reproduction & Abortion Week: The Dancer’s Dilemma

Dirty Dancing poster

This is a guest review by Myrna Waldron.

I was less than a year old when Dirty Dancing came out. It is known for the chemistry between its stars, incredible choreography, and a fantastic soundtrack that balances the sounds of the 60s and the 80s. It’s a typical coming-of-age story, but one of the less-discussed plot points in the film is how it approaches the consequences of an unintended pregnancy during a time in which abortion was still illegal (The film takes place in 1963). As a lifelong fan of the film, Dirty Dancing was my first introduction to the issues of abortion. The film is incredibly progressive in its depiction of Penny Johnson (Cynthia Rhodes), a dancer forced to face the most difficult of decisions, and makes a very strong illustration of the consequences of illegal abortions.

In her introductory scenes where she is dancing a mambo with the main love interest, Johnny Castle (Patrick Swayze), Penny explodes on the screen as a vision of raw sexuality and incredible talent. Frances “Baby” Houseman (Jennifer Grey) is instantly awed and envious of Penny’s dancing abilities, and attempts to befriend her. One of the major themes of Dirty Dancing is its class distinctions, and the dancers are under especially strict orders from their boss not to get too close to the wealthy families staying at the resort. Penny’s responses to Baby are thus aloof, but she still reveals a tremendous amount of background information; Penny’s mother kicked her out of the house at 16, and she has been dancing ever since because it was the only thing she ever wanted to do. Penny has thus been established as someone of low income, with no familial support. The subtext of Penny’s backstory is that dancing for her is her only means of income; she does not see herself as having any other abilities.

Cynthia Rhodes as Penny Johnson in Dirty Dancing

When Penny’s pregnancy is discovered, she is shown curled up in a darkened corner, shivering and sobbing. Her only friends at the resort, Johnny and his cousin Billy, instantly figure out what is wrong just from Baby’s report of Penny’s frightened and desperate state. It is an important aspect of Penny and Johnny’s characters that, despite the intense sexuality of their dance routines, they maintain a sibling-like platonic relationship. As Johnny goes to Penny’s aid, he mutters, “Penny just doesn’t think.” Despite this statement coming from a loved one, Johnny’s reaction mirrors a common sentiment that women should bear all the blame for an unintended pregnancy, that not getting pregnant is their responsibility alone. However, when he finds her, he tells her “I’m never gonna let anything happen to you,” showing that despite his angry outburst, he cares about her enough to give any assistance that he can.

Johnny offers the last of his salary to pay for Penny’s abortion. Notably, the option for keeping the baby or giving it up for adoption is never discussed. There are several reasons for this. First and most obviously, Penny cannot continue the strenuous dancing routines if she is pregnant. She would lose her sole source of income, and would have nothing to pay for care for herself or the baby. Second, if news of her pregnancy gets out, she would be instantly fired, and would lose the important reference that working at the resort gains her. Third, the father is Robbie Gould (Max Cantor), a young waiter who is currently courting Baby’s sister Lisa (Jane Brucker). Although extremely wealthy and handsome, Robbie is manipulative and selfish. When Baby confronts him and asks for money to pay for the abortion, he denies paternity and implies that Penny is promiscuous, which is another example of the condemnation of class distinctions in the film. Penny explains that she believed that Robbie loved her, and that she was “something special.” A woman who has no family, no real career prospects and is constantly belittled by her employers can quite believably become seduced by someone like Robbie. The film thus makes an important point about culpability – the poor, lonely and insecure Penny must bear all the blame and responsibility for the pregnancy, while the fortunate Robbie gets off scott-free.

Patrick Swayze and Cynthia Rhodes

Another important analysis of class distinction occurs in the film when the financial consequences of a back-alley abortion are discussed. Not only can neither Penny, Johnny nor Billy afford to pay for the abortion, Penny can’t take the day off to visit the abortionist. The abortionist is only in the area on one particular day, but Penny and Johnny are scheduled to perform at another hotel. There is no one who can take her place. Baby, established as a bit of an altruist, not only gets the money from her wealthy doctor father, but volunteers to learn Penny’s routine so she can get the procedure done. All three resort employees are shocked and guilty about accepting Baby’s kindness, as they are used to wealthy people exploiting them and treating them as sub-human. The romance plot is kicked off as Baby rehearses the routine with Johnny.

Unfortunately, the most frightening hazard of illegal abortion is that those who perform back-alley abortions are not certified doctors, and are under no regulations to use sterile equipment, anesthesia, or to perform the procedure safely. Outlawing abortion does not prevent abortions in any way – as we see in this film, if the woman is desperate enough, she will end the pregnancy regardless of the legal implications. Penny is thus locked in a room with an abortionist with a folding table and a “dirty knife.” Billy tries to come to her aid, but she is at the mercy of the abortionist and he must endure her screams of pain. Billy brings her home, and Penny refuses the help of a hospital as they would call the police. She is obviously dying, and is moaning in pain and clutching her abdomen. Baby goes to find her father, who is skilled enough to not only save Penny’s life, but also tells her that she can still have children. Her relief and joy at this news is an important aspect of her character, as it shows that this abortion was done because it was not the right time in her life to have a child, and that she had no choice in the matter. It is implied that someday, when Penny’s dancing career is over, she will have children when she is ready.

Penny in bed, following her abortion

Baby’s father, Dr. Houseman, seems to have conflicted morals, and serves a good example of someone who may not approve of abortion, but still shows compassion for women who require the procedure. He tells Baby that he doesn’t want her associating with “those people” (referring to Penny and Johnny) again, showing a protective streak and indirectly comparing the virginal and wealthy Baby to the poor “bad girl” Penny. However, when treating Penny’s condition, he speaks to her kindly, continues to make checkups on her despite his being on vacation, and happily converses with her at the finale. So despite his obvious disapproval of Penny’s choices, he sees her as a patient first, and makes her recovery his primary concern.

The purpose of legalized abortion is not only to give women like Penny a choice, but also to ensure their safety. It is very telling that class distinctions still exist (and are perhaps stronger than ever) in that wealthy lawmakers continue to blame perceived promiscuity for unintended pregnancies, and wish to force women to bear children as a punishment or consequence for their actions. If Penny had continued this pregnancy, she would have had absolutely no way to care for the child. She may have made a mistake in sleeping with Robbie, but why should she be “punished” and he not? Most importantly, keeping abortion legal and fully accessible saves the life of the mother. There are enough restrictions on abortion already – the doctors are only available on certain days in certain areas, some states require the woman to wait an extra 24 hours just to make sure they’re “certain” (Hint: They wouldn’t be there if they weren’t sure.), abortions are expensive, etc. Women like Penny should not have to risk their lives in order to ensure that they have control over their lives and their bodies. Before abortion was legalized in the US and Canada, women often died from the procedure. Women will get abortions whether or not they’re legal, because sometimes they have no other choice. I am sure I am preaching to the choir when I speak of the lessons I have learned from Penny’s story in Dirty Dancing, but part of me wonders if there would be more support for keeping abortion legal and accessible if lawmakers showed a little compassion, watched this film again, and thought about the real women whose lives mirror Penny’s.

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Myrna Waldron is a 25-year-old pop culture buff who loves to let off a good rant. She regularly tweets at @SoapboxingGeek, and is going to pretend the upcoming Dirty Dancing remake doesn’t exist.

