Samuel L. Jackson – Bitch Flicks

‘Kingsman: The Secret Service’: An R-Rated Movie for 4-Year-Old Boys

‘Kingsman: The Secret Service’ wants to remount the early campy Bond movies for the 21st century. Kind of like ‘Austin Powers’ did, but without so many jokes, because they detract from how coooooool these spy dudes are. We’re talking gadgets, one-liners, babes, convoluted action sequences, and brooding permitted only upon the death of one’s father or mentor.

Fuck Daniel Craig’s haunting pathos and Oscar-caliber cinematography. Bring on the shark lasers.

Colin Firth and Taron Egerton in 'Kingsman: The Secret Service' — Colin Firth and Taron Egerton in *Kingsman: The Secret Service*

This review contains spoilers, but… I really don’t think that matters.

Remember when we talked about how exciting it was to see a woman at the center of a power-fantasy id-gone-wild movie Jupiter Ascending? Kingsman: The Secret Service (which just happens to have been released only a week after Jupiter Ascending) is a PERFECT example of what we normally see from those movies. In short: White Dudes Rule.

Kingsman: The Secret Service wants to remount the early campy Bond movies for the 21st century. Kind of like Austin Powers did, but without so many jokes, because they detract from how coooooool these spy dudes are. We’re talking gadgets, one-liners, babes, convoluted action sequences, and brooding permitted only upon the death of one’s father or mentor.

Fuck Daniel Craig’s haunting pathos and Oscar-caliber cinematography. Bring on the shark lasers.

Trouble is, the filmmakers include a hefty dose of anglophilia in their love letter to early Bond, a fondness for the Empire Days that is inherently racist and also just really played out. (Director Matthew Vaughn, co-writer Jane Goldman, and source material authors Mark Millar and Dave Gibbons are all English or Scottish [and all white], but self-congratulatory anglophilia might be even more annoying than wannabe anglophilia. Keep Calm and Carry On Oppressing.)

Kingsman is an apolitical spy agency funded by a trust created when a bunch of aristocrats lost their heirs to World War I. There are a dozen (white, male) agents all named after the Knights of the Round Table. When one of them dies, each agent presents a candidate as a replacement, these candidates train together and face a series of potentially lethal elimination tests until there is only one. I am sure it will surprise you ZERO that the recruits are almost all white dudes, and the first person dispatched is a woman of color (leaving behind Sophie Cookson’s Roxy to play Smurfette for the rest of the movie). And that we’re meant to admire our working-class hero Eggsy (Taron Egerton) for his pluck and gumption standing up to the other candidates and their Eton educations. You break that glass ceiling, Eggsy.

"Do your best impersonation of a German aristocratic greeting" — “Do your best impersonation of a German aristocrat’s formal greeting”

And even though Eggsy is working-class, he’s still only in this position because of who his father is: a former recruit to Kingsman who threw himself on a grenade on his first mission, saving Eggsy’s sponsor and mentor Galahad (Colin Firth, having a lot of fun). Galahad grooms Eggsy to be a proper gentleman (in one of the movie’s best gags, he alludes to the transformations in Trading Places and Pretty Woman, only to have Eggsy respond, “Oh you mean like in My Fair Lady?”), which is an integral part of his spy training because the only thing cooler than being an upper-class British person is becoming an upper-class British person, I guess. I am not lying when I say that the graduation present from the Kingsman academy is a bespoke bulletproof suit.

Samuel L. Jackson as the villainous Valentine

MEANWHILE, evil villains plot. And would you believe that the evil villains are PEOPLE OF COLOR? Whaat. No. Gasp! Shock. Truth be told, the villains are BY FAR the best part of the movie. We have Samuel L. Jackson as Valentine, an environmentalist communications mogul, if such a thing exists, and his right-hand-woman Gazelle (Sofia Boutella), who has two prosthetic bladed legs she uses as deadly weapons. I don’t fully understand the motivation behind Jackson’s lisping, peacocking approach to his character, but I always appreciate when he has the chance to play something other than Samuel L. Jackson. He made me laugh a lot. Boutella’s Gazelle is the perfect reincarnation of the mostly-silent, inexplicably loyal, undeniably badass Bond villain sidekick, and it is cool to see a disabled character be the best fighter in the room. But it sucks to see a bunch of “gentlemanly” white people battle a flashy black man and his buxom-but-deadly assistant. Again.

Sofia as Gazelle — Sofia Boutella as Gazelle

There’s a chance for some not-entirely-gross class commentary to make its way into Kingsman, but it’s wasted in favor of more extreme violence. You see, Valentine’s evil plan is basically to trigger the plot of Stephen King’s Cell: he gives away billions of sim cards, and then unleashes a signal that makes people near those sim cards go on violent rampages. He sells protective implants to the rich and powerful and provides an oasis for them to sit out this bloody culling of Earth’s population. (The rich and powerful who refuse to play Valentine’s game are locked in a dungeon. This list for some reason includes Iggy Azalea.) The implants can also be triggered to explode, giving Valentine a kill switch for every one of the world’s rich and powerful.

Eggsy with Michael Caine's Arthur, the leader of Kingsman — Eggsy with Michael Caine’s Arthur, the leader of Kingsman

Remember when I said there were going to be spoilers? Here are the spoilers. Eggsy finds out the head of Kingsman (Michael Caine) has one of the implants and is allowing the plot to move forward. When Eggsy goes on to thwart the evil plan, he triggers all the implants to explode. We watch a glorious montage of cartoonish mushroom clouds erupting from the necks of the world’s elite: from heads of state (including our president) to the socialites sipping champagne while waiting out the apocalypse in Valentine’s bunker.

If the movie ended there this would be a much more positive review. There’d be cool, meaty ideas here about Kingsman being corruptible because of its ties to aristocracy, and our working-class hero actually bringing about the revolution the villain only pretended to want by eliminating the 1 percent rather than seeking to control them. But, well, Matthew Vaughn wanted to shoot some really disgusting bloodbath scenes.

So Valentine gets his signal out for several minutes, and we cut around the world to regular people horribly murdering their loved ones and anyone else in proximity. Eggsy and co. eventually stop it, but it is clear that more of these literally poor innocent bastards ended up dead than the jerks who signed up for implants. I have a problem disassociating from mass destruction in movies, and I got really sad about how the world would be irrevocably broken by this slaughter, when the movie wanted me to be laughing about Eggsy getting “rewarded” with butt sex with a Swedish princess for “saving the world.” Yes, really.

I am, of course, overthinking it. Kingsman: The Secret Service is a very silly movie. I can barely remember the Spy Kids films, although I must have watched the first two 30 times back in my babysitting days, but I think this is pretty much Spy Kids + mild gore, sex jokes, and f-bombs. This is a movie made for your inner-4-year-old, but it’s only fully effective if your inner-4-year-old is a white boy.

Robin Hitchcock is a Pittsburgh-based writer whose blood is probably 6 percent Nyquil at this point. Take your vitamins and wash your hands, people.

Never Judge a Trailer–‘Kingsman: The Secret Service’

Thank goodness for well-placed billboards in Hollywood. I was driving through West Hollywood and saw a spectacular billboard of the Algerian-born actress Sofia Boutella, who plays Jackson’s villainous side-kick, Gazelle. She was leaping in the air, her two bladed prosthetic legs in mid-splits. Now I was curious. A fellow cinefile suggested we go check it out. “But the trailer was so boring,” I whined. “The young hero looks like a snarky dudebro brat with a cockney accent.” I thought about that Sofia Boutella billboard again. She looked so… badass.

Kingsman: The Secret Service Directed by Matthew Vaughn. Written by Matthew Vaughn and Jane Goldman. — *Kingsman: The Secret Service.* Directed by Matthew Vaughn. Written by Matthew Vaughn and Jane Goldman.

Written by Lisa Bolekaja.

