Silkwood – Bitch Flicks

Conveying a Soul: The Greatness of Meryl Streep

This guest post by Cynthia Arrieu-King appears as part of our theme week on The Great Actresses.

If you Google “greatest living actor,” the first hit is not only Meryl Streep, but also lists with headings like “besides Meryl Streep” and “after Meryl Streep.” There are video montages, plural, of people freaking out about how much they love her or respect her work. Her work in the mid-70s to early 80s came across the cultural wires as something freakish: the mercurially reproduced accents, the ethereality and seamlessness and virtuosity.

There’s not really any way around the boring facts of talent and hard work here. She has always known her lines. She has always been the one who bikes home from the set in the rain instead of taking a cab. She works with the coach until she’s not just speaking Polish, but Polish with a German accent (Sophie’s Choice). She hides in the closet to practice her singing for Mamma Mia! while her family yells, “We can still hear you.” She presents a moonskinned serenity and hearty laughter in her interviews that belies the hours and hours of monomaniacal obsession that is artistry that has no reason to prove it deserves to be here. It just is here. It is incontrovertible. That probably comes from a good family, a very good education, insane work ethic, shockingly keen intuition, intelligence, and a good ear.

So many actresses show in their performances why it’s hard to be a woman, and the worth of that feels political and rooted in everyday life. Streep knew she could get away with more without putting forth a persona like Jane Fonda. In Streep’s work she never seems to be like any particular person, but convinces the viewer of how human that character is. It is easier to see, especially in her earlier work, the places where people exist in themselves purely and react purely rather than emphasizing gestures. They seem like the essence of a person rather than a person, which sounds like a problem in a way. But this subtle light show makes some sense given what she once told James Lipton. She explained on Inside the Actor’s Studio that she once thought acting was a stupid way to make a living; it doesn’t do anything in the world but now she sees “its worth is in listening to people who maybe don’t even exist or who are voices in your past…come through you through your work and you give them to other people. Giving character to characters who have no other voice, that’s the great work of what we do…I mean so much of this is vanity (being a celebrity)…But the real thing that makes me feel so good is when I know I’ve said something for a soul…I’ve presented a soul.”

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3pha-aouBlo”]

Streep has an ability to embody in an otherworldly fashion so often in historical context. Shirley MacClaine in an American Film Institute tribute to Streep once said, “The mystery of your talent is so otherworldly, it makes me understand that there is more to all of us than meets the eye.” So what is she doing? What is she imagining in Sophie’s Choice when she tries to tell the truth of her past after “all the lies” she has told? The containment of her pain and love, the softness of her face recalling, weakness, puniness, rage, the effortless clarity of a traumatic recollection: these all move together in her face such that all seem to present themselves, all the layers are visible somehow. A different actor might show determination, grit, resolve, terror. Streep knows memory doesn’t quite settle into its original feelings at all. So even while recounting her character’s efforts in the Holocaust, you see something that feels from another time, paradoxically immensely present. Here’s the clip:

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=70_1MW46G9I”]

There’s another movie in her oeuvre, Plenty, that shows Streep transcending the class and propriety by being able to do almost literary interior monologue as monologue. It doesn’t even come across as something Shakespearean or professed the way Elizabeth Taylor might have done it, or balky the way Hepburn might have, it’s just spilling out. It’s not entertaining in any popcorn movie sense or even particularly sanguine. This movie trots out in Streep’s Susan Trahane the most subtle selfishness, ambivalence, detachment. The narrative elides plot to a large degree, so that you feel you’re missing something on first viewing. People slavishly watch this movie over and over. Susan is contaminated with something so guarded behind rage you do have to see it a few times to understand what her character means, and it’s the kind of vice that makes you feel bad for her. You actually feel bad for her having this rage. This performance reminds the viewer of the difficulty of true self-awareness, deceit, or self-deceit. The closest thing I’ve understood to this in art are the characters in Alice Munro’s short stories who often seem fairly normal and well-adjusted until you start seeing what price they are paying for some subtle flaw escaping their own attention. This is the small heroism for all of us: to know ourselves, to know what we cannot bear and to say something about it.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YJq6mafSr-Y”]

