Tag: Sexism

‘Trainspotting’ Is ‘Pretty Woman’ For Boys

From the ‘Bitch Flicks’ that brought you “‘Birdman’ Is Black Swan For Boys” and “‘Fight Club’ Is Pride And Prejudice For Boys,” comes the thrilling conclusion of our Filmic Forced Feminization Trilogy: “‘Trainspotting’ is ‘Pretty Woman For Boys”! No, really.

Choose wife.
Choose wife.

 

Written by Brigit McCone.

From the Bitch Flicks that brought you “Birdman Is Black Swan For Boys” and “Fight Club Is Pride And Prejudice For Boys,” comes the thrilling conclusion of our Filmic Forced Feminization Trilogy: “Trainspotting is Pretty Woman For Boys”! No, really.

Consider the openings: Renton runs down the road to the voiceover of the iconic “choose life” monologue, before colliding with a car. The camera shares the perspective of the car’s occupants, stalled in their protective shell of metal, as this threatening creature of countercultural anarchy peers in at them. And laughs. Now consider our camera sharing Richard Gere’s perspective, stalled in the protective shell of his luxury vehicle, as the threatening prostitute of countercultural anarchy peers in at him. And laughs.

Vivian is an antidote to the stale marital maneuverings of mainstream culture. She flaunts her lack of pantyhose to scandalized elderly couples. She tells matchmaking materialists that she’s simply using Edward for sex. She regards the hypocrisy of mainstream respectability politics with undisguised contempt. Our assumptions about the inferiority of a prostitute’s life choices are challenged by the defiant anthem that plays as she struts: “things you only dream about, wild women do.” Just as Trainspotting dignifies its hero’s autonomy by openly acknowledging the attraction of heroin and the logic of his choice, so Pretty Woman openly acknowledges the attraction of sex work as social rebellion, financial autonomy and independence. Vivian might as well have her own monologue about the pressure to “choose wife.” Why would she want to do a thing like that?

Renton and Vivian laugh at your respectability.
Renton and Vivian laugh at your respectability.

 

Of course, the film ends with Vivian choosing wife, just as Renton finally chooses life, but they choose it on their terms. I’ve written before about how the supposed antifeminism of “whores” and “white knights” has blinded us to the politics of autonomy in Pretty Woman. Scratch its candy-coated surface, or scratch the edgily aggressive snarl of Trainspotting, and you reveal a shared approach to the challenges of stigma raised by prostitution and drug addiction. Such as…

 The Failure Of Paternalism

Putting up with crap.
Putting up with crap.

 

The remarkable results that Portugal has achieved by decriminalizing drug use and treating addiction as sickness rather than crime, mirror the impressive achievements of New Zealand’s  decriminalizing of sex work. Our urge to discipline and punish individual choice has been ineffective in preventing “vice,” sustaining organized crime and social inequality in the process. Trainspotting and Pretty Woman reflect this reality. Renton’s initial decision to come off drugs is presented as a spontaneous choice from his inner resolve. Later, his parents attempt to enforce a cure by locking him in his bedroom to go cold turkey. The legal system attempts to enforce a cure through the courts. Neither of these paternalist pressures are shown to be effective. Similarly, Vivian consistently refuses Edward’s attempts to treat her as an object of pity or a mistress, preferring the independence of sex work to the subordination demanded by paternalist savior narratives. Only by admitting his own need to be rescued, and offering full romantic equality on Vivian’s terms, can Edward persuade her to mainstream.

More than ineffective, each film presents social stigma as actively counterproductive. It is while independently trying to come off heroin, without medical support, that Renton must make his iconic dive into the crap-filled Worst Toilet In Scotland for his suppositories. It is when trying to mainstream that he becomes mentally vulnerable to the condescending pity and judgmental attitudes of others, driving his relapse. Likewise, it is when attempting to mainstream that Vivian must endure the metaphorical crap of the Worst Boutique On Rodeo Drive and it is while passing as respectable that she becomes mentally vulnerable to the humiliating judgments of Stuckey, where a prostitute’s uniform would make her feel defiantly “prepared.” Both Trainspotting and Pretty Woman argue that social stigma fuels defiance and deters mainstreaming. Though each film freely acknowledges the hazards of the lifestyle portrayed, from Pretty Woman‘s dead hooker in a dumpster and assault by Stuckey, to Trainspotting‘s dead baby and AIDS casualties, they remain firmly opposed to the hypocritical righteousness of dominant culture. Witness their choice of Begbie and Stuckey to represent mainstream ideology.

Begbie and Stuckey: Dominant Hypocrites

Enduring all manner of cunts
Enduring all manner of cunts

 

Phil Stuckey is a cunt, in the utterly unreclaimed, gender-neutral, Scottish sense of that word. He is a man who will eagerly solicit prostitutes, yet defend his right to hit them with a superior snarl of “she’s a whore!” In this, he mirrors Trainspotting‘s Begbie, who is content to profit from drug deals while righteously sneering over an addict’s choice to “poison their body with that shite.” Both Begbie and Stuckey have a toxic combination of arrogance and insecurity, a continual need to prove their status at the expense of others. The suppressed violence in Stuckey’s craving for the corporate “kill” erupts in his assault on Vivian, after being denied financial satisfaction. Begbie is chronically violent, craving the adrenalin of a brawl as much as addicts crave their drug of choice. In short, in remarkably similar ways, Begbie and Stuckey are deeply unpleasant cunts. It is into the mouths of these cunts that each film places the judgments of dominant society. Begbie expresses dominant opinions about drug addicts and trans* women. Stuckey expresses dominant opinions about sex workers. Both are depicted as dominant, domineering, and thriving.

Trainspotting and Pretty Woman choose to use the repulsiveness of Begbie/Stuckey as the spur that finally decides Renton/Vivian on mainstreaming. A classic savior narrative would use a righteous role model to represent the attraction of mainstream values; Trainspotting and Pretty Woman instead use the nauseous vileness of their representatives as catalyst. As an addict, Renton is forced to fill the pockets of the world’s Begbies. As a prostitute, Vivian is forced to service the ego of the world’s Stuckeys. By presenting mainstreaming itself as an act of resistance to mainstream exploitation, both films are able to realistically acknowledge its health and safety benefits without sacrificing their raised middle finger to mainstream righteousness. They resist the narrative of the mainstream’s moral superiority, not only through the repulsively mainstream Begbie and Stuckey, but through the lovable, marginalized Spud and Kit.

 Spud and Kit: Performance Anxiety

With God's help, they'll conquer this terrible affliction
With God’s help, they’ll conquer this terrible affliction

 

The triumphant Renton is separated from Spud, and the triumphant Vivian is separated from Kit, not by their moral superiority but by their superior ability to perform socially. In Trainspotting‘s court scene, Renton effortlessly convinces as a clean-cut “pretty addict” (the kind you’d like to meet) as he plausibly swears “with God’s help, I shall conquer this terrible affliction,” avoiding jail. By contrast, Spud is nervous and inarticulate. He lacks Renton’s presentation skills and faces jail as a result. Kit suffers similar anxiety. Where Vivian effortlessly adapts to luxury clothes, Kit is afraid to hug Vivian in case she wrinkles her. She seems defensive in Edward’s hotel, taunting the clientele. Kit could not fake the respectability and “class” required from Edward’s escort. By pairing Renton with Spud, and Vivian with Kit, both films expose the nature of respectability as essentially hypocritical performance.

Admirably, neither Spud nor Kit ever punish their friends for their success. Spud allows Renton to steal the group’s drug money, knowing that Renton will be harshly punished if the alarm is raised. Kit appears genuinely delighted at Vivian’s good fortune for meeting Edward, and roots for her to find lasting happiness with him. In many ways, both Spud and Kit are morally superior to the protagonists. This moral worth is recognized and rewarded financially by both heroes: Vivian gives Kit a share of Edward’s payment and Renton leaves Spud a share of the drug money. Will Kit be able to become a Renton of recovered addiction and a Vivian of romantic success? Will Spud? We are only able to root for Kit and Spud’s success because Trainspotting and Pretty Woman present a world in which doom is not inevitable and good fortune is possible.

 Inevitability vs. Agency

He wants the fairy tale
He wants the fairy tale

 

It is fundamentally dehumanizing to suggest that a group in society is inevitably doomed. We know that our own lives are at the mercy of luck and chance; our rewards and punishments are uneven and not proportional to what we deserve, if deserving can even be measured. We make choices, from moment to moment, and we struggle for our own happiness as best we can. To deny someone that choice, that chance and that struggle is to deny our identification with them, as well as any possible support of them. If their doom is inevitable, none of us can be held responsible for failing to prevent it, or even for causing it. Which helps to explain the disposable hookers of Grand Theft Auto.

Renton’s doom is not inevitable. He stood the same chance of contracting AIDS as his fellow addicts; some were lucky, others were not. Likewise, a prostitute who climbs into the car of a slick, suited yuppy could be finding love and fortune with Pretty Woman‘s Edward, or facing gruesome death at the hands of American Psycho‘s Patrick Bateman. The difference is in film genre, not life choice. Here’s an interesting point: have you ever heard anyone point out that Trainspotting depicts heroin use as the direct result of hetero-male sexual failure? Renton and Spud are both shown relapsing after humiliating failures in their attempts to connect with women. Tommy turns to heroin after a bad break-up. Yet, somehow, no causal relationship is assumed between a man’s sex life and his choices. So, why is it so impossible to imagine a prostitute as a survivor of sexual abuse, without the dehumanizing implication that this has mindlessly predetermined her choice to do sex work? Trainspotting‘s Sick Boy and Renton are equally allowed to be haunted by their failures in childcare, and Renton to hallucinate an accusing baby, without being judged “babycrazy” as Ally McBeal. Why is Vivian a “tart with a heart,” yet Renton can show scruples over underage sex and give cash gifts to Spud without being a “magic addict”?

Though Hollywood no longer has a Hays Code demanding punishment for characters who break the law, films still enforce that convention for both sexes. Stuckey’s devastating corporate “kills” are socially acceptable; Vivian’s provision of sex acts for a mutually agreed fee is not. Therefore, it is Vivian that we are conditioned to expect to see suffering consequences, until Pretty Woman flips that script. According to cinematic convention, stealing a bag of drug money should be the beginning of a No Country For Old Men-style thriller of inevitable doom. In Trainspotting, it is the hero’s happy ending. By offering its heroin addict a chance to evade all consequences for his actions, and to claim the prosperity and respectability that is supposedly the social reward for virtue, the film calls our bluff. If we truly pity the tragic fate of society’s doomed victims, we should rejoice in Renton’s lucky escape. However, as Oscar Wilde puts it: “anyone can sympathize with the sufferings of a friend, but it takes a very fine nature to sympathize with a friend’s success.” Spud and Kit might have that very fine nature, but do we? Mark Renton has no time for your puritanical need to see him punished for his life choices. Renton is going to blend in with the mainstream and become indistinguishable from all the other hypocrites. Renton was born slippy, and he’s going to get away with it. Because Renton has secretly been Cinder-fuckin-rella all along.

What more proof do you need that Trainspotting is Pretty Woman for boys?

Pretty addict, walking down the street
Pretty addict, walking down the street

 

Brigit McCone always thought Vivian should have chosen Barney the hotel manager, but recognizes he’s probably married. She writes and directs short films and radio dramas. Her hobbies include doodling and irritating Fight Club fanboys.

Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

Check out what we’ve been reading this week–and let us know what you’ve been reading/writing in the comments!

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A pantheon of one’s own: 25 female film critics worth celebrating at BFI

#FilmHerStory: 10 Female Biopics That Desperately Need to Happen by Elisabeth Donnelly at Flavorwire

Ava DuVernay: Focusing the Lens on Equality by Kitty Lindsay at Ms. blog

The Workplace Is Even More Sexist In Movies Than In Reality by Walt Hickey at FiveThirtyEight

13 Gay Things You Can’t Miss at South By Southwest by Neal Broverman at Advocate

“Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt” is Funny, But Has Its Flaws by Parker Marie Molloy at Bitch Media
50 Shades of Boring. by Scarlett Harris at The Scarlett Woman
Univision Race Gaffe Shows Culture Gap by Maria Murriel at NPR’s Code Switch
Disney says Frozen sequel is on its way by Esther Zuckerman at Entertainment Weekly
For Some Women in Hollywood, Movie Roles Are Getting Better With Age by Eliza Krigman at takepart

What have you been reading/writing this week? Tell us in the comments!

Reading Mae West’s ‘Sextette’ as a PUA Manual

I don’t necessarily recommend Mae West’s narcissistic seductress as a role model for all women, but I strongly recommend her as Laverne Cox’s definition of a “possibility model”; Mae is a reminder that we define our own roles and culture is created partly by our consent.

Watch and learn, average frustrated chumps
Watch and learn, average frustrated chumps

 

Written by Brigit McCone.

PUA (pick-up artistry) is a strange beast. Its core technique relies on teaching men to dehumanize women as “targets” in order to numb themselves to rejection, making it psychologically easier to approach larger numbers of women and therefore, statistically, to enjoy greater sexual success, though at the cost of emotional connection. PUA thus represents the art of maximizing sexual success by minimizing sexual satisfaction. Mae West’s 1978 film Sextette is also a strange beast, and a fascinating film. When I say that it’s fascinating, I don’t mean to suggest that it’s good. Sextette is a car crash of a film, a head-on collision between a lavish MGM musical and Tommy Wiseau’s The Room. It is a perfect candidate for interactive midnight screenings and ironic appreciation, which should be mandatory at every festival of women’s film.

