Satire – Bitch Flicks

‘Spy’: Truly Funny and Truly Feminist

An advantage of getting older is being able to predict what types of maintream entertainment I won’t enjoy and then being able to cheerfully avoid them. I have never even seen a clip from Breaking Bad: the fulsome interviews with the (male) cast and creator on NPR were all I needed to hear. In the many years people have been posting “hilarious” Saturday Night Live clips I’ve found only “Brownie Husband” and Tiny Fey as Sarah Palin funny, so now I just skip them. With movies I am a lot more susceptible to hype, especially if the film is about a woman or women. I’ve been let down enough times that, for about the past decade, I’ve seen hardly seen anything at the multiplex, especially “comedies” which rarely make me laugh out loud or even smile. After sitting through The Devil Wears Prada, I decided I would no longer believe anyone who said, “You’ll like this one.”

The melding of feminism and marketing means that certain crappy, mainstream films try to convince us our duty is to shell out money for them just because they’re directed by women, written by women or star women. This marketing, of course, is the best way to kill movies directed by, written by, or starring women once and for all, by force-feeding us films that are supposed to be “good” for women but which give us no pleasure when pleasure, or something like it, is why we go to movies in the first place. What I find especially galling is when a film that is supposed to “empower” women ends up making one the butt of the joke, but instead of being a joke just because she’s a woman (as she would be in the usual bro-comedy) she’s a joke because she’s fat, or not white or because her appearance doesn’t conform to the ultra-femme standard of most women characters in movies. I feared that Spy, which opens this Friday, June 5, and stars Melissa McCarthy (who has been in more than one of the type of films I’ve described) might be another disappointment, but was pleasantly surprised.

The film starts out strong with a pre-credit sequence in which McCarthy’s character, Susan Cooper, from an office in Washington DC, guides spy Bradley Fine (Jude Law) through various ambushes and traps in an Eastern European mansion/castle using an earpiece, a contact lens camera and surveillance technology–plus her own expertise. She’s the super-competent office assistant that most powerful men have back at the office. She never falters and he, in the mold of James Bond and Jason Bourne never does either until the end when he confronts a villain and makes a huge error (which, in context, made me laugh out loud). At first Susan says, “Oh my God, why, why did you do that?” But then, like all great office assistants she immediately takes the blame, saying she should have taken additional measures to prevent the incident, even though we see she has already taken more than enough.

Susan has a crush on Fine (who wouldn’t? Law here is at his most charming and, unlike in some other recent roles, has hair) which keeps her in his thrall. She confesses her desire to be a real spy only to her office mate, Nancy (a wonderful Miranda Hart, whom some might recognize from Call The Midwife), who tells her, “You play it too safe.”

Also on hand is Allison Janney (in one of the brusque, take-charge roles she does so well) as the agency boss who has no patience with Susan until she realizes “We need someone invisible,” in the field. Janney’s character also counsels Susan, saying that Fine, by telling her she was best at her job as his helper was actually holding her back. Susan is eager to take on the sophisticated false identity that she’s seen Fine and the other agents given but always ends up as a variation of a frumpy, Midwestern cat-lady, a sly dig at the type of roles actresses who aren’t slender, like McCarthy, are typically asked to play.

When Nancy and Susan visit the gadget sector of the agency, instead of the cross between a hovercraft and a Segway we see a good-looking man in a suit and tie thoroughly enjoying himself on, Susan receives a bottle of “stool softeners” that are actually poison antidotes along with equally unglamorous accessories. Once in Europe she runs into another agent (who is supposed to be lying low) Rick (Jason Statham making fun of his usual “tough guy” roles) a bungling braggart who takes every opportunity to disparage Susan’s skills as a spy, even as we see that she brings the same efficiency to her work in the field as she did back in the office.

In a world where “satire” is used as a descriptor for works like Entourage, the word might not have much meaning, but Spy, in the tradition of the best satire, makes fun of conventions we might not have realized we were sick of–like the cat-lady typecasting. Also, while male action heroes like 007 and Jason Bourne never make a wrong move, no matter how extreme the situations they find themselves in and shoot and kill others with all the sensitivity of a giant swatting at flies, two of the women in Spy who kill react more like the rest of us might: neither plays it cool.

spy-rose-byrne-melissa-mccarthy — Rose Byrne as Rayna and Melissa McCarthy as Cooper (front)

I kept on waiting for the film to go wrong, for someone to humiliate Susan for her size, which miraculously never happens. Others doubt her skill and the villainess Rayna (Rose Byrne, having a ball as a spoiled, rich Daddy’s girl with a British accent) rips apart her fashion sense, even after Susan changes into flattering, chic evening wear, but no one ever comes close to making a fat “joke” or comment, which has to be some kind of milestone: imagine if Will Smith or Denzel Washington had spent a good part of their careers being the butt of racist jokes–and how different their careers would then be today.

I haven’t before seen McCarthy in a role I’ve liked, so was gratified to see how good she was in this one, which calls on her to take on multiple identities, sometimes switching personas in the middle of a scene. Writer-director Paul Feig (the director of Bridesmaids who is also one of the only male directors to publicly support the ACLU action on behalf of women directors in the industry) gives us the same settings as the real Bourne and Bond films use: European casinos, lakefront estates and helicopters, but isn’t so dazzled by them that he forgets to include jokes, good ones. For once no one is making fun of the office ladies (Hart’s Nancy also gets her turn in the field) but of those who make fun of the office ladies, like Rick, who by the end grudgingly admits that Susan has done a good job though we see he’s still not the smartest guy. I even liked the celebrity-as-himself cameo (Fifty Cent, who gets a great last line) and some of the physical comedy, which is a first for me.

The film isn’t perfect. I could have done without Peter Serafinowicz’s terrible Italian accent as a lecherous fellow agent and would remind everyone involved that Europe (not to mention Washington DC) has plenty of people of color and encourage them to cast some in speaking roles (the villains here are Eastern European, so we don’t even get Arab actors, though Bobby Cannavale, who is half Cuban, plays one hard-to-kill baddie). The film also includes a scene where Cooper and Nancy tear down a friendly, thin, well-dressed woman agent behind her back and an instance where a newly glammed-up Cooper delights in being the target of street harassment, false tropes that a woman writer-director probably wouldn’t have perpetuated. But Spy is so much better than any other film in its genre (and unceasing in its feminism: the solidarity between the women characters continues right through the end) that even those who put together the trailer must not have been able to believe it, since they strung together–badly–moments that make the movie look like the usual summer mediocrity. It’s not! Instead we finally have an action-adventure comedy that is truly funny and truly feminist–and almost makes me look forward to my next trip to the multiplex.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mAqxH0IAPQI” iv_load_policy=”3″]

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Ren Jender is a queer writer-performer/producer putting a film together. Her writing, besides appearing every week on Bitch Flicks, has also been published in The Toast, RH Reality Check, xoJane and the Feminist Wire. You can follow her on Twitter @renjender

Suzanne Stone: Frankenstein of Fame

The would-be news anchor is not only an extraordinarily unlikable–though entertaining–protagonist; she also embodies certain pathological tendencies in the American cultural psyche.

Poster for To Die For — Poster for *To Die For*

Written by Rachael Johnson as part of our theme week on Unlikable Women.

Spoilers galore.

You’ve got to give it to Nicole Kidman. For an archetype of Hollywood movie stardom, she has–for many years now–been quite unafraid of taking on edgy, unsympathetic roles. Her impressive turn in Gus Van Sant’s mockumentary black comedy, To Die For (1995), could, arguably, be considered Kidman’s first truly risky part. In it, she plays a murderously self-interested, fame-obsessed small-town TV personality with the perfectly fitting name of Suzanne Stone. “You’re not anybody in America unless you’re on TV,” Suzanne sermonizes at the start. “On TV is where we learn about who we really are. Because what’s the point of doing anything worthwhile if nobody’s watching? And if people are watching, it makes you a better person.” The would-be news anchor is not only an extraordinarily unlikable–though entertaining–protagonist; she also embodies certain pathological tendencies in the American cultural psyche.