Guest Writer Wednesday: "Love" Is "Actually" All Around Us (and Other Not-So-Deep Sentiments)

Movie poster for the romantic comedy Love Actually

This cross-post by Lady T previously appeared at her blog The Funny Feminist and is part of her ongoing series, “The Rom-Com Project.”

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For me, the quintessential Ensemble Romantic Comedy is Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. It has all the ingredients of an Ensemble Rom-Com: all sets of characters are consumed by some form of love, and all sets of characters are connected by some overarching theme or event. In Midsummer’s case, the overarching event is the wedding of Theseus and Hippolyta – an event that is of utmost important to Oberon/Titania/Puck, Bottom and the other mechanicals, and Hermia/Lysander/Helena/Demetrius, but concerning characters who are much less entertaining and engaging than the three sets of characters I just mentioned. (The play also explores themes of magic, love triangles, deception, and all sorts of interesting ideas that makes it one of Shakespeare’s best comedies.)

In the case of Love Actually, the Theseus/Hippolyta’s wedding is Christmas – or, arguably, the terminal at Heathrow Airport – and the three sets of main characters become nine sets of characters, and the themes of magic/love triangles/deception is whittled down to a Captain Obvious statement about love: “Love is actually all around us.”

Wow. Really? Love is everywhere, movie? Really?

Yes, I’m being sarcastic, and maybe I shouldn’t be. I don’t think Love Actually is meant to be incredibly deep or profound. I think it’s meant to be a movie that shows a series of fleeting moments and how people are connected to each other, and that’s it. It explores different types of (heterosexual) love, and some stories end sadly while others end happily.

The problem for me is that the only stories that worked for me were the ones that ended on a sad note.

The sad-ending stories
Keira Knightley/Andrew Lincoln/Chiwetel Ejiofor
I felt nauseous all throughout Keira Knightley’s story because I knew Andrew Lincoln was in love with her, and I was afraid that she was going to leave her new husband Chiwetel Ejiofor for his best friend. I liked that it ended on a melancholy note after the cue card scene, where she only kissed him once – maybe as a thank you, or just an acknowledgment of his feelings for her – and then walked away to go back to her husband, and then Andrew Lincoln told himself, “Enough,” and resolved to get over her. She wasn’t going to leave her husband for him just because he had a grand romantic gesture, and he didn’t expect her to leave him. It worked.

Except I couldn’t shake the feeling that it’s more than a little weird and creepy to give any kind of grand romantic gesture to your best friend’s wife regardless of your expectations, especially when said best friend is only a few feet away.

But maybe I’m being too critical.

Laura Linney/Rodrigo Santoro
Two people who loved each other from afar for years after working together for years finally connect on a romantic night, except that romantic night is disrupted when Laura Linney has to go take care of her mentally ill brother.

That one scene in the hospital where her brother has a violent reaction, the doctors come to intervene, and she quietly gets her brother under control…yes, it got to me. Perhaps on a more personal level than I wanted it to.

Except I couldn’t shake the feeling of dissatisfaction that Laura Linney and Rodrigo Santoro never shared an onscreen conversation about that interrupted romantic night, and that I didn’t understand the depth of feeling he had for her.

But maybe I’m being too critical.

Emma Thompson/Alan Rickman/tarty secretary dressed like the devil
I liked that the movie didn’t show us how Emma Thompson and Alan Rickman’s marriage turned out. In the epilogue, I couldn’t tell if they were together and trying (and failing) to make it work, or if they were separated and keeping up a good front for the sake of their kids. I liked that she held him responsible for the almost-affair and didn’t lay all the blame on the homewrecker, but on the person who was actually responsible for being true to their relationship.

Except I couldn’t shake the annoyance that the homewrecking secretary character was literally dressed like a cleavage-showing devil in a red outfit at a Christmas party. Come on. Really?

But maybe I’m being too critical.

The happy-ending stories
Keep in mind that those were the stories I liked. As for the other ones?

Hugh Grant/Martine McCutcheon
I liked that Prime Minister Hugh Grant was mindful of keeping professional boundaries between himself and the junior assistant he loved at first sight. I liked that he never overstepped his bounds and in fact had her transferred to a different job so he could uphold those professional boundaries. And, of course, I loved the dancing (although I prefer this dancing as far as Hugh Grant Dancing clips go). What I didn’t like was the unnecessary “Sexual Harassment from the American President” sidebar. It was unnecessarily political for a Christmas movie/rom-com (and somehow still had nothing to do with politics), it was a cheap American stereotype, and worst of all, it introduced a moment of sexual harassment for the sole purpose of giving the male character a Hero Moment.

Really, Love Actually? We needed a “I shall stand up against sexual harassment!” moment to see what a good guy he was? I guess it was a sign that his love for Martine McCutcheon was for real, but, well, I would hope that Our Hero would stand up for any of his employees that were being sexually harassed, not just the ones he happens to fancy.

Liam Neeson/son
First of all, watching this story was totally uncomfortable, given that Liam Neeson is playing a widower. But it’s not the movie’s fault that his real-life wife tragically died two years ago.

It is the movie’s fault that I got absolutely no sense of grief from Liam Neeson’s stepson for his mother. I get what the writers were going for – the little boy fixates on a girl his age named Joanna (his mother’s name) because he’s focusing on the one person/thing that makes him happy after his mother died. But even if that’s what the movie was going for, it’s not what I felt. What I felt was that the boy’s mother’s death was completely incidental to his life. “Mom’s dead, yeah, whatever, this American girl in my school is really cute.”

Too bad. There was real potential to explore how a stepfather and stepson might come together in shared grief for a wife and mother they both loved.

Colin Firth/Not Elizabeth Bennet
I’m sorry, but how many romantic cliches can happen in one storyline? The papers float into the water, so Not Elizabeth Bennet HAS to strip down in slow-motion while Colin Firth watches in amazement? The proposal in broken Portuguese and the acceptance in broken English? The “Hey, we’re having the same conversation and are TOTES ON THE SAME WAVELENGTH!” conversation while they speak in different languages?

And let’s not forget the delightful fake-out where Colin Firth goes to his beloved’s father to ask for her hand, and he hilariously confuses Colin Firth’s intentions, thinking that Colin Firth intends to marry the other daughter – and then we see that the other daughter is more than a size 4 and not Hollywood beautiful! LOL at the idea that the fat cow could find love with anyone, much less Mr. Darcy!

(Incidentally, I’m calling Lucia Moniz’s character Not Elizabeth Bennet only because I have a hard time seeing Colin Firth as anyone but Mr. Darcy. That is not the movie’s fault, or Lucia Moniz’s fault, or Colin Firth’s fault, for that matter.)

The comic relief stories
Meanwhile, there were three other storylines that are roughly the equivalent of “the mechancials put on a play for Theseus and Hippolyta.”

Martin Freeman/Joanna Page
I could have watched a whole movie about two body doubles finding love while they simulate sex with each other onscreen. Curse the DVD for skipping during one of their most important scenes.

Some dude goes to America to pick up chicks
Pretty self-explanatory. Praise the DVD for skipping during one of those crucial scenes.

Bill Nighy is an aged rocker who’s cynical about love
He’s cynical about romance but realizes he had love all along in the beleaguered assistant who puts up with his crap. He’s the most cynical character in the movie, and yet he inspires the least amount of cynicism in me, the viewer – that is, no cynicism at all. I have no complaints about this storyline. I loved it.