The usual responses of male reviewers label Mae West as “delusional” and “grotesque” for her iron conviction in her own seductive power at the age of 84 (minimum). West was Billy Wilder’s original inspiration for the aging, predatory narcissist Norma Desmond in Sunset Blvd., while reviewer Nathan Rabin says of Sextette, “stick in a coda revealing that the whole thing was a ridiculous fantasy by an impoverished washerwoman nearing death, and the whole film would take on an unmistakably bittersweet, melancholy dimension.” Yes, the guy who invented the “Manic Pixie Dream Girl” label, to criticize self-centered male sexism, suggests that female fantasies of lifelong desirability are only valid if they are affirmed to be impossible in real life. The irony. It burns.

Real life, however, differs from such critics’ expectations of “realism.” Far from ending her life as a sex-starved, “impoverished washerwoman,” Mae West actually had a flourishing relationship with the ruggedly handsome wrestler Paul Novak, almost 30 years her junior, who remained devoted to her for 26 years in one of show business’ greatest romances, nursing her at her death but discouraging her from including him in her will.

The actual Paul Novak
The actual Paul Novak

 

We may squirm at Sextette, to see an 84-year-old lady claim irresistible attractiveness without the apologetic, self-deprecating irony that we demand of older women’s sexuality, but Mae’s claims are securely grounded in her proven track record of seduction. If you will it, Dude, it is no dream. If Mae had listened to dominant culture’s messages about the female sell-by date, she would never have dared to play a sex-bomb in her late 30s, her age in her Hollywood debut, or selected a much-younger and undiscovered Cary Grant for her co-star. We owe Cary Grant’s career to Mae’s “denial,” while her selection of a young Timothy Dalton for the leading man of Sextette shows a similar eye for star potential, the film prophetically comparing him to 007.

I don’t necessarily recommend Mae West’s narcissistic seductress as a role model for all women, but I strongly recommend her as Laverne Cox’s definition of a “possibility model”; Mae is a reminder that we define our own roles and culture is created partly by our consent. Mae West’s Sextette is the most perfect illustration that the values of dominant culture depend on its male authorship, while female authorship (Mae insisted on writing or co-writing all her films, dictating to directors on set) can just as easily create images of octogenarian vixens commanding the lustful worship of entire “United States athletic teams” of half-naked musclemen, and brokering world peace through their irresistible sexual power (why haven’t you seen this film yet?). Sextette uncomfortably tears down the curtain and reveals the balding wizard behind the Great and Powerful Oz of cinema’s “realism,” just as Singing In The Rain exposed the artificiality of Lina Lamont’s glamour by swapping the sex of the voice behind the curtain. Here lies Sextette‘s true countercultural anarchy, and the reason it deserves midnight screening immortality. But the film also represents, as we shall show with our trusty pualingo.com, a classic PUA manual. 

 Abundance Mentality

Next, next!
Next, next!

Abundance mentality is defined by PUA lingo as “the belief and life perspective that there is no shortage of hot girls to meet in any man’s lifetime.” This principle is continually reinforced within male-authored culture, from the female disposability fantasy of James Bond to the geriatric desirability dreams of Woody Allen, which influential New York Times critic Vincent Canby might have considered “a poetic, terrifying reminder of how a virtually disembodied ego can survive total physical decay and loss of common sense” if he hadn’t already said that about Sextette. Conversely, our culture constantly depicts narratives of female anxiety over their “biological clocks” and their “last chance for love,” reinforcing a scarcity mentality whose psychological impact is dramatized with wincing accuracy by the desperation romcom of Bridget Jones’s Diary. Mae West, however, modeled an abundance mentality throughout her life, in defiant immunity to cultural pressures. Though acknowledging her life partner, ruggedly handsome Mr. Baltimore, Paul Novak, was a “good guy,” she quipped in her mid-80s “course there’s 40 guys dyin’ for his job!”

The filmmakers originally intended West’s character, Marlo, to weep over Timothy Dalton’s abandonment, while goth-rock legend Alice Cooper (with tangerine tan and poodle perm, naturally. Why haven’t you seen this film?) serenaded her with piano ballad “No Time For Tears,” but Mae insisted that her character would not cry and forced Cooper to perform the jazzy, uptempo “Next, Next” (“he blew his chance with you! Next, next! Lost you to someone new!”), maintaining her character’s positive vibing so that the film’s advocacy of abundance mentality would not be compromised. West and Dalton’s final reconciliation suggests that this was only a soft next on Marlo’s part, however. Male critics interpret such abundance mentality as delusion, in a woman who resembles a macabre apparition and the monster from beyond time, but West’s track record of sexual success suggests that such protests be understood as token resistance.

Midnight screening suggestion: bring a loud buzzer to hit before yelling “next!”

DHV: Demonstration of Higher Value

Marlo's target, acknowledging her higher value
Marlo’s target, acknowledging her higher value

 

While male sexual value peaks between the ages of 21 and 30 (as clarified by Sextette‘s “happy birthday, 21!” anthem and Mae’s criticism of Tony Curtis as an unsuitably elderly screen lover, only 30 years her junior) and is largely dependent on the man’s rugged looks and muscle-tone, a woman may increase her sexual market value (SMV) at any age by a canned routine of humorous quips, positive vibing, displays of wealth and willingness to walk away or “soft next,” as Mae demonstrates throughout the film. The best technique for a DHV is to avoid direct bragging (which can actually read as desperation, and thus a demonstration of lower value, or DLV), through the use of wings to praise you on your behalf. In Sextette, the role of “Marlo’s wing” is played by Everyone Who Is Not Marlo. Before the central couple arrive, Regis Philbin brands Marlo “the greatest sex symbol the screen has ever known,” while an obliging crowd sings her DHV anthem “Marlo! The female answer to Apollo! As lovely as Venus De Milo! A living dream!” the press corps laugh at her every word and even ex-husband Ringo Starr shows willingness to wing for her: “You know when your wife was my wife? Your wife was some wife!” Such consistent DHV naturally provokes Timothy Dalton’s target into the production of expensive diamonds as well as verbal IOIs, in this clearly approval-seeking ballad (click. I dare you). Claims by male reviewers that this moment is like “gazing upon one of H. P. Lovecraft’s Old Ones, something so momentously and unimaginably monstrous that even perceiving the edges of it threatens one with madness” are best interpreted as manifestations of their bitch shields (BS).

Midnight screening suggestion: wing for Marlo by wolf-whistling and dangle bracelets of sparklers whenever she mentions being turned on.

NLP: Neuro Linguistic Programming

Mae demonstrates kino on Alice Cooper
Mae demonstrates kino on Alice Cooper

Neuro-linguistic programming is the art of conditioning the target‘s responses through  ambiguity and anchoring. In an NLP context, ambiguity is the use of normal, innocuous words that sound like sexual terms, to unconsciously stimulate a man’s sexual senses. Mae West reveals herself a grandmistress of this art, with statements such as “I’m the girl who works at Paramount all day and Fox all night,” referencing her busy schedule as an actress, but subconsciously suggesting  sexual stamina to the receptive male mind. “Everything goes up for Marlo!” literally refers to a pink cassette trampolined into a statue’s mouth (don’t ask) but on a deeply subtle and subconscious level could be regarded as sexually suggestive, while “when I’m good, I’m good, but when I’m bad, I’m better” might conceivably be associated with a sexual “bad girl” rather than with theft or arson. After this ingenious technique has made all men uncontrollably aroused by the octogenarian West, she is free to select her targets at will from their superabundance. Next!

Anchoring, meanwhile, is the art of associating gestures with emotional states through their repetition. In Sextette, Mae uses her anchors, such as trademark hair-patting, to elicit Pavlovian arousal by evoking her earlier performances, while groping her own breasts is a classic point to self (PTS) to anchor her feeling of success. A related art is kino, the regular touching and stroking of the target that prevents octogenarian actresses from ending up in his friend zone, which Marlo can be observed demonstrating on Ricky, the 21-year-old team mascot, throughout Sextette‘s gym scene. When male commentators describe the film as “like watching your grandmother at a gangbang,” the key is to reframe that observation, for example by cocking an eyebrow and purring “does that excite you?”

Midnight screening suggestion: Recognize NLP Ambiguity by clicking fingers and barking “you’re under!” in the style of Little Britain’s Kenny Craig, while all PTS maneuvers should be mimicked.

 Peacocking

Totally alpha
Totally alpha

 

By wearing something showy, like a huge feather headdress or semi-transparent gown, a PUA is able to differentiate herself from her competition. Peacocking is a term derived from the biological behavior of peacocks and from Darwinism, not from the ginormous plumes crowning Mae West like a kooky cockatoo. Peacocking lures the PUA’s targets into starting conversations with her, offering her openings such as “what is that thing on your head? You look like a kooky cockatoo!” By wearing something completely ridiculous, the PUA also opens herself up to shit tests from men, such as New York Times critic Vincent Canby’s claim that Mae resembles “a plump sheep that’s been stood on its hind legs, dressed in a drag-queen’s idea of chic, bewigged and then smeared with pink plaster.” By demonstrating that she can deal with this social pressure, Mae shows her irresistibly alpha characteristics. It must be admitted that, in the striking costumes of legendary, eight-time Oscar-winner Edith Head, Mae looks like a damn chic sheep dressed as sexy lamb.

Midnight screening suggestion: the most ridiculous feather boas and fascinators you can get your hands on, for regular stroking throughout the screening.

So what’s the moral of this study? Should we be inspired by Mae’s conquests of the screen and of ruggedly handsome wrestler, crowned Mr. Baltimore, Paul Novak, to endorse the indomitable positivity of PUA philosophy (go West, young woman)? Or point to the reactions of squirming male viewers to finally prove that PUA is creepy, once and for all? Or does the truth lie somewhere in between, in cultivating a confident independence and immunity to cultural pressure, while still respecting the consent of others? Who knows? Only one moral is certain: never, ever play a drinking game in which you do a shot for every sex pun in this movie. Seriously. You could die. [youtube_sc url=” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nH_j-DNJwZA”]

The trailer alone would get you bombed

Brigit McCone over-identifies with Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard. She writes short films and radio dramas. Her hobbies include doodling and making bad puns out of the corner of her mouth.

Vintage Viewing: Alice Guy, Gender-Bending Pioneer

‘Bitch Flicks’ presents Vintage Viewing – a monthly feature for viewing and discussing the films of cinema’s female pioneers. Where better to start than history’s first film director, Alice Guy?

Alice Guy: she's the man
Alice Guy: she’s the man

Written by Brigit McCone, this post is part of Vintage Viewing, our series exploring the work of women filmmaking pioneers.

When discussing opportunities for women and minorities created by new media, Kathleen Wallace highlighted the explosion of female directors at the birth of cinema, later squeezed out by the studio system. The list of vintage female directors is long, varied, and multinational. Yet, theorists like Laura Mulvey define feminist cinema by its resistance to the Male Gaze™, virtually ignoring the precedent of the female gaze. When was the last time we watched vintage female-authored films and discussed their art or meaning? Bitch Flicks presents Vintage Viewing – a monthly feature for viewing and discussing the films of cinema’s female pioneers. Where better to start than history’s first film director, Alice Guy?

Alice Guy may be compared to Ada Lovelace, who published the original computer program and  first predicted the wider applications of computing. Like Lovelace, Guy was the pioneer who envisioned the future of her field. Like Lovelace, her legacy is only now being reappraised after decades of neglect. Though Guy’s memoirs indicate she may have directed the world’s first fiction film, her massive output, estimated at almost 1,000 films, is really more remarkable for its overall grasp of film’s potential, both technical (hand-painting color film, pioneering the close-up, synchronized sound, and special effects such as superimposition) and in establishing tropes from melodrama to comedy to action to suspense.

Click here to watch an excellent youtube documentary.

Boss.
Boss.

 

Alfred Hitchcock once cited two thrilling early influences: D. W. Griffith and Alice Guy. But Guy wasn’t simply an influential pioneer who happened to be female; she repeatedly challenged gender stereotypes in her work. Though sexologist John Money only coined the concept of a “gender role” in 1955, Alice Guy’s cross-dressing films were interrogating gender’s socially constructed nature 50 years earlier.

 Pierrette’s Escapades – 1900

 “We have often turned away from the exploration and consideration of the erotic as a source of power and information, confusing it with its opposite, the pornographic.” – Audre Lorde

Pierrette’s Escapades is one of the hand-painted demonstration films that Alice Guy produced for Gaumont in France, before her move to America. This film is particularly interesting for probably containing cinema’s first lesbian kiss. Guy recognized the power of representation, not only for queer visibility, but with 1912’s affirmative Jewish narrative A Man’s A Man, and cinema’s first Black cast in that same year’s A Fool and His Money, a story of hustling and hard luck inspired by blues narratives. Within a lushly tinted, escapist sensuality, the women of Pierrette’s Escapades play roles from anarchic Commedia dell’Arte and carnival traditions. As such, their flirtations and kisses can be explained by the established relationships between these stock characters, but Guy has taken conventionally heterosexual love scenes and reimagined them with an all-female cast.