Surfaces seduce and deceive in Van Sant’s satire on American ambition. Suzanne is a vision of beauty and purity for her future husband, Larry Maretto (Matt Dillon), when he first encounters her, and the crimes she commits take place in an ordinary, pretty town in New Hampshire called Little Hope. It’s love at first sight when the laddish, none-too-bright Larry catches her eye while playing with his band at his father’s restaurant. Janice, Larry’s savvy, ice-skating sister (Illeana Douglas), immediately sees through Suzanne but he ignores the ice-maiden cracks and commits to the “the golden girl of my dreams.” The young man surprises everyone by ditching his drums and rock star ambitions for marriage and home-buying. Janice acerbically observes, “he went from Van Halen to Jimmy Vale overnight.” Larry is not only taken by Suzanne’s beauty; he’s also in awe of her go-getting personality. “She’s going places. She’s got goals,” he tells his father, Joe (Dan Hedaya). Larry, by the by, comes from a fiercely loving, old-fashioned Italian-American family; Suzanne’s parents are portraits of smug, airy WASPness.

Suzanne soon gets a job at the local cable TV station as a weather presenter. Her co-workers baptise her “Gangbusters” and she becomes a workaholic member of their tiny outfit. Fancying herself as a future Barbara Walters, she understands that she must start somewhere. Tensions, however, surface on the first anniversary of her marriage. Larry wants a child and more time together but this doesn’t figure in his wife’s plans. She explains to her puzzled mother-in-law, Angela (Maria Tucci), that a baby would prevent her from covering a revolution–or royal wedding. Feeling trapped by his expectations of her, Suzanne determines to bump Larry off. But she does not do the dirty deed herself. She befriends a trio of daft teenagers, subjects of a documentary she’s working on, to set it up and do her bidding. The ultimate plan, of course, is to pin the murder on them. They comprise vulgar Russell (Casey Affleck), impressionable, insecure Lydia (Alison Folland) and sensitive Jimmy (Joaquin Phoenix), who seems permanently stoned. Both Lydia and Jimmy adore Suzanne. She sexually targets Jimmy, all the while him telling tales of marital abuse, and promises Lydia that she will employ her as her secretary when she becomes famous. The besotted Jimmy soon becomes the designated shooter.

But things don’t go to plan for Suzanne when the three luckless teenagers are arrested. Lydia chooses to cooperate with the police, and wears a tape to record a confession by Suzanne but she is acquitted as the authorities took the entrapment route. When Suzanne publicly suggests Larry’s murder was drug-related–her husband, she says, was a coke addict–his family finally crack, and take matters into their own hands. Suzanne just can’t help herself when she is lured to a remote location by the promise of telling and selling her story. Lydia does not see jail and becomes a kind of celebrity but the boys get life.

There are other targets of Van Sant’s satire in To Die For. Suzanne’s family are characterized as unthinking, self-regarding snobs. Her father Earl (Kurtword Smith) thinks his daughter, a junior college graduate with a degree in electronic journalism, is too good for high school Larry. There is even an unsympathetic side to the loving Italian-American in-laws. Apart from arranging a hit on her at the end (!), it’s clear that they want Suzanne to conform to their traditional ideals of womanhood. Even Larry’s cool sister encourages him to “knock her up.” We only really empathize with the teenagers, particularly Jimmy and Lydia. They backgrounds are troubled, and both come from unprivileged homes, but Suzanne mercilessly exploits them. In fact, she not only violates Jimmy’s youth; she also destroys his future. It’s disquieting subject matter. Scripted by Buck Henry, To Die For is actually based on Joyce Maynard’s 1992 book of the same name, a novel inspired by the similar, real-life 1990 Pamela Smart case. Telling the dark, outlandish tabloid tale in blackly amusing faux-documentary style, however, Van Sant maintains a markedly satirical tone. The uniformly pitch-perfect performances serve his vision. Phoenix, incidentally, is superb as the tragic-comic teenager.

Suzanne Stone is a mediagenic monster in pastels. She’s both a perverse creature and a nightmarishly pure ideological product. Entirely indoctrinated by televisual ideals, she’s a kind of Frankenstein of fame. In a more general sense, she is also a wickedly amusing portrait of American ambition, a workaholic who will do anything to get ahead. Suzanne Stone is, what’s more, a thoroughly unoriginal person. Her ideas are pilfered from others as well as, of course, television. To Die For not only sends up the hollowness of fame; it also attacks the manufactured personality. Suzanne believes that the human mind can be fashioned and cultivated by self-motivation books, and, again, television.

There is also that charming personality. The world revolves around Suzanne and she’s entirely indifferent to the feelings of others. A psychopath really. This is amusingly demonstrated at her husband’s funeral when she stands by his grave and slams on “All By Myself” on a tape-recorder. There’s a socio-economic aspect to all of this too. Suzanne Stone is entitled and knows it. She’s, indeed, an extreme product of white, bourgeois privilege. She warns Lydia when threatened with exposure, “I’m a professional person, for Christ’s sake. I come from a good home. Who do you think a jury would believe?”

An obsession with looks is also integral to her ideological make-up. Some of her comments are quite memorable–such as her suggestion that Gorbachev’s political career would have been more successful if he had had his birthmark removed. To Die For targets television and tabloid culture’s role in stimulating and nourishing human narcissism. The movie takes place, of course, in the pre-internet era–TV’s one of many communication platforms now–but the fundamental message about human vanity endures. As everyone reading this knows, social media has proved to be an extremely indulgent parent of self-love.

To Die For does not solely savage celebrity culture; it also takes aim at culturally constructed American femininity. Suzanne Stone has been entirely radicalised by televisual ideals of cosmetic beauty. Although naturally beautiful, she is paranoid about her own appearance and shamelessly advises the attractive Janice to get plastic surgery. Physical descriptions of Suzanne point to a distinct lack of humanity. Janice calls her an unfeeling doll, Lydia considers her a “goddess” while Jimmy is in awe of how clean she is. Suzanne Stone is not a sensual woman. Her very sexuality, it is suggested, is inauthentic. Sex seems to be primarily an exhibitionist or strategic move bound up with the manipulation of others.

Ultimately, Suzanne Stone is not only a uniquely unlikeable protagonist. Representative of much that is wrong with her place and time- the self-interest, addiction to fame, lookism and classism–she is a skillfully drawn object of satire. Kidman cleverly captures her insane single-mindedness and narcissism. With her purple eyeshadow, short skirts, and little dog Walter–named, of course, after Walter Cronkite–her Suzanne Stone deserves a place in cinematic history’s gallery of dazzling grotesques.

When is This Movie Going to End? or, Extended Adolescence and Meta Moments in ‘Freddy Got Fingered’

I know the nineties are over, but I’m still a fan of Tom Green and his eccentric brand of humor. When critics and filmgoers dismiss ‘Freddie Got Fingered,’ I feel it’s for the wrong reasons; to pass the movie off as a cinematic abortion of sorts is narrow thinking. People probably still wonder, “Who gave Tom Green money to make a movie?” I know, it’s like writing a kid a blank check and sending him into a candy store. However, if we’re not receptive enough to uncover the ideas and themes Green presents, and to assess their relevance to Hollywood ideals, celebrity status, and family politics, we need to re-evaluate how we watch film. There’s good stuff to be found in ‘Freddy.’

Written by Jenny Lapekas.