From the feminist angle, Streep’s mold-breaking of the representation of women and her mark on scripts probably adds to her greatness in a way we can never completely measure because we can’t track it. One particular example worth mentioning is that the script for Kramer vs. Kramer did not originally explain why Joanna Kramer wants to leave Ted (Dustin Hoffman) and she fought the director Robert Benton on the script until the character is allowed to say why herself. The effect turned Joanna from a villain of misunderstood women’s liberation–as the script was written–into a person I think it would be hard for any woman living in/having lived in a male-bread-winning-female-stay-at-home family not to witness without blazing recognition. This is a fierce resolution about the representation of women that has spanned her career and for which Streep has more recently got into some hot water over with the Disney people. Many of her lines in Kramer vs. Kramer were written by her, particularly the courtroom scene, and the final scene where she changes her mind about custody of her son. It’s not uncommon to hear in interviews how she spoke her mind about some scene change or tried to hold back from speaking her mind “for a change.”

One can look back on this era of Streep’s work and see that she did not pick the Jane Fonda roles, or the roles of abrasive people on the outside of establishment. She seemed to pick roles or be given roles of a woman always struggling against the constraints of her place, but within something: a marriage, a company, an historical moment. She said on being cast in The Deer Hunter: “They needed a girlfriend, so that was me.” And so she took roles, got acclaim, was always thought to be overpaid when the male actors were getting far more than she. Then something happened when she turned 40. She did not get the same kind of roles. She noticed. She wanted to be in something funny, so eventually she was cast in several comedies, sometimes as a witch, always sending up the Hollywood machine as in Death Becomes Her. She didn’t care if she was not the pretty one. She didn’t think that was what she had been getting cast for anyway, in the pre-40 days.

Having said that, what has happened since that turning point that makes Streep the go-to actress everyone wants for any role for a woman over 60? As Tina Fey quipped at the 2014 Golden Globes, “Streep proves there are still roles for Meryl Streeps over 60.” Tracey Ullman said it so we understand the score even more: “You’re (Meryl’s) the only one working: The rest of us have to show our tits.” She’s taking all the roles: Margaret Thatcher, Julia Child, a composite of Anna Wintour. This is after a career that started with her domination at Yale, her acceptance then moving into funnier parts. She decided, at some point, “(I)t’s easier to project yourself into what you were, not what you are. Movies are a young person’s playground.” And a little more tellingly: “As there begins to be less time ahead of you, you want to be exactly who you are, without making it easier for everyone else.” Ergo, dominating her field. Ergo, not questioning where her territory begins and ends. As Goldie Hawn says, “Meryl is a freak. She has no limitations. Well, she’s a martian.” That must be her unsaid lesson to us on greatness. You can’t really learn it, and you never let opportunity get past you.

Part of me wonders what would happen if she did some little off-the-map film or what it would mean for her to have a late breaking McConnaissance (with less crazy self-regard). Maybe more of a ReConnaissance, a re-knowing? Would that amount to “making it easier for everyone else”? She has nothing to prove, and part of her potency as an artist comes from the fact that she never gave off one vibration of having to prove herself, actor-wise. But something might replenish what have become somewhat recognizable mannerisms in her impersonation-like roles these last years: The head wag of delight. More importantly what are we losing in our depictions of people getting older by having, seemingly, the mythos that only she and three other people play these parts? Something about class probably, race, and ethnicity definitely.

Having gotten momentum in the last few years to gravitate toward fun (Mamma Mia!) and over the top (August: Osage County), she’s thinking nevertheless about history, history as made by women (The Iron Lady). She’s literally supporting the museum of women’s history. Her artistic wishes seem to revolve around wanting women’s history to prevail. For the roles to become more numerous. For film to show the lives of women in proportion to their importance in the real world, as she’s always worked for. Bit by bit, how can it happen? And today, do actresses need to thank her for her breaking the glass ceiling in acting as much as they did in the last decades? Probably not. Maybe we’ll get to a moment when actresses will have the luxury of not having to recall that ceiling. Hopefully long before we forget about Streep.

