Sexual Assault – Page 2

Robin and Patriarchy in ‘Teen Titans’

However, not all of its episodes are comedic, and the show contains a number of adult themes, addressing serious issues both directly and metaphorically. Villains Slade, Brother Blood, and Trigon are patriarchal figures who physically, psychologically, and often (metaphorically) sexually attack, abuse, and assault the Teen Titans, causing them severe and often long-lasting psychological trauma.

Trigger warning for physical abuse and sexual assault.

DC’s comic book superhero team Teen Titans has been adapted and readapted as an animated series in recent years, and has a live action TV pilot in the making. The team gained newfound popularity due to Cartoon Network’s animated series Teen Titans (2003-2007), created by Glen Murakami. The show is rated TV-Y7 (for children aged 7 and up), and contains a lot of silly and, well, cartoonish humor. However, not all of its episodes are comedic, and the show contains a number of adult themes, addressing serious issues both directly and metaphorically. Villains Slade, Brother Blood, and Trigon are patriarchal figures who physically, psychologically, and often (metaphorically) sexually attack, abuse, and assault the Teen Titans, causing them severe and often long-lasting psychological trauma.

(Left to right) Beast Boy, Starfire, Robin, Cyborg, and Raven

The protagonists often internalize this trauma, thereby hurting themselves, and externalize this trauma by lashing out at and causing harm to each other. An example of this is in the episode “Haunted” in which Robin, metaphorically suffering from PTSD and having hallucinations of the villain Slade, yells at his love interest Starfire and hurts her arm. Trauma due to patriarchal figures is also experienced by the villainess Blackfire and anti-heroine Terra, who internalize the abuse, and try to find stability, success, and happiness by taking on patriarchal roles themselves. Blackfire, as queen of a planet and people looked down upon and, as evidenced in “Troq,” called racial slurs by the rest of the galaxy, attempts to force her sister into an arranged marriage for political reasons in “Betrothed.” When Starfire refuses to go along with the marriage, Blackfire physically attacks her. Starfire, and other female characters, realistically face abuse and oppression from male characters, whether strangers, enemies, friends, family, or love interests, as well as abuse and oppression from fellow female characters. It is then no wonder that this abuse is often internalized, such as when Starfire needlessly apologizes to Robin at the end of the first season for having “doubted” him.

Robin, Cyborg, and Beast Boy struggle to define their own masculinity after experiencing patriarchal abuse for themselves, but particularly upon witnessing patriarchal abuse of their female teammates. This is especially true of Robin and Beast Boy after recognizing their own abusive behavior toward Starfire and Raven, respectively, and apologizing for it. As Robin is the team’s leader and is arguably the main character, his character arc is one of the most developed, and much of the show’s commentary on patriarchy is done through Robin’s storylines, which most often put him in opposition to Slade, especially in the first season.

Before Slade, Brother Blood, and Trigon, another patriarchal figure affected the five Teen Titans, due to having trained their leader. Batman is often alluded to in the story, though never mentioned by name. Robin, who is White, male, and able-bodied, has privilege over the other superheroes in the show due to Batman having taken him under his (bat)wing. Though Robin would still have been talented without Batman’s help, Batman provided him with a level of intense training and real world experience in crime fighting that his other teammates lack. This extra training and experience made Robin the most qualified of the team to be its leader, and he becomes a patriarch due to the privilege afforded him by a patriarch.

Starfire, Beast Boy, Cyborg, and Raven dressed up as Robin.

Robin struggles with this patriarchal identity, and as the team becomes more experienced and Robin learns to deal with his control issues, the team becomes more of an ensemble with less of a hierarchy. This change in Robin’s leadership role and his relationship to the rest of the team is particularly examined in the episode “The Quest,” in which Robin feels confident enough in the team’s abilities to leave them for a time while he goes on a personal mission. While he is gone, all four remaining team members dress up in Robin’s extra uniforms and act out their envy of Robin’s “cool” position as their leader, taking turns on his motorcycle and referring to each other as “Robin.” When Robin returns and catches them in the act, they at first fear punishment, but Robin instead sits down and joins them in eating pizza together, which greatly surprises them.

In the first episodes of the series, Robin doesn’t give the team enough leeway or support, sometimes treating them more as tools or his own personal soldiers, as opposed to individual people. The team needs Robin’s leadership, due to his training and experience, as evidenced in “Final Exam,” when the team thinks they have lost him. However, it is Robin’s over-controlling personality and his emotional distance that almost leads members of his team to quit. In order to keep Cyborg, his second-in-command, from leaving the team in “Divide and Conquer,” Robin has to apologize for his actions and relinquish some of his patriarchal (and White supremacist, as Cyborg is Black/Biracial Black and White) control. In the next episode, entitled “Sisters,” Robin has to show respect for Starfire, an orange-skinned immigrant from the planet Tamaran, in order to keep her on the team, connecting with her on an emotional and personal level. Due to these changes in Robin’s leadership style, the team becomes more cohesive and functional in their crime fighting, and more supportive of each other as friends. The show continues to promote integrationist values throughout the rest of its run, sometimes challenging White supremacist capitalist patriarchy, but often supporting heteronormativity.

Later in the first season, particularly in the episodes “Masks,” “Apprentice Part 1,” and “Apprentice Part 2,” it is clear that Robin still struggles with arrogance and a lust for power, control, and independence, often feeling that the team holds him back from reaching his full potential. The villain Slade taps into these desires and weaknesses for his own gain. Slade, an adult man with an army of robots, immense resources, and incredible influence and privilege, tells Robin that he sees his “potential,” and offers Robin the position of his “apprentice,” claiming he will be “like a father” to him. Robin responds that he’s “not interested,” as it would mean betraying his friends and siding with a known villain. However, when Slade threatens to kill Robin’s friends/teammates by putting his destructive “probes inside their bodies,” Robin is forced to accept Slade’s offer.

Many of the scenes between Slade and Robin have a distinctly sexual and predatory vibe, with Robin being metaphorically raped by Slade and then internalizing the trauma due to Slade insisting that Robin “enjoy[s]” the abuse. In battle, Robin lowers his stun gun when Starfire confronts him. This angers Slade, who tortures her and the rest of the team with his “probes inside their bodies” until Robin physically harms her himself. Thus, a patriarchal figure forces a patriarch-in-training to enact violence against a young woman, who is arguably coded as a Woman of Color. Enacting this violence shows Robin’s loyalty to Slade/patriarchy, and Starfire becomes “the ball” in what media critic Anita Sarkeesian has said is “the game of patriarchy.”

In order to defeat Slade, Robin claims he will find a way to “get [the] controller” of the “probes” away from Slade. This shows Robin’s desire to have control and power, as he does not want to destroy the controller, but to own it himself. Much to Robin’s chagrin, Slade notices this, and points out his and Robin’s patriarchal similarities. Robin eventually realizes that the only way to save his teammates from torture and eventual death is to give up the protection, privilege, and power over others that he has under Slade. Robin puts the same torture devices that are inside the rest of the team inside himself, and Slade is forced to stop the torturing of everyone in order to spare Robin, whom he calls “ungrateful.” The Teen Titans then, for the most part, defeat Slade as a team. The episode ends with Robin admitting that he and Slade are “a lot alike,” though, unlike Slade, who is “alone,” Robin is happy and thankful that he has friends. Though this arc reinforces heteronormativity, often through Robin’s budding relationship with Starfire, it also addresses capitalist patriarchy and its view of people as obstacles, tools, and possessions, a subject which the rest of the show’s seasons continue to address.

While Robin, a White male character, was offered a position of power and privilege by Slade, Slade does not show the same respect to other characters, even including his second apprentice, Terra. Terra, who debuts in the second season in the episode aptly titled “Terra,” is a skinny White girl with blonde hair and blue eyes. While Slade referred to Robin by name, he often addresses Terra by her position of “Apprentice,” especially in “Aftershock Part 2.” This shows how Slade ignores her identity and personhood, even though he empathized with Robin’s. The episode also creates an even clearer metaphor for sexual assault than the show did earlier with Robin. When Terra learns that the uniform Slade gave her allows him to control her body with his own body, causing her pain and controlling her movements, she tries to rip it off, and starts to cry when she can’t. When Beast Boy finds her like this, he asks Slade what he did to Terra, and Slade claims that he didn’t do anything to her that she didn’t “want [him] to.” In a particularly disturbing moment, Slade lifts a seemingly unconscious Terra by her breastplate.

Slade only respecting fellow White men is a trait he shares with other villains. In the third season, Cyborg, who is Black/Biracial, is seen as a “machine” and not a “man” by the villain Brother Blood, who is White. In the fourth season, the demon Trigon sees his daughter Raven as a “vessel” and not a human being. In the fifth and final season, the team faces the villain The Brain and his Brotherhood of Evil, who see everyone as tools, or pieces in a game of chess. Robin learns to respect and support his teammates throughout these storylines, and develops an especially close friendship with Raven, who can arguably be interpreted as being coded as a Woman of Color. The series’ strongest metaphor for sexual assault occurs in the fourth season in the episode “Birthmark,” in which Slade, who is revealed to be working for Trigon, rips off Raven’s cloak and much of her clothing. Robin, a fellow survivor of assault from Slade, supports Raven, and keeps the rest of the team from asking her invasive questions.

This storyline breaks down many barriers in media. Two fellow survivors of rape and assault support each other. A male rape survivor is shown and not shamed. A close platonic friendship between a young man and woman is also incredibly rare. A White young man is also being respectful of a (coded) Woman of Color, supporting her on her own terms, allowing her agency in what she feels she does and does not want to tell him and the rest of the team. Whiteness, maleness, and heteronormativity are still praised and privileged in Teen Titans, but hopefully future media, especially the coming pilot of the live action Teen Titans, continue to address patriarchy and the issues that the animated Teen Titans addressed.