My verdict
Love Actually had a few effective comedic and dramatic moments. I appreciate the hilarity of Emma Thompson’s daughter proudly announcing that she got the part of “First Lobster” at her school’s nativity play, and I was moved by Emma Thompson trying not to cry during Joni Mitchell’s “Both Sides Now.” Keep in mind, though, that Emma Thompson is one of those performers who never fails to move me no matter what the circumstances.

The movie as a whole, though? The stories that worked for me were the ones that either ended sadly, or were played for pure comedy with no tragicomic or dramatic elements. If the movie wants me to believe that “love actually is all around us,” I don’t think it worked.

———-

Lady T is an aspiring writer and comedian with two novels, a play, and a collection of comedy sketches in progress. She hopes to one day be published and finish one of her projects (not in that order). You can find more of her writing at The Funny Feminist, where she picks apart entertainment and reviews movies she hasn’t seen.

Guest Writer Wednesday: Room In Rome

Elena Anaya and Natasha Yarovenko in Room In Rome

This is a guest review by Djelloul Marbrook.

———-

Room In Rome, the Spanish director Julio Medem’s deft pas de deux with Psyche, is everything Hollywood blockbusters are not.

It consists of three people, a street, a hotel room and a piazza in Rome. By comparison, the animated junk of Hollywood’s sacrifices to Mammon seem gross and tasteless.

Two young women played by Spanish actress Elena Anaya and Russian actress Natasha Yarovenko meet one tipsy night in Rome and share a room whose walls are painted with Renaissance themes. The room becomes the alembic in which their lives are transformed. They discover that they are not the personas they wore when they met.

Few more delicate, lyrical films have ever been made. As the tall Russian girl teaches the Spanish engineer to pronounce her name, emphasized the sha in Natasha, our collective memory of Hollywood extravaganzas becomes white noise and motel paintings. All we want to hear and see is Natasha coaching Alba to say her name, as if the future of the world depends on it.

Reviewers have used words like steamy to describe this film, suggesting the prurience of their own minds; the film is like watching a poem being written, a painting being painted. There is no evil here, no villain, no tragedy, just flowers unfolding, honey drawn, Psyche paid her due.

Alba and Natasha have lives to renew. Alba is involved in a good relationship, Natasha is scheduled to be married the following Saturday. They must depart in the morning, they tell each other they must, and in the morning they do, but only for seconds, as Natasha walks away and then rushes back into Alba’s arms.

I have lived 77 years and seen many films, but only a handful so memorable, so affirming of our power to transcend circumstance and the power of chance encounter to transcend our settled notions. Room In Rome is, not least, about freeing ourselves from the captivity of received ideas.

Room In Rome suggests to us the Wagnerian hyperbole of so many Hollywood productions like John Carter, which, for all their pyrotechnics and spectacular animations, lack the fundamental subtlety and nuance that defines our lives. But there are other kinds of hyperbole to which Room In Rome puts the lie. Wild Things, for example, a 1998 noir film which, in spite of a stellar cast and reasonable budget, had so many plot twists that in the last half hour it becomes painfully embarrassing, inviting the viewer to cry, Oh, come on!

Medem understands and Hollywood, for the most part, rejects, that our everyday transactions are filled with drama and suspense. Life, when lived sensitively, really doesn’t need hyperbole. Our characters don’t need to be overdrawn; they’re quite well drawn when we decide to inhabit them. And that is exactly Room In Rome’s point. Two people, observed humorously and with good will by a singing hotel employee, Enrico Lo Verso, decide to inhabit their lives. They decide to live in accordance with their inmost impulses. They decide to listen to the testament of their intuitions, and neither technical improvisations nor authorial twists provide more suspense or excitement.

By dialing down momentous incident Medem achieves more than by pumping up every available aspect of filmmaking. Room In Rome is not so much minimalist as it is refined and true to what the camera is itself witnessing. Under his direction the plot never imposes itself on the true wont of the characters, or at least it never seems to, and this is surely a hallmark of great direction.

The director, cinematographer Alex Catalan, and composer Jocelyn Pook seem at one with each other and the actors, creating a seamless séance of great beauty and affirmation.

———-

Djelloul Marbrook blogs at www.djelloulmarbrook.com and is the author of two books of poetry (Far from Algiers, Kent State; Brushstrokes and Glances, Deerbrook Editions) and three novellas (Artemisia’s Wolf, Saraceno, and Alice Miller’s Room). A retired newspaper editor, he lives in New York with his wife Marilyn.

Biopic and Documentary Week: Frida

Frida (2002)

I’ll confess to being a little bit obsessed with Frida Kahlo. A copy of her journals sits on my bookshelf. A postcard of one of her numerous self portraits gazes at me from a bedroom wall. A quote from the movie about her life made an appearance in my wedding ceremony. Hell, I even named my dog “Kahlo.” Personal bias notwithstanding, I love the film Frida, for a myriad of reasons.

In my opinion, biopic is an extremely difficult genre. A person’s life doesn’t fit the narrative arc of a standard movie, so we typically see parts of a person’s life excised, heteronormative relationships emphasized, and vast simplification of an often-famous personality. The best biopics play with the narrative arc, bring in some element of creativity, and allow formal aspects of the film to reflect the subject’s personality. Frida does a good job at this by incorporating surrealism—a reflection of Kahlo’s work—and skipping most of the first eighteen years of her life, in favor of beginning near her artistic awakening. (Two other biopics that also subvert standard moviemaking immediately come to mind: Fur: An Imaginary Portrait of Diane Arbus, about art photographer Diane Arbus, and Beyond the Sea, which looks at the life of singer and entertainer Bobby Darin).

In identity politics terms, Frida tells the story of a disabled bisexual socialist woman of color who became one of Mexico’s most famous painters. That description alone tells you that this isn’t standard fare that the Hollywood machine typically churns out. The film is a decade-in-the-making labor of love for lead actress Salma Hayek, directed by Julie Taymor, and also starring Alfred Molina (as Diego Rivera, fellow painter and husband to Frida), with cameos by Ashely Judd (playing friend, political ally, and photographer Tina Modotti) and Edward Norton (playing Nelson Rockefeller; Norton is also said to be an uncredited writer of the script, and quite a bit of controversy about his role in the making and editing of the film sprung up when he and Hayek ended their romantic relationship).

There is much to admire about Frida as a film, and Kahlo as an artist, for that matter. Although Frida Kahlo was prettied up by the gorgeous Hayek, who did sport Kahlo’s signature unibrow and unbleached/unwaxed moustache, slightly de-emphasized, the difficulties of her life certainly weren’t softened. When Kahlo was six, she contracted polio, which left her with physical difficulties into adulthood. When she was eighteen, she was in a terrible bus accident, leaving her with life-long debilitating pain which required numerous surgeries to resolve (and resolve they never did). The scene below begins with an unconscious Kahlo, immediately following the accident, and takes us through a Day-of-the-Dead-inspired montage of her three weeks in the hospital, until she regained consciousness (warning: the opening image is bloody and disturbing):

Calaca Hospital

Frida

— MOVIECLIPS.com

The film isn’t just about living with disability, though; it’s about thriving in spite of it, about having a full life in which disability is only a part. Kahlo does not “overcome” her physical problems; she spends a lot of time painting in bed, she has good times and bad, and all of this she channels into her work. As a person who lives with disability, it’s damn near inspiring to see a character–based on a real-life person–who struggles and who achieves great things. And great things Kahlo did achieve. Her body of work includes 143 paintings, 55 of which are self portraits. One of her paintings was the first work by a 20th century Mexican artist to be purchased by the Louvre in Paris, she had a one-woman show in Paris, and has become significantly more famous since her death in 1958. Her work is intensely personal, representing most often pain and the broken self. Not only is this work autobiographical–depicting her own pain and suffering–but it is also overtly feminist. Kahlo painting herself in surrealistic representations of womanhood and pain legitimizes female experiences as worthy of high art. Like so many culturally valued enterprises (filmmaking, for one), men tend to dominate the art world. Kahlo–and the film Frida–challenges those patriarchal norms.