Streep’s daughter once said of her role as Miranda Priestly in The Devil Wears Prada: “Now they know the real you.” But whatever monomaniacal and feminist politics she’s wielding, Streep’s still conveying the soul. At a tribute to her acting she said, “I wish I were her, I really do,” and this remark on her celebrity doubles as a remark on the people she’s portrayed. She’s given us this love through 35 years of work to date, and she’s going to keep pushing for the unheard to be heard. In this scene from Silkwood, she gives a look. Friendship, pity, love, helplessness, resolve, seeing the mortal body, a whole idea supported by the shot of the wig and the glasses. It’s a good microcosm of what Streep does–the listening to a spirit, and making sure to truly witness and to speak up for that person’s essence.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P2Ec20v7wX8″]

Cynthia Arrieu-King is an associate professor of creative writing at Stockton College in New Jersey where she teaches about literature and plagiarism, so beware lazy magazine sites. Her previous Bitch Flicks articles include one on True Grit and one with Stephanie Cawley on Twin Peaks.

cynthiaarrieuking.blogspot.com.

A Plea For More Roseannes and Norma Raes: Addressing The Lack of Working-Class Female Characters on American Screens

Working-class female protagonists remain rare, however. More often than not, working-class women play supporting roles as mothers, wives or lovers. Their characters are invariably underwritten or stereotypical.

: Grey’s Anatomy

This repost by Rachael Johnson appears as part of our theme week on Women and Work/Labor Issues.

Noam Chomsky recently observed that America is engaged in “a long and continuing class war against working people and the poor.” I would add that American popular culture does not, for the most part, represent poor or working-class American citizens. US television shows and movies about less privileged people are exceptionally rare. This lack of representation is becoming increasingly indefensible in the face of acute–and expanding–economic inequality. It is also a vital feminist issue as women are still poorer than men in the United States. The US government itself released a report in March 2011–the “Women In America” report–showing that a wage and income gender gap between men and women still exists in the 21^st century. Poverty rates for less advantaged women are higher because they are in low-paying occupations and because they are often the sole breadwinner in their family. There are stories behind the figures, of course, but they are seldom told on the screen. Clearly, it is time for filmmakers of all backgrounds to address this unjust and frankly absurd lack of representation. The issue should also, of course, be of interest and concern to both critics and consumers of American popular culture.

: Monster

Of course, it goes without saying that there are not nearly enough American movies with female protagonists and characters in general. Even less common, however, are features with less advantaged women. An arbitrary list of films with female protagonists and important characters covering the last decade might include Lost in Translation (2003), The Kids are Alright (2010), Black Swan (2010), Under The Tuscan Sun (2003), Up in The Air (2010), Julie and Julia (2009), Secretariat (2010), Eat Pray Love (2009), Bridesmaids (2011), Sex and The City 1 (2008) and 2 (2010), The Devil Wears Prada (2006), The Holiday (2006), Vicky Cristina Barcelona (2008) Fair Game (2010), Young Adult (2011), Zero Dark Thirty (2012), Stoker (2013), Side Effects (2013) and Gravity (2013). Clearly, all these movies are about professional and/or privileged women.

The heroines of contemporary American television are, also, for the most part, professional, upper-middle or upper-class women. Over the past decade, there have been a fair number of US TV shows revolving around the lives and careers of doctors, surgeons, medical examiners and lawyers. Damages, Gray’s Anatomy, The Mindy Project, Body of Proof, Bones, Private Practice and The Good Wife are among them. Currently, there are also shows depicting the lives of women who work for, or have a history with the US government, such as Veep, Parks and Recreation, Homeland and Scandal. The heroines of 30 Rock and Nashville work in the entertainment industry. It was a similar scene, of course, in the late 90s and early part of the Millenium when shows like Sex and the City and Desperate Housewives enjoyed mass popularity.