I know the 90s are over, but I’m still a fan of Tom Green and his eccentric brand of humor. When critics and filmgoers dismiss Freddy Got Fingered, I feel it’s for the wrong reasons; to pass the movie off as a cinematic abortion of sorts is narrow thinking. People probably still wonder, Who gave Tom Green money to make a movie? I know, it’s like writing a kid a blank check and sending him into a candy store. However, if we’re not receptive enough to uncover the ideas and themes Green presents, and to assess their relevance to Hollywood ideals, celebrity status, and family politics, we need to re-evaluate how we watch film. There’s good stuff to be found in Freddy.

In the trailer for Freddy, Green tells us, “If you like acting, then you’ll like Freddy Got Fingered.” The film itself works as a commentary on the movie-making process and essentially laughs in its face. Green’s declaration is meant as a sneer at the generic nature of not only popular film, but the reasons behind that popularity: that many viewers hold low expectations when evaluating movie quality. The mantra throughout Freddy seems to be “I’m a 28-year-old man”: Green’s character asserting his maturity to his parents, who are well aware that their baby is still very much a baby at 28 years old. While his mother would prefer her baby boy to stay at home, Gordy’s father (played by the incomparable Rip Torn) wants to see his son succeed and make something of himself.

When Roger Ebert reviewed this film, he had this to say: “This movie doesn’t scrape the bottom of the barrel. The movie isn’t the bottom of the barrel. This movie isn’t below the bottom of the barrel. This movie doesn’t deserve to be mentioned in the same sentence with barrels.” Then why mention it? It’s clear that Green doesn’t want to be taken seriously. He spends his time satirizing movie tropes and evading the cinematic qualities that define film as a meaning-making process. To discuss Freddy alongside Hollywood blockbusters is apples and oranges.

Even the film’s cover–Green mimicking the gesture filmmakers use when describing their creation or cinematic vision–pokes fun at itself.

When we meet Gordy, his placement as an overgrown child is solidified when we watch him laying in bed, describing the absurd backstories that accompany the comics he’s drawn, which are actually quite good and show a great deal of artistic talent. Gordy’s job at the cheese sandwich factory is a satirical commentary on the struggling artist who works the meaningless, manual labor job while attempting to aspire to something greater in this life. Gordy’s departure from this job also serves to confirm his authentic identity as an animator.

The comical depiction of extended adolescence, especially in men, is seen often in film (see Step Brothers, Slackers, and Young Adult), yet it rarely seems tackled as a topic for discussion. Green’s lunatic brand of surrealist humor (see Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job! and The Mighty Boosh) and viewers’ not so warm reception of his film are a reflection of people’s desire for logic and the comfort we find in the assurance that gravity still exists each day when we wake. In an interview on the podcast “The Joe Rogan Experience,” Green even explains that he was trying to make the “stupidest movie ever.”

Green pokes fun at the “feel good” moments we come to expect in films, the moments that inspire us and evoke tears. We see such a moment when Gordy spontaneously delivers a baby and has a revelatory moment about his life (see Mixed Nuts and Saved!), and again when Betty (Gordy’s love interest) invents a rocket-powered wheelchair.

Signature of Green’s absurd humor, he shows up at a swanky L.A. restaurant to track down bigwig Dave Davidson (Anthony Michael Hall) to see if he can score his own television series based on his drawings, all dressed as an English bobby.

The head of Radioactive Animation Studio patiently explains to Gordy, “Your drawings are pretty good, but it doesn’t make any sense, OK? It’s fucking stupid,” which incidentally describes Green’s humor as well as the general theme of Freddy. We have these moments of raucous laughter, but we can’t explain the bizarre satisfaction we gain from watching Green’s stunts, which includes a fair amount of physical comedy in the same vein as Jackass, such as crashing into people and doors as he awkwardly moves around in the film, very much resembling a clumsy, pubescent boy. When Davidson tells him that his characters are lame, Gordy pulls out a gun and puts it in his mouth: more satire relating to the extreme measures artists take when their art goes unrecognized or they fail at becoming rich and successful (see Airheads).

"I'm a loser! I wish I was dead!!!" — “I’m a loser! I wish I was dead!!!”

Freddy is a hyperbolic look at the consequences of extended adolescence, and several scenes exemplify this theme, particularly those involving Gordy and his dad. When Gordy is forced to move back home, he insists he’s going to eat a fast food chicken sandwich at the dinner table after his mother has made a lovely roast beef dinner. He argues with his father, citing his age as the reason that he can do as he pleases–a sure sign of adolescence–and his father sarcastically tells him how “impressive” it is that he can eat the food he chooses independently. This scene of family dysfunction is so telling and significant; the child-parent relationship is just that: between parents and a temperamental child who desperately wants to convince his parents that he’s not worthless. Gordy’s insistence to his father that he’s an adult and can make his own decisions–at the very least, what he chooses to eat for his dinner–serves as proof that he’s in fact not an adult at all.

Amongst his antics, Gordy dons scuba gear in the shower, where he pretends he’s diving for buried treasure, and he dresses as “the Backwards Man,” a tragic inversion of the savvy businessman his father dreams he could become.

When Gordy decides to quit the “sandwich business” once and for all to fulfill his dreams of becoming an animator, his father even tries grounding him and sending him to his room. Ironically, Gordy’s fed up dad propels his son into success by showing up at his pitch and trashing the office of Davidson, who’s under the impression that it’s all a creative act. Although Gordy spends most of his million dollar check to drug his father and bring him to Pakistan, he finally proves himself by selling his “doodles” and taking on a job.

Aren’t we thankful there’s a movie out there where we can see Rip Torn spanking Tom Green like a naughty child?

The title, admittedly, has very little to do with the plot of Freddy, if we can get away with claiming that the film does indeed have a plot. Gordy accuses his father of molesting his brother, Freddy, which is, of course, untrue. In accordance with this theme of extended adolescence, the 25-year-old Freddy–ambitious and cocky, and hence Gordy’s polar opposite–is taken into custody by Child Protective Services, and we see him in an orphanage watching television with young children. Gordy also makes sure to downplay his little brother’s success by telling him over breakfast, “You work at a bank. Am I supposed to be dazzled? You live in a tiny little shit hole, and you can’t afford breakfast, so you come here and eat for free.” Gordy has a point and manages to cast doubt on Freddy’s pride and sense of accomplishment. Despite Gordy’s talent as a troublemaker and Freddy’s work ethic, Gordy somehow remains the favored of the two sons.

Gordy tries to impress Betty by pretending he works as a stockbroker. — Gordy tries to impress Betty by pretending that he works as a stockbroker.

The role of Gordy’s love interest, Betty, is interesting. Betty is in a wheelchair and is called a “retard slut whore” by Gordy’s dad, representing a demographic that mistakes physical disability with mental impairment. Gordy purchases a ridiculous bag of jewels that he presents to Betty after stepping off a helicopter on top of a building, and she rejects them, claiming, “I don’t care about jewels. I just want to suck your cock.” We’re confronted with an image of female sexuality that many viewers find problematic; disabled female characters tend to be desexualized in film and TV, and we’re also faced with the challenge of negotiating Betty’s voracious sexual appetite with our own misgivings about kink, foreplay, and sadomasochism.

While attempting to give Gordy a blow job, Betty finds his umbilical cord taped to his stomach, a clear reference to his permanent infantilization, which he seems to simultaneously embrace and loathe.

So why watch Freddy? How does the “stupidest movie ever” redeem itself for viewers unwilling to understand surrealist humor? The meta moments we find in the film culminate in the grand conclusion that “the Hollywood movie” can be interpreted as a pretentious joke, and Green is not taking his own film seriously enough to even stumble upon any form of success. Green’s treatment of this concept undermines critics’ ability to evaluate his film.

If you’re still skeptical, watch Freddy if only for Julie Hagerty’s performance. Hagerty, who’s always fabulous as “the mom” (see Just Friends, She’s the Man, and Storytelling) plays Gordy’s nervous, overprotective mother, even though Gordy is practically 30 years old.