I was not planning on viewing Kingsman: The Secret Service at all. I saw the trailers and just thought “Meh.” I wasn’t particularly impressed with the short scenes I saw with the main character, Gary “Eggsy” Unwin (Taron Egerton), the young up-and-coming super spy. To be quite honest, I wasn’t sure I could take Colin Firth seriously as a master spy-action hero. I’m so used to him playing dignified English characters like his stint in the Pride and Prejudice TV mini series, or his brilliant turn in The King’s Speech (for which Firth won a Best Actor Academy Award). Finally, I just wasn’t up to sitting through another movie with Samuel L. Jackson in it. Love me some Samuel, but for God’s sake Hollywood, the only Black men you know and love on the regular are Samuel L. Jackson and Morgan Freeman. Can we get some variety in the quest for diversity? Sheesh. (In the end I must admit, Samuel won me over, even with that awful acting choice of having a speech impediment. My movie buddy suggested that he was channeling Russell Simmons or Mike Tyson. It was so annoying.) But then I saw it was written and directed by Matthew Vaughn. I liked his work in the past. I was willing to put this on my radar.

I am so glad I went to see Kingsman: The Secret Service. It is the most fun I’ve had at a movie in a long time. And I am so mad about what I feel is bad marketing. The trailer doesn’t do this movie justice. I’m so afraid people won’t see this winner of a film because the TV ads misrepresent what the story is really about. It’s not the story of a know-it-all, can-do-it-all smart ass. It’s really about the commitment to build up a community and not just an individual. Eggsy doesn’t become a one-man hit squad who saves the world by his individual skills and charm. It takes a team of three working together to save mankind. This highlighting of the team over the individual, and also the subtle conversations about class prejudice and the dismantling of homogenous upper class-centered recruitment within the world of the Kingsman society is refreshing and very exciting to watch. And who knew Colin Firth would turn out to be a kickass, low-key sexy, action hero with swagger? Also, Luke Skywalker is in this thing. Shut up.

Eggsy (Taron Egerton) is the odd man out in this elitist squad of wanna-be secret spies.

Basic set-up (without giving too much away), Eggsy’s father was a Kingsman recruit of Harry, (Colin Firth) in the 90s, who was killed while Eggsy was a little boy. Fast-forward 17 years later and young Eggsy has turned into a car thief and troublemaker who seeks out help from the Kingsman when he finds himself in a rough patch with jail time attached. Harry comes back into Eggsy’s life with an offer of a lifetime: the opportunity to follow in his father’s footsteps by going through a rigourous selection process to become a Kingsman. There is only one spot available and several recruits vying for that position, including two females. The rest of the film is amusing recruitment tests and outstanding action sequences. Brutality in action scenes has never been so beautifully choreographed. Let’s just say that the “church scene” sequence will stay with folks as a highlight of the film. Colin Firth makes Chuck Norris look like a pre-schooler.

Harry (Colin Firth) gives Eggsy the opportunity of a lifetime.

Fight scenes aside, Kingsman: The Secret Service doesn’t treat the two main women characters as potential love-interests or people without their own agency. I was so thrilled that the lone female character vying for a Kingsman spot, Roxy (Sophie Cookson) is never reduced to the girl as potential partner/jump-off, nor is Eggsy set-up to be enamored by her. They are both equals trying to win, and when Eggsy does have a moment where he helps Roxy overcome a fear, he treats her the way he would any male buddy in the same tight spot. I kept waiting for the obligatory romantic relationship building scenes, and was relieved when they never happened. Roxy holds her own. She’s smart, a team player, thinks on her feet, and is a solid loyal friend to Eggsy. She has all the qualities a good Kingsman needs. The actress, newcomer Sophie Cookson, is a real delight to watch. I expect more roles coming her way soon.

Roxy (Sophie Cookson) has no fucks to give. I am here for that.

Samuel L. Jackson, who plays the billionaire Richmond Valentine, depends on his warrior/computer expert Gazelle, and she never lets him down. Highly intelligent, tech savvy and deadly with her leg blades, Gazelle is a standout character in this movie. Even more so with the casting of Sofia Boutella as Gazelle. Sofia has a world class face that draws you in to watch her every move. Casting a woman who looks like Boutella added so much richness to the film. It would’ve been so easy and typical to cast a Scarlett Johansson-type white female in this role. I’m so glad that didn’t happen. Sofia Boutella needs to be cast in more films. Although it doesn’t step near the Bechdel Test, both Roxy and Gazelle breathe life into the movie. I dare say that if neither of them were in it, the movie would only be half as good.

My new "It" Girl. Sofia Boutella. Algerian born, Paris-bred, Badassery of the highest order. More of her please. — My new “It” Girl. Sofia Boutella. Algerian born, Paris-bred, Badassery of the highest order. More of her please.

I am happy to say that Eggsy was not the character I thought he was going to be when I saw the trailer. Taron Egerton is perfectly cast. He imbues Eggsy with a rakish charm and vulnerability that endears you to his struggling working-class roots. He just wants to do better to help his mother and baby sister. The other recruits make fun of his lack of a prestigious university degree, and less than savory family pedigree. His bludgeoning of the King’s English was the first giveaway that he was not one of their kind. However it is Harry (Colin Firth) who champions the recruiting of Kingsman from different backgrounds. There is a sense that given time, Kingsman recruits won’t also be all white as they are now. Harry has a slight clashing of words with Michael Caine, who plays the Head Kingsman, Arthur. Arthur criticizes Harry for choosing Eggsy as a candidate, and it is clear that Arthur has a disdain for anyone without the right (unblemished white) credentials. But Harry will not be moved from his choices. He knows that diversity and new blood from new social groups will make the Kingsman stronger than ever. Inbreeding makes the team weak, and as we follow Eggsy to the end, we know that Harry is correct in his thinking. Reveling in the fun that is Kingsman: The Secret Service, I wish the Oscars and Hollywood would take heed of Harry’s example.

Arthur (Michael Caine) is all for inbred whiteness. We not 'bout that life no more Hollywood. — Arthur (Michael Caine) is all for inbred whiteness. We not ’bout that life no more Hollywood.

Professional raconteur and pop culture agitator, Lisa Bolekaja can be found on Twitter @LisaBolekaja or co-hosting on Hilliard Guess’ Screenwriters Rant Room (Stitcher and Itunes). Her newest short stories can be found in the forthcoming SF anthology How to Survive on Other Planets: A Guide For Aspiring Aliens from Upper Rubber Boot Publications and an upcoming issue of Uncanny Magazine. She will try not to judge a movie by its trailer again. At least this month.

Eve and the Second Sight

The story of Eve also elevates the image of Black women as the foundation of families. This element becomes most important as the film progresses.

This guest post by Rachel Wortherley appears as part of our theme week on Black Families.

Eve’s Bayou (1997) begins with the haunting lines: “The summer I killed my father I was 10 years old, my brother Poe was 9, and my sister Cisely had just turned 14.” With this preamble is the expectation of the tragic to occur. While the core of a majority of Black family dramas involves tragedy in the form of slavery, poverty, or mental/physical abuse, Kasi Lemmons’ directorial debut reinvents the way audiences view Black families. On a rare occasion, the story of a Black family is allowed to be told through the eyes of a Black female protagonist. Eve’s Bayou is in part a “coming of age” drama.

The history of the Batiste family of Louisiana lies in their ancestry. Eve, an African slave, saved a French aristocrat, Jean-Paul Batiste, from cholera. In return, Batiste granted her freedom and named the island in Louisiana, after her. In turn, Eve bore Batiste 16 children. Ten-year-old Eve Batiste (Jurnee Smollett), the story’s protagonist, is named after her and is a descendant of Eve and Jean-Paul Batiste. The fact that their ancestry is an integral part of their lives reveals several things: the first being that they clearly know who they are in terms of culture. Through the sordid decades of slavery, Blacks in America have little to no knowledge of their genealogy. It is a part of our past that is not clearly defined. However, in Eve’s Bayou, their background is not only acknowledged but embraced. They can often be heard speaking French phrases throughout the film. The story of Eve also elevates the image of Black women as the foundation of families. This element becomes most important as the film progresses.