My point is not to knock the shows and movies cited. Some are interesting, stylish and entertaining, and a number have compelling female protagonists. It is, also, of course, essential that we see female characters make their own way in professions traditionally monopolized by men. They reflect social change as well as inspire. It is equally essential that women of power are portrayed on the big and small screen with greater frequency as well as with a greater degree of complexity. American films and television programs should not, however, block out the lives of working-class and poor women. So many stories, struggles, journeys and adventures, remain unacknowledged and untold. It is a strange and troubling thought that contemporary American audiences are simply unaccustomed to seeing interesting, strong and resourceful working-class women. Whether ordinary or extraordinary, working-class women of all races and backgrounds, need greater representation.

: Silkwood

I am, of course, aware that the term “working class” is rarely used in American public discourse. The term “middle class” is, in fact, used to refer to average Americans. The definition of “middle class” is, in fact, quite a fuzzy one but that does not stop US politicians from using it. For many non-Americans, this is a curious thing. Although the US definition of “middle class” is bound up with the meritocratic ideals of the American Dream, it ultimately represents a denial that class itself exists. To quote Chomsky again, it is a deeply political tactic used to mask social division and economic inequality: “We don’t use the term ‘working class’ here because it’s a taboo term. You’re supposed to say ‘middle class,’ because it helps diminish the understanding that there’s a class war going on.” This article specifically refers to the lack of representation of working-class and poor women on the screen. I am talking about the lives of waitresses, factory workers, maids, cleaners, cashiers, childcare workers, married home-makers and single mothers as well as those on the margins of society.

I am also fully aware of the eternally repeated claim that American audiences do not like TV shows or movies about poverty and working-class life because they find them just too damn depressing. Let’s take a look at that claim. Firstly, we have to ask ourselves who’s making it. To be blunt, it smacks of privilege and complacency. Who’s the American audience in question anyway? Advantaged viewers? And what about working-class audiences? Do they not want to see their lives represented on the screen? Surely American popular culture should not merely provide narcissistic identification for the comfortable and well-heeled. Behind the contention lies the implication, of course, that working-class life is invariably depressing. This is patronizing and, frankly, offensive. Although poverty should never be romanticized, both American television and cinema should recognize that humor, love, and culture are all part of life for less privileged people. The fact that I have to even make this ridiculously obvious point is an indication of the way millions of people been obscured from the national narrative of the United States. The powers that be–and their pundits–should also, in any case, not make assumptions about what movie or show will be a great critical or commercial success. Nor should they patronize contemporary American audiences about what they can or cannot handle. Many of the best-loved shows of the Golden Age of TV have featured unsanitized, hard-hitting scenes showing human life in all its ugliness and glory. Can’t poverty be processed by TV audiences? Will class always be unmentionable?

: The Good Wife

We also have to ask if there is strong historical evidence to back up the claim. A quick study of American films and television shows over the last 40 years or so shows that working-class female characters have, from time to time, actually been celebrated in popular culture. Roseanne is, of course, the most famous small screen example. Featuring a fully realised working-class female protagonist, the hugely popular, award-winning sitcom ran from 1988 to 1997. Roseanne was, in fact, exceptional in that it gave the world a ground-breaking TV heroine as well as a funny and compassionate portrait of an ordinary, loving blue-collar American family. Memorably played by Roseanne Barr, the matriarch of the show had warmth and wit as well as great strength and character. She was that most uncommon of creatures on US television: a working-class feminist. I’m sure I’m not alone in saying that America and the world needs the wise-cracking words of characters like Roseanne more than ever. A cultural heroine is currently badly needed today to deflate the criminal excesses of corporate masculinity.

: 2 Broke Girls

In the 70s and 80s, there were even films about heroic female labor activists. Take Norma Rae (1979) and Silkwood (1983). Drawing on the real life experiences of advocate Crystal Lee Sutton, Norma Rae (1979) tells the tale of a North Carolina woman’s struggle to improve working conditions in her textile factory and unionize her co-workers. Silkwood (1983) chronicles worker and advocate Karen Silkwood’s quest to expose hazardous conditions at a nuclear plant in Oklahoma. Both films feature well-drawn, dynamic, complex female protagonists, vital, persuasive performances and compelling story lines. Meryl Streep is customarily exceptional as Karen Silkwood while Sally Field won a Best Actress Oscar for Norma Rae. The latter’s “UNION” sign is, in fact, the stuff of cinema history. Although these narratives center around the individual–in a classically American fashion–they are, nevertheless, about women who are fighting for others. There have been other female labor organizers in American history, of course. Why are filmmakers not interested in their extraordinary careers? Why can’t there be biopics about women like Dolores Huerta? And tell me this: Why is no one interested in the pioneering life of Lucy Parsons?