At the advice of Gordy, Julie Brody leaves her husband and begins sleeping with Shaq.

Green explains that the point of the movie was to be polarizing and that he found further humor in the highly divisive viewer responses. Green makes us question our own sense of rationality and how we’ve constructed reality thus far in our lives. Freddy is funny for its unpredictable and nonsensical nature, not its inability to paint a picture of logic and reason. If viewers feel violated after watching a subversive film that simply cannot be explained away or dismissed, there are plenty of movies that contain tired tropes and stereotypes (see The Women–Bechdel Test, anyone?–and every Tyler Perry movie ever).

In the film’s trailer, Green even tells us, “I don’t really know how to make a movie.” When Gordy shows Davidson his drawings, he schools Gordy on narrative structure: “There actually has to be something that happens that’s actually funny. What the fuck is happening here?” We may ask that very same question about Freddy. What’s going on here? Using surrealist humor to question social contracts and deride an audience that is too entrenched in the trite, the cliche, and the creatively irresponsible, that’s what.

Moments before the film ends, a self-deprecating meta reference.

Any “hard-hitting” criticism of Freddy or movies like it is like judging the lasagna some nut brought to the National Pie Championships. Ebert was right: Freddy doesn’t scrape the bottom of the barrel, because Tom Green is too busy wearing the barrel on his head and making everyone uncomfortable to notice. Green’s movie inherently resists critique, which in fact makes this review, in a certain philosophical sense, nonexistent.

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Jenny holds a Master of Arts degree in English, and she is a part-time instructor at a community college in Pennsylvania. Her areas of scholarship include women’s literature, menstrual literacy, and rape-revenge cinema. She lives with two naughty chihuahuas. You can find her on WordPress and Pinterest.

Talking Horse Anchors Adult Comedy For Everyone: ‘Bojack Horseman’

Most surprising of all was the content. ‘Bojack Horseman’ is a late night style comedy that doesn’t shut anyone out. Though the series abounds with the typical crude humor, it’s threaded through with a surprising amount of feminism, nothing I’d expect at first glance.
There’s no shortage of fascinating female characters, both major and minor.

Bojack Horseman, my latest comedy binge-watch, was a real surprise. I’d heard nothing about it before it showed up on Netflix, but I gave it a try. I’m glad it I did, it was super fun time that left me wanting more. Thankfully, Netflix has already renewed it for a second season.

Theme song image from Bojack Horseman — Theme song image from *Bojack Horseman*

Everyone’s favorite magician, Will Arnett, stars as Bojack, a formerly famous 90s sitcom star, conceited womanizer, and literal man-horse struggling through a strange version of Hollywood that keeps our pop cultural touchstone and ads anthropomorphic animals. Cats chase dangling strings on the treadmill, birds at the window are paparazzi, and two dogs converse like stereotypical annoying TV women about how much they love chocolate even though it could kill them.

Arnett is joined by a great cast, a veritable who’s who of beloved comedic actors, among them Alison Brie, Kristen Schaal, Paul F. Tompkins, Patton Oswalt, and Amy Sedaris. Breaking Bad star Aaron Paul takes a comedic term and gives an unexpected, often scene-stealing performance as Bojack’s slacker roommate who’s obsessed with composing a rock opera.

Most surprising of all was the content. Bojack Horseman is a late night style comedy that doesn’t shut anyone out. Though the series abounds with the typical crude humor, it’s threaded through with a surprising amount of feminism, nothing I’d expect at first glance.

Bojack’s agent and girlfriend Princess Carolyn often has complicated schemes

There’s no shortage of fascinating female characters, both major and minor. First off, Princess Carolyn (Amy Sedaris, who should really be in more things) is, in addition to being a giant pink Persian cat, Bojack’s agent and on-again/off-again girlfriend. She’s is driven and goal-obsessed, and in her dynamic with Bojack maintains the unique skill of compartmentalizing, speaking to him either as agent or lover. With her Machiavellian schemes and air-tight manipulations, she might even be the closest thing the series has to a villain, besides Bojack’s colossal ego. Sadly, her role begins to peter out towards the end of the season, though her remaining plot line, about unknowingly dating Vincent Adultman, three kids stacked on top of each other in a trench coat, is worthy off-the-wall material.

Diane gives Naomi Watts tips on how to play a complex character

As a show set in a Hollywood, Bojack Horseman also makes several stirring points satirizing celebrity culture. Naomi Watts shows up for a episode to play a role in a movie based on Bojack’s life, ironically because she is tired of getting complicated, three-dimensional roles. When the role becomes much meatier, she gets frustrated and loses interest in the movie. Much seen but little remembered character actress Margo Martindale appears multiple times as a sort of actress for hire. Fed up with the limited roles normally offered to her as an older woman, she accepts roles offered to her by Bojack, which include posing as a bank robber and pulling off a real bank heist. Ultimately she turns to a life of crime and relishes her time in jail because she considers it the role of a lifetime.

Most fascinating are Sarah Lynn (Kristen Schaal) and Diane Nygen (Alison Brie), the most important women in Bojack’s life. Sarah Lynn was his TV daughter on the sitcom Horsin’ Around and today is a washed-up former pop princess, crucified by the media who have no use for her now that she’s turned 30. In flashbacks to her teenage years, we see her as a self-obsessed young woman attempting to rebel against the cutesy little girl image with songs that twist her TV nickname, prickly pear into a vaginal euphemism. All her music is about sex and she announces on a talk show that she plans to be sexy forever. But when she hits 30, she’s replaced by new it-girl Sextina Aquafina. Sextina says she grew up with Sarah Lynn’s music, but she is now irrelevant and has no reason to be famous anymore.

Bojack tries to fix his TV daughter, Sarah Lynn

Today, Sarah Lynn is like many of our former child stars. She’s dramatic and out of control, and spends her time popping pills, partying, and trying to kill herself when her boyfriend breaks up with her. Her relationship with Bojack is incredibly complicated, though she’s always looked at him as a father figure and he sees her as a surrogate daughter, they end up sleeping together when Bojack decides to try to “fix her.” Sarah Lynn rightfully calls him out on this, yelling at him for claiming to know how she feels and trying to be her savior. She tells him she has been exploited her whole life, first by her mother, a stage-mom, then by the scores of men who write her every day to tell her she is the first person they ever masturbated to. Bojack, she feels, has no right to try to be her father or her lover.

Young Sarah Lynn looked to Bojack as a father figure

Diane is a writer who meets Bojack when he hires her to ghostwrite his memoirs. Though she is meant to be desirable and is described as attractive, Diane is drawn with an average woman’s body and wears a boxy jacket and thick glasses. In fact, she looks a lot like Daria, a show she’d probably love. The main character and others, fall in love with her and most of the first season is a love triangle revolving around her. Although love triangles are a bit of a tired plot device, it was refreshing to see one involving such a realistic idea of a woman. Diane is no two dimensional dream girl. She’s a writer with a thriving career and intense interests and opinions. She’s sarcastic and well-informed, but she can also be self-centered and brutally ambitious, such as in plot line towards the end of the season where she attempts to publish an unflattering portrayal of Bojack without his permission. It’s crucial that Diane is never made to look like an evil seductress who manipulates Bojack. She’s just a person and even though she is eventually vindicated, it’s acknowledged that it was a terrible thing to do.

Bojack falls for his feminist ghostwriter, Diane — Bojack falls for his ghostwriter, a third wave feminist named Diane

Diane identifies as a third wave feminist, but is unsure what that means for her. In one scene, she enters into a long monologue about pop singer Sarah Lynn who she claims not to think much about. She’s conflicted, on one hand she appreciates how Sarah Lynn has reclaimed her sexuality but on the other, she questions whether it is truly possible to do so in a patriarchal society.