The first time audiences meet the Batiste family, we are immediately thrust into a world that is uncharted and unfamiliar for most Black families in motion pictures, as well as the audiences. The hot sound of jazz fills the Victorian mansion, women are dressed in fine satins, and laughter fills the air. The young Eve appears and immediately incites mischief upon her brother Poe (Jake Smollett), while her sister, Cisely (Meagan Good), reprimands them, likening them to William Shakespeare’s Tybalt and Mercutio. Louis Batiste (Samuel L. Jackson) is their father and a successful, beloved doctor in the community. Their mother, Roz (Lynn Whitfield) is a homemaker, whose beauty is referenced throughout the film. There appears to be a strong family dynamic and they are living the quintessential American dream. Here, the Black family to audiences is “normalized” to a general American landscape. This factor becomes a metaphor for the supernatural aspects—the gift of second sight—of the film. Lemmons forces her audience to see beyond what is generally depicted about a Black family in the 1950s.

While the traditional family dynamic is important in the film, the coming of age aspect is even more so instrumental to the plot. When audiences first meet Eve, we see through her eyes how she feels marginalized within the family dynamic. She suffers from the classic “middle child” syndrome. Poe, her younger brother, is the quintessential “mama’s boy” to Roz, while Cisely is the clandestine “daddy’s girl” to Louis. Eve finds kinship in her aunt Mozelle (Debbi Morgan). Both share two qualities: their beautiful red hair and the gift of second sight. Not only do Eve and Mozelle see the future, but they are hyper-aware of their surroundings. This becomes especially significant when Eve becomes cognizant of her father’s infidelity. This realization not only disrupts the harmonious father-daughter relationship, but ultimately changes their family dynamic.

Louis’ penchant for adultery is not something that is usually portrayed in stories about Black families. Largely, Black fathers are either portrayed as: physically/emotionally absent or highly upstanding. In comedies, fathers are most likely the source of comic relief, while his wife is the “straight man” and the situational aspects generally focus on him or he is involved in some manner in the resolution. A current example of this is ABC’s Black-ish, while earlier incarnations are The Cosby Show, and The Jeffersons. I think that in Lemmons’ film, as well as Spike Lee’s Jungle Fever, fathers are portrayed as loving, yet flawed. Louis is undoubtedly a serial adulterer, but that does not change his affection toward his children.

When Eve discovers Louis’ infidelity she and Cisely begin to either cling to or detach themselves from him. Eve accompanies him on his house calls—once he closes the door in Eve’s face to give a patient what can be presumed “sexual healing.” This later prompts Eve to question, “Do you ever want other children besides us?” Louis assures her by telling her that he loves her mother, but the seed of distrust was planted the night of the party when she witnessed his infidelity in the shed with family friend, Mrs. Matty Mereaux. Cisely begins to cling to her father. She waits up for him at night when he arrives home late from house calls and pours him a drink to assuage his stress. Cisely also contends with Roz, who scolds Louis about his late nights. Cisely sees her mother as the antagonist who is driving her father out of their lives. This anxiety arguably prompts the “kiss of death” that transpires between Louis and Cisely.

The kiss that occurs between Cisely and her father is what Eve thinks led to his subsequent death. Cisely confides to Eve that one night, she went to comfort her father and a sexual kiss was exchanged. At her resistance he slaps her to the grown and a look of rage filled his eyes. This admission prompts Eve to procure the local witch, Elzora (Diahann Carroll), to cast a spell of death. However, the night that Louis is killed, something within Eve prompts her to attempt to save her father. In going to the town bar to bring him home, it is likely that Eve has reservations about how he hurt Cisely. But it is hard to not believe her sister when Eve has witnessed her father’s distrust on a number of occasions. Yet, it is too late, Mr. Mereaux in a crime of passion, shoots Louis dead, with Eve as witness. This moment leaves Eve forever changed, even more so when she discovers that Louis did not molest Cisely. Rather Cisely’s prominent memory is that Louis hurt her. Symbolically this means that everything Cisely disbelieved about her father to be true.

It is significant that in the beginning of the film, adult Eve states: “The summer I killed my father I was 10 years old, my brother Poe was 9, and my sister Cisely had just turned 14.” Whereas at the end she says: “The summer my father said goodnight I was 10 years old, my brother Poe was 9, and my sister Cisely had just turned 14. ” This changing in lines demonstrates that Eve accepts that her father’s death was not of her provocation, but his own.

The death of Louis allows for several new things to occur. It brings Roz closer to her children, it allows Eve to understand that not everything is “black and white,” and most significantly, women continue to be the foundation of their family. Though Poe is the sole male in their household, perhaps upbringing from Roz, Cisely, Eve, and Mozelle will influence him on how to respect women. However, Cisely and Eve are missing years in their adolescence in which fatherly love and influence is key. Yet there is not the sense that the sisters will stray. The indicator of this lies in the final shot as Eve destroys Louis’ letter in which he reveals the miscommunication between him and Cisely. Ten-year-old Eve assumes the role of her ancestor Eve by nurturing her sister. As they stand together, hand in hand, looking out across the bayou, they intend to deal with this situation and future hardships together. Eve’s Bayou ultimately becomes about how women and sisters look beyond tragedy to find strength in one another.

Rachel Wortherley is a graduate of Iona College in New Rochelle, New York and holds a Master of Arts degree in English. Her downtime consists of devouring copious amounts of literature, television shows, and films. She hopes to gain a doctorate in English literature and become a professional screenwriter.

Lack of Strong Female Characters in ‘RoboCop’ Reboot

To be honest, with ‘RoboCop (2014)’ I was expecting a fairly straightforward attempt to cash in on late 80s nostalgia with a shiny, lightweight, brand-recognition film. I expected that the oppressively satiric nature of the original would be lost or watered-down, and that character development would take a back seat to gunplay and explosions. And I was… sort of wrong. The most poignant scene came in the first few minutes of the movie and featured a convoy of military drones clearing a village in the Middle East. Through the cold eyes of an unfeeling news crew, we’re very quickly confronted with the question of what constitutes ethical use of drones when civilians are in the line of fire.

Joel Kinniman as Alex Murphy in "RoboCop" (2014) — Joel Kinniman as Alex Murphy in “RoboCop” (2014)

Written by Andé Morgan.

It would be reckless to examine RoboCop (2014) without first considering the original film. RoboCop (1987) is widely considered one the benchmark movies of the late 1980s and for good reason. While it superficially resembled its “light” action movie and sci-fi contemporaries, RoboCop (1987) was something special. The film had it all: heady themes, iconic imagery, and that essential 80s feel (i.e., FORD TAURUS EVERYWHERE). Most importantly, it was a Paul Verhoeven film.

Verhoeven is the Dutch director and filmmaker behind RoboCop (1987), Total Recall (1990), Basic Instinct (1992), and Starship Troopers (1997). He was born in 1938 in the Netherlands. In 1943, his family moved to The Hauge, the location of the Nazi headquarters in the Netherlands during WWII. His neighborhood was bombed repeatedly during the war; fascism, death, and destruction became a part of his childhood life. Consequently, it’s no surprise that Verhoeven’s creative hallmark is a combination of visceral violence and omnipresent socio-political satire.

RoboCop (1987) was Verhoeven’s breakout film in the United States. In the near future, Detroit is about to implode due to financial mismanagement, corruption, and crime (sound familiar?). To stave off the collapse, the city government has made a deal with Omni Consumer Products (OCP) to essentially privatize the flailing police force in exchange for allowing the company to raze the slums and build a shiny corporate kingdom, Delta City, within the shell of Detroit. Towards that end, OCP has directed its robotics division to develop law enforcement droids (including the iconic ED-209). In order to test a cyborg design, OCP needs fresh meat, so they assign officers, including Alex Murphy (Peter Weller) and his partner Anne Lewis (Nancy Allen), to unusually dangerous beats in the hope that they’ll be killed. Murphy is brutally murdered in the line of duty, and his body is transferred to the “RoboCop” program. While he is initially successful at enforcing the law and reducing crime, RoboCop/Murphy soon begins to struggle with memories of his past life with his wife and child.