WIGS’ Flagship Series, ‘Blue,’ Offers a Surprisingly Powerful Look at Sexual Violence

‘Blue’ is either an amazing bait-and-switch or (more likely) a series that changed its mind about what it was part way through. Either way, what began as an inferior, online version of ‘Secret Diary of a Call Girl,’ has grown into a powerful, subtle, and well-acted drama about the long-term effects of sexual abuse, and the shadow that misogyny and the threat of violence casts over women’s sexuality in general. It’s also a big achievement for the WIGS channel, whose mission is to create more female-led programming.

Written by Katherine Murray.

Blue is either an amazing bait-and-switch or (more likely) a series that changed its mind about what it was partway through. Either way, what began as an inferior, online version of Secret Diary of a Call Girl, has grown into a powerful, subtle, and well-acted drama about the long-term effects of sexual abuse, and the shadow that misogyny and the threat of violence casts over women’s sexuality in general. It’s also a big achievement for the WIGS channel, whose mission is to create more female-led programming.

I wouldn’t blame you if you’ve never heard of Blue – I hadn’t heard of it until CTV starting promoting it as part of its online video service this winter. The series began life in 2012 as a group of short webisodes on the WIGS YouTube channel, before switching to an hour-long format and moving to Hulu in its third season (in Canada, it’s now on CTV Extend, along with several other WIGS series).

WIGS, in itself, is pretty cool. It’s a free, online channel that offers original programming, focused on female leads. In addition to Julia Stiles, who plays the title role in Blue, WIGS has produced shorts and web series led by Anna Paquin, Jenna Malone, and America Fererra, among others. Blue seems to be the one that’s got the most traction, and it’s fair to say that it’s WIGS’ flagship show.

The premise of Blue (and it’s not a great premise, so bear with me for a minute) is that Stiles’ character is a single mom who sometimes resorts to prostitution in order to make ends meet. All of the commercials and advertising for the show feature a clip from the series’ first webisode, where Blue, in sexy lingerie, explains to a client, “I gotta provide.” During the early episodes, there’s a sense that Blue is going to play out a lot like Secret Diary of a Call Girl – that is, it seems like the point of the show is to voyeuristically peer inside a middle class version of sex work. We watch Blue interact with a wide range of clients who are all set apart by peculiar habits and fetishes, and we watch her cagily hide this part-time job from everyone else in her life. It seems, at first, like the only major conflict the show’s setting up is a love interest slash frenemy of Blue’s who learns the truth about her job, and might spill the beans to her family. Otherwise, the story doesn’t seem like it’s going anywhere until late in the first season, when suddenly it goes everywhere – to places I haven’t seen many shows go at all, let alone in such an honest, thoughtful way.

Late in season one, after some foreshadowing has prepared us, we learn that Blue was sexually abused by one of her mother’s boyfriends when she was in middle school, and that there’s a good chance that guy is the father of her son. That revelation cracks the story wide open and, from that point forward, Blue is a lot less about watching Julia Stiles be sexy, and a lot more about watching her struggle with the long term effects of trauma – the way it interferes with her relationships, the way her lack of boundaries shapes the dynamic she has with her son, the way she blocks things out and dissociates under stress.

Blue is a series that builds up slowly, over time, rather than dropping everything on us at once. The complex social and psychological dynamics between the characters are like sediment, accumulating layer by layer, until the third season feels like a careful, complex dissertation on human behaviour.

When Blue’s abuser returns to the picture, it’s disturbing that she doesn’t stand up to him – that he still has so much power over her – but it’s also realistic. So is the way he explains, with no trace of shame, anger, or guile, that he didn’t do anything wrong, and he’s the real victim, because she’s let other people convince her that he’s a bad person, when they both know the truth is different.

The show also takes its time in revealing how Blue’s own memory of these events is fragmented and hard for her to access. In one scene, she’ll struggle to remember anything about her childhood, and come up short on details when someone asks. In another, she’ll have a sudden emotional outburst, as she remembers that her mother betrayed her trust by leaving her alone with the man who raped her. After that, she’ll forget the outburst happened, and wonder why her son suddenly seems to be so careful and delicate about her feelings.

Depicting a character who doesn’t have a constant sense of self and doesn’t understand her own feelings, or remember her own experiences consistently, requires a great deal of patience and restraint on the part of the writers, directors, and actor. Julia Stiles has always been a pretty understated actor, and it works for her, here, as a character who’s built a protective shell so strong that it separates her from her own emotions. Blue never tells us how to interpret the characters’ feelings, but it has a keen eye for detail in how trauma can be expressed through words and behaviour, and there’s at least one sequence in which sound and video editing are used to create a pretty convincing impression of dissociation, which no explanation needed.

In the third season, Blue expands its view of female sexuality through two new characters: Blue’s sister Lara, and Lara’s girlfriend, Satya. Season three is a winner on all counts, but the introduction of these characters allows the show to add a few more layers to its sediment, and flesh out the themes that are already there.

Satya, played by Canadian singer-songwriter Alexz Johnson, is a bad news musician who systematically leaches off her partners in lieu of getting a job. When we meet her, she’s leaching off Lara (which means leaching off Blue, by proxy), and trying to track down a lowlife who owes her some money. The most terrifying scene in the show comes where Satya and Lara confront the lowlife’s friends, looking for the money he owes them, and realize too late that they’re in a locked apartment with guys who want to rape them. The scene is a lot more low-key that what you’d get on HBO, but that’s what makes it scary – a normal conversation suddenly tips into something more sinister, and, before anyone makes a move toward them, Lara runs to the door and starts screaming for help.

It’s a moment that’s powerful and disturbing, and underscores the threat of violence that runs underneath interactions between men and women. When I started writing this review, I was going to say, “Blue is bad at being a show about prostitution, but it’s good at being a show about sexual violence” – in retrospect, I think maybe it’s good at being a show about prostitution because it’s good at being a show about sexual violence, and presenting a world where no one’s choices are ever fully disentangled from the misogynist threads in our culture.

There’s an argument that says, in order to be sex-positive people, we need to stop stigmatizing prostitution, and challenge the idea that women only get into sex work because they’ve been kidnapped, coerced, or abused – that we instead need to promote the empowering idea that women can be sex workers because they choose to be, in an utterly untroubled way. And, while it’s true that some people get into sex work without any trauma or exploitation and, while I’m happy for them if they have a positive experience, the reality is that, at this point in history, most prostitutes don’t enter the profession because things are going so well in their lives. While it’s fine to have Secret Diary of a Call Girl – while that’s a legitimate experience that can be explored – it’s also important to keep telling stories like this – stories that highlight how even sex work that looks, on the surface, like it’s voluntary, is still an artefact of the same culture in which women are disproportionately the victims of sexual assault and domestic violence. Sex work doesn’t exist in a separate reality where none of the other bullshit about sex and gender affects what goes on.

On a less ideological level, Blue also pulls off a pretty risky narrative feat by building up Satya’s talent all season long – telling us that she’s this amazing musician, who’s obviously special, and captivates you as soon as you hear her play – and then delivering on that promise, when Johnson sings a song that she wrote for the show in a clear, strong voice that instantly shows us why all of these characters see something special in Satya. That doesn’t seem like such a hard thing to pull off, but look at all the times Smash and Glee tried to tell us that someone was good at singing, and see how that turned out.

If you are intrigued by complex characterization, explorations of sexual violence, or convincingly good singer-songwriter stuff, you can catch up on Blue at the WIGS website, on Hulu in the United States, or on CTV Extend in Canada.

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

Seed & Spark: Oh … You’re Not Making a Rom-Com?

Considering more than one in five women are raped in their lifetime in the USA, I feel it is a hard-hitting reality and it is about time this film is made. I should also point out, that the script focuses on the recovery of a rape survivor and is much less of a tragic tale, than a realistic and a hopeful one.

Filmmaker, Jessica M. Thompson, at the premiere of her short film, Across the Pond, at Tropfest NY 2013 — Filmmaker, Jessica M. Thompson, at the premiere of her short film, *Across the Pond*, at Tropfest NY 2013

This is a guest post by Jessica M. Thompson.

When I started writing my latest feature film, The Light of The Moon, I had a few comments from friends lamenting that I was not writing a Romantic-Comedy. Now, I should point out, I have not written or directed many Rom-Coms in my life – I am definitely more driven by the genres of Drama, Thriller, and even Sci-Fi – so these friends were not making a statement about my previous Rom-Coms being an utter hit and that I should not digress from my proven track record. These friends were making assumptions about the types of films that women write and direct, and also suggesting that these are the types of films that resonate with female audiences. Because, you know, Rom-Coms are the only types of films that women want to see, right?

Carlo Velayo and Jessica M. Thompson from Stedfast Productions at Tropfest NY 2013

Now I am very picky about my friendships: I only mingle with highly intelligent, interesting, creative and progressive women and men of the world, so I was pretty shocked to hear some of them make such blatantly pigeonholed comments. I had the overwhelming sense that the overarching stereotypes that Hollywood projects on to female writers, directors, actors, characters, and audiences were even starting to encroach on the Brooklynites of New York.

Director, Catherine Hardwicke, on the set of Red Riding Hood, 2011. (Photo courtesy of IMDB) — Director Catherine Hardwicke on the set of *Red Riding Hood*, 2011. (Photo courtesy of IMDb)

There has been a long pervading idea in Hollywood that it is only men, between the ages of 18-35, who go to the movies. This has been disproved time-and-time again, with one article in Variety pointing out that women made up 51 percentof all film audiences in 2011. Yet, only 30 percentof speaking roles in movies in 2014 were female characters (and this includes animated films that suggested we should just “let it go!”). And to make the situation direr, those speaking roles were largely supporting characters who were passive in nature and contributed very little to the overall plot within the film.

Director, Catherine Hardwicke, at the premiere of Red Riding Hood, 2011. (Photo courtesy of IMDB) — Director Catherine Hardwicke at the premiere of *Red Riding Hood*, 2011. (Photo courtesy of IMDb)

Writer/director Catherine Hardwicke struggled to secure funding for her indie hit Thirteen in 2003. “Of course there are double standards. No one can say it’s a level playing field,” she said. Stories with strong female leads are often disregarded for funding by the largely male-dominated production and distribution companies of Hollywood. Although Thirteen went on to win the Sundance Award for Best Director, be nominated for an Academy Award for Best Actress in a Supporting Role and earn over $4.5 million at the box office, Hardwicke still found it hard to get her future films, with ladies in the leading roles, off the ground.