Le due Frida

While the film certainly highlights her work as the central element of her life, romantic relationships play a major role as well. Kahlo married the older and more established Mexican muralist, Diego Rivera, when she was 21, and they had a tumultuous relationship, divorcing and remarrying, and having plenty of extra-marital affairs. Their marriage, though, is a kind of model of an artistic pairing; both understanding the other’s devotion to painting and belief in “marriage without fidelity.” Kahlo is known to have had affairs with both men and women, and the film doesn’t gloss over her bisexuality, including a scene with a woman who both Kahlo and Rivera had been sexually involved with. Early indication in the film of her admiration of men and women comes in a somewhat playful party scene, in which Kahlo steps in and wins a drinking contest between Rivera and David Alfaro Siqueiros (played by Antonio Banderas) with the prize of a dance with the lovely Modotti (Judd). The super-sexy tango the two women dance is shown below:

Frida and Tina Tango

Frida

— MOVIECLIPS.com

The film, like so many, isn’t without its flaws; one could argue the problem of having a major motion picture about one of Mexico’s most famous artists in which the characters all speak English, for example. Since ten years have passed since the film was made, I can’t be sure whether the same would be true today. Problems aside, this is a visually stunning film, made by a woman, about a woman, and it’s remarkable in nearly every way. If you haven’t seen it, what are you waiting for?

Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

Amber‘s Picks:

How Twitter Reflects the Themes of Our Society from The Nerdy Feminist

The Future of Feminism series from Fourth Wave

Vogue Italia’s “Haute Mess”: Racist, Ignorant, or Brilliant? from Racialicious

Spotlight: Anna and Modern-Day Slavery from Her Film

Sympathy for the Devil: On HBO’s Game Change, and Hating Ladies for the Right Reasons from Tiger Beatdown

Capitol Control: The Irony of The Hunger Games Movie Mania from Bitch

Stephanie‘s Picks:

“BYT @ SXSW Movies: Wonder Women“ by Jeff Spross for Brightest Young Things

“Tavi Gevinson on Creativity, Taste, and the Word ‘Girly'” from Huffington Post

“Hungering for a Female Hero: Hunger Games May Break New Ground” by Tom Long for Detroit News

“The Bitch List: Does Your Screenplay Have What It Takes?”

by The Bitch Pack

“On Feminism: Romantic Femininity” by Hila Shachar for Le Projet D’amour

Megan‘s Picks:

It’s Women’s History Month! Celebrate by Seeing The Hunger Games and Vote with Your Dollars This Weekend via I Will Not Diet

Will the Box Office Change the Gender Balance in Film? via Feminema

Mad Men: Set Me Free – a musical mash-up with the series’ female characters via Pop Culture Pirate

Steel Magnolias Remake Cast Announced: Queen Latifah, Phylicia Rashad to Star via Clutch Magazine

The Feminist Harry Potter Tumblr You’ve Been Waiting For via Bust Magazine

Leave your links in the comments!

‘Friends with Kids’: Witty & Touching…But Is It a Feminist Extravaganza?

Adam Scott and Jennifer Westfeldt in ‘Friends with Kids’

I was deliriously drunk with excitement to see Friends with Kids. I mean, a film starring Kristen Wiig, Maya Rudolph, Jon Hamm AND written and directed by a woman?? And not just any woman but writer Jennifer Westfeldt?! Yes, please! And yes, it’s funny. Really funny. I laughed so hard my face hurt. Literally. Oh, and of course I cried. It’s not a complete movie-going experience unless I’ve devolved into a sobbing hot mess. But did it live up to my feminist expectations?

Westfeldt plays cheery, talkative and self-deprecating Julie who’s best friends with Jason (Adam Scott) a fantastic loyal friend who happens to be an objectifying womanizer in his dating life. Julie and Jason are the kind of besties who live in the same apartment building, have known each other forever, can finish each other’s sentences and continually debate hypothetical situations such as which is the best way to die.

After their circle of friends (Maya Rudoph, Chris O’Dowd, Kristen Wiig, Jon Hamm) get married and have babies, Julie and Jason witness the decline of spontaneity, romance and apparent happiness in the couples’ lives. Both Julie and Jason want a baby but they don’t want to lose romance. What if they could have a child but skip that part? Why must you have a baby with the same person you’re romantically involved with? And so they decide to have a baby together while remaining platonic friends.

Not only did she star in the film, Westfeldt also wrote, directed and produced Friends with Kids, which also happens to be the first film from Westfeldt and partner Jon Hamm’s production company. The writing (Westfeldt drew upon her own personal experiences with friends) is sharp, intelligent and witty. The two leads banter with ease. Westfeldt is super likeable and if you adore Scott as Leslie Knope’s adorbs BF Ben Wyatt (um, yes, yes I do!!), you’re going to loooove him here. He’s fricking hilarious. Westfeldt wanted the dinner scenes where all 6 of the friends sit around and talk to echo those in Hannah and Her Sisters. And those feel effortlessly authentic. But don’t let the posters and trailer fool you. If you’re going to see this supposedly ensemble film because of Wiig, Rudolph and Hamm, you might be disappointed. There’s just not enough of them in the movie. But maybe I’m greedy.

As the film unfolds, it encompasses shades of light and dark as it explores the characters’ lives. It’s funny yet brutally honest, never pulling any punches about life including babies with explosive diarrhea, stinging (sometimes cruel) spousal arguments and juggling romantic relationships while being a parent. It felt like a raunchier When Harry Met Sally… had a baby with a more mature Sex and the City.

I loved that Friends with Kids showcases different women and mothers at different stages of their lives. We see Leslie (Maya Rudolph) and Alex (Chris O’Dowd) bicker but in a joking and loving union. Leslie’s a loving and supportive friend to Julie, comforting her when she’s down and forever trying to set her up with a man, whether it’s a criminal or a hunky dad (Ed Burns). Sidebar, Julie’s singledom isn’t a death knell, people. There’s nothing wrong with being single! We see a different marriage in Missy (Kristen Wiig) and Ben (Jon Hamm). When they’re newlyweds, they can’t keep their hands off each other. After kids, they’re exasperated and miserable. It’s sad but realistic watching their marriage unravel. Whether she’s uttering a witty quip or evoking her character’s inner turmoil and pain (her scene standing in the window…dagger in the heart), Wiig makes every moment count.

Beyond the three female friends, we also see MJ (Megan Fox), a self-described “gypsy” free spirit dancer openly states she never wants kids. Yet she’s refreshingly never demonized for her choice. We also see Julie’s and Jason’s mothers: one who adores her child and dotes on her grandchild, the other swoops in at the baby’s birth leaving a check and then swoops out again.