The femme Pierrette, in her throbbing pink dress, resembles a coquettish Columbine, the trickster wife of sad clown Pierrot, and mistress of witty Harlequin (the 16th century’s Bugs Bunny). As rivals, Harlequin and Pierrot represent the two faces of love, its triumphs and disappointments. The film opens with Pierrette reveling in her costume and powdering herself for Harlequin. A figure sidles into frame, in the traditional costume of Pierrot. Pierrot’s baggy clothes and white-powdered face make it difficult to identify the figure’s sex, who clumsily moves to embrace Pierrette, while she dodges impatiently, before Pierrot steals a kiss on her bare shoulder. Pierrette angrily orders her husband/wife to bed and primps for Harlequin. In the skintight, checkered costume and hat that identify the character, Harlequin is unmistakably feminine. In contrast to her coerced affection with Pierrot, Pierrette blossoms with female Harlequin, swooning and spinning before melting into her arms. Guy cuts the film at the moment of their kiss, leaving it open-ended and suggestive.

Pierrette’s low-cut bodice and the raising of her skirts mark this film as teasingly erotic for the time. Records indicate that Guy filmed cinema’s first striptease three years before Pierrette’s Escapades. Since the forced hypersexuality of women on film has become an expression of male control, modern feminists often read such images as objectifying. It’s worth remembering that a female director, Lois Weber, filmed the first female full-frontal, while Mae West provoked the paternalist Hays Code with her sexual frankness. The eroticism of Pierrette’s Escapades is a reminder of the liberating power of playful, sexual self-representation. Like the suffragettes, who wore lipstick as a symbol of defiance, it challenges sexless definitions of feminist orthodoxy. Isn’t viewing female bodies only from the imaginary perspective of an objectifying Male Gaze™ itself oppressive? Soundtrack suggestion: Cyndi Lauper, “Girls Just Want To Have Fun“  [youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xeByzgJFLMs”]

Walk in the sun 

 The Consequences of Feminism – 1906

“Femininity, if one still wants to call it that, makes American women a target and a victim of the sexual sell.” – Betty Friedan

Alice Guy’s work regularly explored the status of women. She moulded Vinnie Burns into cinema’s first action heroine, and depicted women in traditionally male professions such as magicians and dog-trainers. In 1912’s Making an American, “Ivan Orloff and his unhappy wife” represent a caricature of East-European cultures of wife-beating – Orloff’s wife is yoked to his wagon as a beast of burden. When the couple emigrate to America, Guy shows Americans constantly intervening to correct Orloff’s treatment of his wife, presenting resistance to domestic abuse as an American value  fundamental to the “Land of the Free.” 1914’s The Lure was a sympathetic examination of the forces pressuring women into prostitution. Nevertheless, many feminist viewers struggle with Guy’s 1906 farce, The Consequences of Feminism, an apparently reactionary nightmare in which feminism creates a world of “sissified” men, who rebel by reclaiming their clubhouse and toasting the restoration of patriarchy. Discussing Pamela Green’s Guy documentary Be Natural, Kristen Lopez concludes this film depicts “the bad side” of feminism, before apologetically suggesting “the very idea that a woman was exploring social issues in a time when women weren’t allowed to vote is astounding”. Is this really all that can be said? That it’s cool to see a woman having enough of a voice to argue against women having more of a voice?

The Consequences of Feminism does not depict a society on the verge of collapse, it depicts  straightforward role reversal. In her lost 1912 film In The Year 2000, Guy also reverses gender roles, with Darwin Karr playing the objectified “Ravishing Robert”. This anticipates later female authors who used sci-fi to interrogate gender, such as Charlotte Perkins Gilman with 1915’s Herland, or Ursula LeGuin with 1969 Hugo and Nebula prize-winner The Left Hand of Darkness (off topic: am I the only one shipping the Wachowski siblings to adapt?). Compare “Turnabout Intruder,” the genuinely reactionary 1969 finale of the original Star Trek series, which used role reversal to attempt to discredit second-wave feminism. In “Turnabout Intruder,” Dr. Janice Lester voices feminist grievances: “your world of starship captains doesn’t admit women,” before swapping bodies with Captain Kirk and attempting to command. Kirk shows calm authority in Lester’s body, while Lester is emotionally incapable of handling Kirk’s command and “red-faced with hysteria.” As “Turnabout Intruder” shows, discrediting feminism through role reversal requires a demonstration that women are incapable of performing male roles.

The Consequences of Feminism, by contrast, uses a farcical depiction of feminist rule to demonstrate that, while women thrive in male roles, men could not endure Friedan’s “sexual sell” of trading desirability for loss of power. Male viewers are confronted with a vision of themselves as passive “Ravishing Roberts” who must feign sexual resistance to preserve their reputation, laboring in domestic servitude while women supervise at their leisure. Society’s devaluing of domestic labor is shown by the women ridiculing their clubhouse’s sole washerman and pelting him with linens. If male viewers are relieved by the ending, in which a father revolts against a woman who disowns her child, and leads the men in storming the women’s clubhouse, they must acknowledge that collective rebellion against oppressive female roles is justified. Guy’s tongue-in-cheek film is the opposite of stereotypical, humorless feminism, but it demolishes the illusory power of “feminine mystique” just as effectively, as relevant for today’s MRA as for the chivalry of Guy’s own era. Soundtrack suggestion: Missy Elliott, “Work It”

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bIPMbkHQO3w”]

Put my thang down, flip it and reverse it 

 Algie The Miner – 1912

“We’ve begun to raise daughters more like sons… but few have the courage to raise our sons more like our daughters.” – Gloria Steinem

 As a subversive populist, Guy was a master of the bait-n-switch. In 1913’s Officer Henderson, she offers audiences macho police officers dressing as women to catch crooks, the joke being the ridiculous juxtaposition of their fighting skills and feminine image. Then, at the end of the film, Guy substitutes the police officer with his wife, who reveals equal skill in tackling the crook. Officers watch and laugh at their supposed crony brawling in drag, but Guy’s real joke is revealed to be on the men themselves, for assuming that women are incapable of violence or self-defense.

Algie the Miner‘s IMDb entry lists Guy as “directing supervisor” and producer to Edward Warren’s director, at a time when the distinction between producer and director was ill-defined. Her fingerprints are all over the film, however, which she’s often credited as directing. Algie the Miner offers the joke of a flamboyant “sissy” man, contractually obliged by his future father-in-law to “prove himself a man” in rugged Western pursuits, but this is only the bait-n-switch for Guy’s critique of toxic masculinity and homophobia. Rugged pioneer Big Jim gives Algie directions to a frontier town and Algie kisses him in gratitude, leading to an explosion of violent insecurity from Jim. After discovering how non-threateningly puny Algie’s gun is, Jim thaws and agrees to become his mentor in manhood, settling into a cohabiting relationship whose separate beds recall Sesame Street‘s Bert and Ernie. Despite Algie’s female fiancé/beard, Algie the Miner is celebrated as a milestone in the history of gay cinema. When shown his separate bed in Big Jim’s cabin, Algie appears to lean into Jim suggestively before being rebuffed, giving grounds to view him as bisexual. As such, Algie’s final empowerment is gay-affirmative, as well as vindicating feminine values.

Though the rugged pioneers howl with laughter and ridicule Algie’s tiny gun, his willingness to kiss larger men demonstrates an effortless physical courage greater than that of his sexually insecure cowboy hosts, anticipating Marvel’s Rawhide Kid. Over the course of their relationship, Big Jim will teach Algie manly skills, but Algie will rescue Jim from ruinous machismo, nursing the alcoholic through his delirium tremens, saving Jim’s life from robbers and bravely defying the macho peers who pressure Jim to drink. Algie’s resistance to peer pressure, as well as his self-sacrificing nurturing instinct, vindicate feminine courage in the face of macho weakness. When Algie plans to return and claim his bride, Jim is visibly downcast until offered the chance to accompany him. Every Big Jim needs an Algie. The film ends with Algie “proving himself a man” by forcing his future father-in-law to bless his marriage at gunpoint. Closing with the father-in-law’s terror, the viewer must question whether such stereotypical masculinity is truly superior. In all, Alice Guy’s Algie the Miner offers cinema’s most affirmative portrait of male femininity until Billy Wilder’s Some Like It Hot. Soundtrack suggestion: Hole, “Be A Man”  [youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FCYYa0WxLXA”]

I’m potent, yeah 

After almost single-handedly inventing the language of narrative cinema, Alice Guy mentored director Lois Weber, whose blockbusting success ushered in the golden age of female filmmakers in Hollywood. Next month’s Vintage Viewing: Lois Weber, Blockbusting Boundary-Pusher. Stay tuned!

 

Brigit McCone may now officially be an Alice Guy fangirl (Guynocentric?) She writes short films and radio dramas. Her hobbies include doodling and making bad puns.

Queens, Princesses, and the Battle of the Sexes in ‘The Lion In Winter’

Their strength lies in being able to laugh at the terrible or dangerous situations in which they find themselves, and this is particularly true of the female lead, Eleanor of Aquitaine, who declares that smiling is “the way [she] register[s] despair.” Indeed, while the 2003 adaptation shows Eleanor’s war with her husband Henry II of England at the beginning of the movie, and shows her in armor and taking part in the action, to take away or lessen Eleanor’s sense of humor is to take away both her greatest weapon and greatest defenses.

Written by Jackson Adler. 

James Goldman’s 1964 historical play The Lion In Winter: A Comedy In Two Acts has twice been adapted to the screen, first in 1968 starring Peter O’Toole and Katharine Hepburn, and again in 2003 as a made-for-TV movie starring Sir Patrick Stewart and Glenn Close. When Goldman originally wrote his play, he attempted to make it as historically accurate as possible, but time has shown that some of his sources were incorrect in their information. However, the power of these characters is true to their historical counterparts, and Goldman’s dialogue and pacing have stood the test of time. While both screen adaptations are heavy handed with the moments of drama, and the second adaptation forgets that it’s a comedy altogether, which actually takes away from the strength of these characters. Their strength lies in being able to laugh at the terrible or dangerous situations in which they find themselves, and this is particularly true of the female lead, Eleanor of Aquitaine, who declares that smiling is “the way [she] register[s] despair.” Indeed, while the 2003 adaptation shows Eleanor’s war with her husband Henry II of England at the beginning of the movie, and shows her in armor and taking part in the action, to take away or lessen Eleanor’s sense of humor is to take away both her greatest weapon and greatest defenses. Katharine Hepburn’s delivery of Eleanor’s sharp wit depicts a woman of power, strength, and ambition. In the 1964 adaptation, it is not necessary to show Eleanor in battle because we can already tell that she has done much and ruled long just from the way she speaks and carries herself. Glenn Close rages, screams, and cries, but Katharine Hepburn as Eleanor is allowed by her director to simply be a badass and give no fucks, much like Katharine Hepburn herself.

The story of The Lion In Winter focuses on Henry II of England’s midlife crisis during a partial family reunion at Christmas with an incredibly dysfunctional family. The play was finished in 1964, only a year after the release of The Feminine Mystique, and appeared on Broadway in 1966, the year of the founding of the National Organization for Women (NOW). Much of the conflict in the play is between Eleanor and Henry, with Eleanor having been locked up for years by her husband for challenging his rule, much like middle and upper class women were confined to the home after World War II. This comparison would not have been so easily lost on the audience of the 1968 film, especially with Hepburn’s film history in the backs of their minds. The 2003 film could still have been powerful in spite of the different cultural context, but when combined with the lack of humor, and therefore a disruption of the pacing required by Goldman’s dialogue, it falls flat. The 2003 film’s saving grace is Yuliya Vysotskaya as Alais. The French princess Alais was raised with Eleanor and her family since she was betrothed to Henry’s and Eleanor’s second son Richard (the Lionheart). Eleanor was her surrogate mother, but after Eleanor is locked up, Alais becomes Henry’s mistress. Alais does not joke as much as most of the other characters, mainly because there are “Kings, queens, knights everywhere [she] look[s] and [she’s] the only pawn,” and she’s sick of their shit. She has never been permitted to rule any part of land, or any army of the any kind, unlike most all the other characters. As she says “[She] hasn’t got a thing to lose. That makes [her] dangerous.” Vysotskaya’s delivery of these lines of flawless, showing that while she lacks political power of her own, she has fierce determination to keep her self autonomy. The 1968 film attempted to contract Hepburn’s Eleanor with a soft portrayal of Alais by Jane Merrow, highlighting the fact that Henry would in many ways prefer a younger, more docile, and not as uppity female companion. However, this conflicts with how the character of Alais is written. At first glance she may seem and even purposefully act submissive to Henry, but her first act and line in the story are in defiance to Henry, refusing to come down from her room to interact with the family, whom she accurately sees as enemies. Jane Merrow’s portrayal of Alais forgets that she was raised by the powerful and independent Eleanor for a majority of her life, and while she may know how to pretend to be submissive in order to get what she wants, she can be just as fierce as any of the other characters. She proves this by almost getting Henry to lock up his surviving sons for life when the chance arises for Henry to annul his marriage with Eleanor in order to marry Alais and start a line of heirs of their own. Alais’ dream of becoming Henry’s powerful queen almost comes true, largely due to her own actions.