Actor/Writer/Producer, Brit Marling, in I Origins, 2014. (Photo courtesy of IMDB) — Actor/writer/producer Brit Marling in *I Origins*, 2014. (Photo courtesy of IMDb)

Interesting to note, Hardwicke did go on to direct the first Twilight movie in 2008, which grossed over $392 million worldwide, only to have male directors take over her role for the last four films in the series. As Hardwicke points out: “Despite achievement at the highest levels, women still find themselves pounding on doors that are slow to open.”

Actor/Writer/Producer, Brit Marling, in The East, 2013. (Photo courtesy of IMDB) — Actor/writer/producer Brit Marling, in *The East,* 2013. (Photo courtesy of IMDBb)

The film I am making this year, The Light of The Moon, is about the first six weeks after a sexual assault and the impacts on the main character, Bonnie, and her relationships. When I have spoken to some savvy film festival audiences about the story, I’ve heard comments, like: “Wow, sounds like a real picker-upper” or “isn’t that a bit too depressing to watch?” Considering more than one in five women are raped in their lifetime in the USA, I feel it is a hard-hitting reality and it is about time this film is made. I should also point out, that the script focuses on the recovery of a rape survivor and is much less of a tragic tale, than a realistic and a hopeful one.

Jessica M. Thompson co-founded Stedfast Productions in 2010. This year, Stedfast will be making their first feature film, The Light of The Moon, which is now crowd funding through Seed&Spark. — Jessica M. Thompson co-founded Stedfast Productions in 2010. This year, Stedfast will be making their first feature film, *The Light of The Moon*, which is now crowd funding through Seed&Spark.

But these comments did make me start to wonder if male directors, like Derek Cianfrance, encountered the same problems when pitching an utterly sad, romantic-tragedy, like Blue Valentine? Or if our darlings, Matt & Ben, got some slack for making a film about a genius who was violently abused as a child and now has emotional problems in Good Will Hunting? Or any of Lars Von Trier’s movies for that matter!

The Light of The Moon will be Jessica M. Thompson's feature directorial debut. It is now crowd funding through Seed&Spark. — *The Light of The Moon* will be Jessica M. Thompson’s feature directorial debut. It is now crowd funding through Seed&Spark.

Do we have a problem with women who are not just passive side-characters? Do we have an issue with women making films where the female characters do not only act as sexy half-time entertainment or as the love interest of the male protagonist? Do we have a problem with seeing complex female characters, who make mistakes, who hurt, and change, and grow, and fight, and struggle to achieve what they want?

Check out Stedfast Productions and their Seed&Spark crowd funding campaign for The Light of The Moon — Check out Stedfast Productions and their Seed&Spark crowd funding campaign for *The Light of The Moon*

No. Actually, I don’t think we do. Because the movies that have been made in the past with dynamic female leads, like Thirteen, Boys Don’t Cry, Hunger Games, Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, Kill Bill, Amélie, Juno, Erin Brokovich, (etc., etc.), have all proven otherwise. They have all performed ridiculously well, both in the critics’ circles and at the box office. But I do think, despite all of these success stories showing that film audiences want to see more interesting female characters on screen, it is the male-dominated Hollywood executives who still have a problem with funding movies about women and by women.

Stedfast Productions is a NYC based collective of visual storytellers - www.stedfastproductions.com — Stedfast Productions is a NYC-based collective of visual storytellers – www.stedfastproductions.com

Fortunately, there is hope. As Brit Marling said at this year’s Sundance Film Festival: “I think it is something like less than 10 percent of directors and screenwriters are women? So, of course then, cinema and TV is usually from the male perspective…so I think the more women that go into writing and directing – I think that will be the beginning of the shift…women taking the reigns and saying: ‘I’m not finding the characters that I need, I’m just going to sit down and write them.’”

With females now making up the majority of the human population and theatregoers alike, surely, it is about time we give the masses what they want. It is about time that art reflects life in this matter. So ladies, pick up your pens and your cameras and keep on fighting the good fight!

Jessica M. Thompson is an Australian filmmaker who moved to Brooklyn, New York over four years ago and founded Stedfast Productions – a collective of visual storytellers. Jess has directed several short films, music video clips and commercials and recently edited Cheryl Furjanic’s award-winning documentary, Back on Board: Greg Louganis.

Jess looks forward to making her feature directorial debut with The Light of the Moon, which is currently crowd funding through Seed&Spark.

“Mama’s Here Now” and Dynamics of Sexual Trauma

But last Thursday’s episode, “Mama’s Here Now,” hosted a surprising masterclass on dealing with the fraught topic of sexual abuse on network television.

Cicely Tyson and Viola Davis in 'How To Get Away With Murder' — Cicely Tyson and Viola Davis in *How To Get Away With Murder*

Written by Rachel Redfern.

SPOILER ALERT

“So let’s just roll out the complicated, inter-genertional, often racially influenced, issue of sexual assault in America in about 40 minutes and be pretty much exhaustively mind-blowing,” said How To Get Away With Murder last Thursday.

I think its been universally accepted that Viola Davis is delivering some of the best acting on network TV for her portrayal of Annalise Keating in How to Get Away with Murder. The show itself is fun and entertaining, although occasionally falls into the trap of “so much drama,” in the courtroom and out. However, despite its flaws, the show boasts an expansive diversity in its character base: lots of female lawyers and judges, ethnically diverse cast, and LGBTQ relationships.

But last Thursday’s episode, “Mama’s Here Now,” hosted a surprising masterclass on dealing with the fraught topic of sexual abuse on network television.

Thursday’s episode opened with Annalise receiving a visit from her aging mother, Cicely Tyson. Hopefully you know Tyson from her work on Because of Winn Dixie and Diary of A Mad Black Woman. Tyson steps into Annalise’s house and we have the first scene of straight familial comfort, a mother holding her daughter: simple and powerful. But as with most mother-daughter relationships, it becomes apparent within the next few minutes that there is a fraught backstory between the two. Annalise’s mother insists on calling Annalise “Anna May,” a name that becomes a clear symbol for a life that she shed on her way to becoming a successful professor and sophisticated trial lawyer.

Parallel to the beginnings of Annalise’s family drama is the strange client that “the gang” and Bonnie (Liza Weil, from Gilmore Girls) decide to take on. The strange case revolves around a timid nurse accused of raping a male patient post-surgery.

And while Bonnie struggles through her own Annalise as “mommy” lawyer issues, Annalise begins to reveal that she was sexually assaulted by her uncle as a child, accusing her mother of knowing what happened to her and not caring.

Cicely Tyson brilliantly plays Annalise Keating's mother. — Cicely Tyson brilliantly plays Annalise Keating’s mother

During all of the personal drama is Bonnie’s courtroom case; besides the obvious similarities between the two storylines, both dealing with sexual assault, Bonnie’s case is difficult to unpack. A woman is accused of rape by man, but she claims the sex was consensual. Bonnie and “the gang” then discover that the accuser is a gay man in a relationship with hospital legal staff, in league to grab a big payout from the hospital on a falsified rape claim. I found this problematic.

Sexual assault happens to both men and women, and in an episode committed to the discussion of the ways that victims of abuse often don’t see any justice, if felt like an odd juxtaposition for the storyline. However, it could also have been read as a way of repositioning normal gender stereotypes, a switch from men as sexual aggressors to women as enactors of violence and trauma as well.

But the magic of this episode was in the complexity with which the writers and actors dove into a hugely complicated issue and emerged, not with easy platitudes of forgiveness, but rather, a more complicated evaluation of sexual (and racial) politics.

In an explosive dinner scene, Annalise–haggard and drunk–accuses her mother of not caring about what her uncle did to her. But in a surprise, Annalise’s mother delivers her mantra for the episode: “I told you, men take things! They’ve been taking things from women since the beginning of time.” She angrily lists her own sexual assault by her reverend as a child, a teacher who raped her aunt, and Annalise (and audience) sit there, horrified at the string of violence she spits out.

The obvious anger and helplessness that both of these women feel just spills out, crossing generational borders and speaking volumes to the pervasive ugliness of sexual assault. But it doesn’t stop there–Tyson continues on, revealing more about Annalise’s past with Sam, and the reasons for her occasional disdain for Annalise: “Ain’t no reason to talk about it and get all messy everywhere. Certainly no reason to go to a head shrink or for help.”

Viola Davis and Cicely Tyson in mother-daughter mode.

Sam was Annalise’s therapist; as Annalise reveals her vulnerabilities to her mother’s disgust with her daughters weakness, so many things click into place: Sam using his place of confidant and doctor to prey upon Annalise’s belief that she “belonged in a hand-me-down box.”

After Tyson’s tirade against the nature of men, their next scene together is different: softer, stronger. Annalise seems stripped down–no makeup, no wigs, her hair bunched into a more natural ‘fro, everything from her life as a lawyer pushed to the side as she sits on the floor between her mother’s knees while she brushes her daughter’s hair. For me, this was the most telling scene; not only is it an iconic image, but it also takes Annalise back into her older self, and we see her, confused, half in and half out of her old world and her new one. But despite the fancier settings than the ones she obviously grew up with, women’s problems are the same, and so are the solutions.

It is in the safe and familiar image that Tyson reveals the truth about Annalise’s uncle and what happened to him. Annalise’s mother saw the man emerge from Annalise’s room and knew what had happened, and so days later, while he was passed out drunk on the couch, she took a long match, and burned the house down, fixing the problem the only way she knew how. Tyson now repeats the refrain, “Only God can judge.”

Conclusion: Men take, women fix things?

Rachel Redfern is a traveler and teacher who spent the last few years living in Asia. Now back in her native California, she focuses on writing about media, culture, and feminism. While a big fan of campy ’80s movies and eccentric sci-fi, she’s become a cable acolyte, spending most of her time watching HBO, AMC, and Showtime. For good stories about lions and bungee jumping, as well as rants about sexism and slow drivers, follow her on Twitter at @RachelRedfern2.