The original cut of the movie was so violent for the times that it received a X rating. The film was filled with satirical elements that addressed themes of media callousness, desensitization to violence, unchecked capitalism, authoritarianism, political hypocrisy, and gender equality. Some elements were subtle and some were not so subtle (e.g., my favorite, the Nukem board game). However, it’s also worth noting that a more primary theme was the question: What makes a man a man? Phallic imagery is strong. For example, the question itself is prompted in our minds by the conspicuous absence of a penis structure between RoboCop’s legs. Is a man still a man if he is mostly metal, and he no longer has a penis? The answer is yes, as long as he has a big-ass gun. In one scene, we see RoboCop shoot an attempted rapist in the junk, thereby using his penis-equivalent firearm to assert his masculinity by destroying the male genitals of his rival. In another, penultimate scene, Murphy uses his long, pointy “interface spike” to kill the main antagonist.

While feminist author Susan Faludi (I know you’re not a flapper, please don’t send me letters) said that RoboCop (1987) was one of “an endless string of war and action movies [in which] women are reduced to mute and incidental characters or banished altogether,” one could argue that the Anne Lewis character was hardly inconsequential. Rene Denfeld, for example, referred to Anne Lewis as an example of a notabley “independent and smart” female character. I agree more with Denfeld’s assessment. While Allen’s character did sometimes stray into squadette cliches, she certainly could not be described as a faux action woman. The relatively equitable nature of her relationship with Murphy is a standout for the era.

The reboot, directed by José Padilha, is not a line for line, scene for scene, reproduction. In the new story, OCP robots (“drones” is the term used in the film to keep things contemporary) are in widespread use overseas by the military. Pesky (and unusually effective) politicians have been successful in preventing the domestic use of drone technology. To exploit a legal loophole, OCP CEO Raymond Sellars (Michael Keaton) wants his scientist, Dr. Dennett Norton (Gary Oldman), to make a new, legal law enforcement cyborg. Detective Alex Murphy (Joel Kinnaman) is, conveniently, critically injured by a bomb planted under his car on the order of a local crime boss. Norton picks Murphy for the RoboCop program. Murphy rejects his new robotic life and asks to be euthanized, but Norton persuades him to carry on for his wife, Clara (Abbie Cornish), and their son.

To be honest, with RoboCop (2014), I was expecting a fairly straightforward attempt to cash in on late 80s nostalgia with a shiny, lightweight, brand-recognition film. I expected that the oppressively satiric nature of the original would be lost or watered-down and that character development would take a back seat to gunplay and explosions. And I was… sort of wrong. The most poignant scene came in the first few minutes of the movie and featured a convoy of military drones clearing a village in the Middle East. Through the cold eyes of an unfeeling news crew, we’re very quickly confronted with the question of what constitutes the ethical use of drones when civilians are in the line of fire.

In fact, the film is heavy (and by heavy, I mean Samuel L. Jackson heavy; dude was in like every other scene) on the satire from start to finish, but it just isn’t as well done as in the original. The movie feels a bit sanitized, rendered, and dour. Aside from the references to drones, corporate greed, and media callousness, where was the satire of rampant consumerism, of police fascism? The violence (and there is a lot of gunplay) is video-gamey and bloodless. In the original, Murphy is horrifically gunned down with shotguns; in the remake, he’s very neatly blown up by a car bomb. The city of Detroit is an afterthought; the movie might as well have been set in Richmond. Keaton was just weird as the CEO of OCP; he seemed to be constantly doing an impression of William Shatner doing an impression of Steve Jobs. It was off-putting. Oldman was fine, though the impact of his performance was somewhat limited by hammy dialogue.

RoboCop (1987) was not a feminist movie. For example, neither it nor the 2014 version passed the Bechdel test. But Anne Lewis’ character in the original was, arguably, a well-received, distinctive feminist character. So why did the studio decide to go with a male cop for the remake (Michael K. Williams as Jack Lewis)? The only female cops we see are behind desks; all of the detectives are men. Marianne Jean-Baptise does stand out, briefly, as the Black Boss Lady Chief of Police Dean. While Kinniman is passable as Murphy, Cornish spends the entire movie going from room to room to either hold her son or cry a single tear.

RoboCop (2014) is certainly not the worst action movie to be released recently, and it is probably better than the 49 percent rating it currently has on Rotten Tomatoes. That being said, the best thing I can say about the movie is that it might prompt folks to watch the original.

Andé Morgan lives in Tucson, Arizona, where they write about culture, race, politics, and LGBTQ issues. Follow them @andemorgan.

5 People Who Should Host the Oscars At Some Point

When Seth MacFarlane was picked to host the 2013 Academy Awards, my esteemed colleague Robin Hitchcock wrote a list of preferable hosts, including the Oogieloves, the Romney sons, and Jennifer Aniston handcuffed to Angelina Jolie. I share many of Robin’s criticisms of him and his mean style of comedy that continually marginalizes already-marginalized people. Occasionally, his jokes can make me laugh very hard (such as the “Fuck You, Thunder!” song from Ted), but those occasions are increasingly rare. I also can’t understand the logic behind picking MacFarlane even from a ratings standpoint; are fans of Seth MacFarlane’s comedy really going to tune into the Academy Awards instead of Seth MacFarlane’s animated shows that air at the same time? Even if the episodes are reruns that night?

A rare inspired bit of MacFarlane comedy

Anyway, MacFarlane’s hosting is a done deal, and I’m going to watch the ceremony no matter who’s hosting. Who knows? Maybe he’ll be a pleasant surprise. For future ceremonies, though, I’d like to see the Academy stop trying to appeal to a younger demographic (remember that disaster with James Franco and Anne Hathaway?) and stick to picking people who will just do a good job. Here are my suggestions for future Oscar hosts, presented in no particular order.

1. Tom Hanks
I would love for the Academy to break its pattern of picking straight white guys, believe me, but I’ll make an exception for Tom Hanks, because Tom Hanks needs to host the Oscars.Tom Hanks is a national treasure. He’s a very good actor, personable, hilarious, and willing to take the piss out of everyone and everything, especially himself. I still remember Steve Martin’s joke from his first hosting gig: “There’s been an update in the plot to kidnap Russell Crowe, and all I have to say is – Tom Hanks, I’m very ashamed of you.” Martin’s joke was funny enough on its own, but then the camera cut to Hanks in the audience looking shame-faced and mouthing, “I’m sorry,” which made it hilarious and memorable.

Also, he did slam poetry about Full House on Jimmy Fallon’s show.

Tom Hanks is a likable guy, and his humor is very surprising and unpredictable without being obnoxiously “edgy” in a “look at me, I’m so edgy because I’m un-PC!” way. Make it happen, Academy.

2. Emma Thompson

Homer Simpson once said about Daniel Craig, “Is America ready for a British James Bond?” (Oh, Homer. Never change.) Others may have a similar question about Emma Thompson: “Is America ready for a British Oscar host?” Well, this American is. Emma Thompson is a multi-talented, classy lady, a renowned actress (and my personal favorite). Sometimes people forget how funny she can be. If you need a reminder, check out her Golden Globes acceptance speech for Sense and Sensibility, where her speech was written in the style of Jane Austen.

Sure, Jane Austen-related humor isn’t going to appeal to every Oscar viewer, but Thompson is versatile in the type of comedy she can do (and has done). She’s charming and witty, and she’d probably completely outclass the joint, which is why the Academy would never pick her, but they should.

3. Neil Patrick Harris and Jane Lynch

Two obvious choices, as they’ve both hosted award shows in recent history, but why not have them host together in an awesomely funny LGBTQ duo? They both know how to sing and dance, they had comic chemistry in the one episode of Glee they did together, and their stars are both on the rise without any sign of stopping.

I want to see this pair in action. Harris is halfway to a hosting EGOT already (if there were such a thing), and I still laugh when I remember this joke from Lynch at the Emmys: “People have often asked me why I’m a lesbian. Ladies and gentlemen, the cast of Entourage!”