: Wendy and Lucy

A few mainstream films have endeavored to expose brutal maltreatment of working-class women in American society. Based on a true story, The Accused (1988) is about the gang rape of Sarah Tobias (superbly played by Jodie Foster), a waitress who lives in a trailer home with her drug dealer boyfriend. Jonathan Kaplan’s drama is actually quite unusual for an American film in that it acknowledges the factor of class in the victimization of its female protagonist. For the “college boy” rapist in particular, Sarah is nothing more than “white trash.”

Have there been more historically recent exceptions to the bourgeois rule? Over the last decade or so, there have been a small number of films that have featured disadvantaged female protagonists. Patty Jenkins’ Monster (2003) is a striking example. Monster is based on the real-life story of Aileen Wuornos, a street prostitute and killer of seven men in Florida in the late 80s and early 90s. Unusually, sexuality, gender, and class intersect in the film. A sex worker in a relationship with a young lesbian woman, Wuornos defied the gender and sexual norms of her time and place. Money–the lack of it–is also seen to play a pivotal part in her fate. Jenkins paints Wuornos as an unstable, brutalized woman wounded by past abuses. Monster is a controversial film. Some argued that provided a too sympathetic interpretation of the convicted killer. Was Wuornos an unbalanced, victimized woman or simply a cold-blooded psychopath? What is clear is that Monster tries to contextualize violence. Not many American filmmakers dare to seriously address the social and psychological effects of poverty and abuse in their portraits of murderers. Channeling the fractured psyche of this most marginalized of women, Charlize Theron’s Oscar-winning incarnation as Wuornos is, simply, a tour de force. Why Monster was not nominated for Best Film or Best Director tells us a great deal about misogyny and classism inside the Academy.

: Norma Rae

Clint Eastwood’s Million Dollar Baby (2004) is another well-known film also about a less-advantaged woman. It is the story of Maggie Fitzgerald (played by Hillary Swank in another Oscar-winning role), a waitress who wants to be a boxer. While its portrait of the movingly dogged and committed Maggie is greatly sympathetic, that of her family–including her mother–is deeply offensive. They are characterized as “white trash” welfare parasites. Maggie is depicted as a very different, noble creature who must cut loose from her nasty roots and class. In Million Dollar Baby, we have, in fact, a well-drawn, sympathetic female character of modest origins as well as an ideologically loaded, hateful take on working-class men and women. Maggie is a working-class girl who has been emptied of all class-consciousness. Audiences and critics alike always need, therefore, to ask themselves how less-privileged women are being portrayed on the screen and how class is being represented. They should call out discriminatory portraits.

More recently, there have been movies about less-advantaged women but they remain uncommon. Debra Granik’s Winter’s Bone (2010) is a critically successful case in point. Set in a crime-scarred community in the rural Ozarks, Winter’s Bone is the story of Ree Dolly (Jennifer Lawrence), a 17-year-old girl struggling to save her family home. Ree’s missing father, a local meth cooker, has put the family property up for his bail bond and she must find him or risk losing everything. Granik provides the viewer with a sympathetic portrait of a determined yet disadvantaged young woman at risk. Winter’s Bone never, however, drowns in sentiment. The scene where Ree surrenders her horse–she can no longer afford to keep it–is portrayed in poignant yet understated fashion. Winter’s Bone contains intimate scenes of quiet power. We watch Ree teach her younger siblings to prepare deer stew and to shoot and skin a squirrel. This is a world you rarely see in Hollywood movies. Winter’s Bone has its flaws, all the same. The skies are perpetually grey and there is an improbable lack of humor in the community portrayed. More importantly, while it depicts hardship and shines a light on rural social problems, Winter’s Bone cannot really be said to critique class or structural inequities. Its narrative is typically or mythically American. Granik’s heroine is engaged in a personal rather than collective struggle. In the end, Winter’s Bone is a tale of a tough, sympathetic individual fighting for her family’s financial security.