Diane is also an interesting conversation point for discussions of race in animation. The character is Vietnamese, yet she is voiced by a white actress. Though I loved Alison Brie in the role, this casting made me question whether there is a distinction between racebent casting in live action and animated programs. Unlike stereotypical animated characters, like Apu on The Simpsons, Diane does not have either a subtle or exaggerated Vietnamese accent, so there’d be no specific distinction between her and a Vietnamese actress in the role. But does it matter whether white actors lend their voices to animated POCs?

We must not forget that any media project, especially these days, has a meta-textual component, such as interviews, photo shoots, recommendations, and career opportunities for its stars and creators. Though Brie is excellent, this could have been a great opportunity for a Vietnamese actress to make a name for herself. I’m not sure what to think on the issue or whether it is indeed an issue, it just occurred to me as an interesting idea to consider. Kudos to the team behind Bojack for creating an Asian-American woman character to play such an integral part of the story regardless.

Diane is often frustrated with her happy-go-lucky boyfriend Mr. Peanut Butter

Though on multiple occasions the show mentions an in-world personality test, “Zoe or Zelda,” that reduces each person to one of two types, the women on the show are not so easily reduced to virgins or whores. Sensible Diane has a vibrant sex life with her dog-boyfriend Mr. Peanut Butter, while sex-pot Sarah Lynn has given a great deal of thought to her image and desires to control it. It’s great touches like these, and its intricate animal-person analogies that make Bojack Horseman worthy of a watch. Other than its covert feminism, the most unique thing about the program is its sequential story. Unlike most adult animated comedies, that tell one-off self-contained stories, the first season unfolds as a complete a well-paced story arc.

Of course, if you’re not into late night comedies, Bojack may not be the show for you. But I recommend giving it a chance. It starts slow, but only gets better.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

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

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.

Ja’mie: Mean-Spirited Impression of a Private School Girl

Power dynamics mean something in comedy. Making fun of someone less powerful than you is sort of like beating up someone who’s small, or taking advantage of someone naive. It’s not very sporting, and it makes you look mean. The problem is that the same person can be powerful in some contexts and not in others. A rich, white 17-year-old girl, for example, might be very powerful in contexts where she’s bullying her classmates at school, but less powerful in contexts where she’s trying to meet the demands of a sexist culture. If you’re an adult man nearing 40, it’s hard to make fun of the way a teenage girl dresses, flirts, and moons over boys without starting to look kind of petty.

This guest post by Katherine Murray appears as part of our theme week on Child and Teenage Girl Protagonists.

Ja’mie: Private School Girl features a drag performance from Australian comedian Chris Lilley that’s sometimes funny and sometimes uncomfortable to watch. Join me as I do the least funny thing in the world, and try to explain how a joke works.

Currently airing on HBO, Ja’mie: Private School Girl has plenty of funny moments as well as plenty that seem more mean-spirited, and the combination creates an uncomfortable viewing experience. Ja’mie, portrayed by Lilley, is a narcissistic and socially tone-deaf villain who was previously featured in We Can Be Heroes: Finding the Australian of the Year and Summer Heights High. Like The Office’s David Brent before her, Ja’mie craves admiration from others, but rarely does anything commendable. Instead, she inadvertently reveals herself to be racist, snobbish, bullying, and homophobic, while trying to sing her own praises. Private School Girl is the first series to focus exclusively on Ja’mie, following her through her day-to-day life as she prepares to graduate from the exclusive Hillford Girls Grammar School, and attempts to win the coveted Hillford Medal.

Ja’mie is one of Lilley’s most popular characters, and it isn’t hard to see why. A quick YouTube search returns some really funny clips from Heroes and Summer Heights High, where most of the comedy comes from Ja’mie’s hypocrisy. In Heroes, Ja’mie tries to gain recognition for her charity work—sponsoring African children through a World Vision analog—but reveals herself to be shallow and racist as soon as she tries to explain the project. She admits that she doesn’t know the names of any of the children she sponsors, because their names are “weird,” but she sings to their pictures “in their language” by making up words and clicking her tongue. When she learns that most of the children she sponsors were killed in a horrible flood, she’s devastated by the idea that this might hurt her chances at winning Australian of the Year, and calls the charity to make a customer complaint.

In Summer Heights High, Ja’mie is an exchange student at the titular public school, and she continually insults her classmates for being poor and ugly under the guise of finding common ground. She introduces herself by giving a prepared speech about how private school students are more likely to go to university and earn more money, whereas wife-beaters and rapists are statistically more likely to come from public schools. “People always go, ‘Private schools create better citizens,’”she says, “But I would say they create better quality citizens.” Later, when she campaigns for an end-of-year dance, she begins by telling everyone that dances give poor people (or “povos”), like them, something to live for. Under her leadership, the dance then becomes so expensive that no one can afford to buy tickets.

As of this writing, four of Private School Girl’s six episodes have aired, and the funniest moments rely on the same type of humour—scenes where Ja’mie congratulates herself for being nice to everyone, juxtaposed with documentary-style footage of her bullying other students. Fittingly, her nemesis at Hillford is an unpretentious girl named Erin who seems genuinely nice, and cares about helping others. Ja’mie recoils in disgust whenever Erin says or does anything heartfelt, and hypocritically accuses her of faking kindness in order to be admired. Though one might wish there were more characters for Ja’mie to play against, those scenes work really well, as do most of the scenes where we see Ja’mie whiplash between the falsely humble face she wears around people she wants to impress, and the vicious, Eric Cartman-like monster within.

Unfortunately, there are other scenes in Private School Girl where it seems like the joke is just “Ha! She’s a girl!” which makes things a little uncomfortable. Chris Lilley also gave this cringey interview where he said that straight guys love the show, because “The show is sort of like making fun of girls. It’s doing all the annoying things that our girlfriends do.” Unless the annoying things their girlfriends do include grossly misusing charity outreach programs and tyrannizing strangers at school, I’m not sure that “annoying things girls do” is an awesome target for a grown man’s comedy—especially when the annoying things aren’t otherwise hurting anyone else.

For example, there are lot of scenes where Ja’mie and her friends talk over each other excitedly, dissolving into a wall of noise and screeching for seemingly endless minutes. In the first episode, there’s a scene where they goof around, taking a long time to say goodbye to each other, yelling back and forth about how they’ll miss each other SO MUCH, and how they’re best friends, before running back for hugs. There are scenes that are just about Ja’mie being excited because a cute boy accepted her friend request on Facebook, or because she gets to throw a party. In most of these instances, the events aren’t exaggerated to the point that they become absurd and therefore funny — instead, they feel like a fairly true-to-life impression of a certain type of teenage girlhood, and it feels like the show takes for granted that it’s OK to just make fun of that.

From a practical standpoint, the scenes aren’t particularly funny — they feel too much like watching a real reality show, where people you don’t particularly like have conversations that aren’t particularly important. At the same time, there’s an uncomfortable undercurrent, since the inclusion of most of these scenes tells us that they were supposed to be funny—that there’s supposed to be something inherently laughable in the way that (some) teenage girls talk to each other, or the way they express their emotions—so laughable that you don’t even need to make up a joke for the scene; you just have to show it. As satire, it’s a far cry from the wicked hypocrisy of Ja’mie’s charity mission in Africa.

There are other jokes, though, that cut a little closer to the bone, and most of them involve Ja’mie’s brazen but awkward sexuality. Mistakenly believing herself to be a good dancer, she repeatedly tries to gain attention by performing sexually charged (or “slutty”) choreography and undoing the top buttons on her uniform to show her bra. She flirts with her school principal and, when a boy stays over at her house, she makes sure to casually pass by his room wearing only a towel. She constantly seeks reassurance that she’s not fat, while obsessing over the idea that her breasts are too small, and there’s an ongoing plot about the etiquette of sexting. Internet spoilers assure me that the ongoing discussion of Ja’mie’s breasts, and whether or not she should flash them, is building toward conflict in the final episodes, but, as others have pointed out, it isn’t always clear whether the show is making fun of Ja’mie or of the culture that’s placed her in this position.