On ‘Reign,’ Rape, and Sexual Assault as Plot Device

The show expertly demonstrates how the show’s female characters find ways to move through a world that refuses them power or autonomy. Because of this, I’m very surprised and disappointed that the show chose to have its title character violently raped as a way to advance the plot.

This guest post by Cate Young previously appeared at her blog, BattyMamzelle, and is cross-posted with permission.

Trigger Warning: This post contains discussion of rape and sexual assault.

Let me start by saying that Reign is a great show. I started watching during the break between seasons one and two and haven’t turned back since. In a lot of ways, Reign is typical CW fare: pretty people’s pretty problems, but in others, it’s a very progressive and feminist look (even if wildly historically inaccurate) at the life of one of history’s most notorious and fascinating women.

One of the show’s biggest strengths is that Reign deals quite openly with the struggles that women faced at the time–from their inability to own property to their inability to guide the very direction of their lives. The show expertly demonstrates how the show’s female characters find ways to move through a world that refuses them power or autonomy. Because of this, I’m very surprised and disappointed that the show chose to have its title character violently raped as a way to advance the plot.

I am not as plugged into this show’s online fandom as I am with other shows that I watch, so I was not aware that the details of this particular plot had leaked online a few months ago, and consequently did not see it coming. I will admit that even as it happened, I thought Mary might escape. After all, this would hardly be the first time that Mary has been under threat of rape in the show. Additionally, Reign had previously tackled rape (poorly) when Catherine de Medici, Mary’s mother-in-law, admitted that she had been gang-raped as a child in a season one episode. A petition started back in October to persuade the showrunners not to go through with the storyline nicely sums up many of my issues with this episode:

Many of us have come to love this show for its portrayal of strong female characters and the unflinchingly feminine light it shines on the dynamics and pitfalls of power in a world that is dominated by men. Much of the series has focused on Mary’s womanhood and how she has learned to utilize it, manipulate and weaponize it, even as the outside world has looked upon it as her greatest weakness. After persevering through so much adversity and triumphing over those who have fought so hard to silence her, to have her suffer through this violent assault sends the message that the world will only punish–crushingly and humiliatingly–those women who dare to assert their places within it. It is a message jarringly out of tune with everything we have come to admire about this series, and it has no place in a show geared toward young women who dream of a future in which they may rise without fear of retribution at the hands of men.

As with the HBO drama Game of Thrones the argument can certainly be made that the threat of rape is a historically accurate concern for women of the time. But Reign makes no pretense at accuracy and never has; this rape is a fictional concoction inserted into the story solely to create controversy and advance the plot. They cannot even hide behind the defense that they simply bungled the retelling of a true story.

This development is also particularly jarring considering the context of the rest of the episode and the tone of the show in general. Mary and her four ladies have dealt with the conflicts of finding love and honouring their duty to marry well and ensure the financial future of their country and families. In this episode, Francis’ younger sister Claude spends most of the episode plotting to purposely destroy her reputation in order to prevent her mother from marrying her off. Claude refuses to stop fighting for autonomy even as she remains caught between the needs of the crown to create a political alliance, her mother’s desire to get her out of the castle and her own desire to remain young, free and in control of her own destiny.

When Mary proposes a Protestant suitor for Claude in an effort to help quell the growing religious unrest in France, and reminds her that Francis can compel the marriage if he chooses, Claude defiantly declares to both Mary and her mother: “Tell the king, my brother, that I’m not a brood mare to be bartered and sold. By any of you!” Clearly, the show is no stranger to the themes of female empowerment, independence, and the struggles of retaining either in such a strictly patriarchal society.

And this brings us to Mary’s rape. In an interview with Entertainment Weekly, Reign showrunner Laurie McCarthy essentially confirms that Mary was brutalized as a way to advance the plot:

It really started from the end of last season when we made the choice to have Francis kill his father. Even though it was a righteous action, I always felt like it would be something that just had to haunt him, and we obviously played that in many different iterations. But it really felt like it should be something that should haunt his rule as well. It seemed like something that he couldn’t tell Mary, that he wouldn’t tell Mary, and then we looked at, “What if the wrong person found out and he became a compromised king and it made him make choices that he wouldn’t otherwise have made?” And then since we’re playing the civil unrest in the nation, which is historically accurate, we thought, “What could be one of the worst things that could happen that would really affect the person he loves the most?” And that’s Mary. So we looked at it originally through the prism of Francis, and then we looked at it through the prism of Mary, and I couldn’t imagine any other character—other than Catherine—who could experience something like this and that we would be able to then take on a journey of healing, somebody who could truly rise above this but who also would be in the worst possible situation to have something like this happen to her as a queen, as a woman, as a new wife.

Reign raped Mary to punish Francis. Reign raped Mary to motivate Francis. Reign came as close to fridging its own main character as it is possible to do without actually killing her.

I have been vaguely cognizant of how much Mary had been sidelined this season in favour of Francis dealing with the repercussions of murdering his father last season, but seeing as avoiding charges of treason seemed like a fairly realistic concern given the situation, I didn’t think much of it. But to now know that strong, independent, star of the show Mary, Queen of Scots was brutally raped as a way to better raise the stakes for her husband’s actions and deepen his guilt, makes the situation completely unacceptable.

Once again, we’re left with a woman whose sexuality is demeaned as a way to diminish the men around her. Once again, her terror, pain, and suffering is used as a bargaining chip between the men who actually hold power and those who seek to take it. Once again, a brilliant woman is reduced to the act of violence that is committed against her.

What upsets me most about this scene is that even in the aftermath, the show demonstrates that it deeply understands the politics that make this scene in such poor taste, making the choice even more infuriating. When Catherine finds Mary running through the halls after she manages to get free, she takes her into her chambers and asks her point blanks if she has been raped. When Mary collapses in tears, Catherine offers a rousing speech of support:

I know you don’t want to be touched. That’s all right. But you’re safe. I don’t know how you managed to escape but you did. You are alive. You will survive this. I know this, because I survived, you know that. They tried to destroy you by taking your pride and your strength but those things cannot be taken, not from you. Not ever. We’re going to change your clothes, fix your hair, erase any mark of their hands on you. We are. We are going to do this for you and for Francis and for Scotland and for France. They tried to diminish a King tonight by degrading a Queen and they will not succeed because the world will never know what they did to you. It is, because you will walk out of here and you will face your court as if this never happened. Yes, you can. You have to. Mary your guards saw you. You must put to rest any rumours immediately. These next moments of your life will either define you as a victim or a powerful Queen untouched by a failed assassination attempt. They will define who you are perceived to be. Your place in history. Do not let them win. Trust me. Trust me and let me help you. Trust that I can get you through this because I swear to you that I can.

But even here there are problems. Even as Catherine seeks to support Mary in her most vulnerable moment, she also encourages her to bottle up her emotions, to lie about her trauma and to pretend it never happened. TVLine‘s Eleni Armenakis said it best:

What could possibly be gained from this? More strife between Mary and Francis as Francis copes with the guilt that his wife was raped while he was murdering an innocent man—and not, as she thinks, pleading with the Vatican for religious tolerance? It would be another failing on Reign’s part to turn an attack on Mary into yet another crisis for her husband.

Does it make Mary a stronger, harder queen? She already was—and reducing her to a crumpled, crying ball on Catherine’s floor only undercuts that. Powerful speeches that force her to hide both her inward pain and her outward bruises don’t make her strong. They make her yet another woman who’s learned to keep things like this hidden so she won’t be seen as less than. For a series that has done so much for young women, this is one “lesson” they don’t need to hear again.

Reign failed big time with this episode and undid much of what made this show so progressive to begin with. It took a show and a character defined by her independence and willingness to push back against social mores in order to do what is best for her people and herself and reduced her to a pawn in her husband’s story. It’s unforgivable, but especially from a show that made a point early on of celebrating female sexuality and sexual liberation. To turn around and use that sexuality as a weapon against its own protagonist even after being begged by the show’s fans not to do so is something I’m not sure it can bounce back from.

Rape is a very real and very traumatic event that millions of women are forced to deal with every day. Reducing it to a plot point that doesn’t even serve to further the assaulted woman’s story is reprehensible and using said plot to reinforce the code of silence that surrounds sexual assault as a means of reclaiming strength is a damaging precedent to set for a show with such a young audience.

Cate Young is a Trinidadian freelance writer and photographer, and author of BattyMamzelle, a feminist pop culture blog focused on film, television, music, and critical commentary on media representation. Cate has a BA in Photojournalism from Boston University and is currently pursuing her MA in Mass Communications so that she can more effectively examine the symbolic annihilation of women of colour in the media and deliver the critical feminist smack down. Follow her on twitter at @BattyMamzelle.

The Feminism of ‘Red Eye’

TRIGGER WARNING for domestic abuse and sexual assault.

“In the game of patriarchy,” says media critic Anita Sarkeesian, “women are not the opposing team. They are the ball.” This quote not only rings all too true with regard to the real world, but also to the world of Wes Craven’s 2005 thriller Red Eye. In the film, Jackson Rippner (Cillian Murphy) is the face of the newest wave of patriarchy – a young man working to establish his power and masculinity to prove his worth and capability to the older generation of patriarchy. He and his terrorist organizations attempt to “send [their] big, brash message” by using phallic missiles and knives against the older generation, represented by members of the US government and the father of the heroine, Lisa Reisert (Rachel McAdams). Lisa is the ball, and is needed by Rippner and his team to score, in this case by using her in an assassination plot against US Deputy of Homeland Security Charles Keefe (Jack Scalia) and his family. In order to persuade Lisa to stay a subservient ball instead of a human being, Rippner informs her that they will kill her father, Joe (Brian Cox), if she does not do as she is told. Lisa’s loyalties to three different forms of patriarchy are tested – that to her father, Joe; her country/government; and her new (metaphorical) romantic partner Rippner. Lisa reveals herself to not be a ball, but instead a complex human being who refuses to be controlled, no matter how gently or roughly, by any of them. With a bit of help from other female characters, Lisa fights against Rippner, and saves Joe and Charles Keefe.