: Roseanne

There are other filmmakers who are interested in the lives of struggling and dispossessed women. Kelly Reichardt’s Wendy and Lucy (2008) is a deeply humane story about a young woman’s search for work in the American North West. It is a simple tale that provides the viewer with a little understanding of what life is like for a girl (Michelle Williams) who sleeps in a car, with only her beloved dog for company. Its sensitive observations and empathetic insights, in fact, make Wendy and Lucy quite invaluable. Released the same year, Courtney Hunt’s excellent crime drama Frozen River is about a store clerk who becomes a people smuggler. Its central character (terrifically played by Melissa Leo) is a strong woman who has chosen to take a criminal path to support her sons and save her home.

Working-class female protagonists remain rare, however. More often than not, working-class women play supporting roles as mothers, wives or lovers. Their characters are invariably underwritten or stereotypical. A case in point is the character of Romina (Eva Mendes), a diner waitress and lover of the male protagonist in Derek Cianfrance’s tragic though self-indulgent sins-of-the-fathers epic, The Place Beyond the Pines (2013). The purpose of Romina, it seems, is to wear a pained expression and bear witness to reactionary patriarchal sentiment. Again, we need to respond to representations of working-class women critically.

While sexual abuse and domestic violence is a fact of life for women and girls across the socio-economic spectrum, it is, arguably, more common for working-class female characters to be portrayed as victims on the screen. I am not, of course, saying that filmmakers should not shine a light on the suffering of poorer victims of abuse. What I am suggesting is that the imbalance locks less privileged women and girls into the victim or martyr role in cultural representations. As powerful a depiction of abuse Precious (2009) is, it arguably perpetuates deeply offensive classist and racist stereotypes.

: Winter’s Bone

Less privileged women are perhaps even more poorly represented on the small screen. Some may suggest that the question of money, or the lack of it, is being addressed in shows such as Girls and 2 Broke Girls. The former, of course, revolves around the personal struggles and adventures of a 20-something woman finding her way in New York. The comedy-drama, however, does not explore what it’s really like to be without money in a big city and its characters are not, of course, working-class girls with few options and no cushion. The comedy 2 Broke Girls does have a working-class protagonist. Yet while it is about women who have two jobs, and while its humor is, in part, directed at privilege, it cannot be accused of being a great satirical comedy about economic inequities. It is, in fact, both classist and racist in its humor. Are there, in fact, any contemporary US comedies that truly target economic inequality? Are there any US dramas that express anger at class divisions? What is, unfortunately, apparent is that the current Golden Age of American television does not have authentic working-class heroines.

Clearly, there needs to be a much greater representation of working-class and poor women in US popular culture. How can the lives of millions of American citizens be reflected so rarely on the screen? There should also be socially aware portraits of such women. Filmmakers should respond to the outrage of millions and confront economic inequality. They should, also, not be frightened of being political. Economic inequalities should not remain unanalyzed and unchallenged. Hardship should not be hidden but movies and TV shows that represent working-class life should capture both its joys and struggles. Working-class women need not be portrayed as angels or martyrs. Vivid, complex characters are needed. Filmmakers need to remind themselves that there have been great working-class heroines in American film and television. More stories are needed about less privileged women who work to change the lives of themselves and others. Writers and directors should portray the lives of politically active working-class women as well as the careers of great social activists. They are the stuff of great drama. The huge popularity of Roseanne illustrates that Americans have been more than willing to embrace shows about working-class life. Roseanne also showed that the lives of working-class women can be depicted with both heart and humor. Imagine, if you will, a satirical sitcom set in a Walmart-like store. If braver choices were made, and if braver filmmakers were given greater attention, a working-class feminist consciousness would be given a voice in American popular culture.