4. Samuel L. Jackson

Everyone likes Samuel L. Jackson. If I meet a person who dislikes Samuel L. Jackson, I automatically find that person untrustworthy. I haven’t seen him in any kind of hosting capacity, but he’s got a great sense of humor and natural charm, and he’s one of the few potential Oscar hosts that could appeal to the stuffy Academy snobs and the populist youth demographic the Academy desperately courts every year.

Also, consider this: if Samuel L. Jackson hosts the Oscars, we can have a montage of Samuel L. Jackson movies at some point, because why not? (Side note: he totally should’ve been nominated for Django Unchained, by the way.)

5. The Muppets

You think I am kidding. I am not. I don’t care if the pupeteering logistics would make this difficult. Kermit would be the best host ever, Miss Piggy could try to steal attention from the other actresses, Fozzie could write all of the awards patter, and Gonzo can choreograph stunts and chicken dance numbers set to the Best Original Score nominees while Statler & Waldorf heckle them. We can even have the Sesame Street Muppets make an appearance so there can be an actual Oscar at the Oscars.

This needs to happen.

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.

5 People Who Should Host the Oscars At Some Point

A rare inspired bit of MacFarlane comedy

1. Tom HanksI would love for the Academy to break its pattern of picking straight white guys, believe me, but I’ll make an exception for Tom Hanks, because Tom Hanks needs to host the Oscars.Tom Hanks is a national treasure. He’s a very good actor, personable, hilarious, and willing to take the piss out of everyone and everything, especially himself. I still remember Steve Martin’s joke from his first hosting gig: “There’s been an update in the plot to kidnap Russell Crowe, and all I have to say is – Tom Hanks, I’m very ashamed of you.” Martin’s joke was funny enough on its own, but then the camera cut to Hanks in the audience looking shame-faced and mouthing, “I’m sorry,” which made it hilarious and memorable.

Also, he did slam poetry about Full House on Jimmy Fallon’s show.

3. Neil Patrick Harris and Jane Lynch

5. The Muppets

This needs to happen.

Lady T is a writer 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 www.theresabasile.com.

The Power of Narrative in ‘Django Unchained’

“The past is never dead. It’s not even past.” – William Faulkner

Written by Leigh Kolb

Spoilers ahead

In 2011, two presidential hopefuls signed a pledge that, in its original form, insinuated that African-American children had families that were more cohesive and better off during slavery.

Texas and Tennessee both in the last two years have seen school boards and political activist groups push K-12 curriculum that “softens” slavery references, explores the “positive aspects of American slavery” and downplays minority struggles throughout American history.

A southern governor issued a proclamation for Confederate History Month with no references to slavery in 2010.

Quentin Tarantino’s Django Unchained, an anti-slavery revenge fantasy (based more in fact than fiction) was released just a few days before the 150th anniversary of the Emancipation Proclamation, which was passed on Jan. 1, 1863 (however, it would be almost three more years until slavery was outlawed in the United States with the Thirteenth Amendment).

If you find the above information upsetting–that many are trying to whitewash a history so fresh and raw (after all, 150 years is not that long ago)–then Django Unchained is for you. If you don’t find the above information jarring, then perhaps the film is especially for you.

Tarantino has been candid in many interviews about his desire to showcase this time in American history (the film is set in 1858, two years before the start of the Civil War). His 2009 film Inglourious Basterds was a Holocaust revenge fantasy–not historically accurate, but emotionally fulfilling. Django Unchained‘s fiction isn’t as factually inaccurate, but the cathartic nature of looking at a historical horror through the lens of revenge is still there.

Tarantino recently explained this catharsis on NPR:

“… to actually take an action story and put it in that kind of backdrop where slavery or the pain of World War II is the backdrop of an exciting adventure story — that can be something else. And then in my adventure story, I can have the people who are historically portrayed as the victims be the victors and the avengers.”

He goes on:

“You know, there’s not this big demand for, you know, movies that deal with the darkest part of America’s history, and the part that we’re still paying for to this day. They’re scared of how white audiences are going to feel about it; they’re scared about how black audiences are going to feel about it.”

This fear is certainly understandable, since America’s history of slavery, racism and subjugation is still, in many ways, a taboo topic (or a topic rife with revisionism). Django Unchained, however, does everything right.

The opening scene of the film is a line of raw, whipped black backs. This image is not foreign to audiences–people are generally well-versed in that aspect of violence against slaves. The image is awful and uncomfortable, but eases the audience in to this time period with something familiar. As the film progresses, layers of violence and misery are peeled back until audiences are squirming and uncomfortable. As they should be.

For the first part of the film, Dr. King Schultz (Christoph Waltz) and Django (Jamie Foxx) are portrayed as partners. Both have stories, and basically split the role of protagonist. Schultz frees Django to aid in his bounty hunting. In their time together, Schultz teaches Django to read, shoot and “act” however he needed to in order to accomplish his goals.

Schultz teaches Django how to shoot and read, granting him access to the free world.

The poignant scenes where Schultz and Django are eating together in their camp highlight the importance of authentic voices. They ask one other questions and learn one another’s stories. Schultz acts shocked when he learns that Django’s wife, Broomhilda (Kerry Washington), speaks German. He was intrigued by their story, and asked Django about her and their life together.

The importance of the authentic voice and hearing people tell their own stories is essential. How, then, can Tarantino, a white man in 2012, effectively bring the injustice of slavery to mass audiences?

The answer can really be found in the film itself.

Schultz tells Django the legend of Brünnhilda (which mirrors Django’s own journey for his wife). Django asks Schultz why he is helping him, and why he cares whether he finds his wife, and Schultz answers, “I’ve never given anybody their freedom before. I feel responsible for you.”

This responsibility to give Django access to the free world is similar to Tarantino’s responsibility to bring this black empowerment film to mass audiences. It’s about access, not help or hand outs. Access is what white Americans (especially white American males) still have at this point, and they should be responsible for sharing that access with others and telling important stories. Tarantino’s popularity and neutrality (as a white man with no other “agenda”) gave access to this story.

Could a black man have made a film with a celebrated hero who says, “Kill white people and get paid for it? What’s not to like?” I can’t imagine that would have had the same mass appeal. While I’m not suggesting that this is a fair or good scenario, that’s where we are in our history. And if we’re going to continue to have people downplaying our nation’s history of oppression and “softening” slavery, we need these stories more than ever.

As this access is granted to Django, the story becomes more and more his own. He changes after the first bounty kill. Two men are getting ready to whip an enslaved woman; Django shoots the one who is quoting Bible passages and holding the Bible (he shoots him through a Bible page that is stapled to his shirt) and whips the other. He has claimed his place, and his journey begins to be more wholly his own. (The shot to the Bible page is also important considering pro-slavery factions would use the Bible as a defense for owning slaves.)

Django turns the whip on the oppressor.

By the time the two reach Candyland, Django has truly come into his own. As they travel across the horizon, rapper Rick Ross’s “100 Black Coffins” plays as Django struts on his horse (Foxx was instrumental in helping choose this music). The rap works, and indicates a shift in whose story we’re really starting to see. When Schultz warns Django to stop “antagonizing” plantation owner Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio), Django asserts that he’s just “getting dirty,” and acting like he knows he needs to. This dialogue upends the “know your place” rhetoric that even well-meaning, slavery-hating Schultz falls into.

The use of mandingo fighting as a plot point (both to get Schultz and Django to Candyland, and also to horrify the audience) is important. While forcing slaves to fight or entertain for sport and profit was not uncommon, this kind of fighting until death didn’t appear to happen. And before you take a big sigh of relief (it wasn’t that bad, then), the main reason this kind of fighting would not have happened is because it was economically unwise to kill someone who would be a strong worker. It’s all business.

Candie’s continued references to phrenology remind us that in addition to the perceived Biblical support of slavery, pseudoscience of the time also supported racist (and sexist) ideas about people’s capabilities.

When he breaks apart old Ben’s skull at the dining room table, one can’t help but think about poor Yorick in Hamlet. As Hamlet cradles the skull of his father’s jester who he knew well as a child (much like Ben’s role as Candie’s father’s slave), he considers life and death and reflects upon how we all end up the same. Ben’s skull, however, launches Candie into a tirade about phrenology, as he breaks a piece off to show the indentions that prove black people are biologically subservient.