Westfeldt’s 3 films that she’s written all tackle relationships from a unique angle differing from the societal norm. The unconventional exploration of parenthood is an intriguing premise. As Westfeldt told Melissa Silverstein at Women and Hollywood:

“…I’ve never understood why things always have to be just one way when I’ve seen so many people in my life struggle tremendously to fit into those boxes or to live up to those expectations or pressures put upon them by whatever society’s concept of ‘normal’ is…I’m frustrated by things that are exclusive to one particular life choice…I think that, in all three of my films, I’ve been trying to explore these different milestones, and the idea that there are a lot of valid ways to live your life and make decisions to find happiness on your own terms.”

I love that Westfeldt questions and explores individual paths to happiness. It’s refreshing to witness Julie and Jason as single parents yet parenting as an egalitarian team. While the friends all outwardly support Julie and Jason, only Alex (the adorbs Chris O’Dowd) actually thinks it’s a great idea. In fact, Julie and Jason’s parenting decision offends Leslie (Rudolph). She believes it’s “insulting” to their “way of life,” “to all normal people who struggle and make sacrifices and make commitments to make a relationship work.” Her teddy bear husband Alex responds with the humorous line, “We’re not Mormons or old-timey people. We don’t exactly have a way of life, babe.” While she pokes fun at everyone, Westfeldt never vilifies married parents or single people. Her film evokes the message that you never know where your choices in life will take you.

As someone in their 30s who isn’t married, doesn’t have kids and doesn’t want kids, I’m always glad to see alternative lifestyles. Although to be honest, the more radical choice would’ve been to depict a childless woman who wants to be childless rather than succumbs to the stereotypical ticking biological clock. But hey, at least we’re seeing a single mother in a favorable light…that’s a huge step. It also would have been great to see greater diversity, such as gay or lesbian parents or more people of color (I mean this is NYC, c’mon!), although I’m glad to see a woman of color (Rudolph) in the film.

While Westfeldt depicts complex female characters, I wish she had delved deeper into the female relationships. Instead, she chooses to focus on the romantic aspect of the comedy. Which is fine of course, in fact that component is quite compelling although at times conventional. And I’m delighted Julie doesn’t wait around for a man or the perfect scenario to lead her life. But as awesome as Friends with Kids is, there’s just not enough lady interaction. No real sisterhood or female bonding.

Considering that Kissing Jessica Stein, Westfeldt’s first screenplay and her breakout role, a wonderful romantic comedy of a straight and bisexual woman who enter a relationship together, passes the Bechdel test repeatedly, I assumed Friends with Kids would too. But it just barely does. The only times we see two women talking together are when Julie cries to Leslie about Jason dating, when Julie’s mom tells her that she’d love to babysit more, and when Jason introduces MJ to Julie and Julie tells her that she feels like she knows her cause she’s washed her thongs (ha!). In two of those three scenes, women might be talking to women but they’re talking about men. Even one of the most pivotal scenes, a verbal showdown at dinner on a ski trip, happens between Jason and Ben…two dudes.

Why must almost every film, even awesome movies starring and created by amazingly strong and talented women, perpetually revolve around men?

When a film is written and directed by a woman who launched her career on a pretty feminist film, my expectations for her directorial debut are high. Friends with Kids is a touching and hilarious film. And Westfeldt is an incredibly talented writer and director with a knack for capturing nuanced dialogue and raising thought-provoking questions. For a movie created by a woman who believes we should support female filmmakers and women’s voices, I just wish it had been the feminist extravaganza I had hoped and envisioned.

Guest Writer Wednesday: Guilty Pleasures: Practical Magic (1998)

This cross-post by Didion originally appeared at Feminéma.

Okay, you know me: I have the whole snarky thing down. I’ve never even seen Forrest Gump or Titanic. I can barely bring myself to watch a trailer for a film starring poor Katherine Heigl. I’d rather re-watch that 2-hour, grueling, and explicit film about illegal abortion in Romania — it was excellent – than submit myself to 30 minutes of the Julia Roberts feature, My Best Friend’s Wedding. So what’s the deal with my weakness for Practical Magic, which gets only a 20% approval rate on RottenTomatoes.com?

Confession: I’ve probably seen it 10 times.

Sandra Bullock as Sally Owens in Practical Magic

I’ll grant you the obvious: this is not quality filmmaking or screenwriting. The list of goofs and continuity errors is long. The background music is annoyingly cheery and sentimental, even during scenes when it shouldn’t be. It claims to be set in a Salem, Massachusetts-type place but is obviously filmed using the dramatic coast and sunsets of the Pacific Northwest. The film keeps cycling back to themes of love and loss and longing, like any Katherine Heigl film. The resolution to the characters’ problems — an ancient curse on this family of witches — is completely inexplicable. I know. But it always gets past my radar, and I seem to keep coming back.

My latest viewing of it prompted me to wonder about guilty pleasure films.

Why should I feel so embarrassed and apologetic about liking this film? What is it about liking this unabashed chick flick that makes me feel sheepish to confess it? Why does liking this film make me wonder whether I might have some kind of tumor growing smack on my frontal lobe?

(Spoiler alert: at some point below I’m going to talk about That Great House. Also: if you’re eager to know my two favorite insights, get down to the last half of this post.)

Now, there are lots of reasons to like this film. First: the cast. Stockard Channing and Dianne Wiest as the kooky old witch-aunts who raise the orphaned sisters Sally (Sandra Bullock) and Gilly (Nicole Kidman). Oh, to have aunts like Channing and Wiest!

Stockard Channing as Aunt Frances and Dianne Wiest as Aunt Bridget

Moving on, the men-folk are all superbly gorgeous and desirable: Aidan Quinn, Goran Visnjic (slurp!) as the bad boy, and the total mensch Mark Feuerstein as Sally’s short-lived husband. Even Sally’s little daughters (Evan Rachel Wood and Alexandra Artrip) manage to be believably appealing.

Goran Visnjic as Jimmy Angelov (really) and Nicole Kidman as Gillian Owens

Also, no one should underestimate Sandra Bullock’s appeal. The critic David Thomson jokes that she’s been inducted into the Hall of Eternal Likeability. This induction occurred in 2009, Thomson quips, when Bullock won an Oscar for Best Actress (for The Blind Side) and a Golden Raspberry (aka “Razzie”) for Worst Actress (in All About Steve) — and she appeared at both ceremonies “with the same easygoing attitude that guesses she didn’t quite deserve either award but that knows her life has always been something of a gamble.”

I’ve always liked Bullock, and have a particular weakness for her skills in slight rom-coms (While You Were Sleeping; Miss Congeniality), again in spite of myself. How does someone possessed of such exceptional beauty seem to be someone I’d be friends with? How does she manage to seem convincingly the ugly duckling for even one second? How does she nevertheless seem to be at ease in her own skin?

Two things I always notice in Practical Magic: she goes bra-less in most of the scenes. And although she’s thin as a rail (of course), her body looks real — especially her big, strong legs. Who wouldn’t like a beautiful woman with healthy-looking thighs who skips the bra most of the time?

Okay, now that I say that out loud, I’m starting to see where some of my sheepishness comes from.

Bullock and Aidan Quinn

Just because I like all the actors is no guarantee I’ll like a film, however. Lots of good actors have appeared in terrible films. Remember my refusal to see Titanic despite the fact that it stars Kate Winslet, who’s in my Top 5 current favorite actors?

*****

In thinking about my perverse attachment to an ostensibly weak film led me to scour The Land of Blogs for insight, and here’s what I found: us ladies love that house. Love it.

This very fact makes me embarrassed … because I’ll admit I love that house too. Shouldn’t I feel like I’ve been manipulated?