Rippner and Lisa toasting to Lisa’s grandmother Henrietta.

While on the surface the film promotes general female empowerment, it gets into the specifics of the expectations of gender and how damaging they can be to all involved. Lisa and Rippner’s relationship metaphorically addresses issues such as date rape, abusive relationships, and domestic violence. In the beginning of the film, Rippner is a seemingly nice guy who asks Lisa to get a drink with him while they wait for their delayed flight. Lisa politely declines, but later chooses to join Rippner at the bar. She changes her mind because she decides not to let the trauma of being raped two years prior control her and influence her interactions with men anymore. She and Rippner share mutual attraction, and though she is hesitant at first, she warms up to him. They share intimate conversation about their families, and toast to her recently passed grandmother (who was a total badass), from whose funeral she is returning. Later in the evening, when she has become more comfortable with him and is feeling a bit tipsy, Rippner reveals his ulterior motive, severely betraying her trust, and terrifying and hurting her. He insists that if she just keeps quiet and does what he says, that it will all be over soon. The film is clear that the blame for the date rape is entirely Rippner’s. Did Lisa drink a bit? Yes. Did she wear a skirt, heels, and V-neck top? Yes. Did she approach him at the bar? Yes. And none of that matters, none of that is bad, and the blame for the attack rests with Rippner because he made the choice to attack her.

Farther into the film, and when Rippner and Lisa have spent more time with each other, their interactions become textbook examples of an abusive relationship. According to the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence and the Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network, his actions meet every indicator of psychological abuse, and also indicate financial abuse, physical abuse, verbal and emotional abuse, and partner sexual violence and rape. He switches back and forth between speaking pleasantly or even soothingly, and being forceful and threatening. He attempts to make her feel stupid by putting down her gender, saying that her “female driven” emotions are inferior to his “male driven, fact-based logic.” He financially restricts and abuses her by taking her credit card and locking up her purse. He isolates her from others, controlling with whom she speaks and how, and controlling when and where she goes – even telling her when she can and can’t use the restroom. When she tries to reach out for help to the stewardess or another female passenger, he interferes. At one point he chokes her to assert his control, stopping just short of her passing out. When he suspects that she had been raped before, he gets “jealous” (Craven’s own word to describe the look on the character’s fae) that another man had her, and angry that she kept this a secret from him. After a physical confrontation in the bathroom, he responds, “Thanks for the quickie,” trivializing his brutal assault of her.

It is implied that if Rippner does not succeed in his mission, his terrorist organization will kill him (something that Wes Craven confirms in the commentary). Rippner’s fear of physical death can be compared to a fear of social death for not conforming to traditional forms of masculinity – such as keeping a female romantic partner subservient. It is this fear that keeps Rippner from giving up his mission when he is tempted to do so. He clearly is attracted to Lisa, and even cares about her, but in a very twisted way. After he knocks her unconscious, he gently rests her head on a pillow and strokes her hair. When she confesses to him that she was raped before, he responds – as Craven says “like a friend,” – that it was “beyond her control.” However, Lisa is sick of being controlled by him regardless of the occasions when he seems kind. At the end of the plane ride, she silences him (albeit temporarily) by stabbing his voice box with a stolen pen, hindering his ability to call and order his associate to murder her father. When Rippner chases her to her father’s house, Rippner attacks Joe but leaves him alive so that he can “watch” what Rippner is “going to do to [Lisa],” further attempting to prove his dominance not just over Lisa but over other patriarchal figures. Lisa fights Rippner on her own until the very end, when Joe successfully incapacitates Rippner by shooting him in the chest – near his heart. However, it is not Joe’s shot that ends the climactic struggle, but Lisa’s reaction to Rippner’s defeat. She and Rippner share one last moment after he is shot, in which she could have acted out in anger or caring, but instead just turns and walks away – thereby walking away from the game of patriarchy altogether.

Cynthia and Lisa at the end of the film.

Lisa fought off, saved, and was supported by powerful men. However, she was also aided by the little girl who trips Rippner when he is in pursuit of Lisa, and emotionally supported by the women she knows and meets during the film, such as one of the stewardesses calling Rippner “trash” to his face. After his rescue, Charles Keefe thanks Lisa and her coworker and friend Cynthia (Jayma Mays) for saving his own life and that of his wife and children. Though Rippner treated Lisa as the ball in the game of patriarchy, it is not a game that she nor the other female characters are willing to play or support. The film ends with Lisa and Cynthia sticking up for each other in the face of irate hotel customers, and then going off to have a drink together in sisterly fashion, making a beautiful feminist ending to a well-written feminist film.

‘Girl Soldier’: Trauma, Terror, and Reconciliation

Jonathan Torgovnik, South-African based award winning photographer and filmmaker, was drawn to these women’s stories and from them created the short film, ‘Girl Soldier.’ ‘Girl Soldier’ features interviews with several ex-child soldiers from the Sierra Leone civil war—women who managed to survive their traumatic history and have now been reintegrated back into their communities.

Kadiatu Koromoa sits for a portrait in Jonathon Torgovnik's 'Girl Soldier' — Kadiatu Koromoa sits for a portrait in Jonathon Torgovnik’s *Girl Soldier*

Written by Rachel Redfern.

Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault, Violence

After the viral video Kony 2012, there was a whole slew of renewed interest in the problems of child soldiers–the trauma, abuse and the horrors that accompanies such a twisting of childhood innocence and trust into a weapon all came to light. Eventually, Kony 2012 and its creators fell out of favor with activists, and the continuing problem of child soldiers and its life-long effects on its victims and their communities faded to the background. Unfortunately, to date, there are still over 300,000 child soldiers worldwide with half that number fighting in African conflicts.

There is a surprising and often unspoken fact that over 40 percent of all child soldiers worldwide are girls. The images we normally see of child soldiers always feature young boys stoically gripping an AK4; they rarely feature girls and never show the women these soldiers later become.

Jonathan Torgovnik, South-African based award winning photographer and filmmaker, was drawn to these women’s stories and from them created the short film, Girl Soldier. Girl Soldier features interviews with several ex-child soldiers from the Sierra Leone civil war—women who managed to survive their traumatic history and have now been reintegrated back into their communities.

From 1991-2001 Sierra Leone was the site of a massive civil war that resulted in the death of 50,000 people. Thousands of children were abducted and forced to fight for rebel forces—the atrocity of utilizing children for an armed conflict was doubled by the horrors they were forced to commit.

In the Sierra Leone Civil War, 30 percent of all child soldiers were girls.

Torgovnik spends much of the film with the women recounting their personal experience as child soldiers; this is an unnerving experience for the viewer as well, especially in the easy way that each woman shares the horrific events of her childhood. And for many of the women, their lives as a child soldier didn’t necessarily end with the war; many were left with babies after being impregnated by their captors.

As the end of the film shows, these women were able to deal with the trauma because of their shared experience and the group-counseling sessions organized by shelters and NGOs.

While the beginning of Girl Soldier is a stark reminder of the sickening crimes committed in the name of war, the end of the film covers the sad, but uplifting aftermath. It is inspiring to watch the human ability for forgiveness that these women demonstrate: despite the horrific acts committed against them by their captors, these men now walk free after Sierra Leone’s reconciliation hearings. In order for their country to survive and to have peace, these women had to learn to live with the men who had brutalized them in the first place.

The 2006 film Blood Diamond featured a gritty Leonardo DiCaprio and impassioned Jennifer Connolly against the backdrop of the Sierra Leone civil war; despite its Hollywood origins, Blood Diamond did expose the horrors of child soldiers through the story of Dia. Large-scale Hollywood epics such as these are important, as they bring awareness on a massive level; however, while many of the women in Girl Soldier had similar experiences during the war, the faces, the photos of children and friends, the context of women in their home villages, makes their stories even more horrifying, and ultimately more personal.

To watch Girl Soldier and read an interview with Torgovnik click here.

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Rachel is a traveler and teacher who spent the last few years living in Asia. Now back in her native California, she focuses on writing about media, culture, and feminism. While a big fan of campy 80s movies and eccentric sci-fi, she’s become a cable acolyte, spending most of her time watching HBO, AMC, and Showtime. For good stories about lions and bungee jumping, as well as rants about sexism and slow drivers, follow her on Twitter at @RachelRedfern2.

Controversy is Coming for ‘Game of Thrones’

Here’s the thing–for all of its controversy (which isn’t hurting the show’s viewership, I’m sure), people are still connecting to this show and are connecting to the terrible, senseless, often difficult situations that they have to struggle through. ‘Game of Thrones’ offers us, and its characters, no clear way out of mess, no neatly tied up episode endings, hell, even the most devoted fans can only speculate on the series’ ending. This show hosts both the unknown future and the sadly familiar past of familial dysfunction and bad romantic choices.

Written by Rachel Redfern.

The aftermath of the Purple Wedding and the start of all the controversy

The hot button topic the past two weeks has undeniably been the intense scenes of sexual violence in Game of Thrones. Out of this controversy came a few questions for me:

HBO is known for its gratuity, why are people suddenly so concerned now?
What is different about these scenes that’s making people uncomfortable? Or is just the larger viewership of Game of Thrones that brings a wider range of audiences, maybe some un-used to HBO’s in-your-face nudity and violence?
Are these scenes necessary? What role do they play in the lives of the characters and the plot?

Many were angry that Jamie’s role had been changed in his rape of Cersei since in the books it is consensual sex; in changing the scene, what were the producers trying to demonstrate with his character? Is it a reminder that despite his honorable changes, this is still the man who pushed a child out of a window? Or was it building a plot point that Jamie is a man consumed by Cersei, who now realizes that he must move on from the “love of a hateful woman”?