When it comes to sex, teenage girls are at a disadvantage. They’re subject to conflicting demands, telling them both that the need to be sexually available and that sexual availability is not OK—they inhabit a world where developing a sexual identity is a Choose Your Own Adventure that always ends in scorn. Although I’ll withhold judgement about the finale until I’ve seen it, there’s an uncomfortable sense that Private School Girl has so far treated Ja’mie’s conflicted sexuality as another instance of her personal hypocrisy—that she’s pretending to be modest when really she’s the kind of girl who wants to flash her tits, or she’s pretending to be sexually experienced when really she’s too frigid to get it on—rather than a relic of a culture that would shame her both for wanting and not wanting sex.

Altogether, Private School Girl works really well when its satire is aimed at racists, bullies, and snobs, but significantly less well when it’s aimed at the more diffuse target of “girls.” Watching it, you come away with the sense that Chris Lilley has gotten a little bit too good at playing this character; that he’s revelling in his ability to imitate a certain set of mannerisms, while the point of the joke has been lost.

Katherine Murray is a Toronto-based writer and couch potato who yells about TV on her blog.

How To Recognize The Signs Of Feminist Burnout

Written by Myrna Waldron.

Sufferers of Feminist Burnout are advised that laptops don’t taste very good. (Source: SoftwareSourcery.Com)

Feminist Burnout, or ohmyfuckinggodwhyisthissohardforpeopletounderstanditis, is a common ailment afflicting individuals also suffering from the insane notion that women are people. Approach with caution. Feminist Burnout is extremely contagious.

Signs and symptoms of Feminist Burnout include:

Explosive exasperation at Hugo Schwyzer

Twitter arguments that end after 3 tweet exchanges and a blocking because you just cannot put up with this shit anymore

Mass unfriending of Facebook friends sharing pictures trying to make you feel bad that people are apparently regularly aborting full-term fetuses

Severe frown lines caused by awareness of advertising tactics

Blog entries created by repeatedly slamming your head on your keyboard in frustration

Complete lack of surprise that Katy Perry and Taylor Swift do not consider themselves feminists because of course they fucking don’t

Nightmares over the possibility of confronting certain gamers on their sexism and their likely responses

Paranoia that “misandry” might actually be added to the dictionary someday

Eyestrain from trying to comprehend female anatomy depicted in video games and comic books

Nausea over racist topless protesters being allowed to define the movement in the media

Compulsive side-eye at pretty much everyone in Hollywood

Excessive fantasies of punching the crap out of anyone who spouts “BUT WHAT ABOUT THE MENZ?!”

Unrestrained masochism that includes, but is not limited to: Challenging powerful individuals in the media on their bullshit, reading the comments, clicking on links that contain “FOX” in the URL, going on reddit, opening a Tumblr account

If left untreated, Feminist Burnout can result in exhaustion, emotional overload, lack of inspiration, and even utter defeat. There is no cure for Feminist Burnout. But there are several therapeutic treatments recently discovered:

Turn off the fucking computer and mobile phone.

Eat some ice cream.

Have a nap.

Hug someone who “gets it.”

Look at pictures of puppies and/or kittens. (if unable to pry self from internet)

Write a satirical blog entry.

Feminist Burnout is a serious issue affecting approximately 99% of feminists, who are amazed at the 1% who are able to press on without experiencing any symptoms. If someone you love is affected by Feminist Burnout, do not exacerbate the symptoms by asking them to explain concepts that should be obvious to anyone who has actually questioned the world around them. Privilege Blindness is considered a mental condition that has been known to worsen the symptoms of Feminist Burnout. Individuals who argue that feminism does not truly seek equality because it is primarily focused on women are advised to shut the fuck up. Women who deliberately choose not to define themselves as feminists as it might scare men away are pieces of shit. MRAs who pick fights with sufferers of Feminist Burnout to prove some sort of warped point are advised to stab themselves in the genitals repeatedly.

If you suffer from Feminist Burnout, You Are Not Alone! Sufferers are advised to remember that although there is no cure for Feminist Burnout, there will eventually be a cure for societal inequality.

Now go have a cup of tea.

———-

Myrna Waldron is a feminist writer/blogger with a particular emphasis on all things nerdy. She lives in Toronto and has studied English and Film at York University. Myrna has a particular interest in the animation medium, having written extensively on American, Canadian and Japanese animation. She also has a passion for Sci-Fi & Fantasy literature, pop culture literature such as cartoons/comics, and the gaming subculture. She maintains a personal collection of blog posts, rants, essays and musings at The Soapboxing Geek, and tweets with reckless pottymouthed abandon at @SoapboxingGeek.

Indifferent To Suffering, Insensitive To Joy: ‘Network’s’ Dangerous Career Woman

Women In Politics Week: Indifferent To Suffering, Insensitive To Joy: ‘Network’s’ Dangerous Career Woman

By Myrna Waldron

Network DVD Art

For a while, I think people got the impression that I don’t like films if they’re not explicitly feminist. The reality is, most films are not feminist, but it doesn’t necessarily diminish their respective quality – Back to the Future, Casablanca and The Third Man are amongst my favourite films of all time, but I could not describe them as remotely feminist. Amongst that list of favourite films is the 1976 black comedy/satire Network, which is a scarily prescient skewering of the television industry. It won four Academy Awards, three for acting – Best Actress Faye Dunaway, Best Actor Peter Finch (which was awarded posthumously) and Best Supporting Actress Beatrice Straight. The fourth award was for its screenplay penned by Paddy Chayefsky.

The film’s “heroine,” Diana Christensen, played by Faye Dunaway, is very much a product of the 70s. She has directly benefitted from the second wave feminism movement, breaking the glass ceiling and becoming the sole female television executive at UBS, the fictional network depicted in this film. But…she is not a feminist character. Yes, she is strongly written, sexually confident, and an obvious success in her field, but she is also obsessive, emotionless, cynical and dangerous. In short, a ball-breaking career woman. She has achieved much based on the sheer power of her ambitions, but it is clear that her single-minded ambitions are meant to contrast negatively to the more idealistic and grounded outlooks of the male “heroes,” Howard Beale (Peter Finch) and Max Schumacher (William Holden).

Diana is the Vice President of UBS’s programming division, but eventually worms her way into taking Max Schumacher’s job, which was to be in charge of the news division. The news division gets lousy ratings and haemorrhages money, so they make the decision to fire their news anchor, Howard Beale. This instead causes Beale’s mind to snap, and he begins ranting about planning to commit suicide on air (which was based on a real-life event) and how he has “run out of bullshit.” The ratings spike, prompting the obsessive Diana to seize on the newscast and turn it into a combination variety show and talk show. The integrity of the news and the political system that it influences mean nothing to Diana – she is singularly obsessed with getting ratings and making money for UBS.

Diana Christensen

In her work to get better ratings for the network, she offers a deal to Laureen Hobbs, a leader of the Communist Party, to get video footage of a radical leftist terrorist group known as the Ecumenical Liberation Army (a parody of the terrorist group which kidnapped Patty Hearst). Both women are deeply cynical and sarcastic, and introduce themselves to each other as what they are stereotyped to be: “Hi, I’m Diana Christensen, a racist lackey of the imperialist ruling circles.” “I’m Laureen Hobbs, a bad-ass commie nigger.” (Hobbs is African-American) “Sounds like the basis of a firm friendship.” Diana does not care at all about the political ramifications of allowing the Communist Party an entire hour of weekly propaganda, or of glorifying the violent tactics of domestic terrorists. She even openly encourages Hobbs to put whatever content she likes in the show just so she can get the terrorists’ crime footage. Meanwhile, she has added several other kitschy segments to The Howard Beale Show, including a psychic who predicts the week’s news every Friday.