That House!

Now, just because a girl confesses a propensity for nest-building and a weakness for a good kitchen should not make you presume she wants nothing but housework and a hubby who brings home the bacon. Virtually everyone I know has found themselves susceptible to the house porn shown to us on those real estate, cooking, and bedroom re-design shows on cable TV. And when I call this porn I fully admit to have had unholy desires for that one hunky handyman who seems to know his way around every power tool known to man. So yeah, I love this house — and I’m not the only one.

That kitchen!

Entire websites appear to be dedicated to screen capture shots of the kitchen and/or attached greenhouse. I get it. Who wouldn’t want all that great tile, lots of cupboards, big central kitchen table, and that awesome stove?

There’s so much room here for those kinds of decorations you could never be bothered with because you’re a Busy And Important. Big wooden bowls of pears or round loaves of bread. Cunning little bottles of herbs and witches’ potions. Scattered potted plants that need to be kept alive somehow. This is not the kind of house I could manage (or clean) in real life.

But I think the reason why this kitchen/ greenhouse/ dining area has hit some kind of world-wide Lady G-Spot is because these rooms are the location for so much of the film’s drama. Just like in real life, except these settings are a lot more attractive than our cramped kitchens. Gilly and the little girls whip up a Go Away spell to put into the maple syrup; Gilly and Sally try to bring the terrifying Visnjic back to life (with a spray-can of whipped cream, I say as I shake my head woefully); Sally and the hunky Arizona investigator Aidan Quinn have a special moment in the sunroom/ greenhouse.

The greenhouse!

(Mental note: must procure sunroom/ greenhouse so I, too, can have special moments with Aidan Quinn.)

I’m joking, of course. Although some bloggers seem eager to transform their own homes into Practical Magic-style palaces, I say that sounds like too much work. In fact, this leads to my most important insight: no matter how appealing, that house doesn’t fill me with consumer desire — I like the idea of the house, and I like it for reasons other than the fact that it looks good. Another film might have used the same house and sunroom and still failed to capture people’s imaginations (i.e., mine).

*****

So here’s my big realization: this film gets me every time because it portrays such rich and important relationships among women, even when they’re flawed. The warmth of the house matters when Sally and Gilly lie under the covers together, healing one another’s wounds, or when they go to the kitchen to exorcise demons. Ultimately the reason I like the house is the fact that I am so impressed that the film takes for granted the intense connections amongst this group of women.

Sisters Sally (Bullock) and Gilly (Kidman)

The house feels so warm and comfortable because that’s where the film portrays the most important plot points, bringing together the warmest of relations between the characters. It’s those moments in the film that get me every time. Scenes that convey the close communal and familial relations that encompass a kind of closeness that isn’t reducible to something as simplistic as “love.”

There’s a hard edge to some of this as well. Women who are very close to one another also piss each other off, or they say things that hit nerves even if they have no intention of hurting anyone. One of my favorite random scenes in the film, in which they all blend up some Midnight Margaritas and dance around the house (who hasn’t been there?) is immediately followed by a scary scene at the dinner table, when no matter how good their mood, none of them can keep from spewing bile at one another — and it takes a while for them to realize the ugliness of this weird moment.

Ah, the scene of female bonding and mutual support … and pissing each other off. Was there ever a time when I didn’t imagine growing old, living in a big house (or neighborhood) with my sister and a bunch of my best old-lady friends, all cooking and gardening and exercising together? I remember being stunned to learn that every single one of my friends has the same fantasy. It’s not that we don’t like men — some of us are partnered up with them, after all. It just seems so natural to have tight, mutually-constitutive relationships with women, especially as you grow older.

The Aunts (Wiest and Channing)

All the more eerie to find that this film explicitly imagines that scenario for its characters, too. “We’re gonna grow old together!” Gilly says to Sally when they’re teenagers, on the night when Gilly is about to run off with some guy, and the unglamorous Sally stands there in her awful bathrobe, stringy hair, and gigantic glasses. “It’s gonna be you and me, living in a big old house, these two old biddies with all these cats! I mean, I bet we even die on the same day!” Tell me, isn’t that your secret dream, too?

For Sally it is. “Do you swear?” she asks her sister.

Sally

In the end I think it is that female closeness that gets me about this film and which makes me slightly embarrassed to admit it — because I suspect that by using some kind of dark magic, the filmmakers cooked up a heady brew of fine men-folk, house porn, and scenes like Midnight Margaritas explicitly to fly under my critical radar and keep bringing me back. I fear my uncritical affection for this film because it feels manipulative to me, not a genuine dedication to women’s relationships and good houses above & beyond women’s relationship to men. I feel embarrassed that what I had long believed was an unrealistic and slightly embarrassing fantasy — that my friends and I would all grow old together — has been packaged into a very pretty filmic production for me to watch. Shouldn’t I feel all the more guilty about this pleasure?

*****

But there’s one other reading that works even better for me, and I lift this directly from the great documentary The Celluloid Closet. This insight goes something like this: I watch and appreciate Practical Magic not for what it is but for all that I read into it, all that speaks to me beyond the surface. I don’t see Midnight Margaritas as a throwaway scene or as instrumental for forcing Sally and Gilly to deal with their mistakes. I read into it a world of intense female closeness that I rarely get to see onscreen. What gives me pleasure in this film is what I imagine in between the lines of its essential mediocrity.

Sally and her daughters

I remember so vividly Susie Bright, one of the commentators in The Celluloid Closet, describing how she spent her youth combing through old movies just to get to a single scene that seems a little bit queer. For LGBTQ persons who saw virtually no one who looked like them onscreen, “It’s amazing how, if you’re a gay audience and you’re accustomed to crumbs how you will watch an entire movie just to see a certain outfit that you think means that they’re a homosexual. The whole movie can be a dud, but you’re just sitting there waiting for Joan Crawford [in Johnny Guitar] to put on her black cowboy shirt again.”

Joan Crawford in Johnny Guitar

This is ultimately the reading that allows me to feel pleasure in watching this film without much guilt. It’s discouraging to realize that on some level, what I get from Practical Magic is what I don’t get very often onscreen: happy, complex, and intense relationships among women that aren’t just about appearing sexy and finding a man. I very seldom get to see onscreen relationships that look like the ones I enjoy with my friends and family. Sure, the movie concludes with a happy kiss between Sandra Bullock and Aidan Quinn — not that there’s anything wrong with that — but I’m arguing that the whole package sparks a happy endorphin rush for far different reasons.

Yes, there is a romantic happy ending.

And finally, let’s also not forget that this movie is about a family of witches. Witch being such a stand-in for bitch, as well as conveying all manner of notions about women’s powers, both dark and light. This film probably flies under my radar in part because it’s about women who possess powers that they can choose to use (or not). The false cheeriness of the music and the generally lame spells might well downplay as much as possible any sense of real danger — and probably seek to undermine objections from crazed evangelicals who might see this film as the work of the devil. Nevertheless, I’d argue that the subject matter can’t help but speak about power.

I see it as metaphorical. This is about women’s power — and their power in numbers. I may be trying very hard here to stop feeling so guilty about my appreciation for this film, but this works for me:

terrific cast
eminently likeable lead
great range of attractive men-folk
fantastic house
rich portrayals of women’s relationships
the movie facilitates queer readings against and/or alongside its mainstream messages
it’s about women’s power, and their power in numbers

I welcome your thoughts, quibbles, and good-natured derision for my poor taste in film!