This past week, there was even more sexual violence at Crastor’s keep, when it is implied and shown that women are raped, and the possible raping of Meera. This entire scene doesn’t happen at all in the books, and I wondered about its plot and character purposes? Was it only there to show that Bran may now enter the minds of humans as he uses Hodor to save himself, Jojen and Meera?

And of course at the end, the killing of the rapists by the victim–always a problematic issue, but one that resurfaces frequently in discussions of sexual assault and trauma.

When we show graphic and violent images we hear the constant refrain “is it gratuitous”–in other words, what purpose is it serving? For me, the scene between Jamie and Cersei, while not true to the books, seemed true to Jamie and Cersei’s character and relationship so I felt that the scene served a purpose. However, in this last scene, I found it hard to justify the violence that was played out and the amount of violence that was implied on every level, especially since its only purpose was highlight Jon Snow as the grand and righteous (albeit pouty) hero who delivers the sweet young girl from a horrible fate and deals out retribution for his past crimes. Noticeably the last minute saving of Meera felt contrived.

Jojen and Meera prior to capture by heathens.

I understand the concerns about utilizing sexual assault as a shock factor exploitation mechanism to amp up the viewership on an already shocking show. And HBO isn’t a perfect network with perfect directors (and neither is George R.R. Martin’s source material a perfect work of fiction).

However, I do think it interesting that so many viewers, mainstream and those who already followed HBO and cable TV, have been drawn to the show in unheard of numbers. This show, with all of its darkness and disturbing scenes, has pulled in a staunch fan base from my 17-year-old brother, my conscientious feminist friends, and even my deeply conservative father—in what can only be a tribute to the themes and the masterful storytelling that Game of Thrones is portraying. As Maureen Ryan of The Huffington Post said in an interview, “Game of Thrones possesses ‘an incredible ability to make you care about people who really have done terrible things — repeatedly, it’s done that, and I think that’s its great strength.’

With such a large committed audience, obviously we’re connecting on a incredible level to this show. But why?

Anne Rice, beloved author of Interview With A Vampire and prominent voice in the arts community, actually spoke out about the recent controversy, saying Game of Thrones is a fantasy series, and can we not explore the dark and the light boldly in our fiction and fantasies? Isn’t art the very place for such exploration? And isn’t HBO known for its boldness in this regard? I remember deeply disturbing scenes in Carnivale, and in The Sopranos. I value the daring of HBO and the daring of Game of Thrones. This from an author who is by no means shy with her own portrayals of sexuality and even created a three-part BDSM erotic novel retelling the fairytale of Sleeping Beauty.

The disturbing scene of Jamie's betrayal. — The disturbing scene of Jamie’s betrayal.

Here’s the thing–for all of its controversy (which isn’t hurting the show’s viewership, I’m sure), people are still connecting to this show and are connecting to the terrible, senseless, often difficult situations that they have to struggle through. Game of Thrones offers us, and its characters, no clear way out of mess, no neatly tied up episode endings, hell, even the most devoted fans can only speculate on the series’ ending. This show hosts both the unknown future and the sadly familiar past of familial dysfunction and bad romantic choices.

In the end, with or without controversy, compelling stories that are acknowledging sexual assault, that recognize the deep horror in violence, seem a necessary outlet for human fantasy—both dark and light.

As George R.R. Martin stated (in regard to the recent scenes): “To omit them from a narrative centered on war and power would have been fundamentally false and dishonest,” he continued, “and would have undermined one of the themes of the books: that the true horrors of human history derive not from orcs and Dark Lords, but from ourselves.”

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The “Rape Turns Ladies Into Superheroes!” Trope

More than being shitty to watch, it just pissed me off to 10 because I hate with the fiery passion of 10,000 suns the ubiquitous trope that surviving sexual violence (or attempted sexual violence) turns women into superheroes.

This cross-post by Melissa McEwan previously appeared at her blog Shakesville and appears as part of our theme week on Rape Revenge Fantasies.

So, this weekend, Iain and I were watching some show about video games (as usual), and it featured the “controversial” scene in the origin story of Lara Croft in the new Tomb Raider, during which she fights her way out of an attempted sexual assault. Aphra_Behn recently wrote about it here, and Lake Desire has an excellent round-up on the subject at The Border House. The scene was shitty to watch, and made me not want to play the game, even though Tomb Raider is one of my favorite all-time games (and I battled my way through 3-D navigation issues caused by an information processing disorder just to play it).

(Geek Feminism has published the Rape As Back Story page TVTropes recently decided did not meet their content policy, which has some examples of the rape-as-empowerment meme mixed in among the plethoric examples of rape being used as short-hand for character development, especially for female characters. Quentin Tarantino has used this device in multiple films, with rape revenge arcs serving as either primary or secondary plots.)

It’s lazy storytelling, but, more than that, it’s wrong.

In Aphra’s post, she noted: “No, fending off an attacker didn’t turn me into a badass fighter, sirs. It turned me into a fucking mess who blamed myself for getting into the situation.” She is certainly not alone in having been temporarily or permanently changed in ways that can send a survivor tumbling headlong into feelings of vulnerability, doubt, fear, and other things that feel a lot like weakness as they undermine one’s senses of self and safety.

Survivors are not “broken,” but sexual violence can be injurious, and to pretend instead that it magically imbues women with superhuman strength and ability is to pretend that a broken leg turns a fella into LeBron James, rather than a dude with a cast who needs to heal like the mortal that he is.

Which is not to say that women who have survived sexual violence and gone on to do amazing things directly related to sexual violence don’t exist. They do. There are female prosecutors, cops, social workers, counselors, activists, writers, actors, and artists for whom victims’ advocacy is central to their work. Many of them are as close a thing to superheroes as there are in this world.

But they didn’t arrive at that point by magic. And they aren’t where they are because sexual violence filled them with some kind of special superhero-making pixie dust. They are there by virtue of their own strength and resilience and tenacity.

To credit sexual violence with the creation of heroes robs them of their agency. And, worse yet, it gives the credit to rapists.

Melissa McEwan is the founder and manager of the award-winning political and cultural group blog Shakesville, which she launched as Shakespeare’s Sister in October 2004 because George Bush was pissing her off. In addition to running Shakesville, she also contributes to The Guardian‘s Comment is Free America and AlterNet. Liss graduated from Loyola University Chicago with degrees in Sociology and Cultural Anthropology, with an emphasis on the political marginalization of gender-based groups. An active feminist and LGBTQI advocate, she has worked as a concept development and brand consultant and now writes full-time.

She lives just outside Chicago with three cats, two dogs, and a Scotsman, with whom she shares a love of all things geekdom, from Lord of the Rings to Alcatraz. When she’s not blogging, she can usually be found watching garbage television or trying to coax her lazyass greyhound off the couch for a walk.

Rape Culture on ‘Downton Abbey’

Continually insisting that rapists can only be unfathomably monstrous Others and virtual strangers who physically brutalize their victims serves to hide who the real rapists are: brothers, sons, fathers, husbands, friends, and colleagues. Anna’s bruises serve to delegitimize the experiences of survivors who don’t bear a physical mark of the absence of their consent. We need a wider representation of the range of survivor experiences when it comes to rape and sexual assault so that we can begin to dismantle rape culture and develop a system that is capable of identifying rapists and that values the stories of survivors.

"Downton Abbey" 2014 — *Downton Abbey* 2014

Written by Amanda Rodriguez

Trigger Warning: Rape, Sexual Assault

Spoiler Alert

Building off my recent critique Rape Culture, Trigger Warnings, and Bates Motel, I have a bone to pick with Downton Abbey‘s infamous rape of its beloved character, the lady’s maid Anna Bates (Joanne Froggatt). I’m not alone in my sentiments that Downton Abbey handled the rape scene poorly. However, where most simply question the use of rape as a plot device, I think that showing rape is an important, underrepresented part of the human experience (particularly the female experience), but I question the value of the way in which the show depicted Anna’s rape as well as its aftermath. Not only that, but Anna’s rape was not the first on Downton Abbey (more on that later).

For context, Mr. Green temporarily enters the Downton household as the valet of Lord Gillingham, a guest of the estate. He and Anna immediately have an easy, flirtatious friendship of which Mr. Bates, her husband, is wary because he’s suspicious of the quality of Green’s character. While the household is occupied by an opera performance, Green corners Anna, beats her, and rapes her. Anna keeps it a secret for much of the season due to her fear of what her husband will do in retaliation, and she even lies about the circumstances of the incident once the rape comes to light, claiming it was an anonymous burglar.

Anna pleads with Mrs. Hughes to keep her rape a secret to protect her husband, Mr. Bates

Like my critique of Bates Motel, I feel strongly that Downton Abbey should have included an explicit trigger warning prior to the episode. Though Downton warned that there would be “violent” content, that’s not really illustrative enough to let rape and sexual assault survivors know what they’re in for. Even though friends had warned me that there was a rape in Season 4, I was taken off-guard by the scene. Like with Bates Motel, my PTSD was triggered, and I had to turn off the show. After a couple of weeks, I forced myself to finish the season because I’m a Downton fan, and I really hoped that the writers would develop the aftermath of Anna’s brutalization in an honest way that would add to the conversation about sexual assault and give a voice to the experience of survivors. That said, our culture needs to start showing a bit more sensitivity towards survivors by not casually re-traumatizing us or putting us in danger of being triggered. Even though I’m the most vocal protestor of spoilers, I still say, “Fuck the surprise of drama; give me the choice of whether or not I want to watch triggering media. Give me the choice of peace of mind.”

Anna, bruised and beaten, after she was raped

Anna’s rape is excessively, unrealistically violent. Mr. Green cuts, bruises, and bloodies the face of a highly visible lady’s maid. How does he think she will explain away those bruises? The bruises act as a symbol to the viewer that Anna did not give consent; they are a testament to the truthfulness of her claims, a mark on her body that reflects the horrors that were done to her. Many women don’t have those kinds of marks, but their claims are no less truthful. Anti-rape campaigner Bidisha ShonarKoli Mamata says, “You can’t just insert a scene like this into a cosy drama. You have to treat rape sensitively, rather than use it as a plot device…Instead of focusing on the impact of the violence on Mrs Bates, it repeated basic rape myths, such as the idea rapists are always creepy guys. In fact, they are normal people and are often related to the victim.”