House slave Stephen, left, Broomhilda and Candie.

Behind Candie always in these dining room scenes is a marble statue of two Roman gladiators fighting (his hobby is nothing new), and is Stephen (Samuel L. Jackson), his house slave. Stephen embodies the Stockholm Syndrome kind of subservience that Candie sees as inherent. He plays the ultimate “Uncle Tom” character to foil Django’s free and increasingly independent and violent nature. Of course, in keeping with the Ben/Yorick parallel, Stephen also is much more clever than Candie is, and has wisdom and knowledge (Shakespeare often gave the jesters/fools much more wisdom than their masters).

Stephen.

The way Candie and Stephen treat Broomhilda is abhorrent, and Django predicted correctly that she was used as a “comfort girl” (sex slave). While her part is the damsel in distress, she’s clearly as fierce and independent as she can be (when they arrive at Candyland, she’s being brutally punished for trying to escape).

As business is being settled toward the end, Schultz cannot stop the images of a dog killing a runaway slave they’d encountered earlier. He’s not angered by losing a much larger amount of money than he’d anticipated, or being “caught” in a scheme. He’s haunted by the brutality he’s seen at Candyland. He starts discussing The Three Musketeers with Candie, and tells him that Alexandre Dumas was black (again reinforcing the idea that it is important to have the whole story to avoid reducing people to stereotypes). A demand for a handshake becomes too much for Schultz, and he shoots Candie, setting off a bloodbath. He knows he’s sacrificing himself with that gesture, but it’s worth it to him.

Few remain alive after the resulting gunfight, but Django and Broomhilda are both caught and punished. Django, in the throes of torture and seconds away from castration, is visited by Stephen, who rattles off all the ways they could have punished him, but Candie’s sister ordered that he be shipped to a quarry, where he’d be enslaved again.

“This will be the story of you, Django,” says Stephen.

While Django’s story began by being freed by Schultz and partnering with him, thus receiving access to the free world, he long ago became the author of his own story. And Stephen’s wrong–Django wins. Django frees himself this time.

As Django kills Stephen, Stephen screams, “You can’t destroy Candyland–there’ll always be a Candyland!”

And while Django does effectively end Candyland, Stephen isn’t incorrect. Candylands will exist for years after Django leaves, and we are still feeling what Candyland was in America today.

In an interview with VIBE, DiCaprio, Washington and Foxx discussed their reactions to the screenplay. DiCaprio said,

“For me, the initial thing obviously was playing someone so disreputable and horrible whose ideas I obviously couldn’t connect with on any level. I remember our first read through, and some of my questions were about the amount of violence, the amount of racism, the explicit use of certain language. It was hard for me to wrap my head around it. My initial response was, ‘Do we need to go this far?'”

Foxx and Washington said,

Foxx: “When President Obama became president in 2008, a blemish on my hometown was the fact that it wasn’t on the front page of the newspaper. When they went down to talk to them, they went [country accent] ‘Hey listen, we run a newspaper, not a scrap book.’ I’m paraphrasing. So I had both of my daughters come down to the plantation, and I walked them through and I said, ‘This is where your people come from. This is your background.’ And I said, ‘this is more than just a movie for your father.’ My little daughter, I took her into the shack, and I said, ‘these are where the slaves stayed.’ Every two, three years there is a movie about the holocaust because they want you to remember and they want you to be reminded of what it was. When was the last time you seen a movie about slavery?”
Washington: “When is the last time you saw a movie about slavery where a black man frees himself?”
Foxx: “We read back in the day about Nat Turner and other guys who were not taking it. That’s why, when I read the script and we went back to the plantation, there were certain things inside me bubbling up.”

These responses are indicative of the conversations about our own history. White people frequently echo variations on a theme of “I didn’t have anything to do with that.” It’s easy to denigrate and forget a past that we keep ourselves disconnected from. For black Americans, however, there is a sense of connectivity, of history, to that time and place. As there should be–for everyone, no matter how painful it is.

Django leaves a pile of bodies in his trail to freedom.

Django Unchained is an excellent film. The writing, direction, acting and soundtrack are powerful. And while it’s poised to be at the receiving end of many accolades this awards season, the best, most lasting impression it can leave is to change conversations and common narratives (even fictional ones) so that whitewashing our history becomes impossible.

—

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

The Gender Situation in ‘Pulp Fiction’

Written by Leigh Kolb.To celebrate the 20th anniversary of Quentin Tarantino’s major directorial debut, Reservoir Dogs (1992) and Pulp Fiction (1994) were shown in theaters on Dec. 4 and 6, respectively, as special engagements.

While Reservoir Dogs solidified Tarantino’s spot in Hollywood, Pulp Fiction made him a star. It won the Palme d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival, the Academy Award for Best Screenplay (it was nominated for Best Picture) and John Travolta, Samuel L. Jackson and Uma Thurman were nominated for Academy Awards.

The film opens with a couple (Pumpkin/Ringo and Honey Bunny/Yolanda) eating at a diner. The two are discussing their next robbery attempt and realize robbing a restaurant would maximize their profits. The banter between the two shows that they are partners, and are in love.

As they enact their plan, they stand up with their guns. Pumpkin announces that this is a robbery, and Honey Bunny screams:

“Any of you fucking pricks move, and I’ll execute every motherfucking last one of ya!”

Honey Bunny/Yolanda, left, screams and threatens restaurant patrons as Pumpkin looks on.

The iconic sounds of “Miserlou,” by Dick Dale and His Del Tones begin, and the audience quickly realizes that unlike Reservoir Dogs, women will have a voice in Pulp Fiction.

Like Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction examines masculinity–glorifying and critiquing it. Instead of conversations about women, however, women have integral roles in each of the intertwining narratives.

Vincent Vega & Marcellus Wallace’s Wife

When Vincent and Jules discuss the meaning of a foot rub, they are speaking about intimacy and what it means to touch a woman’s feet. The rumor is that their boss, Marcellus Wallace, had a man pushed off a building for rubbing his wife’s feet. They’re exploring something beyond a foot rub (although Tarantino himself does love feet). On some level, they’re exploring male/female interactions and levels of intimacy.

Vincent tells Jules that Marcellus asked him to take his wife Mia out, and it’s clear that this woman invokes intimidation in men. Vincent goes to Lance’s house (his drug dealer) to purchase some heroin. He self-medicates before going to pick up Mia. She’s left a note on the door to come in, and she watched Vincent enter the house on security camera footage and speaks to him over an intercom. She is god-like in this scene (and while it fits the narrative, we know that Uma Thurman is also a god/muse to Tarantino).

Mia self-medicates with cocaine, and the scene at Jack Rabbit Slim’s makes the audience feel high. Mia chooses the restaurant and made the reservation (she is in control), and the two engage in friendly banter. She was an actress, and tells him about her failed television series, Fox Force Five. Vincent confronts her about the foot rub rumor, and she denies it, pointing out that a husband protecting his wife is “one thing,” but that was ridiculous. She says:

“Truth is, nobody knows why Marsellus threw Tony out of that fourth-story window except Marsellus and Tony. When you little scamps get together, you’re worse than a sewing circle.”

Here, the men are gossiping and being “silly,” which are most often the stereotyped flaws of female characters.

The two dance in a twist competition–upon her insistance–and win the trophy. The dance itself is one in which no one really leads; they are partners.

Mia and Vincent dance as equals.

Back at the Wallace mansion, Mia finds the baggie of heroin in Vincent’s coat pocket, mistakes it for cocaine, and snorts a long line, immediately overdosing. She’s a modern-day damsel in distress, whose distress is really a simple mistake.

Vincent rushes her to Lance’s house, and Lance yells, “You fucked her up, you fix her!” But we know this isn’t the case. Again, the assumption is that the man is at fault, and the woman is helpless, but that isn’t how they end up here. Everyone bumbles around the apartment, trying to figure out the adrenaline shot (at one point Lance is in a cluttered room looking for a medical book, and the board game “Chauvinist Pigs” is perched atop a pile). No one in this scene is truly heroic or capable, which makes it feel realistic. Vincent successfully injects the adrenaline into Mia’s heart, and Vincent takes her back home. They, and we, sober up fast.