Feminéma is a blog about feminism, cinéma, and popular culture kept by Didion, a university professor in Texas, who celebrates those rare moments when movies display unstereotyped characters and feature female directors and screenwriters behind the scenes. Most of all she just loves film. Take a look at feminema.wordpress.com.

‘Friends with Kids’ Preview: Leading a Stellar Cast, Writer/Director Jennifer Westfeldt Depicts an Unconventional Path to Parenthood

I’ve been excited to see Friends with Kids since last year when I heard it would reunite Bridesmaids castmates Kristen Wiig (omg do I love, love, LOVE her in Bridesmaids and on SNL!), Maya Rudolph (adore her in Away We Go and Up All Night), Chris O’Dowd (adorbs in Bridesmaids) and Jon Hamm (of course I swoon for Don Draper). When I discovered a woman wrote AND directed it, Jennifer Westfeldt in her directorial debut, my elation skyrocketed! No joke.

Written, directed, produced and starring actor Jennifer Westfeldt, Friends with Kids tells the story of two best friends Julie (Westfeldt) and Jason (Adam Scott), who decide to have a baby together while remaining platonic friends “so they can avoid the toll kids can take on romantic relationships.” It looks like a hilarious, awkward yet sweet ensemble comedy about friends navigating friendships, relationships and parenting.

A Tony and Indie Spirit Award nominated actor, Westfeldt is probably best known for her role as actor, co-writer and co-producer of the critically-acclaimed lesbian romantic comedy Kissing Jessica Stein. She also wrote and starred in Ira and Abby, a story of two strangers who get married. In an interview with Marie Claire, Westfeldt shared her inspiration for Friends with Kids, which stemmed from being out of sync with where your friends are in life:

“Four years ago, Jon’s and my friends started having babies, and everything became so kid-centric. You miss one-on-one time with your friend. When you’re childless and close friends become new parents, you suddenly feel left out, and that’s where the kernel of this idea came from.”

Adam Scott (who I crush on hardcore in his role as Ben Wyatt on Parks & Rec) and his wife Naomi Sablan have been friends for years with Westfeldt and her long-time partner Hamm. After reading the script, Scott realized he and his wife were those friends who pull away after they have a baby. As someone with friends who have kids, yep, this definitely happens but understandably so. Now, I don’t have babies and I don’t want them. Seeing my friends have babies doesn’t trigger any biological clock in me. But I really like Westfeldt’s idea of looking at parenthood in a non-traditional way from the perspective of two single people.

Being single doesn’t sound a death knell. Yet Hollywood would have you believe otherwise, especially if you’re a woman. The media also often shows only the glamorous, fairy-tale side of weddings, babies and relationships. I’m hoping Friends with Kids will tell a more authentic story. Too many people wait for their life to start, thinking events must progress in a certain order: college, career, marriage, home, baby. But why can’t you do things differently? Who’s to say you can’t have a baby without a relationship? Each of the 3 films Westfeldt has written share a theme of taking relationships and life choices and “turning the norm on its head,” choosing a different path than what convention dictates.

Earlier today, Melissa Silverstein wrote about the “depressing reality of women directed film in 2012” and how we need to generate more anticipation and buzz for upcoming films directed by women. With female writers comprising 24% of all writers in Hollywood, 17% in film and only 5% of women as directors, down from 7% in 2010 and 2009 (god that’s horrifying depressing and makes me cringe), it’s exciting to see a film written and directed by a woman that could potentially do well with both female and male audiences.

Now, I’m not saying films written, directed or starring women are automatically good. Some suck (although I always hate saying that since there aren’t nearly enough movies created by women). And I don’t know if Friends with Kids will be amazeballs, a feminist extravaganza! But I’m optimistically hopeful considering it co-stars two talented and hilarious female comedians (Rudolph and Wiig) and Westfeldt, the woman behind and in front of the camera, not only writes interesting female characters but also speaks openly that “there aren’t that many interesting roles for women in TV and film.”

We need to support women filmmakers if we ever hope for Hollywood to become more gender equitable. When Bridesmaids came out, Salon writer Rebecca Traister argued it was people’s “social responsibility” to go see it:

“Yes we can … buy tickets to a Kristen Wiig movie in an effort to persuade Hollywood that multidimensional women exist, spend money and deserve to be represented on film…we now inhabit an entertainment universe in which everything male-centered is standard, and everything female-centered is female…What that means in practical terms is that women will plonk down dollars to see a male-dominated action movie, a girl-gobbling horror flick, or a dude-centric comedy just as easily as they’ll pay for the kind of female-fueled movie that is literally made for them. Men, meanwhile, have apparently been so conditioned to find anything female emasculating (notwithstanding the expectation that their girlfriends find anything male, including “Thor,” scintillating) that they cannot be moved to sit through any movie with a fully developed woman at its center.”

With a film written and directed by a woman, with a stellar cast of talent, the same applies here: we need to vote with our dollars.

Westfeldt wasn’t initially going to direct but she stepped into the role of director in order to remain on the tight filming schedule. But that doesn’t mean Westfeldt doesn’t recognize the importance and power of female filmmakers:

“It’s really been a year of sisters doing it for themselves. At Sundance there were, like, five movies where women were writing roles for themselves. And the success of women like Lena Dunham and Miranda July and Tina Fey and now Kristen [Wiig], among others; it’s a pretty cool time to see how much has evolved in that regard…I’m happy to be part of that wave, and I’m inspired by how much of that is going on. It feels like there’s a wave happening of women taking a little more control of their own creative fates.”

Amen, sister! So in honor of all the “sisters doing it for themselves,” I will be seeing Friends with Kids this Friday (March 9th)…and I hope you all will too.

Oscar Best Supporting Actress Nominee: Melissa McCarthy in Bridesmaids

Oscar nominee Melissa McCarthy in Bridesmaids

This is a guest post from Janyce Denise Glasper.

“I swear to God, that dolphin looked not at me, but into my soul, into my goddamn soul, Annie, and said, ‘I’m saving you, Megan.’”

Is that not charmingly poetic?

Does that not make one want to jump into the rivers of the deep to find unlikely redemption into the eyes of a playful circus mammal?

Bridesmaids, a hysterically entertaining R-rated anti-chick flick that has women front and center and men taking the backseat is just one teeny tiny pivotal step in right direction, has received two Academy Award nominations- Best Original Screenplay and a Best Supporting Actress nod for Melissa McCarthy.

For a comedian to be nominated in a comedic role is rare in Academy Award history and, if anything, McCarthy’s performance is extraordinarily insightful and altogether wonderful because she expresses an impressively varied range. From downright funny, to adorably charming, to unapologetically unladylike and to fearless poignancy.

Now the story is that Lillian is getting married to her “Dougie” and what better than to have a pack of rambunctious ladies up for a most diverse bridal party–Annie, the poor, creative-minded maid of honor/best friend; Helen, the skinny rich bitch who often steals Annie’s thunder; Becca, the chipper, saccharinely-sweet newlywed; Rita, the pissed off housewife cousin of Lillian; and at last Megan, Doug’s sister, a wisecracking badass-guts-no-glory kind of woman.

Melissa McCarthy as bridesmaid Megan

Introduced to Annie by a very busy Lillian, Megan is demurely dressed in a starched blouse, black slacks, unkempt pulled-back hair, and au naturale complexion. Pacing and somewhat twirling around the dance floor, Megan is an isolated figure, fruity beverage in hand, and seems a bit out of place in room of glamorously dressed people, but the pearl necklace and matching earrings give her that upper crust belonging.