Continually insisting that rapists can only be unfathomably monstrous Others and virtual strangers who physically brutalize their victims serves to hide who the real rapists are: brothers, sons, fathers, husbands, friends, and colleagues. Anna’s bruises serve to delegitimize the experiences of survivors who don’t bear a physical mark of the absence of their consent. We need a wider representation of the range of survivor experiences when it comes to rape and sexual assault so that we can begin to dismantle rape culture and develop a system that is capable of identifying rapists and that values the stories of survivors.

The writers selected Anna to be raped because her character is beyond reproach, and no one would doubt the authenticity of her claims. The Telegraph describes Anna as “a model of respectability, stoicism and goodness.” There still exists the niggling subtext that she was “asking for it” because of her flirtatious relationship with Mr. Green despite Mr. Bates’ spider senses tingling about how Green was a bad dude.

Anna gives Mr. Green a defiant kiss in front of Mr. Bates

Though Downton Abbey punishes Anna for being flirtatious and for not listening to the wisdom of her husband’s judgement, the show wanted to depict an uncomplicated rape where Green was an outsider and villain while Anna was without a doubt the victim of a heinous crime. Now that, my friends, is lazy storytelling. If Downton Abbey wanted to be true to its time (and our time, for that matter), it would’ve created a scenario in which the the victim was generally not believed and in which the perpetrator was someone she knew and would have to encounter on a regular basis. In the Express article, “Brutal truth behind that shocking Downton rape scene,” Dr. Pamela Cox observes: “A maid who complained of rape displayed knowledge of things she was not supposed to know about and was liable to be thought partly to blame.” It would’ve been better storytelling that reflected more realism if another servant or one of the house’s lords had attacked Anna. Though Green comes back a few times, this is a device solely to torment Anna and ramp up the drama rather than give a realistic depiction of a woman being forced to interact with her rapist on a regular basis, which happened all too often back then and continues to happen all too often now.

Mr. Bates comforts his wife after learning that she was raped

Season 4 of Downton Abbey actually has a couple of character interactions that could have more realistically ended in sexual assault. The relationship between Mrs. Braithwaite and Branson could have been fruitful territory for exploration of themes of rape, victim blaming, and the sheer unlikelihood of false accusations of rape. Branson’s new lord-like status makes it harder for a servant to say “no” to him without facing repercussions. What if Braithwaite changed her mind about her scheming, and a drunken Branson took advantage of her? I thought he behaved disgustingly after the incident, without a sense of his own responsibility in the affair, and he is only “redeemed” because Braithwaite was manipulating him all along. What if she hadn’t been, though? In the end, the fact that she’s a social climber doesn’t make a difference when it comes to consent, but perhaps Downton could have shined a light on its audience’s internalized prejudices and victim-blaming propensities with a nuance-rich storyline.

Another relationship that nearly ends in rape is that of Jimmy and Ivy. He tries to force himself on her at the end of a date, claiming that she owes him for how well he’s treated her and for the things that he’s bought for her. Having Jimmy be a rapist and a relatively well-liked part of the household, whom Ivy would be forced to interact with daily would be a more compelling, realistic scenario than that of Anna’s rape.

Jimmy & Ivy's romance sours when he tries to rape her — Jimmy and Ivy’s romance sours when he tries to rape her

The aftermath of Anna’s rape was full of painful truth in the way in which the violation haunts her. In an agonizing, heartbreaking scene, Anna says to Mr. Bates, “I’m spoiled for you, and I can never be unspoiled.” I was, however, disappointed by Bates’ obsession with his own revenge as if Anna is his property and he must exact justice. In fact, the aftermath of the rape is almost entirely about Mr. Bates. Anna seeks to protect him from the knowledge for fear of what he will do. Once he finds out, Bates ignores her wishes and kills Green, ostensibly to avenge his wife’s “honor”, but doesn’t it matter that Anna explicitly asked him to leave it alone? The rape happened to her; she should be the one who decides how she wants to deal with it. Only Season 5 will tell, but it seems like Anna’s distress completely dissipates with Green’s death, which is a ridiculous simplification of the arduous road to recovery from PTSD that Anna must face. If Season 5 does not continue to chart Anna’s struggles with PTSD, Downton will have failed to bring to light an important and timeless point about the psychology of human beings, in particular survivors of traumatic events.

Anna and Bates trying to forget about her rape for an evening

Now, earlier I mentioned another rape, and it’s probably been killing you trying to figure out what I’m talking about, which is a problem in and of itself. Mary Crawley’s (Michelle Dockery) “illicit affair” with Mr. Pamuk was also a rape, but it slides under the radar because she’s not violently attacked and she takes responsibility, as many victims do, for what has happened to her. Mary actively and repeatedly denies consent to the man who forces a kiss on her and later steals into her bedroom determined to get what he wants regardless of her protestations.

[youtube_sc url=”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=91PhbrNJDKc”]

The rape of Lady Mary is actually a type of rape that I think mainstream media should show more often: a rape in which there is no hitting or screaming, the victim says “no,” and because of her initial attraction to him, feels as if she’s led him on or that it is somehow her fault. Points for Downton then? Um, no. Though Mary is the victim of sexual assault, the show itself doesn’t read her as such. Though the audience is led to recognize the inequality women face and the cruelty inherent in a woman’s single indiscretion perhaps ruining her future and good name, Downton Abbey does not focus on the fact that a man broke into her room and didn’t listen to her when she repeatedly said, “no.” Also, what a missed opportunity to show Mary and Anna share survivor stories and comfort, forming their own healing community together.

Mary is horrified when Mr. Pamuk comes into her room

Downton Abbey and its writers are guilty of a gross negligence that is all too common. If someone says “no” to sex, then it is rape. Period. There is no nuance when it comes to consent. This is what Hollywood has such a hard time with and why they insist on only showing shockingly violent rapes that virtual strangers perpetrate. Why? Because if we acknowledge that rape occurs within many contexts needing only the criteria that the victim say “no”, how many men would then be rapists? How many women and others would then be survivors of sexual assault or rape? How many people would we have to now believe when they claim they were raped? A shocking number. A staggeringly, shocking number. In the US alone, 1 in 5 women will be raped. Three percent of men will be raped. An estimated 1.3 million women will be raped each year, and 97 percent of rapists will never see the inside of a jail cell. Pretending there’s not a problem doesn’t make the problem go away. Instead, it becomes more ubiquitous and insidious until it’s a pandemic. I don’t want to live in a world where rape is the norm and survivors are liars who were asking for it, and I mean, really, do you? We’ve got a long battle ahead of us, but each of us can start by acknowledging that rape culture exists, accepting that survivors are never asking for it, and believing that survivors are telling the truth.

Amanda Rodriguez is an environmental activist living in Asheville, North Carolina. She holds a BA from Antioch College in Yellow Springs, Ohio and an MFA in fiction writing from Queens University in Charlotte, NC. She writes all about food and drinking games on her blog Booze and Baking. Fun fact: while living in Kyoto, Japan, her house was attacked by monkeys.

Why ‘Veronica Mars’ is Still Awesome

“Why,” you ask, “are you writing about Veronica Mars, a TV show that’s been off the air for years?” A few reasons. Mainly because the show is, was, and ever shall be kickassly awesome. The premise always sounds silly: teenage girl detective solves cases and fights crime, but it’s so much more than that. Veronica (embodied perfectly by Kristen Bell) is wicked smart and a wicked smart-ass. She’s an independent, dogged, talented, funny, intelligent, perpetual underdog with an enviable fashion sense (I always wanted to dress like her) and a knack for getting into and out of trouble. My other reason for writing this review is because creator/writer/director Rob Thomas is fulfilling every V Mars fan’s fantasy and making a movie that follows up on the canceled show.

Veronica Mars movie poster — *Veronica Mars* movie poster

It’s hard to say whether or not the movie will be any good. It takes place at Veronica’s 10-year high school reunion where she’ll be, once again, solving a murder. I think it’s worth checking out because the show itself was smart, funny, and engaged in important social issues with its strong female protagonist. Now, you might be asking, “If I’ve never seen the show, why should I care?” Answer: Because the show Veronica Mars is simply put great television. I admit, I’m something of a hater. Even the shows I like, I usually find a lot to critique. While Veronica Mars isn’t perfect, it tackled big issues with wit, compassion, and ovaries, such as class, race, the intersectionality of class and race, homosexuality, trans parenting, adoption, suicide, abuse, abandonment, addiction, animal cruelty, the stigma surrounding female teen sexuality, and on and on. In Season One, the two major mysteries that Veronica is trying to solve are:

Who murdered her best friend?
Who raped her?

Veronica Mars Camera Car — Veronica taking seedy pictures for a surveillance job.

How many shows have you seen where the heroine is a struggling rape survivor? How many shows have you seen where the heroine is hunting down her rapist to make him pay (because Veronica doesn’t just believe in justice…she believes in revenge)? The theme of Veronica’s rape is on-going, continuing into Season Two when she finally solves the crime, and painful feelings and memories are dredged up in Season Three when she sets out to catch a serial rapist on her college campus, truthfully representing the fact that sexual assault survival isn’t something people just “get over”; it’s something they must deal with in multiple ways throughout their entire lives. I love the way Veronica refuses to be silent. Despite being humiliated at the sheriff’s office when she reports the crime, despite the fact that she can’t remember who her assailant is because she was drugged, Veronica’s doggedness allows many of us who were cowed into silence to vicariously live through her strength and perseverance. In Season Three, Veronica shares her power with the survivors of the serial rapist (who shaves his victims’ heads to further humiliate them). She shares her story with them and repeatedly declares herself to be their advocate and champion when no one else seems to care whether or not justice is served. For that alone, I love this show.

I also admire the relationship she has with her father.

Keith giving Veronica a directive that he knows she'll ignore. — Keith giving Veronica a directive that he knows she’ll ignore.