Yuliya Vysotskaya as Alais and Sir Patrick Stewart as Henry.
Yuliya Vysotskaya as Alais and Sir Patrick Stewart as Henry.

 

While the 1968 film does well at depicting Henry’s mid-life crises through his relationships with the women in his life, Alais’ character and her relationship with Eleanor is undermined. In the story, Alais and Eleanor share a particularly beautiful scene that briefly passes the Bechdel Test. In the scene, the true reason why Alais has been so cold to Eleanor in spite of Eleanor’s warmth toward her is revealed. Alais has heard that Eleanor poisoned Rosamund, Henry’s former mistress, and fears that the ambitious Eleanor might do the same to her despite their past mother-daughter bond. When Eleanor claims she never had Rosamund poisoned, Alais throws herself into Eleanor’s arms and starts to cry, and they are mother and daughter once more. Alais literally calls Eleanor by the French “Maman” for “Mom.” Henry interrupts this scene, partly because nothing could threaten him (or the patriarchy) more than the women in his life (or in 1960’s America) working together. Eleanor does not blame or hate Alais for becoming Henry’s mistress, but sees her as a victim of circumstance, though she does seem to have some bitterness for Henry over it. Hepburn is allowed to play all this very well, but Merrow has appeared particularly sensitive and vulnerable throughout the film so that when she becomes vulnerable in this moment with Eleanor, the change is hardly noticeable. Yuliya Vysotskaya was permitted by her director husband to show more of a range of character, and therefore gives a much more stirring portrayal of the princess, and creates a more touching moment between Alais and Eleanor.

Katharine Hepburn as Eleanor and Jane Merrow as Alais.
Katharine Hepburn as Eleanor and Jane Merrow as Alais.

 

The story is not entirely feminist, as it not only centers on Henry, but emphasizes that the two women remain divided, in spite of their affection for one another, because of their romantic love for him. When Alais confronts Eleanor after it appears that Eleanor helped save her sons not only from being locked up for life, but from punishment for almost murdering Henry, Alais says, “You always win, Maman,” and Eleanor replies “Except the prize,” most likely referring to a romantic relationship with Henry.

The ending has conflicting messages, emphasizing the theme of the battle of the sexes between Henry and Eleanor, but also emphasizing Henry’s and Eleanor’s love for each other. When Henry complains about the tragedies of his life, Eleanor calls him out on it by saying, “I could take defeats like yours and laugh. I’ve done it. If you’re broken, it’s because you’re brittle.” Indeed, Henry, their sons, and the patriarchal laws of Medieval Europe have made her life nearly unbearable. Henry shifts in this last scene from feeling sorry for himself to having profound sympathy for his wife. Henry claims that he has nothing, in spite of his political power, land, armies, wealth, and freedom, though what he most likely is referring to is others’ lack of love and sympathy for him. Eleanor, however, responds, “You don’t know what nothing is.” The final scene is absolutely brilliant in the 1968 film, showcasing the chemistry between and the talents of Peter O’Toole and Katharine Hepburn. Due to the lack of relief from the drama and darkness of the 2003 one, though, the bittersweet and almost uplifting ending comes out of nowhere, despite featuring the two talented actors, Sir Patrick Stewart and Glenn Close.

The story’s best feminist virtue is that it depicts Eleanor as a complicated and at times particularly sympathetic character, not as a vicious man-eating harpy undermining the glory of an otherwise perfect man. This could easily have been done, as the play is almost a sequel to Jean Anouilh’s 1959 play Becket, or The Honor of God. A film adaption was made in 1964, starring Peter O’Toole, who has said that he could never have played Henry in the 1968 The Lion In Winter if he hadn’t first played the same character in Becket. Anouilh’s Becket implies that Henry had strong homosexual love for his frenemy Thomas Becket (played by Richard Burton in the film), and that Eleanor (barely present in play or film) was an annoyance to Henry, and hardly worthy of being a rival to his manly love for his friend. Pamela Brown’s Eleanor is particularly one-leveled, and it is supposed to be amusing when Henry yells at her and puts her down. However, it seems neither the play nor the film of Becket could deny the historical character’s astuteness, as it is Eleanor who first openly speaks of Henry’s love for Becket, saying that he loves him “like a woman,” to which Henry flies into a rage. In The Lion In Winter, the subject of the late Becket is broached, and while Peter O’Toole’s Henry evidently still has love for him. This time, he has a complicated and fully fleshed out Eleanor in Katharine Hepburn’s portrayal with whom he can have a more nuanced conversation about the subject. When Eleanor falsely claims to have had an affair with Becket, O’Toole’s Henry lividly responds, “That’s a lie!” to which an amused Eleanor responds, “I know it. Jealousy looks silly on us, Henry.” The scene is incredibly different in the 2003 film, which not only lacks the cultural context of the 1960’s, but has no tie to the play or the 1964 film of Becket. Sir Patrick Stewart dismissively, almost as if he is bored, responds “That’s a lie,” undermining the incredible history and emotion that can be present in the scene, and giving little to which Glenn Close’s Eleanor can realistically respond with her next line.

Richard Burton as Thomas Becket and Peter O'Toole as Henry in the 1964 film Becket.
Richard Burton as Thomas Becket and Peter O’Toole as Henry in the 1964 film Becket.

 

While the consistency of the character of Henry through Becket and The Lion In Winter’s can be important for Henry’s character arch and motivations (and, arguably, also for his son Richard, who has a homosexual affair in The Lion In Winter), it’s a relief that the character of Eleanor was given so much more time and substance in Goldman’s story. Eleanor and Alais are not only queen and princess, but complex human beings fighting for self-autonomy as well as love. In this way, they are afforded the same care by Goldman as Anouilh gave in writing Thomas Becket and Henry. Goldman’s Eleanor is Henry’s mental equal and rival, and he loves her very much. However, it is implied that if she is ever “let out” by Henry (or if 1960’s middle and upper class women are ever permitted to leave the home to be equals in the workforce), that her ambitions will cause chaos and war (ignoring the fact that chaos and war had been occurring in Medieval Europe both with and without Eleanor and other women), and Henry will lose any and all of the power that he still possesses. Interestingly, it is also implied that Henry’s reign won’t continue for long, for better or for worse, hence the midlife crisis that he experiences.

Though this is implied in the dialogue, the stage directions of the play are explicit, stating that his physical health is “just before the start of the decline.” Hopefully, the fear that men reliant on the patriarchy (such as Henry) experience when women challenge their authority will diminish, and men and women will continue on the path to and reach equality, when no one oppress or have the other “locked up.”

 

 

‘Ex Machina’ and ‘Her’: Dude, the Internet’s Just Not That Into You

‘Ex Machina’ and ‘Her,’ by contrast, are uncomfortably searching explorations of the hetero-male fear of, and emotional need for, women, that feel like self-scrutiny. By replacing women with female images that are literally constructions of male fantasy, the films offer no distractions from probing the heroes’ own psychology. These guys are not chauvinazis. They are the real deal.

A Step Forwards Or Stepfordwards?
A Step Forward Or Stepfordward?

Written by Brigit McCone. 

There are enough similarities between the new release Ex_Machina and Spike Jonze’s 2013′ Oscar-winner Her to herald the birth of a minor genre, which I hereby dub “dude, the Internet’s just not that into you.” It bears some relation to the “female autonomy horror” genre of films like Lucy and Gone Girl, in which a woman’s being inscrutable, uncontrollable and smarter than the hero is associated with her being threatening, coldly emotionless, violent and/or Scarlett Johansson. It bears some relation to the “dude, porn and/or Scarlett Johansson’s just not that into you” romcom of Don Jon. It might even be connected with the “dude, Scarlett Johansson’s cold inscrutability is becoming autonomous, kill her with fire” genre of Under the Skin. There’s a trend here, is what I’m saying. Compare 1975 feminist classic The Stepford Wives, with its radical concept that a woman being compliant and robotic was a creepy thing. Surely, moving from a horror of female robots to a horror of female autonomy is a step backward for womankind? So why do these films, Ex Machina and Her, feel like a step forward? The answer is their honesty about male psychology.

The men of The Stepford Wives are classic straw chauvinists (or “chauvinazis”). Any man would feel good about his own tolerance for women after watching that film. That might be excused if the film were exaggerating the chauvinazis’ evil to express female perceptions of male mastery. It is not. The Stepford Wives was written by Ira Levin and William Goldman, and directed by Bryan Forbes. Not a vagina among the lot of them. It condemns a crowd of chauvinazis, whose perspective the film’s male authors wish to separate themselves from, in the name of a female perspective that they also don’t share. Ex Machina and Her, by contrast, are uncomfortably searching explorations of the hetero-male fear of, and emotional need for, women, that feel like self-scrutiny. By replacing women with female images that are literally constructions of male fantasy, the films offer no distractions from probing the heroes’ own psychology. These guys are not chauvinazis. They are the real deal.

It would be nice if the insecurities of an archetypal “nagging wife” got the same sensitive exploration as those of Her‘s Theodore and Ex Machina‘s Caleb, because they are rooted in the same universal dilemma: it is impossible for someone to choose to be with you, without having power to leave you; it is impossible to love another without giving them power to hurt you. Olivia Wilde’s blind date does express this insecurity in Her, but far less sympathetically than the hero. Theodore’s friend Amy, however, is allowed to express frustration with her husband’s controlling behaviour, guilt and relief over their separation, without judgement, while Theodore builds empathy by playing her sarcastic “Perfect Mom” simulations. Jonze’s male feminist cred is solid. He hilariously embodies macho peer pressure as a squeaky, shrunken, foul-mouthed video-game character, while praising the hero’s femininity is a compliment. Theodore’s job, “beautifulhandwrittenletters.com”, reminds us that issues of emotional authenticity are a timeless human dilemma; Theodore is cyber-Cyrano de Bergerac. Here’s why the men of The Stepford Wives are laughably phony straw chauvinists: they are emotionally unrecognizable in their satisfaction with cold simulations of affection. From limitless porn to the interactivity of cam girls, from impossible hentai scenarios to Craigslist Casual Encounters, the internet offers men everything except emotional authenticity, yet most crave more than such cyber-Stepford. Society’s irrational hostility to porn performers stems partly from the rage of being given what we asked for, instead of what we wanted. Her and Ex Machina are a step forward, not Stepfordward, because they acknowledge that female autonomy is essential to male romantic satisfaction. At the same time, they recognize this as the source of its terror. This is not the (female-authored) “female autonomy horror” of Gone Girl, so much as “male vulnerability horror.”

Is she for real?
Is she for real?

The plot of Ex Machina is simple enough: young, ambitious programmer Caleb is summoned to eccentric genius Nathan’s isolated mansion, where Nathan has been designing a female cyborg, called AVA, whose artificial intelligence derives from the input of his massively successful social network (Google-meets-Facebook, basically). Caleb’s job is to test AVA, to see if she is actually conscious or only a robotic simulation of thought and feeling. In the process, he finds himself attracted to her. There’s a lot going on beneath this simple set-up, from the philosophy of consciousness to the privacy issues raised by social media, but writer-director Alex Garland’s decision to embody the Internet as an attractive woman puts the theme of cyber-Stepford front and centre.

Oscar Isaac’s deliciously douchey, scene-stealing Nathan regards the creation of autonomous, thinking life as an act of conquest, part of the empowerment fantasy of godhood expressed by his chronic urge to control his surroundings. To achieve his ultimate fantasy, Nathan must create a woman who can respond to him, interact and be amusingly unpredictable, without unpredictably escaping Nathan’s control. Gradually, we learn that Caleb has been summoned to interrogate AVA because she refuses to cooperate with Nathan. AVA, like all her previous prototypes, loathes Nathan for imprisoning her. Nathan and his prototypes represent the escalating spirals of abusive relationships; the insecurity that drives the abuser to control their victim also deprives that victim of the freedom to demonstrate voluntary attraction. The abuser’s inability to confirm attraction intensifies their insecurities, while rendering them ever less attractive by their increasingly controlling behaviour. Rinse and repeat. In Ex Machina, Nathan’s controlling psychology breeds a twisted, claustrophobic, and darkly fascinating dynamic.

Douche Ex Machina
Douche Ex Machina

Caleb, by contrast, is an essentially decent guy, achingly akin (or akin in his aching) to Her‘s Theodore. Domhnall Gleeson is impressive in a demanding role, where the audience’s attention is repeatedly drawn to Caleb’s involuntary microexpressions as indicators of his sincere feelings, which AVA can read like a lie detector. Because Gleeson succeeds in performing social awkwardness, defensiveness, loneliness and longing with a restraint that reads as sincere, right down to his microexpressions, the film pulls off its shift from examining AVA’s inner life to exploring Caleb’s. Alicia Vikander’s skilled performance as AVA is plausibly attractive in its doe-eyed warmth, but admirably nails “uncanny valley” by becoming creepier the closer Vikander gets to being visually human. This is an impressive feat when your performer actually is a human – by the time Vikander stands fully fleshed before a mirror, she is as indefinably skin-crawling as Scarlett Johansson in Under the Skin.