This same psychic tells Diana that she will be having an emotional affair with a craggy middle-aged gentleman. She interprets this man to be Max Schumacher, with whom she starts an affair. She knows that he has been married for 25 years and has children, and doesn’t care at all, she, in fact, was the one who initially approached him. Her cynicism and selfishness extend to her personal life as well. The affair abruptly ends when she steals Schumacher’s job and exploits the mentally ill Beale for ratings. They reconnect after an executive’s funeral – her attraction to Schumacher being the only thing besides television that she shows remote joy in (Schumacher is emotionally obsessed and infatuated with Diana). But even that joy is short lived, for she continually blathers about her job even while having sex. To go along with how she has elbowed herself in to a social caste normally populated by men, she even describes herself as being sexually masculine: “I can’t tell you how many man have told me what a lousy lay I am. I apparently have a masculine temperament. I arouse quickly, consummate prematurely, and can’t wait to get my clothes back on and get out of that bedroom. I seem to be inept at everything except my work.”

Howard Beale’s Rant

Diana’s tenure as the producer of The Howard Beale show has significant political ramifications. Beale’s famous rant, in which he encourages his audience to scream, “I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take it any more!” fosters an atmosphere of discontent with the status quo and outrage that their individualism is insidiously being taken away from them. It becomes a catchphrase, and Beale begins making daily rants, and eventually even believes himself as a kind of political prophet with the unique ability to communicate via the television. The angrier the audience gets, the more the ratings increase, and the more Diana likes it. The show eventually becomes the #1 most watched program in America, and Diana unabashedly takes all the credit for its success.

UBS is owned by a media conglomerate called the CCA (Communications Company of America), and the corporate influence of the conglomerate gradually takes over how the network is run. Frank Hackett (Robert Duvall), Diana & Max’s direct supervisor, eventually becomes CEO after the original CEO dies of a heart condition. This marks the end of UBS’s journalistic credibility, for Hackett is a blatant corporate shill. Unfortunately for Beale, he makes an enemy of the CCA when he learns that the conglomerate is to be bought out by Saudi Arabians, and thus goes on a rant about how much of American property and commerce is owned by the Saudis. He demands that his audience send telegrams to the White House demanding that they put a stop to Saudi money taking over American culture. UBS is not a wealthy network, and absolutely depends on this merger to survive. The CEO of CCA, Arthur Jensen (Ned Beatty) demands to see Beale, and goes on a thunderous rant about how there is no such thing as nations or individuals – that money is the only thing that matters, the only reality in the modern world.

He scares Howard Beale into promoting his own viewpoints, which are directly opposite to the previous subjects of Beale’s rants. The ratings begin to fall because the audience resents being told that they are only cogs in a great moneymaking machine, not the worthy individuals Beale originally told them they were. Laureen Hobbs, by this point, has been sucked in too by the temptations of the corporate system, and becomes so obsessed with earning enough money to continue her show she has, instead of being a Communist, become a classical Capitalist. Furious at how Howard Beale’s flagging ratings are damaging her show, she rants to Diana that Beale should be fired. Diana has already been planning to end Beale’s show.

Diana celebrating The Howard Beale Show’s success

Meanwhile, Diana’s cynicism and lack of emotional depth have taken a toll on her relationship with Max Schumacher. She defines their relationship, yet again, in relation to television: “It’s time to reevaluate our relationship, Max. I don’t like the way this script of ours is turning out. It’s turning into a seedy little drama. Middle-aged man leaves wife and family for young heartless woman, goes to pot.” Instead, Max turns the tables on her. Noting that she, unlike him, has grown up only knowing the artificiality of television, he realizes that she is completely unable to form or articulate genuine emotion. That television has destroyed her, destroyed Laureen Hobbs, and will destroy him too if he continues to have a relationship with her. He tells her that she is “…Indifferent to suffering, insensitive to joy. All of life is reduced to the common rubble of banality.” The man who left his wife of 25 years is apparently morally above a young woman who, by his own admission, is not to blame for the artificiality of her emotions. Instead, Diana’s single-minded ambition damns her.

Losing Max seems to spark a final unforgivable act of cynicism – Diana completely disregards the right to human life and orders Howard Beale’s assassination. Since Beale is now espousing the moral and political beliefs of Mr. Jensen, Jensen wants the show to continue, but the UBS executives are unable to ignore or forgive Beale’s flagging ratings. Instead of risking the wrath of CCA by firing Beale or allowing him to retire, they hire the Ecumenical Liberation Army to shoot him to death onscreen. Money is the only reality. The cynical, emotionless career woman says, “I don’t see that we have any options. Let’s kill the son of a bitch.” They can then dredge up one last ratings spike out of Beale. The footage of Beale being shot to death is broadcast over and over, next to other newscasts and commercials – in the end, even the murder of a mentally ill man is as meaningless as everything else when it comes to television.

Diana Christensen is a tremendously complicated character. It is hard to hate her, but the audience is meant to be repelled by the sheer scope of her ambition and obsession. It is quite revealing that Laureen Hobbs, the other major female character in the story, becomes just as cynical and hypocritical as Diana and abandons everything else for the sake of the mighty rating. Is it true that the generations that have grown up only knowing a world with television have become emotionally stunted? Does Chayefsky think all ambitious career women are as single-minded and emotionally/sexually stunted as Diana, or is she just a mere satirical exaggeration? What is apparent is how eerily this movie predicted the future – a fourth major television network that abandons all pretence of delivering objective news, instead relying on stunt footage, pundits, propaganda, cheap ratings ploys and answers to a dangerously powerful media conglomerate? Sounds familiar. Diana is not remotely a feminist character, but her creation has definitely been influenced by the second wave feminist movement. One thing, however, is clear from Network’s script: Beware the ambitious career woman.

Myrna Waldron is a feminist writer/blogger with a particular emphasis on all things nerdy. She lives in Toronto and has studied English and Film at York University. Myrna has a particular interest in the animation medium, having written extensively on American, Canadian and Japanese animation. She also has a passion for Sci-Fi & Fantasy literature, pop culture literature such as cartoons/comics, and the gaming subculture. She maintains a personal collection of blog posts, rants, essays and musings at The Soapboxing Geek, and tweets with reckless pottymouthed abandon at @SoapboxingGeek.

Movie Review: How ‘Vamps’ Showcases the Importance of Women Friendships

Movie poster for Vamps

Vamps, the new indie film directed by Amy Heckerling and starring Alicia Silverstone and Krysten Ritter (the upcoming star of the TV show Don’t Trust the B—- in Apartment 23) takes the vampire genre and turns it into a fun, feminist celebration of youth culture and female friendship. The film is part spoof of the recent onslaught of vampire fare, part romantic comedy, part buddy movie—with women!—part history documentary, with some astute political commentary thrown in, and, ultimately, a film about aging, which pays particular attention to the struggles women face within a culture that values youth and beauty above all else.

Jason Buchanan on Rotten Tomatoes effectively captures the plot as follows: “Radiant New York City vampires Goody (Alicia Silverstone) and Stacy (Krysten Ritter) find their immortality in question after learning that love can still smolder in the realm of the undead. Meanwhile, Russian bloodsucker Vadim (Justin Kirk) prowls the streets in search of the next big thrill, and Dr. Van Helsing (Wallace Shawn) seeks to exterminate the creatures of the night as young Joey Van Helsing develops an unusual fixation on Stacy. As ravenous ‘stem’ vampire Ciccerus (Sigourney Weaver) presides over her dark dynasty with the help of her loyal assistant Ivan (Todd Barry), oddball Renfield (Zak Orth) strives to impress Stacy and Goody by any means necessary. Amidst all of the bloodshed and intrigue, nefarious vampire Vlad (Malcolm McDowell) works to perfect his knitting skills.”