A survivor of a cruise ship fall with pins in her legs, Megan speaks of being miraculously rescued by a heroic, telepathic dolphin, every bit of her words strongly emphasized in devout conviction.

Certainly not delusions derived from nearly drowned unconsciousness, McCarthy’s vividly animated performance makes the viewers simultaneously find humor and pity from an otherwise dangerous plight without using the over-played sarcastic or classic “dumb girl” approach. Resonating such brilliance and infectious wit, one cannot help but adore the spitfire the actress makes Megan to be.

Megan knows he’s really an air marshall

Short, stout, and proud of her sexual dominance, she has traits that others would find downright masculine.

For example, while boasting about Lillian’s potentially insufferable life with her brother, she also throws in an odd curveball idea of having a shower theme of “Fight Club,” thinking ganging up and beating up the bride an unexpected twist, which shocks and stuns the bridal band.

However, the part that electrifies to the core is the scene towards the end where McCarthy expels a reality about the negative connotations of bullying that cannot be ignored, expressing where such bravado and strength materialized, and a courage that is downright fascinating to watch.

It’s this speech that triggers the emotions:

No, this was not easy going up and down the halls. Okay? They used to try to blow me up. They threw firecrackers at my head. Fire crackers. I mean literally. I’m not saying that figuratively. I got firecrackers thrown at my head. They called me a freak. Do you think I let that break me? Think I went home to my mommy crying; ‘Oh, I don’t have any friends. Oh, Megan doesn’t have any friends.’ No, I did not. You know what I did? I pulled myself up. I studied really hard. I read every book in the library and now I work for the government. I have the highest possible security clearance.

She is not the best friend or closest pal to Annie, but is the one person who comes to visit the blond basket case, albeit with nine puppies in tow. Warm and rife with valiant wisdom, Megan’s thoughtful encouragement and lighthearted advice get Annie out of a depressing, self-inflicted funk.

Anti-rainbows, pink bows, and fluffy chatter, Megan, an imperfectly flawed champion female, is such a viable role of which McCarthy deserves praise and many accolades for she is a richly funny, captivating and beautiful scene stealer.

Janyce Denise Glasper is a writer/artist running two silly blogs of creative adventures called Sugarygingersnap and AfroVeganChick. She enjoys good female centric film, cute rubber duckies, chocolate covered everything (except bugs!), Days of Our Lives, and slaying nightly demons Buffy style in Dayton, Ohio.

Oscar and Indie Spirit Best Picture Nominee: The Artist: "Peppy Miller, Wonder Woman"

This is a guest review by Candice Frederick.

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You know what they say—behind every man is a great woman.

And that’s made evident in the 1920s nostalgia-soaked silent film, The Artist. Although the movie beautifully captures the difficult fall of silent film star George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) from Hollywoodland heavyweight to Hollywoodland has-been, the movie’s heart lies with his heroine, Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo).

We first meet Peppy as a face in the crowd, scrambling to catch a glimpse of the one, the only George Valentin on the red carpet. Amid the glitz and glamour of the paparazzi swarming Hollywoodland’s biggest star, we see a “regular” girl. In fact, it’s Peppy’s ambiguity that sets her apart from said crowd. While all the other female fans are elbowing each other to get a chance to see their idol strike a pose on the red carpet, Peppy works her way to the front of the pack and just watches George, studying him. It’s like she sees the man behind the star, a man hidden from everyone else. A man she knocks off his feet.

That’s the thing about Peppy—it’s her authenticity that charms audiences. Unlike George’s man-made celebrity, which seduces his loveliest fans, Peppy’s unflinching compassion for those around her downright enchants the audience.

In that way, Peppy becomes George’s guardian angel. When his career begins to slide downhill, and his once marqueed name can’t even fill up a full row of seats at a theater, Peppy is the only one by his side, his number one fan when he has no one left. She picks him up when he hits rock bottom, when his pride stunts his career from forging ahead. As their careers see-saw one another, it is Peppy who remains the emotional compass throughout the entire film, the one who gets what George refuses to get.

This natural clairvoyance propels her own film ambitions. Peppy’s career skyrockets into superstardom, but, with the exception of one significant scene where she tries to play up her career by essentially downplaying those who came before her (like George), she remains unaffected by the Hollywood allure. It’s fascinating to watch a charismatic leading lady remain grounded even after her career takes off.

And it’s even more interesting to see her come to the rescue of her masculine counterpart, even if he did become a washed up star by the time of his rescuing. That’s something that would have never happened during the era the film is set in. In fact, Peppy would have more than likely have been drawn as a mere shallow competitor to George’s steadfast—however delusional—career. Since she was not written that way, it gives this wistful film the modern boost it needs to stand out.

But The Artist doesn’t just paint Peppy as George Valentin’s superhero. Peppy is also a trailblazing woman on her own. Much like many George before her, she knows how to play to a crowd and to the hungry paparazzi. She became such a power player in Hollywood that she was able to negotiate George’s reacceptance into Tinseltown after threatening to drop out of a project herself. That’s major move for a film actress, a bold one her part (that ended up paying off).

Peppy is that person you want in your corner—a bubbly (but not annoyingly so), impossibly adorable, smart, caring person with a good head on her shoulders. She never gets involved in any overblown scandal in order to get her name up in lights. She doesn’t sleep her way to the top of the Hollywood food chain. She never had to. All she was interested in was being a good friend, becoming an actor like her idol George, and spreading happiness to everyone along her path.

This all plays to the deep complexities of her character, which go far beyond uplifting the lead male character. Peppy is a strong character by herself, without even relating to George. They are both equally rounded characters who supply the substance in a movie that’s heightened by their stories and the actors who play them. Their relationship helps stack every layer of this film, therefore elevating it past its seemingly cursory exterior.

While we never really learn much information about Peppy’s background (she remains mostly anonymous on that front throughout the entire film), somehow we still feel as though she gives us a window to her soul. You relate to her, you empathize with her, and you cheer for her each time she steps in front of the camera. In short, Peppy has that likability factor that fans crave. How can they not? She practically waltzes from scene to scene and, before we know it, we’re smitten by her magic.

Although this season’s awards race may have you under the impression that Peppy is indeed a supporting character, Bejo’s performance of her will have you believing differently. Bejo brings out all the key qualities of Peppy in a performance that’s not emotionally powerful, but emotionally resounding nonetheless.

Even in silence, you hear the tapping of her shoes, the pep in her step, and her infectious laugh. How can a film with no words emit such a roaring character? Put Bejo front and center and she becomes one with the music. Every sympathetic look, impossibly happy reaction and playful gesture becomes a full fledged sympathy with Bejo. She doesn’t need any words, because the audience just knows. And, you know what, she and us are right here.

Too often people equate a good performance to one that’s grandiose, a powerhouse portrayal. Though some of those performances are in fact riveting, Bejo’s performance isn’t less so. She sparkles as Peppy, bringing out her magnetism as the gargantuan starlet she becomes, while also humanizing her and keeping her grounded. In other words, you take Peppy out of the City of Angels and she’d still be the same Peppy, girl wonder. Superhero to George Valentin, fallen star.

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Candice Frederick is an NABJ award-winning print journalist, film critic, and blogger for Reel Talk. She is also the co-host of Blog Talk Radio’s “Cinema in Noir.”