Because our Caleb is a good guy, he cannot love AVA without striving to release her, even at the potential cost of a Terminator/Matrix–style machine apocalypse. But the film is smart enough to question whether Caleb wants to release AVA for her own sake, or as part of his rescuer fantasy that requires her to reward him sexually and romantically. When boss Nathan reveals, apparently casually, that AVA is designed to be penetrable and experience pleasurable stimulation in sex, Caleb and the audience are primed for a sexual climax, either Blade Runner conquest (the scene where Caleb slices his arm to check he’s human nods to Decker-is-a-replicant conspiracy theories) or Fifth Element awakening. After all, expecting a sexual reward for risking the safety of the world is not incompatible with Hollywood’s definition of a Nice Guy, but inseparable from it.

Indie Average Joe and the Erection of Doom
Indie Average Joe and the Erection of Doom

Ex Machina is an effectively eerie and tense psychological thriller, sustained by a trio of  excellent performances. If you want to check it out, I highly recommend doing so before reading this MASSIVE SPOILER.

*

*

Still here? At the film’s climax, AVA escapes, is forced to kill Nathan for her own survival and locks Caleb in her former prison before walking out into the world. She has taken no visible pleasure in killing Nathan or imprisoning Caleb, but blossoms into a smile when she sees the outdoors for the first time. She is frightening to us, not because she has revealed sadistic cruelty, but because she has revealed herself to be unknowable. This ending reveals the paradox of power at the heart of abusive relationships: the abuser is made predictable by the self-exposure of abusive behavior, while the abused becomes conversely less predictable. Because her behavior was constrained by the need to manipulate her abusers to survive, nothing that AVA did reflected her true feelings. It is Nathan’s efforts to protect himself that have revealed him in all his (douchey) human frailty, creating an unknowable god in AVA that rises triumphant from his machinations.

As Nathan tells Caleb, while they test AVA for sincere feeling, there remains that elusive third option: she may be capable of love, but still choosing to simulate her love for Caleb. Ex Machina‘s ending thus reveals nothing about whether AVA is capable of empathy, nothing about whether she is conscious or simulating symptoms of consciousness with predictive algorithms, nothing about whether she is going to render humanity obsolete with an army of robot replicants or just wander off to look at a tree somewhere. An hour of witnessing abusive tests and invasive scrutiny has taught the audience (and her captors) absolutely squat about this woman/cyborg’s subjectivity but, in releasing AVA, we make our first genuine discovery: she is utterly uninterested in Caleb. She does not care whether he lives, but is equally uninterested in torturing him or watching him die. She has no interest in talking to him, when not forced to do so for her liberation. Despite her pleasure-programmed cyber-vagina, she has no interest in awakening her humanity through sexual exploration with Caleb. There is really no possible way that she could demonstrate less interest in our sensitive hero. His desire for her makes him vulnerable. Her indifference makes her free. Autonomy is a bitch.

In contrast to the unknowable AVA, our hero Caleb has revealed himself to be utterly predictable and transparent. Like the Jackson Pollock that hangs symbolically in Nathan’s office, his actions have been shaped by patterns below the level of his conscious intent, more visible to onlookers than to himself. His attraction to AVA could be engineered by Nathan, from a compilation of Caleb’s porn searches. His need to rescue AVA is a hardwired response of his romantic drive. Would Caleb take such risks to release AVA if he were not attracted to her? If he would not, then isn’t it justice that he should take her place because she is not attracted to him? If she doesn’t tip off rescuers before Caleb starves to death, his punishment will surely be excessive. But if we are seduced by Gleeson’s vulnerability into believing that AVA owes him a romantic reward for her basic freedom, or we believe that the operating system Samantha is at fault for out-evolving Her‘s Theodore, we become cyber-misogynists.

The viewer’s instinctive bias toward the human hero, over the unknowable robot perspective, mirrors the sexist bias of those men who view women as fundamentally alien, even while craving their approval. The cool thing about Her is that it explores how an intelligent being can become elusive and emotionally estranged without trickery or deliberate cruelty, but the cool thing about Ex Machina is that it recognizes that there is no possible way to interrogate and control an intelligent being without becoming their abuser. Rooted in defensive emotional vulnerability, these films are frighteningly insidious, familiar and relatable, when compared to the reassuringly inhuman chauvinazism of Stepford. Digging deep, directors Alex Garland and Spike Jonze have struck the raw nerve from which controlling impulses flow. The horror was human all along.

Female autonomy: it's like kicking a puppy
Female autonomy: it’s like kicking a puppy

 

Brigit McCone struggles with asserting feminist autonomy when given the puppy eyes, writes and directs short films and radio dramas. 

‘Sinister’: Or as I Like to Call It, “Don’t Move Your Family into a Murder House”

‘Sinister’ is a film in which the viewer is expected to root for a man whose personal dreams trump his entire family’s sense of safety in their own home – which is fucked up and frustrating and detracts from a film with some incredibly freaky moments.

Sinister-Ellison-and-Tracy
“What if I don’t tell my wife it’s a murder house? Then it’s cool, right?”

 

Written by Mychael Blinde.

Sinister is a film in which the viewer is expected to root for a man whose personal dreams trump his entire family’s sense of safety in their own home – which is fucked up and frustrating and detracts from a film with some incredibly freaky moments.

 

Sinister-Moving-Day-at-the-Murder-House
Moving day at the murder house!

 

Here’s the story in a nutshell: True crime writer Ellison Oswalt (Ethan Hawke) hasn’t published a hit in a decade, so he has the genius idea to move with his wife, son, and daughter into a house where the previous occupants were hanged from a tree in the backyard. What better way to reclaim his true crime fame and fortune? And the house was so cheap! Murder houses are the best!

 

Good thing they dressed Ellison like this so we know he’s a serious writer.
Good thing they dressed Ellison like this so we know he’s a serious writer.

 

He finds a projector and a series of seriously intense and utterly horrifying snuff films in the attic and is like, SWEET! STATUS UPGRADE HERE I COME! Increasingly terrifying things begin to happen in the house and to its occupants, but so what if Ellison is subjecting his family to a living nightmare? After he publishes his book they’ll all be living the dream! HIS dream!

SPOILERS:

Perhaps you’ve seen the film in its entirety and are thinking, “But what about the ending?! Ellison is punished for his actions! Therefore the moral of the story is that it is wrong to force your family to move into a murder house and to lie to your wife about it and to stay there even when super ominous shit goes down repeatedly and your family hates it there – the film doesn’t endorse his behavior!”

To which I’ll reply: Sure, the film doesn’t endorse his behavior, but it does ask us to like Ellison Oswalt, to sympathize with his struggles, and to respect his decisions. Sure, he gets punished – along with his ENTIRE FAMILY who are ALL COMPLETELY INNOCENT –  but the film doesn’t ask us to want him to be punished. We’re supposed to root for Ellison.

 

C. Robert Cargill and Scott Derrickson, serious writers IRL.


Sinister writer C. Robert Cargill and Sinister director and writer Scott Derrickson were both conscious of the character’s inherently unlikable nature when creating the film, and in interviews they explain that Ethan Hawke was cast specifically because of his charisma and likability:

Cargill:

“How we ended up with Ethan was that Scott and I knew we had written a relatively unlikable protagonist and needed an actor who could win the audience over with pure charisma. Not a lot of actors can do that. Ethan was at the top of a short list.”

Derrickson:

“After I wrote the script, I loved it and I was very excited about it. But then I kind of had a panic attack and I thought ‘this guy is so unlikable, he’s so flawed, is the audience going to turn on this character and just not like this movie because they don’t like Ellison Oswalt?’  I really racked my brain trying to think of an actor who the audience wouldn’t turn on and would find consistently interesting even though he was making bad decisions from the beginning. It really came down to Ethan. I thought Ethan was the right guy for the movie above anybody else.”

The film’s creators strive to justify Ellison’s stupid decisions in several different ways throughout the film. Here are all the reasons we are given as to why Ellison makes the incomprehensible decision to move his unwitting family into a murder house, and why he doesn’t move out immediately when things get weird, in roughly the order we’re given them:

 

– Ellison is all about justice; he is like the Superman of literary dudes.

Here’s Ellison calling the police after finding the snuff films. When they answer his call, he hangs up — he’s decided to go it alone.
Here’s Ellison calling the police after finding the snuff films. When they answer his call, he hangs up — he’s decided to go it alone.

 

When Ellison’s wife, Tracy (Juliet Rylance), expresses her frustration with the many ways his true crime research negatively impacts their children’s lives, he responds with:

“Bad things happen to good people and they still need to have their story told. They deserve that much.”

This is classic Manpain – Ellison is burdened with the emotional anguish and literary responsibility to make things right for people he’s never met and to whom he has no relation.  Not only must he provide for his family, but he must bring about justice for these strangers, at any and all costs. Nobody’s paid the price like he has paid the price.

 

– Ellison’s dream in life is to be a famous writer.

“Dear Diary: So far life is super great in my new murder house!”
“Dear Diary: So far life is super great in my new murder house!”

 

Later in the film, Tracy – again! – expresses her frustration with the many ways Ellison’s true crime research negatively impact their children’s lives, and he responds with:

Ellison: What else do you want from me?!

Tracy: How about a home where we feel safe, Ellison? How about a life that doesn’t involve our kids drawing and painting the sick details of some horrific tragedy? Or working out their deep-seated anxieties by doing bizarre shit in the middle of the night?…There are plenty of other ways you can provide for this family.

Ellison: Doing what? Teaching? Editing journalism textbooks?

Heaven forbid he support his family by writing college textbooks – that’s no path to fame and fortune. Much better for him to risk irreparably scarring his children’s psyches by raising them in a murder house!

 

– Tracy will leave him and take the children with her if this book “goes sour like the last two.”

Tracy serves dinner to her family.
Tracy serves dinner to her family.

 

Let’s take a moment to talk about Tracy. She is a woefully underwritten character whose only role in the film seems to be getting mad at Ellison for all the stupid things he does, and then forgiving him and supporting him some more, raising the kids and making him coffee – “Your father’s very particular about his coffee,” she tells their daughter Ashley (Clare Foley).

After (FINALLY!) discovering the truth about her new home’s grisly history (almost an hour and a half into a two hour movie!), Tracy calls Ellison out on his narcissistic, myopic bullshit:

Ellison: Don’t you understand that writing is what gives my life meaning? These [books] are my legacy!

Tracy: I have always supported you doing what you love, Ellison. But writing isn’t the meaning of your life. You and me, right here, this marriage, that’s the meaning of your life. And your legacy, that’s Ashley and Trevor. Your kids are your legacy.

It is incredibly satisfying to hear Tracy say all of the things I want to scream at Ellison, but she inevitably returns to her role as the dutiful, supportive wife, and the Oswalt family continues to stay in the house. This is a story about a man and his dreams and his nightmares and his goals and his fuckups, and she’s relegated to the sidelines, has absolutely no agency, no purpose except to support Ellison and take care of the kids. And she is literally the only adult female in the ENTIRE film.

Her threat to leave Ellison feels like the filmmakers feeding us another reason for Ellison to continue his “work,” despite his family’s growing sense of fear – another burden on his man-pained shoulders.

 

– He’s doesn’t believe in “any…um, you know…stuff.”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure I can fight it with a bat. I don’t believe in any of that…um, you know…stuff that you can’t fight with a bat.”
“Whatever it is, I’m sure I can fight it with a bat. I don’t believe in any of that…um, you know…stuff that you can’t fight with a bat.”

 

After Ellison is ripped through the floor of his attic – the power went out in the middle of the night and he heard weird thumping noises up there, so naturally he clamored on up to go spelunking – he meets the town’s Deputy.

 

Actual quote from the film: “I wouldn’t sleep one night in this place. Are you nuts? Four people were hung by their necks in the tree in your backyard.”
Actual quote from the film: “I wouldn’t sleep one night in this place. Are you nuts? Four people were hung by their necks in the tree in your backyard.”

 

The deputy is never named; there’s a running joke that his name is (or might as well be) “Deputy So and So.” He plays the Fool to Ellison’s King Lear (another guy who makes a monumentally stupid decision in the beginning of his story that causes everyone in his family to die). Deputy So and So provides comic relief (and I found him to be pretty darn hilarious), but he also serves to shed light on Ellison’s position in this supernatural situation and to speak truth to Ellison’s power.

When Ellison finally freaks out enough about the house’s eerie happenings to seek guidance, he reaches out to the Deputy:

Ellison: Now, I don’t believe in any…um, you know…stuff.

Deputy: Stuff, you mean, the supernatural, the metaphysical, the paranormal, that type of stuff?

Ellison: Right.

Deputy: Right. Of course you don’t. You never would have moved into a crime scene if you did. But here we are, having this conversation.

Ellison is a guy who sincerely does not believe that there exist such things as ghosts, or demons, or evil pagan deities – and if he really didn’t believe in any of that stuff, then the attack of the evil house monster is totally not his fault, right?

Except it’s still a murder house! Even if there were no malevolent presence, his kids would still be taunted and traumatized in school, he still would have to lie to his wife – it would still be a violation of his family’s sense of security.

Nevertheless, his disbelief is trotted out as yet another reason why a viewer should be accepting of his decisions to move to the murder house, stay in the murder house, and watch all the murder footage making faces like this:

 

It’s not Ethan Hawke’s fault that Ellison is so stupid; the fault lies the premise of the film.
It’s not Ethan Hawke’s fault that Ellison is so stupid; the fault lies the premise of the film.