The Gold Watch

The story of the gold watch, passed down to Butch from his great-grandfather, to his grandfather, to his father and then to him, is essentially a story about the decline in traditional American manhood. By the time the watch got to Butch’s father in the Vietnam War, he was a POW and had to “hide it in his ass” for years so he could pass it down to his son. The shift in American war culture/patriotism between WWII and Vietnam was stark. The “Greatest Generation” of American men in the second world war gave birth to boys who would serve in Vietnam, a war that utilized a draft and was met with protest and hostility. By the time Butch becomes an adult man, he is fighting, yes, but for money and not his country. His war is internal, and devoid of the heroism from a few generations ago. (This crisis of a lack of clearly defined masculinity is the cornerstone of Gen X novels/films such as Fight Club, which explores at length this generation of young men with no great war.)

Captain Koons presents a young Butch with his father’s watch.

Butch’s desperation to have that gold watch with him, even eventually risking his life to do so, is indicative of his desperation to hold on to this generationally diluted manhood.

Butch doesn’t throw the fight that he’d fixed with Marcellus, and instead wins and accidentally kills his opponent. In the getaway cab ride, the female cab driver asks him what it’s like to kill a man, because it’s a subject she’s “very interested” in. She seems more interested than he does, in fact.

Esmerelda lights Butch’s cigarette.

When he’s back at the hotel room with his girlfriend Fabienne, the two share intimate moments and comedic dialogue. Fabienne seems silly and child-like, but Butch is sweet and respectful to her (although he erupts when he realizes she’s forgotten the watch, he quickly apologizes and says he was to blame). As she’s lying on the bed wishing for a pot belly, she says:

“I don’t give a damn what men find attractive. It’s unfortunate what we find pleasing to the touch and pleasing to the eye is seldom the same.”

Fabienne and Butch.

She requests and receives “oral pleasure” from Butch, and in the hotel room scenes, the audience sees more of Butch’s body than Fabienne’s. Again, she seems naive and childish, but their relationship is equitable and for the most part, enjoyable to watch. Maybe Butch has a similar innocence, but it is well-guarded under his outward masculinity.

The next morning, when he flies into a rage about the watch, warfare and explosions blast on the television in their room, another reminder of the distance between Butch and that celebrated masculine pastime.

He goes off on a quest to retrieve the gold watch before they flee to Knoxville (since Marcellus will be trying to find him and kill him for not throwing the fight). He takes off in a Honda hatchback, and gets to his apartment. Vincent is already there, sent to kill him, but he’s on the toilet reading Modesty Blaise, who debuted as a female action hero in a comic strip, collection of stories/novel and films of the same name in the 1960s. (Tarantino is a Blaise fan, and certainly Kill Bill‘s The Bride shares many similarities with the female protagonist.)

Modesty Blaise, a 1960s crime series with a female protagonist.

Butch picks up Vincent’s gun and kills him as he steps out of the bathroom. When he escapes, he runs into Marcellus (women flock to the sides of Butch and Marcellus to help them), and the two end up in a depraved dungeon of a pawn shop with a racist owner. When Butch breaks free as Marcellus is being raped by security guard Zed, he can’t leave. He goes back down and kills the shop owner with a sword, and breaks Marcellus free (who then shoots Zed in the groin). There are obvious masculinity issues here, from the anal rape (my gosh what would Freud do with Butch’s narrative) to the phallic sword, Marcellus and Butch agree that they are even, and Butch will never utter a word about the rape.

Butch takes off on Zed’s motorcycle and arrives back to pick up Fabienne. Some kind of post-modern manhood has been achieved, and he’s free to go on–with the gold watch.

The Bonnie Situation

When Jules and Vincent are saddled with the problem of a dead man in their car, they turn to Jimmie and go to his house. He is adamant that they take care of their situation soon, because his wife Bonnie is about to come home. He says:

“Now don’t you fucking realize man that if Bonnie comes home and finds a dead body in her house, I’m gonna get divorced, all right. No marriage counselor, no trial separation. I’m gonna get fuckin’ divorced. Okay? And I don’t wanna get fuckin’ divorced. Now then, you know, I mean, I wanna help you but I don’t wanna lose my wife doin’ it, all right.”

This honest admission of a husband who doesn’t want to lose his wife is refreshing. She’s not a nag, she’s not a bitch, but she’s his wife and he wants to be married to her.

Marcellus calls Winston “The Wolf” Wolfe, who is the antithesis of Jimmie. The Wolf is partying with glamorous women at 9 a.m., clearly living like James Bond and speeds to Jimmie’s in a silver sports car. Jimmie is waiting for his wife to get home from work, brews fancy coffee and is hesitant to give The Wolf their best linens to clean up the mess. As a trade, The Wolf gives him a stack of bills to buy themselves a new bedroom set.

Jimmie’s “feminine” tendencies and The Wolf’s classic masculinity complement one another.

These two men–Jimmie and The Wolf–exist in opposite worlds and diametrically opposing masculinities. However, the two of them working together solves problems. This acceptance of and need for different shades of stereotypical masculinity and femininity reminds the audience that Tarantino is aware and critical of gender performance.

When they drop the cleaned-out car to Monster Joe’s Truck and Tow, Joe’s daughter Racquel comes to meet them. The Wolf says, “Someday, all this will be hers.” This is a nod to the next generation of gender roles–whether it be women running junk yards, crime rings or killing sprees, Tarantino’s women are not shut in dainty boxes.

Racquel, the heiress to Monster Joe’s Truck and Tow.

During the epilogue, we are again in the diner where Pumpkin and Honey Bunny/Yolanda are holding up the customers. Vincent and Jules are there (Vincent is in the bathroom during most of the scene), and Jules engages in a stand-off between the two while trying to talk Pumpkin out of doing what they’re doing. He allows them to collect the customers’ cash without hurting anyone. Yolanda becomes unhinged and pitiful in this scene, and a viewer may be dismayed at Tarantino’s decision to make the woman fall apart at this very moment, and that this shows her weakness. However, we must realize that many of the characters throughout the film have shown fallibility or been in positions of weakness (Vincent’s self-medication and debilitating nerves about Mia, Mia’s overdose, Marcellus’s sexual assault and Jimmie’s anxiety about his wife). This does not mean anything except that the characters are human.

Jules and Vincent have been scrubbed clean and left to look like “dorks,” somehow emasculated without their black suits.

Humans are not one-dimensional caricatures. They commit crimes, they overdose, they are racist, sexist and complex. As long as men and women alike are portrayed in all aspects of the human experience in a film and are reflections of reality (no matter how unpleasant that reality is), then authenticity can be achieved. Pulp Fiction, in all of its gore, turns a critical eye on masculinity and femininity and offers a more nuanced take on its male and female characters than films of similar genres. And as Tarantino’s later films went on to have female characters who take active and leading roles, The Wolf was right in pointing out that “all this” will someday be a woman’s, too.

—

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

Black Snake Moan: A Review in Conversation

Welcome to the first installment of a new feature on Bitch Flicks: Reviews in Conversation. We take a movie that’s worth talking about, and do just that.

“This is some revolutionary shit. We’re tying up white women in Mississippi.” –John Singleton, on filming Black Snake Moan in the South

Why does the revolution necessitate wholesale exploitation of women?

Since Black Snake Moan was one of the initial movies (along with Hustle & Flow…maybe we should officially thank Craig Brewer for the inspiration) that made us want to start this site, it’s fitting that we discuss the movie in our first Review in Conversation segment.