Alicia Silverstone as Goody and Krysten Ritter as Stacy in Vamps

It’s a fun cast of characters for sure, but Silverstone and Ritter shine as the main (women) characters. And for once there’s almost no reason to discuss The Bechdel Test; these two ladies barely talk about men for the first half of the film. Instead, we get to see them playing practical jokes on each other, hanging out in their shared apartment (often texting back and forth while inside their two side-by-side coffins), discussing their fashion choices—which is hilarious, as they struggle to make sure they’re fitting in with the latest 2012 trends (Stacy was first turned into a vampire in the 80s, and Goody lived all the way through the 1800s)—and generally looking out for each other and even (gasp) looking out for other women.

[SPOILER] Case in point: one of my absolute favorite scenes in the film happens early on, when Goody and Stacy head out for their nighttime ritual of club-hopping and imitating the new dance moves of the local youth “Day Walkers” (the term they use to refer to The Living among them). A couple of particularly horrible dude vampires approaches a woman after she bends over, ass in the air, with the word “Juicy” written on her tight pants. The dude vamps merely introduce themselves to her, to which she responds, “I’ll get my coat.” Goody chastises the horrible dude vampires—Goody and Stacy drink only the blood of rodents, not humans—and the dudes respond with, “She’s asking for it,” referring to her “Juicy” attire. It’s a pretty fucking great commentary on the victim-blaming that always accompanies any instance of the rape or sexual assault of women.

Stacy and Goody on the computer

Goody walks over to the woman with the goal of getting her to stay away from the vampires, but she ultimately ends up hypnotizing her; in this film, vampires have the power to erase the memories of Day Walkers. At first Goody says something to the woman (paraphrasing), “Listen, you don’t want to leave with them. They’re really bad guys.” The woman says, “I like bad guys.” Goody begins hypnotizing her, repeating, “No, I like nice guys.” The woman walks away, passing the horrible dude vampires, while saying, “I like nice guys. I like guys who listen to me when I say things.” (I laughed out loud at that.)

This scene makes me so happy for a couple of reasons. First, a woman intervening to help another woman avoid getting killed by two horrible dude vampires—an obvious metaphor for rape in this scene, rarely happens in movies. How lovely to see that! Because women looking out for their friends certainly happens in real life—first-hand experience! Second, while I don’t necessarily like the implication that women always go for Bad Boys, I appreciate the acknowledgment that bros like this, who want to harm, abuse, and assault women, definitely exist.

Stacy, Goody, and Sigourney Weaver as Cisserus in Vamps

Also, get this: I turned 33 six months ago. I still have my crappy 35-dollar Blackberry that my sister’s dog spent an hour chewing on. (There are bite marks on the fucking battery.) Let me just say, I could relate to the commentary about youth culture in this film. Heckerling makes wonderful observations about technology, with constant mentions of Twitter, Facebook, texting (there’s a funny reference to someone being in a “textual relationship” due to lack of real-life communication), and other technological stuff I’m probably forgetting because I don’t know what it is. While the film definitely celebrates youth culture, especially in its appreciation of women’s fashion (which reminded me so much of Heckerling’s famous film Clueless), it also juxtaposes that celebration with a critique of the value our society places on youth. That theme comes into play throughout the film, but the focus on women and aging sharpens with the introduction of the head vampire in charge.

Two words: Sigourney Weaver. Do we not adore her? The Alien films, mainly due to Weaver’s badass role as Ellen Ripley, remain one of the quintessential go-to franchises for getting that much-needed feminist fix that Hollywood movies today seem less willing to provide. (Quick shout out to Hunger Games, though!) And Weaver’s role in Vamps as Cisserus, the head vampire, or “Stem,” as they refer to the few vampires who possess the power to turn people into vampires, displays some feminist qualities—strength, leadership, and ambition, to name a few—but her character isn’t without flaws.

While the other vamps fear Weaver’s character—because she’s In Charge—they mainly fear her because she’s the evil, murderous villain. She obsesses over acquiring the love of young men, and when she doesn’t get it, well, you know, she eats them. In many ways, she reminds me of a vampiric version of Miranda Priestly, Meryl Streep’s character in The Devil Wears Prada. She often summons Goody and Stacy (by psychically speaking to them), and it’s almost always to make them model clothing. (Ha!) See, vampires can’t see themselves in mirrors (invisible!), so Weaver wants to look at these women wearing her very youthful, fashionable clothing so that she can visualize what it possibly looks like on her. Eventually though, Cisserus’ power goes so far to her head that she begins putting the other vampires in danger, and the tagline for the last act of the film basically becomes “This Bitch Needs to Die.”

Vampires hanging out at the club

A woman-in-charge who becomes an evil, power-hungry bitch who ruins lives? Where have I seen that before? (Clue: EVERYWHERE.) I did get the sense from Vamps, though, that it’s making light of that trope rather than relishing in it, and casting feminist film icon Weaver in that role further pushes it toward satire. An interview with Weaver in Collider sheds a bit more light on that:

Collider: What made you decide to jump into the vampire genre with Vamps?

Weaver: Well, I’m a big Amy Heckerling fan, and I also loved the character. She was so unrepentant … I love playing delicious, evil parts like that.

Collider: How does your character fit into the story?

Weaver: She is the person who turned the girls into vampires. So, they have to do her bidding, and she’s very unreasonable and demanding. I would have to say that the one change I made was that I thought she was not really enjoying herself very much, in the original script. I thought, “What’s not to enjoy?” She’s 2,000 years old, she can have anything, she can have anyone, she can do what she wants, so I wanted her to be totally in-the-moment. So, I talked to Amy about it and she just evolved that way. She’s a really happy vampire. She digs it.

(I have to admit, I can kind of get behind a woman—vampire or not—saying, “Fuck it; I own this town.”)

Most of the descriptions and plot summaries I’ve read of Vamps say things like: “Two female vampires in modern-day New York City are faced with daunting romantic possibilities” … (from imdb). True, but not quite. It’s ridiculous to reduce the film to the status of cheesy rom-com because, while both Stacy and Goody somewhat struggle with their hetero-romantic relationships, Vamps ultimately celebrates the friendship and love between the two lead women. (I will say that I have a feminist critique of the ending, but I can’t give it away YET; the movie only recently got picked up by Anchor Bay Films and will be released in theaters around Halloween.)

Stacy and Goody at the club

Overall, it’s pretty significant that I left the theater feeling that this movie—a vampire movie that follows most of the same vampire tropes as all vampire movies—explores something new. It’s also disappointing that I left with that feeling. Because when I thought about it later, I realized what felt so new to me was the depiction of a female friendship that seemed wonderfully authentic. Their dude problems were fairly secondary; their loyalty to each other trumped all other obstacles. Their friendship, in fact, resembled my real-life friendships with women: we don’t fight over men; we don’t sit around endlessly talking about men; we don’t get together and stuff our faces with entire cakes if a man doesn’t call.

That’s why this close relationship between Goody and Stacy is so important to see on The Big Screen in 2012.

In an interview conducted with the director Amy Heckerling by Women and Hollywood, Melissa Silverstein asks the question, “Do you have any comment on the fact that only 5% of movies are directed by women?” Heckerling’s response? “It’s a disgusting industry. I don’t know what else to say. Especially now. I can’t stomach most of the movies about women. I just saw a movie last night—I don’t want to say the name—but again with the fucking wedding, and the only time women say anything is about men.”

Word.

Mad Men YouTube Break: Mad Men in 60 Seconds

Whether you love the show or not, I dare you not to laugh at this parody sketch. And, as much as I do like the show, there’s still some truth here.