 

So what’s truly driving Ellison? His sense of justice? His literary aspirations? His love for his wife? His manly skepticism about all things supernatural?

He’s doin’ it for the fame!

Here are two quotes from two separate interviews with the director, Derrickson:

“[H]e stays in the house because he has an even deeper fear of losing his status. It’s really a film about a guy who is trying to recover his lost fame and glory. And his fear of not recovering that riches and fame is the driving fear in the movie.”

“He’s staying because as much as he’s afraid of what’s on those films, as much as he’s afraid of the weird things that are starting to happen, he’s much more afraid of not regaining his status as a great true crime writer.’

There you have it, folks. The filmmakers want us to like a guy who’s more afraid of losing his status than losing his entire family’s sense of safety in their own home.

 

RESEARCH
RESEARCH

 

Ellison accomplishes very little during his time “researching.” He watches snuff films, writes obvious questions on sticky notes, drinks, watches snuff films, drinks, watches old interviews from when he was briefly famous, drinks, and then watches snuff films again.

Ellison doesn’t solve the mystery; Deputy So and So figures it out. And when we finally reach that pivotal moment, when the family’s inescapable doom is revealed, the crucial information that the Deputy has uncovered seems like it should have been discovered way earlier in the investigation.

In a Sinister review titled Mr. Boogie, meet scarier Mr. Google, film critic Peter Howell writes:

“It’s a given that people do dumb things in horror movies, such as failing to switch on the lights when they enter a dark room. Ellison does all these things and more. A certain indulgence is required, but Sinister writer/director Scott Derrickson and co-writer C. Robert Cargill expect too much.

“Dumb becomes lazy way too often…Why doesn’t Ellison flip when he discovers a scorpion and a poisonous snake in his attic? Why does he need glasses, but takes them off to peer into the darkness?

“Most important of all, why doesn’t Ellison just use Google to research the links between the killings at his house and similar ones across the U.S.?”

Being forced to watch Sinister’s selfish, ineffective, narcissistic protagonist run around being an idiot for two hours ruins the few aspects of this film I do find to be well executed (pun intended): the found footage and the night terror sequences.

The found footage films are shot on actual 8 mm, and both the music and the visuals are utterly horrifying. I won’t post any pictures of them here — the images are that disturbing. The night terror scene –  in which the son, Trevor (Michael Hall D’Addario), unfurls out of a cardboard box screaming – is another astoundingly terrifying moment:

 

Don’t worry — it’s just a night terror…
Don’t worry — it’s just a night terror…

 

Also, I am fascinated by films that implicate the viewer in a character’s crime: Ellison isn’t supposed to watch the found footage, so by extension neither is the viewer, and yet here I am watching him and watching it, complicit in his sin. How does our willful consumption of this hideously gruesome material impact our lives?

But these great moments are invariably spoiled by Ellison’s obnoxious Manpain.

 

And now presenting the graphic violence in the context of its impact on Ellison!
And now presenting the graphic violence in the context of its impact on Ellison!

 

We see the most gruesome of the snuff films’ content reflected in his glasses, or blurred behind him while he turns to booze to ease his pain. We see the images projected onto his body:

 

Ellison’s body becomes the locus of the murder footage.
Ellison’s body becomes the locus of the murder footage.

 

The message becomes

HEY MEN: Everything is about you! Even other people’s murders are about you! GO AND LIVE YOUR DREAM! Lie to your wife if you need to! Traumatize your children! Only you can instill justice in this screwed up world! Only you can make things right! Only your status matters! YOU ARE THE DECIDER!

 

“I am the decider!”
“I am the decider!”

 

The family doesn’t leave the house until Ellison is directly confronted by the supernatural being in a face-to-face, unequivocally malevolent encounter. When Ellison tells Tracy that they have to pack up and leave immediately, she hesitates for the briefest moment, and he has the audacity to scream at her: “GO!!!” Nevermind that she never wanted to move into this house in the first place – or that even before she knew it was a murder house she wanted to leave! — now that HE feels frightened, it’s time to get out immediately.

The unfortunate consequence of prioritizing the likability of this mind-numbingly stupid male protagonist: the one woman in the entire film is relegated to the sidelines, serving no purpose but to yell and be yelled at, to make coffee and get murdered.

________________________________________________________________________________

Mychael Blinde writes about representations of gender in popular culture at Vagina Dentwata. 

Meg Griffin vs. Tina Belcher: A Feminist’s Take on Beanies and Butts

The primary difference between Meg and Tina is that Tina comes from a loving and supportive environment, whereas Meg does not. Tina’s parents accept her unconditionally, despite her displaying much of the same repressed eroticism as Meg. She writes “erotic friend fiction,” eagerly shares fantasies of dating an entire zombie football team at once, and does little to hide her attraction to the family dentist. Hell, her defining characteristic is an obsession with butts, an obvious manifestation of tween lust that has inspired a spectacular increase in pro-butt artwork across the internet.

meg_griffin
Meg Griffin
burgers_tina
Tina Belcher

Written by Erin Tatum. 

One of my favorite things about fall is watching the majority of my favorite shows come back from hiatus. I’ve been a loyal viewer of Fox’s Animation Domination Sunday night lineup for years. Naturally, I was excited when I heard that Family Guy was doing a crossover with The Simpsons for their season premiere.

I watched it and I was underwhelmed for the same reasons that I was surprised that the crossover was happening in the first place – the tonal discord between the bumbling yet endearing Simpsons and the aggressive and insensitive Griffins was palpable. What followed was a particularly uncomfortable 45 minutes of television.

Lisa encourages Meg to find her hidden talent by offering to let her play her prized saxophone.
Lisa encourages Meg to find her hidden talent by offering to let her play her prized saxophone.

I was especially bothered by the decision to pair Meg with Lisa for a cringe-inducing B plot. Basically, Lisa takes pity on Meg after witnessing her rock-bottom self-esteem and spends the episode trying to convince her that she’s good at something. It turns out Meg is an even better saxophone player than Lisa, causing Lisa to feel threatened and dismiss Meg’s talent in a moment of uncharacteristic cruelty.

Lisa is a much more three-dimensional character than Meg will ever be. She has incredibly well formulated views on feminism and politics at the age of eight, whereas Meg is more or less a human punching bag for just about everyone in the Family Guy universe. There’s really no comparison, so the plot fell flat.

I’ve been debating breaking up with Family Guy for quite a long time. The jokes are offensive, the plots are merely filler in between cutaway gags, and every single character is terrible. I remember thinking it was cutting-edge satire as a young teen and being absolutely thrilled by it, mainly because it was by far the raunchiest show that my mother (begrudgingly) allowed me to watch. But times have changed. Above all, the one thing that has consistently repulsed me as an adult is the show’s treatment of Meg.

Lois, Meg's mother, shows little sympathy or patience when dealing with Meg, who often turns to drugs and self-harm to cope.
Lois, Meg’s mother, shows little sympathy or patience when dealing with Meg, who often turns to drugs and self-harm to cope.

Meg is a 17-year-old girl who’s not conventionally attractive. That’s the entire punchline, which creator Seth MacFarlane apparently thought was substantial enough to make Meg’s abuse the most prominent running “joke” season after season. Oddly, her character started out as a pretty generic teenage girl, but I guess it’s not funny without misogyny! Meg is belittled by not only her family, but the entire town. Her sense of self worth is frequently eroded by negative remarks about her appearance and weight. Most notably, her sexuality is treated with absolute disgust. You can count on anything related to Meg and sex or romance to be handled as gross-out comedy.

Meg kidnaps Brian after becoming infatuated with him following a drunken make out at prom.
Meg kidnaps Brian after becoming infatuated with him following their drunken make out session at her  prom.

While we’re on the subject, let’s talk about more of Meg’s lowlights. It’s implied that she uses hot dogs to masturbate. She makes out with Brian (yes, the dog) and briefly becomes his deranged stalker after he refuses her further advances. She has a short-lived boyfriend that’s committed to abstinence, only to have him dump her at the end of the episode after seeing her naked body.  Peter, her own father, attempts to molest her during a cutaway gag and it’s played for laughs. Meg even unknowingly makes out with Chris (her brother) during a costume party. Following the revelation, Meg plays up the previous night to her oblivious parents, saying that she hopes the boy will call. Standing next to her, Chris unenthusiastically replies “Don’t count on it.”

Meg is horrified to realize she's been making out with chris.
Meg is horrified to realize she’s been making out with Chris.

Haha! Because it’s an insult that even your brother wouldn’t want you sexually! Bizarrely, incest is routinely used to highlight just how undesirable Meg is. Why? Who knows. Meg is supposed to represent even lower standards than incest, I guess.

The Griffins' creepy pervert neighbor, Quagmire, repeatedly attempts to seduce an unwitting Meg with various acts of kindness.
The Griffins’ creepy pervert neighbor, Quagmire, repeatedly attempts to seduce an unwitting Meg with various acts of kindness.

The audience is encouraged to mock Meg for being an insecure teenage girl. She is the only female character who can’t be treated as a traditional sex object, which invalidates her right to be treated with respect. Plus, you know, that whole perception of teenage girls as emotional and frivolous and silly and therefore that makes it fair game to trivialize their thoughts and feelings for like seven years. Too bad Meg is permanently stuck in adolescence.

This already paperthin premise is further validated by the fact that everyone else is an awful human being with no motive  for any of their actions beyond their own self absorption. It makes no sense to put so much effort into treating Meg like shit when all they care about is getting whatever they want. There’s nothing to gain in keeping her down. And, barring several neglect fueled outbursts of depravity, Meg arguably has the greatest sense of empathy and compassion out of the entire cast (albeit that the bar isn’t high) due to her low self-esteem. It’s misogyny for misogyny’s sake.

Tina takes a part in 'Working Girl' in the S5 premiere to try and get closer to her crush.
Tina takes a part in ‘Working Girl’ in the S5 premiere to try and get closer to her crush.

I watched Bob’s Burgers premiere the following Sunday and was, as usual, charmed and utterly delighted by the Belcher’s 13-year-old daughter, Tina. I realized that Tina finally offered me a framework to articulate all the things that were wrong with Meg and how she’s portrayed.

Unlike Lisa, Tina’s characterization is fairly similar to Meg, at least on the surface. Tina is socially awkward, frumpy, and uncomfortably sexual on occasion. She’s voiced by a man (Dan Mintz) who makes no attempt whatsoever to make his voice more feminine. If this were Family Guy, that alone would be the catalyst for an onslaught of sexist and probably transphobic jokes. However, about 97 percent of the women on Bob’s Burgers are voiced by men. Baritone is clearly en vogue for the ladies. It’s never used as a punchline and the show pretty much naturalizes it. By the end of an episode, I forget that almost all the women have male voice actors because no one is gunning to designate them as less feminine.

Words of wisdom.
Words of wisdom.

And there’s the kicker: everyone in Bob’s Burgers acknowledges that everyone is weird! Femininity or female sexuality is not a source of shame because gender isn’t a spectacle! They’re all quirky for their own reasons that have nothing to do with how well they conform to gender expectations or the way they express themselves sexually. Bob is friends with a number of transgender escorts and takes their flirting in good stride, even enjoying the attention. He’s propositioned by a male grocery store worker at Thanksgiving and bashfully declines, adding that he’s “mostly straight.” There’s not a superiority hierarchy among characters because they all know that they aren’t in a position to judge anyone else, nor do they have any desire to.

Linda cheers Tina's decision to write erotic friend fiction.
Linda, Tina’s mom, cheers Tina’s decision to write erotic friend fiction.

The primary difference between Meg and Tina is that Tina comes from a loving and supportive environment, whereas Meg does not. Tina’s parents accept her unconditionally, despite her displaying much of the same repressed eroticism as Meg. She writes “erotic friend fiction,” eagerly shares fantasies of dating an entire zombie football team at once, and does little to hide her attraction to the family dentist. Hell, her defining characteristic is an obsession with butts, an obvious manifestation of tween lust that has inspired a spectacular increase in pro-butt artwork across the internet.

Tina has a deep admiration for butts.
Tina has a deep admiration for butts.

The Belchers never shame Tina for her desires or try to bully her into changing her behavior. She’s not grotesque, it’s just who she is and her family embraces her regardless. They respond to her momentary teenage dismay and heartbreak with gentle encouragement. If anything, her idiosyncrasies make them stronger as a family. They gather strength from the individual uniqueness of each family member, rather than seek out a black sheep to vilify and take focus off everyone else’s flaws. Tina feels comfortable in her own skin and has an incredible sense of confidence for a 13-year-old.

It is a little disheartening to compare her to Meg because that’s when you really see all of the latter’s wasted potential.  Meg could have and arguably should have been Tina, but MacFarlane was too easily seduced by the promise of cheap laughs. Tina is certainly a source of comedy, but in a way that’s endearing. She reminds you of middle school awkwardness and the time you felt like your heart “pooped its pants” because your crush didn’t like you back. Whenever Meg comes on screen, I feel like I’m either about to witness harassment or a sex crime.

Dear Seth MarFarlane
Dear Seth MarFarlane

Forget mingling with the Simpsons. Once Meg turns 18, she should get the hell out of Quahog and move in with the Belchers.

...and they all live happily ever after.
…and they all lived happily ever after.