Here’s the IMDb summary:

In Mississippi, the former blues man Lazarus is in crisis, missing his wife that has just left him. He finds the town slut and nymphomaniac Rae dumped on the road nearby his little farm, drugged, beaten and almost dead. Lazarus brings her home, giving medicine and nursing and nourishing her like a father, keeping her chained to control her heat. When her boyfriend Ronnie is discharged from the army due to his anxiety issue, he misunderstands the relationship of Lazarus and Rae, and tries to kill him. (Claudio Carvalho)

Before I address the film’s atrocious sexism, which the above summary characterizes well, I’d like to say what I love about BSM. The music, first and foremost, is outstanding. Brewer calls this a movie about the blues, and I’d like to take that a step further and say the movie is the blues. Or it tries to be, at least. The movie and its story are too small, conflicted, and tone-deaf to achieve greatness. It tries to be the blues and ends up being a blues music video, where Lazarus (Samuel L. Jackson) is the tortured and tired star, and Rae (Christina Ricci) is the video vixen, shaking her ass for the camera.

This is a movie that I want to love. It’s gritty, unique, and aware of class and race—a rare combination. However, there is no female perspective in the movie. Is it really too much to ask for a sharp film to also be sharp about gender? Is it right for a film like BSM to claim gender as a theme, while not really exploring women at all? Rae is the only female character (brief appearances by Lazarus’ wife, Rae’s mother, and a kind pharmacist easily fit into the angel/monster dichotomy), but she isn’t quite a real person. What is wrong with her? She is talked about as a nymphomaniac, and has strange, demonic fits of desire, but she’s really a victim of rape and abuse. Lazarus, whose trauma is that his wife aborted his baby and left for his younger brother, takes it upon himself to “cure” her by chaining her to a radiator. Even if the movie isn’t to be taken literally (but as a metaphor of sorts), why are the other characters so human and she so other, so animal?

Response by Stephanie R.

I, too, fell in love with the music in this film. It complements the key themes—race and class, as you mentioned, religion, and I’d also take it a step further to include sex. The scenes with Ricci shaking her ass for the camera are wonderfully sexy, and I found myself wavering back and forth during those scenes, wondering, is this just another female character being exploited by the camera? Or, is this a female character finally owning her sexuality?

Early on, she’s portrayed as a woman who’s at the mercy of her untamable sexual desires, and I didn’t ever get the feeling that she enjoyed them. She’s often shown squirming around on the ground, rubbing her hands all over her body, and moaning, like she’s struggling to fend off an attack. It’s at that point that she must find someone, anyone to screw, in order to make that feeling go away.

Later though, after Lazarus “cures” her by wrapping a giant chain around her waist and attaching it to a radiator, Rae is allowed to enter society again, showing up at a bar with Lazarus, drinking, rubbing up against everyone on the dance floor while Lazarus watches her from the stage, almost approvingly. What’s going on here? I truly want to read this as much more complicated than a man giving a woman permission to flaunt her sexuality, and I think it is.

But I also can’t help getting a little unnerved by the frivolity with which her sexuality is treated earlier in the film, when she’s portrayed as nothing more than the town whore. (At one point, the local mechanic says, “It’s already noon, Rae. Do you think those shorts should still be on?”) And when she’s described as “having the sickness” by another character (meaning nymphomania), it’s impossible not to think about the double-standard we still hold for men and women, especially when it comes to sexual desires.

As you mentioned, she is portrayed as “other,” often animalistic in her sexual conquests. Since I don’t think a film like this would work at all if a man were the one with the sexual “disease” (it’s natural for men to have uncontrollable sex drives, after all) then what does one make of using the myth of nymphomania to drive the plot? (See Peter Green’s “All Sexed Up,” a review of Carol Groneman’s 2000 book Nymphomania: A History, for a brief discussion of the myth.)

Response by Amber L.

I agree that the scene in the bar was very sexy, and I think I agree with what you said about that being a moment of Rae owning her sexuality. I think we’re supposed to understand that scene as a very important moment in which both characters are owning something that they’d lost—or lost control of. For whatever reason, Lazarus had lost his music (and I suspect it had to do with his wilting marriage), and Rae had lost control of her sexuality. However, that scene was exhilarating, and I think it has to do with reclamation and individual victory.

But back to the way gender and sex intersect. If nymphomania is itself largely fictitious, the strange way Rae’s fits were portrayed—moments in the film that were suspended between fear and comedy—reveals some of the ideological confusion of the film. If not for her nearly-naked body, battered and bruised and constantly displayed, I might have more sympathy for the film’s motivations. Add that to Rae’s moment of catharsis where she beats the shit out of her mother with a mop handle (for allowing Rae to be raped, either by her father or another male figure in her home), and we see women destroyed by sex who we’re supposed to sympathize with.

The final topic I want to bring up is religion. We can’t deny the role Christianity plays in the film. From the name of the main character to the supporting cast (which includes a preacher), the issue of faith (and a very certain brand of faith) comes up again and again. If the movie is a metaphor for “anxiety, fear, and unconditional love,” according to Brewer himself, then religion is the element that holds it all together. The instantiations of religion, however, are clunky at best; the radiator is God, the chain is faith, et cetera. I don’t really know where to go from here, except to acknowledge the large role of religion, although it plays out in hackneyed ways.

Response by Stephanie R

While I would like to see both characters in this film actually achieve some level of reclamation and individual victory, I think it fails for the most part, but the film especially fails Rae. She remains “chained” in a metaphorical sense, even in the final scenes. I don’t believe her character discovers much, or achieves much of an arc; she remains, for me, completely static. In fact, the film pretty much uses her as a vehicle to showcase the success of Lazarus, (which is yet another example of female exploitation that Brewer has either no awareness of or no desire to address).

I was left feeling no hope for Rae in that final scene—she’s imprisoned, (in a stuffy car, surrounded by semi-trucks) stuck in a relationship with a man who’s essentially a child needing to be coddled, with only the memory of her radiator-chain to keep her from jumping from the vehicle and fucking her way across the interstate. But Lazarus has his music again. He’s managed to overcome his anger about his wife leaving him, and he’s even got a nice new chick to look after him. See how chaining up a white woman in Mississippi can revolutionize an entire worldview?

The truth is I never gave a shit about Rae. I could’ve cared for her, if Brewer hadn’t used her sexuality against her—it’s filmed as if the abuse she suffers is deserved. (See what you get when you go around whoring yourself? Tsk, tsk.) By the time we get to know her character, when, as you mentioned, she divulges her history of sexual abuse, then beats the shit out of her mother with a mop handle, it’s way too late for sympathy. By that point, Brewer has already managed to turn a young woman’s sexuality into a cross between sketch comedy and porn, where nothing about it feels real.

In that moment of catharsis with her mother, I found myself detached. Instead of sympathizing with Rae and coming to some kind of realization myself, I just rolled my eyes at the ridiculous, clichéd consequences of her abuse—girl gets raped by father-figure while mother does nothing to stop it, girl develops low self-esteem, girl becomes town slut, girl develops a fictional sex disease, girl gets chained to radiator by religious black man. Wait, what? Ah religion, how you never cease to reinforce the second-class citizenship of women, perpetually punishing them for their godless desire to fuck.

So Rae is possessed by an evil sex demon, and, at one freaky moment, Lazarus’s ex-wife. Lazarus and his brother are Cain and Abel. There’s adultery, lust, preachers, fire-and-brimstone, bible passages, and judgmental townsfolk. Basically, the religious themes receive the same clichéd treatment as women’s sexuality. Rae is pretty much “saved” by Lazarus, and Lazarus pretty much gets his shit together and “rises from the dead” (as Lazarus in the bible).

And, after this conversation, I’m starting to wonder if I’m the problem, if I made the mistake of taking this film seriously, when what it really wants to be is one big sensationalist metaphor. A metaphor for what, though? I’ll conclude with something Brewer says in an interview.

“I’m not writing from a place of progress. I’m not writing a movie that I want people to necessarily intellectualize. And I think that really messes with people who feel that they need to make a statement against this, and they don’t quite know what it is they’re against. Because man alive, you look at this imagery on this poster, and I’m so obviously banging this drum. It’s like, you really believe that I believe this? That women need to be chained up? Can we not think metaphorically once race and gender are introduced?”

Rent Black Snake Moan from Netflix
Read Carol Groseman’s article, “Nymphomania: The Historical Construction of Female Sexuality,” published in Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society
Read the Salon.com interview with Craig Brewer