Keith Mars (another case of perfect casting with Enrico Colantoni) is raising his very smart, independent (read: defiant) teenage daughter on his own. Together, they joke and laugh and communicate. Keith may give Veronica too much freedom and may trust her a bit too much, but, in the end, we always know he’s doing the best he can, making all of his choices with her best interest at heart. What really gets me is that they unabashedly love each other. Veronica chooses her father over her unsupportive so-called “friends” and peers. Keith doesn’t stifle his daughter, while teaching her that hard work and tenacity is what sets her apart from her wealthy classmates. It’s rare to see a single father scenario on TV, and it’s even rarer to see it done half as well as Veronica Mars does it.

I also adore Veronica’s friends. Her best friend Wallace Fennel (portrayed by Percy Daggs III) is so sweet and so genuine. He proves time and time again that he’s a much better friend to Veronica that she can ever be to him. Veronica is humanized as we see her flaws when she takes advantage of Wallace’s friendship, but Wallace is so good-natured that he that he usually just goes along for the ride (though he does call her on her selfishness from time to time). I think it’s great that there’s NEVER any sexual tension between them. They are friends and neither of them wants or seeks more EVER. This is a good example of realistic friendships and Rob Thomas knowing there’s a line between drama and melodrama.

Then there’s Mac, played by the adorable Tina Majorino. Cindy Mackenzie is known as “Mac,” in part, because of her last name, but mostly because of her badass computer skills. When Veronica and Mac team up, it’s like fireworks of awesome gooey brains just flying all over the place. I love that these two smart gals find each other, and they talk about waaaaay more than just boys (another instance of the show passing the Bechdel Test), for starters: hacking databases and email accounts, setting up remote surveillance, and dealing with Mac’s discovery that she was adopted. Their relationship is pretty great because they’re encouraging of each other, supportive, and they have complementary skills, all of which make them an awesome sleuthing team.

Veronica & Mac try to convince Parker to go out. — Veronica and Mac aren’t afraid to get goofy.

There’s a lot to love about this show. Its plethora of cameos, quick wit, and hilarious pop cultural references are part of the amazing package deal. If you’re a V Mars fan, you’re probably wondering why I haven’t mentioned the Duncan and Veronica vs. Logan and Veronica vs. Piz and Veronica deal. I guess it’s because most shows geared towards women and young girls have a love triangle scenario. Though I got sucked into the love triangle like everyone else did, I think what’s so special about Veronica Mars is that its heroine isn’t defined by her romantic relationships. She is so much more. She’s a daughter, a friend, a spy, a scholar, an excellent snickerdoodle baker, a photographer, a dog lover, and, above all, a confident, sassy young woman who lives by her own rules and has an amazing, unlimited future ahead of her. Do I even need to say it? We need more role models like Veronica Mars in film and on television, and we need them STAT.

I even came up with a super fun drinking game for it called Vodka Tonic with a Lime Twist & Veronica Mars. I hope you’ll play! [End shameless plug.]

‘All the Boys Love Mandy Lane’ Cannibalizes Its Feminist Message

All the Boys Love Mandy Lane manages to convey that toxic rape culture narrative in subtle ways, like when she’s alone with a boy who says, “Can I hold your hand? Can I kiss you?” and she turns her head to let him kiss her cheek. I felt my stomach turn during this scene; she was alone with a boy who clearly had sexual intentions, and Mandy Lane’s cheek move seemed like an appeasement, like a way to delay any unwanted sexual contact without making him angry. Unfortunately, it’s also a move that men often read as coy, as “teasing” … and it puts women in another double bind: she doesn’t want to piss him off and risk him potentially hurting her, but she also doesn’t want to do anything sexual with him. This kind of behavior gets women labeled “teases” all the time, and it’s a way to take responsibility away from men who believe, incorrectly, that the slightest amount of sexual contact—kissing, hand holding—means a woman automatically wants to take things further.

Written (with spoilers) by Stephanie Rogers.

All the Boys Love Mandy Lane attempts to send a feminist message. Unfortunately, that message spontaneously combusts at the end of the film. It gets so much right, though, especially in its depiction of sexual harassment, catcalling, stalking, and society’s obsession with women who embrace virginity versus women who embrace their sexuality. In fact, all these boys love Mandy Lane (Amber Heard) because they see her as a conquest, a beautiful, “pure” teenage girl who functions as a prize, a trophy. In essence, they believe that the boy who finally gets to sleep with Mandy Lane will also get those coveted bragging rights, a boost to his masculinity cred—and patriarchy loves nothing more than requiring men to constantly reaffirm their manhood to their bros. For instance, when they talk about Mandy Lane, they say things like, “I’ve got first dibs,” which effectively mimics the locker room talk we’ve lately come to associate with fraternity emails showcasing sexual assault tips.

Another viewer could easily dismiss all this as harmless “joking,” but thankfully, the film allows us to experience things through Mandy’s viewpoint. We see her pull away from boys who try to kiss her, who pull the strap of her shirt down, who put their hands in her hair. We watch her spin around when she realizes someone outside her window is watching her change her clothes. She appears uncomfortable most of the time, as if she feels somewhat responsible for the actions of the boys around her. I imagine many women can identify too closely with Mandy Lane, asking themselves, “Am I dressing too provocatively? Is this harassment entirely my fault?” It’s the narrative of rape culture, one that both men and women have come to internalize: if a woman doesn’t want to be noticed, then she shouldn’t walk around looking so hot all the time.

All the Boys Love Mandy Lane manages to convey that toxic rape culture narrative in subtle ways, like when she’s alone with a boy who says, “Can I hold your hand? Can I kiss you?” and she turns her head to let him kiss her cheek. I felt my stomach turn during this scene; she was alone with a boy who clearly had sexual intentions, and Mandy Lane’s cheek move seemed like an appeasement, like a way to delay any unwanted sexual contact without making him angry. Unfortunately, it’s also a move that men often read as coy, as “teasing” … and it puts women in another double bind: she doesn’t want to piss him off and risk him potentially hurting her, but she also doesn’t want to do anything sexual with him. This kind of behavior gets women labeled “teases” all the time, and it’s a way to take responsibility away from men who believe, incorrectly, that the slightest amount of sexual contact—kissing, hand holding—means a woman automatically wants to take things further.

The director (Jonathan Levine) balances Mandy Lane-as-Madonna by including two sexually active high school girls-as-Whores: Marlin (Melissa Price) and Chloe (Whitney Able), who’ve both had some sort of sexual contact with the three boys in their clique—Bird, Red, and Jake—at least enough to point out who has the smallest penis in the group. Marlin, Chloe, and the three bros decide to spend a weekend at Red’s ranch, and they invite Mandy along. For some reason, Mandy agrees to go (under the guise of making new friends), but it isn’t clear until the end of the film why Mandy truly accepts the invitation. For whatever reason, All the Boys Love Mandy Lane turns into a lightweight home invasion massacre out of nowhere, but it still makes some thoughtful commentary on bodysnarking and teen sexuality before ruining itself with conventional horror movie tropes.

Interestingly, the only locker room talk happens with the women after their respective cheerleading practice (Marlin and Chloe) and track workout (Mandy Lane, who literally runs away from a boy during her run, her former friend Emmet). Chloe calls Marlin “chubby” when Marlin shows off her new bellybutton ring to which Marlin responds, “I’m not fat.” Mandy watches these interactions almost always in silence as if making a mental note for herself. The bodysnarking happens again between Chloe and Marlin, once they’re ranch bound, during a trip to the bathroom at a rest stop; Marlin says to Chloe, “You really need to trim that. It’s like Sherwood’s Forest down there.” Chloe gives her a “whatever” look, but later, we find Chloe trimming her pubic hair on the toilet at the ranch. Again, Mandy Lane never participates in the bodysnarking but listens and watches quietly instead.

Once they hit the ranch, though, the film begins to unravel. It goes way too far in its Virgin/Whore depiction, painting both Chloe and Marlin as sex-crazed and shallow. (Marlin gives a hand job and a blowjob in the span of 20 minutes but not without flashing her breasts to a man at the rest stop, too, and Chloe won’t stop talking about banging the local ranch hand, Garth.) Mandy Lane, on the other hand, watches quietly, makes no judgments or accusations, and appears Madonna-esque and mysterious, almost too sticky sweet. We know something isn’t right here, and I thought at first Mandy Lane represented the virginal, Say No to Drugs, Final Girl from conventional horror films.

When one of the boys steals a fuse and shuts off all the lights at the ranch, Mandy Lane gets stuck fending off another boy in the dark, this time Jake, who leans in repeatedly to kiss her. Interestingly, Mandy Lane almost never says “no,” but her body language communicates how little she wants to do with Jake. This narrative suggests, importantly, that some men and boys think nothing of continuing to push and push until a woman fiercely says “no.” Again, that rape culture narrative plays out here, and because the film operates from Mandy Lane’s perspective, the audience feels bad for her and (hopefully) feels less bad for, and even angry with, the boys for making her feel so unsafe.

Honestly, the film could’ve ended for me somewhere around there as an astute commentary on how rape culture impacts the actions of both men and women. It could’ve ended as an astute commentary on how bullying and bodysnarking (especially by other women) impacts a woman’s self-esteem. But the writer (Jacob Forman) and director decided to take All the Boys Love Mandy Lane in a boring direction that tried way too hard for a shock ending. The body count racks up. Both the men and the women die, taking away any potential interpretation that the killer is merely punishing the men for their actions toward the women. Instead, the deaths of Chloe and Marlin—the Whores—suggest that anyone with a sexual appetite at all deserves punishment.

Other viewers might not need their fun horror films to carry A Message, but this one went, for me, from an epic feminist masterpiece to mundane, sloppy, and forced. Ultimately, Mandy Lane turns out to be way less innocent than she appears, and the film makes the audience hate her. And when a film makes the audience hate the character who represents the film’s important themes—the insidiousness of rape culture, for instance—then that film fails tremendously to say much of anything.

Stephanie Rogers lives in Brooklyn, New York, where she sometimes watches entire seasons of television in one sitting.