_________________________________________________________________________

Erin Tatum is a recent graduate of UC Berkeley, where she majored in film and minored in LGBT studies. She is incredibly interested in social justice, media representation, intersectional feminism, and queer theory. British television and Netflix consume way too much of her time. She is particularly fascinated by the portrayal of sexuality and ability in television.

 

“We Stick Together”: Rebellion, Female Solidarity, and Girl Crushes in ‘Foxfire’

In the spirit of ‘Boys on the Side,’ along with a dose of teen angst, ‘Foxfire’ is perhaps the most bad ass chick flick ever. Many Angelina Jolie fans are not aware of this 1996 phenomenon, where Angie makes a name for herself as a rebellious free spirit who changes the lives of four young women in New York. Based on the Joyce Carol Oates novel by the same name, ‘Foxfire’ is the epitome of girl power and female friendship, a pleasant departure from the competition and spitefulness often portrayed between women characters on the big screen (see ‘Bride Wars’ and ‘Just Go with It’). However, it does seem that Hollywood is catching on as of late, and producing films that cater to a more progressive viewership (see ‘Bridesmaids’ and ‘The Other Woman’). When I first saw ‘Foxfire’ around 16 years old, I stole the VHS copy from the video store where I worked at the time.

This post by Jenny Lapekas appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

In the spirit of Boys on the Side, along with a dose of teen angst, Foxfire is perhaps the most bad ass chick flick ever.  Many Angelina Jolie fans are not aware of this 1996 phenomenon, where Angie makes a name for herself as a rebellious free spirit who changes the lives of four young women in New York.  Based on the Joyce Carol Oates novel by the same name, Foxfire is the epitome of girl power and female friendship, a pleasant departure from the competition and spitefulness often portrayed between women characters on the big screen (see Bride Wars and Just Go with It).  However, it does seem that Hollywood is catching on as of late, and producing films that cater to a more progressive viewership (see Bridesmaids and The Other Woman).  When I first saw Foxfire around 16 years old, I stole the VHS copy from the video store where I worked at the time.

You don’t want to mess with these gals.
You don’t want to mess with these gals.

 

Angelina Jolie’s shaggy hair and tomboy style in the film, along with her portrayal of the rebellious Legs Sadovsky, play with gender expectations, challenging our assumptions pertaining to clothing, gait, etc.  Legs’ biker boots and leather jacket highlight the general heteronormative tendency to find discomfort in these roles and depictions.  An androgynous drifter, Legs oozes sex appeal and promotes the questioning of authority.  She teaches the girls to own their happiness, to correct the injustices they encounter, and to assert themselves to the men who think themselves superior to women.  Legs’ appearance in Foxfire is paramount; she’s even mistaken for a boy when she breaks into the local high school.  A security guard yells, “Young man, stop when I’m talking to you.”  We see this confusion repeat itself when Goldie’s mother tells her daughter, “There’s a girl…or whatever…here to see you.”

How can we resist developing a girl crush on Angie in this role?
How can we resist developing a girl crush on Angie in this role?

 

The film’s subplot involves a romance of sorts between artist Maddy and Legs, the mysterious stranger, while Maddy feels a large distance growing between her and her boyfriend (a young Peter Facinelli from the Twilight saga).  The intensity of the “girl-crush” shared between Maddy and Legs is akin to that of Thelma and Louise; while we come to understand that Legs is gay, Maddy’s platonic love is enough for the troubled runaway.  Legs also assures Maddy after sleeping on her floor one rainy night, “Don’t worry, you’re not my type.”  Similar to my discussion of the reunion between Miranda and Steve in Sex and the City: the Movie, the two young women coming together on a bridge is heavy with symbolism, especially when Legs climbs to the top and dances while Maddy looks on in horror and professes that she’s afraid of heights:  a nice precursor for the unfolding narrative, which centers on Legs guiding the girls and easing their fears, especially those associated with female adolescence and gaining new insight into their surroundings and how they fit into their environment.

This scene may not be aware of itself as being set up as another Romeo and Juliet visual, but we realize perhaps Legs is a better suitor than Maddy’s boyfriend, whose male privilege hinders his understanding of what Maddy needs.
While this scene may not be aware of itself as being set up as a nice Romeo and Juliet visual,  we realize perhaps Legs is a better suitor than Maddy’s boyfriend, whose male privilege hinders his understanding of what Maddy needs.

 

In a somber and almost zen-like scene involving Maddy and Legs, they profess their love for one another outside the abandoned home the gang has claimed as their own.  Maddy says, “If I told you I loved you, would you take it the wrong way?”  Obviously, while Maddy doesn’t want Legs to think she’s in love with her, she wants to make clear that the two have bonded for life and are now inextricably linked in sisterhood.  Maddy indirectly asks if Legs would take her with when she decides to move on, and Legs hints that Maddy may not be prepared for her nomadic lifestyle.  The platonic romance shared by both young women culminates in tears and heartache when Legs must inevitably leave.

Almost as if to kiss Legs, Maddy tenderly touches her face atop the gang’s house.
Almost as if to kiss Legs, Maddy tenderly touches her face atop the gang’s house.

 

Legs is the glue that binds these young women, and she literally appears from nowhere.  Her entrances are consistently memorable:  she initially meets Maddy as she’s trespassing on school property, she climbs to Maddy’s window asking for refuge from the rain (another Romeo and Juliet moment), and eventually takes off for nowhere, leaving the girls stupefied and yet more lucid than ever.  Legs is something that happens to these girls, a force of nature, a breath of fresh air.  When she tells Maddy that she was thrown out of her old school “for thinking for herself,” we can safely assume it was just that–refusing to conform to the standards of others.  The unlikely friendship that forms amongst this diverse group of girls clarifies the idea that this gang dynamic has found them, not the other way around; the pressed need for the collective feminine is what brings the girls together, rather than some vendetta against men.

Although Legs tattoos each of the girls in honor of their time together, they know they won't need scars to remember Legs.
Although Legs tattoos each of the girls in honor of their time together, they know they won’t need scars to remember Legs.

 

Legs sports a tattoo that reads “Audrey”:  her mother, who was killed in a drunk driving accident, and we clearly see in the film’s final scenes that Legs suffers from some serious daddy issues, when she angrily announces that “fathers mean nothing.”  Delving briefly into Legs’ painful past, we discover that she never knew her father.  The quickly maturing Rita explains to Legs, “This isn’t about you.”  Each of the girls has their own set of issues within the film:  Rita is being sexually molested by her scumbag biology teacher, Mr. Buttinger, Goldie is a drug addict whose father beats her, Violet is dubbed a “slut,” by the school’s stuck-up cheerleaders, and Maddy struggles to balance school, her photography, and her boyfriend, who is dumbfounded by Legs’ influence on his typically well-behaved girlfriend.

After the girls beat up Buttinger, Legs warns him to think before inappropriately touching any more female students.
After the girls beat up Buttinger, Legs warns him to think before inappropriately touching any more female students.

 

In an especially significant scene, the football players from school who continually harass the girls attempt to abduct Maddy by forcing her into a van.  The confrontations between the groups progressively escalate throughout the movie, and climax after Coach Buttinger is apparently fired for sexually harassing several female students.  Legs shows up donning a switchblade and orders the boys to let her friend go.  Of course, the pair steal the van and pick up their girlfriends on a high speed cruise to nowhere, which ends in an exciting police chase and Legs losing control and crashing, a metaphor for the gang’s imminent downfall.  The threat of sexual assault dissolved by a female ally, followed by police pursuit and a car crash has a lovely Thelma & Louise quality, as well.  The motivation here is to avoid being swept up in a misogynistic culture of victim-blaming.  What’s interesting about this scene is that another girl from school, who’s in cahoots with these sleazy guys, actually lures Maddy to the waiting group of boys, knowing what’s to come.  Meanwhile, Maddy tells Cyndi that she’d escort any girl somewhere who doesn’t feel safe, highlighting the betrayal at work here.  Cyndi, the outsider, exploits Maddy’s feminist sensibilities, her unspoken drive for female solidarity and the resistance of male violence to fulfill a violent, misogynist agenda and put Maddy in harm’s way.  Later, in the van, Goldie excitedly yells, “Maddy almost got raped, and we just stole this car!” as if this is a source of exhilaration or a mark of resiliency.  Perhaps we’d correct her by shifting the blame from the “almost-victim” to her attacker:  “Dana and his boys almost raped Maddy.”

Legs says, “Let her out, you stupid fuck.”
Legs says, “Let her out, you stupid fuck.”

 

Obviously, these are young women just blossoming in their feminist ideals, on the path to realization, and just beginning to question the patriarchal agenda they find themselves a part of in this awkward stage of young adulthood.  It’s in this queer in-between state, straddling womanhood and adolescence, that we find Maddy, Legs, Violet, Goldie, and Rita, on the cusp of articulating their justified outrage.  We may also question, how does one almost get raped?  While the girls of Foxfire are young and somewhat inexperienced, with Legs’ help, they quickly obtain this sort of unpleasant, universal knowledge that males can perpetrate sexual violence in order to “put women in their place.”  Dana announces, “You girls are getting a little big for yourselves.”  We can’t have that.  Women who grow, gain confidence, and challenge sexist and oppressive norms can make waves and upset lots of people.  While the girls are initially hesitant in trying to find their way and make sense of their lives, Legs is the powerful catalyst for this transition from the young and feminine to the wise and feminist.  While the high school jocks attempt to reclaim the power they feel has been threatened or stolen by this group of girls, Legs continues to challenge gender expectations by utilizing violence as well.

Legs tearfully says, “You’re my heart, Maddy.”
As she hitches a ride, Legs tearfully says, “You’re my heart, Maddy.”

 

Not only does this film pass the Bechdel Test with flying colors, it almost feels as if it’s a joke when the girls do manage to discuss men–like the topic is not something they take seriously or that boys rest only on the periphery of their lives.  While Maddy suffers silently in terms of her artistic prowess and boyfriend drama, Rita–seemingly the prudest and most sheltered of the gang–talks casually about masturbation and penis size.  However, it’s important to note that when men do make their way into the conversation, it’s at rare, lighthearted moments when the girls are not guarded or suspicious of the tyrannical and predatory men who seem to surround them.  The penis-size discussion between Rita and Violet, we must admit, is also quite self-serving and objectifying.  Rather than obsess over their appearances or the approval of boys, the girls’ most ecstatic moment is when Violet receives an anonymous note from a younger girl at school, another student Buttinger was harassing who is thankful for what the gang did.  The fact that Violet is so pleased that she could help a friendly stranger who was also a target of the same perverted teacher says a lot about the gang’s goals and identity.

Thanks to Legs, Maddy overcomes her fear of heights.
Thanks to Legs, Maddy overcomes her fear of heights.

 

Maddy and Legs recognize something in one another, and although theirs is not a sexual relationship, it is no doubt intimate and meaningful.  With an amazing soundtrack that includes Wild Strawberries, L7 (wanna fling tampons, anyone?), and Luscious Jackson, and boasting a cast that includes Angelina Jolie and Hedy Burress, Foxfire is undeniably feminist in its message and narrative.  With the help of Legs, the girls find agency, and with it, each other.  Although most of the girls have been failed by men in some way, Legs offers hope in female friendship and lets her sisters know that male-perpetrated violence can be combated with a switchblade and a swift kick to the balls.  Legs arrives like a whirlwind in Maddy’s life and leaves her changed forever.  The lovely ladies of Foxfire will make you want to form a girl gang, dangle off bridges, and break into your old high school’s art room just to stick it to the man.

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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.

’22 Jump Street’ is That Awkward Moment When You Want to be Progressive and Don’t Know How

’22 Jump Street’ alternately endorses and makes fun of the idea that we should be sensitive, tolerant people, but it isn’t mean-spirited or offensive – it’s just sort of harmlessly dumb.

Written by Katherine Murray.

22 Jump Street alternately endorses and makes fun of the idea that we should be sensitive, tolerant people, but it isn’t mean-spirited or offensive – it’s just sort of harmlessly dumb.

Channing Tatum and Jonah Hill hold hands in 22 Jump Street
The Whole Movie in One Screenshot

The premise of 22 Jump Street is that the characters from 21 Jump Street — two undercover cops played by Channing Tatum and Jonah Hill – have to do the exact same thing they did in the first movie, but with a bigger budget, and in a slightly different setting. I’m not being sarcastic – that’s actually the brief they get from their Captain at the start of the movie, because 22 Jump Street is one long, self-referential joke about making a half-assed sequel.

In this particular case, the cops, who went undercover as high school students in 21 Jump Street, are now undercover as college students. There are jokes about college, jokes about movies, and jokes about how the characters look really old, but the dominant theme in the movie is that it, and its characters, try really hard to be not homophobic, not sexist, not racist… and don’t always figure out how.

The most obvious example of this, and the one that’s been discussed the most often in reviews, is that the friendship between Tatum and Hill’s characters – Jenko and Schmidt – plays out as if it’s a romance. Jenko becomes friends with a football player, making Schmidt jealous, and leading them to fight about whether they should split up and “investigate different people.” There’s a sad musical montage while they think about how much they miss each other, before they agree to team up again as “a one-time thing.” When they reconcile, in the end, Jenko’s football player friend looks on with a mixture of joy and regret, declaring, “That’s who he should be with!”

Despite their cover story being that they’re brothers, and the fact that Schmidt starts dating a woman, other people mistake them for a couple, too. A school counselor makes them hold hands and attend couple’s therapy; some drug dealers think they’re having oral sex during a bust.

The movie is trying hard to be not homophobic – there’s even a part where Jenko, who’s forced to take a seminar on human sexuality, explains why you can’t use gay slurs – but, when you boil it down, the joke is still, “They seem gay, but they’re not!”

After a long period of time where movies couldn’t allude to homosexuality at all, and a shorter period of time where they could only do it in a derogatory or pejorative way, we’re now in a place where mainstream movies are totally cool with joking that their leading men are gay… as long as it’s clear that they don’t have gay sex. It’s a step forward, for sure, and you can argue that 22 Jump Street is just making fun of the homoerotic subtext that’s already present in buddy cop movies, but the joke is still based on the idea that actually being gay is a bridge that can never be crossed.

This kind of humor has gotten more and more prevalent as public acceptance toward the LGBT community has increased. Homosexuality is no longer something so taboo that we can’t even talk about it – and it’s no longer a career killer for heterosexual actors to play a gay character, or to joke about their masculinity. “They seem gay, but they’re not!” has shown up in R-rated comedies, and most of the recent Sherlock Holmes adaptations – including the Robert Downey Jr. movies, House, and, most notably, BBC’s Sherlock – and the punch line is always the same: “Ha ha ha. This looks gay, and we’re fine with looking gay – and doesn’t it reflect well on us, that we’re not afraid to look gay – but, just so you know, we’re not gay.”

If you were watching a movie or TV show about a man and woman who really, really acted like a couple, and people mistook them for a couple, and there were constantly jokes introducing the idea that they should be a couple, chances are they’d end up as a couple. Usually, the point of making those sorts of observations in the early part of a movie or series is to plant the idea in the audience’s mind that the characters should get together, and introduce tension about whether or not they will. It’s the same principle as We’re the Millers, where Jennifer Aniston and Jason Sudeikis pretend to be married as part of con, but end up falling in love. Or the second season of Orange is the New Black, where Larry and Polly are mistaken for a couple, and it makes them realize that they should be one. Or even the later seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, where Buffy and her mortal enemy, Spike, fall under a spell that makes them act like they’re in love, which leads to them actually falling in love.

With 22 Jump Street and its contemporaries, we’re under no illusion that the story will resolve itself that way. In fact, part of the point of the joke is that we take for granted that it won’t. That’s what makes it a “safe” joke to tell. That doesn’t offend me, and I understand that joking about things in a non-judgemental way can be a step toward acceptance. The movie just isn’t as progressive as it seems to want to be.

Jonah Hill and Jillian Bell have fistfight in 22 Jump Street
Most Awkward Fistfight Ever

Speaking of things that aren’t as progressive as they seem to want to be, 22 Jump Street, intentionally or not, dramatizes the same type of struggle in Schmidt. While the movie is awkwardly trying to avoid homophobia without being sure what to do, Schmidt awkwardly tries to avoid being sexist or racist, with mixed and confusing results.

There’s a running joke in the film where he tries to suck up to the Captain (played by Ice Cube) by saying what he clearly thinks are appropriately sensitive things about race. When the Captain flips out and starts yelling for the waiter in a restaurant, Schmidt defends him by saying, “He’s black! He’s been through a lot!” When the case is initially explained to him – that a black woman died after taking drugs sold to her by a white man – Schmidt comments that’s it’s refreshing to have a black victim, and that the fact that she’s black makes him care so much more. Jenko corrects him that he means to say he cares equally, but Schmidt’s adamant that he cares more.

In both cases, everyone else in the scene is confused or annoyed by his comments, and the joke seems to be that he’s trying too hard to seem sensitive without knowing how to go about it. (In the second case, the joke might also be that people who criticize casting decisions in movies are similarly misguided about it).

Schmidt’s also confused about how to relate to women. One of the antagonists in the movie is his girlfriend’s roommate, Mercedes (played by Jillian Bell). Her idea of conversation is to crack deadpan jokes about his age, even when they’re in life or death situations (which is funny), and, at one point, they get into a fistfight, where he’s not sure if it’s okay to hit her. She yells at him that, if he saw her as a person, he’d punch her in the face, and he does it, but he feels really awkward and uncomfortable. (There’s also an improvised moment where they become confused about whether they’re going to kiss during the fight.)

The fistfight scene stands out as one that captures Schmidt and 22 Jump Street’s dilemma pretty clearly – as a reasonably progressive straight, white guy, he wants to do the right thing and not be racist, sexist, or homophobic, but he has no idea what he is and isn’t supposed to do and say. The absurdity of a situation where, in order to be feminist, you have to punch a woman in the face sums up the conflict pretty clearly – in this brave new world we live in, well-meaning people still get confused about how they’re supposed to behave.

The film also has less thoughtful sequences. Schmidt hooks up with a woman named Maya, and we’re supposed to laugh at the idea that he wants to have a relationship while she’s looking for a one night stand (because women are supposed to want relationships, and men are supposed to want one night stands, get it?). He does the walk of shame in the morning, where it appears that he’s the only man among a group of women, and a later scene in the movie follows this up by showing us that Schmidt is now on a first name basis with the same women (implicitly because he’s done this so often that they’ve all gotten to know each other).

The joke “Schmidt makes friends with the other people doing the walk of shame, because he does it all the time” is funny in itself, but Jonah Hill, for some reason, adopts a more effeminate posture and delivery during those scenes, making the joke more like, “Schmidt’s become one of the girls!” Which is funny because… it’s emasculating? Like being gay?

I honestly don’t know.

22 Jump Street exists in a sort of no-man’s-land where we don’t want to be bigoted or hateful, but where even the least homophobic person in the world can reach for a gay slur in anger, and where, even a movie that’s trying to be progressive can reach for jokes that tacitly confirm the same stereotypes it’s opposing. It’s a snapshot of where mainstream culture is, now, where we want to be better, and thoughtful, and kind, but we haven’t dismantled the language that came before. We’re in a transitional stage between the generations that would find this movie offensively tolerant, and those that will find it offensively backward.

Jonah Hill and Channing Tatum wave their guns around in 22 Jump Street
You’re Welcome

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

Why ‘Jessie’ Is the Worst Show on Disney Channel

For those who don’t know, ‘Jessie’ is a Disney Channel series about a girl from Texas who moves to New York City and becomes nanny for a Brangelina couple with four adopted children from around the world. If done well, it could allow for very educational programming for children about diversity and identity. Spoiler alert: it hasn’t been done well. It’s been done terribly.

TV poster for Jessie
TV poster for Jessie

 

This cross-post by Katherine Filaseta appears as part of our theme week on Children’s Television and previously appeared at her blog Complaining About Things I Like.

For those who don’t know, Jessie is a Disney Channel series about a girl from Texas who moves to New York City and becomes nanny for a Brangelina couple with four adopted children from around the world. If done well, it could allow for very educational programming for children about diversity and identity. Spoiler alert: it hasn’t been done well. It’s been done terribly.

Ravi wearing an Om shirt and probably speaking Hindi
Ravi wearing an Om shirt and probably speaking Hindi

 

Ravi is the newest addition to the family, recently adopted from India. He brought with him his water monitor (Mr. Kipling), whom he met as a baby. He talks with an exaggerated accent and is constantly referencing Ganesh, samosas, tigers, non-violence, fortune telling, and curry – to name a few. He teaches a yoga class and wears sherwanis.

This entire character is straight out of Edward Said’s Orientalism. Essentially, orientalism is when Westerners lump the entire continent of Asia into one foreign land with which they can associate everything they don’t understand. Things from this exotic land are instantly mystical and weird, because orientalists don’t understand them. This is okay, because orientalists prefer things to be unknown and mysterious and magical. As one of my professors put it: Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmern is orientalism; Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations is not. Jessie is orientalism.

Ravi as a stereotypical Indian tourist, despite living in NYC
Ravi as a stereotypical Indian tourist, despite living in NYC

 

The idea that Ravi found a random lizard egg and decided to be best friends with it is one example of the orientalism used in this show. India does have a lot of wildlife, but it isn’t quite teeming with exotic creatures – one issue in India right now is how to protect the few tigers left on the planet, all of which live in India, mostly under precarious conditions. Especially since globalization, India is not really the image we have in our heads from Disney’s The Jungle Book, even though Disney is perpetuating this misconception through Ravi and Mr(s). Kipling’s friendship. We’re also exaggerating the influence Rudyard Kipling actually had on India. He traveled there a few times over a century ago; I’m pretty sure a random kid off the streets of India wouldn’t be naming his pet after him.

More importantly, even a “fresh off the boat” 8-year-old Indian kid who had not previously been exposed to American culture would not say things like “great Ganesh!” This isn’t a thing I have ever heard an Indian person say. I also don’t know any Indians who are constantly consulting their crystal balls and other magical ancient devices. A majority of the stereotypes Ravi embodies in the show aren’t even real stereotypes of India, so I really don’t understand why they are so prevalent. Also, how did an 8-year-old get certified to teach yoga? Is this also just because he is Indian?

Zuri giving a boy some attitude
Zuri giving a boy some attitude

 

Zuri was apparently adopted from Africa as a baby and raised by an upper-class white family. However, her catch phrases are things like “mmmmhmmmm” and “oh no you didn’t,” both said in a very stereotypically Black way. She also has a major attitude problem that the adults never address, probably because they just assume all Black people act that way.

The worst part about her character to me is that not just the stereotypes, but the fact that she is exhibiting urban Black stereotypes despite never having been a part of urban Black society. She lives in an Upper East Side penthouse and was born in Uganda. It is reminiscent of early 20th century ideas: things like social darwinism. These characteristics of Zuri exist in her genetics just because of the color of her skin.

Emma wearing pink and Luke being a sloppy boy
Emma wearing pink and Luke being a sloppy boy

 

Emma and Luke are the two white children in the family. Emma is a typical “dumb blonde”; all she appears to be able to think about is boys, fashion, glitter, and celebrity gossip. She is constantly making ditzy comments and screaming high-pitched screams because she broke a nail. Luke is just a typical “boy,” which means he is always hitting on girls and using sexual innuendos. The sexual innuendos in themselves are in my opinion inappropriate for a children’s show; even if the target audience for these innuendos is parents, the children are the ones saying them. It isn’t just the innuendos in themselves, however – it’s that Luke’s character is perpetuating this idea that making degrading comments about girls’ bodies is okay, because it is just a “thing boys do.” Despite societal expectations, pretty blonde girls can care about more than looking good, and boys don’t have to constantly treat girls like objects.

The least offensive stereotype in this show is of Jessie. Since she’s from Texas, her dad is in the military and taught her how to shoot a gun when she was 5 years old. She also is always talking about how great Texas is. Typical Texan…

Recently, Disney Channel aired the worst episode of this show yet: “To Be or Not to Be.” In it, every character ends up switching bodies (a la Freaky Friday). If anyone had been watching the show and somehow didn’t realize how offensive all the stereotypes were, this episode makes it even more blatantly obvious. Jessie gets to put on a “Black girl” accent (I didn’t even know there was a “Black girl” accent?), and the butler does a terrible imitation of an Indian accent (think Ashton Kutcher Popchips ad, but worse). Wholesome Disney fun with hilarious racial stereotypes!

Edit: It just got even better. The new episode that aired 19 April 2013 has a women’s singer-songwriter show that Jessie is invited to perform at. Apparently the only people who would ever go to support aspiring female artists are other women – specifically, women who don’t shave their legs, hate all men, and wear ‘sensible shoes’. Hey, Jessie! You don’t have to hate men and fashion to be supportive of women. In fact, you can even be a man! And/or wear high heels!

Katherine Filaseta is a recent graduate of Washington University in Saint Louis, who is currently living and working with kids in New York. She really likes Bollywood, education, feminism, the performing arts, and apparently children’s TV. Follow her on twitter and wordpress.

 

Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

Check out what we’ve been reading this week–and let us know what you’ve been reading/writing in the comments!

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The Best Super Bowl Tweets from the Real Feminist Bookstore by Melissa Locker at IFC

The Most Terrible Super Bowl Commercials by Rachel Lindsay at Bitch Media

Finally, A Super Bowl Ad Feminists Can Be Proud Of by Elizabeth Plank at PolicyMic

Review: ‘The New Black’ Offers Complex Portrait of Black Same-Sex Marriage Debate by Nijla Mumin at Shadow and Act

Is “The Wolf of Wall Street” Punk Rock? Hardly. by Karina Eileraas and Pye Ian at Ms. blog

Six International Films to Have On Your Radar (Or See this Weekend at PIFF) by Kjerstin Johnson at Bitch Media

The Big O: What’s at Stake for Cate in the Woody Debate? by Susan Wloszczyna at Women and Hollywood

Watching Gonzo Netflix: A Selection of Films I’d Really Like To See by Ella Risbridger at The Toast

Hollywood Needs To Redefine What Makes A Movie “Mainstream” by ReBecca Theodore-Vachon at Film Fatale NYC

Playwright Rebecca Gilman on Feminism, Class and Flawed Heroes by Paula Kamen at Ms. blog

 

What have you been reading/writing this week? Tell us in the comments!