Sisterhood – Bitch Flicks

Why Meredith and Cristina Redefined Sisterhood on ‘Grey’s Anatomy’

Meredith and Cristina reach for each other consistently for 10 seasons, never allowing a male relationship to supersede their friendship. … Watching ‘Grey’s Anatomy’ depict such a powerful female friendship consistently inspires me to improve my own relationships with women, looking to Meredith and Cristina as a model for how sisterhood really should be.

This guest post written by Olivia Edmunds-Diez.

I am currently on my third rewatch of Grey’s Anatomy. It is a series to which I return when I need a good cry or when I need to feel inspired. With a dynamic and diverse cast that features a plethora of well-developed female characters, I am repeatedly drawn to Dr. Meredith Grey (Ellen Pompeo) and Dr. Cristina Yang (Sandra Oh). This time around, I can’t help but notice that the theme of sisterhood follows them consistently. I shouldn’t be entirely surprised that creator Shonda Rhimes would feature a prominent female friendship, given the nature of the show. Although Meredith and Cristina are not related, they might as well be. Dubbed the “Twisted Sisters,” they spend 10 seasons side by side and grow tremendously not just as individuals, but as a pair. Meredith and Cristina’s friendship withstands motherhood, men, and their careers.

Meredith and Cristina earned the nickname “Twisted Sisters” for good reason. Particularly in the early seasons of Grey’s Anatomy’s, both women experience and recount plenty of hardship. They each know what it’s like to pursue work over family, to have mixed and mostly negative feelings about their mothers, and they both have a tendency to assume the worst. But where others might find fault, Meredith and Cristina bond. After all, Grey’s Anatomy epitomized the definition of “my person.” Meredith and Cristina reach for each other consistently for 10 seasons, never allowing a male relationship to supersede their friendship. They can relate to each other in ways that their friends and boyfriends (and eventual husbands) never fully understand, which to me screams sisterhood. I know I can communicate with my sisters and anticipate their feelings in ways that even our parents never quite understood. Sisters know that going to “the dark place,” as Meredith calls it, is sometimes necessary. But it is far less scary when you’re not going alone.

Meredith and Cristina spend early seasons of Grey’s Anatomy with mixed feelings about children and motherhood. Cristina is consistent in her refusal to become a mother and Meredith eventually embraces her fear of turning in to her mother in order to start a family of her own. But even though these two women ultimately take different approaches to motherhood, each enthusiastically supports the other in her choice. Cristina supports Meredith emotionally and physically when Meredith and her husband adopt Zola and then later give birth. Meredith supports Cristina through two pregnancies, with the latter concluding in an abortion. As each woman exercises her right to choose, they affirm each other’s choices and provide them the support that their male partners do not always understand how to give, just as a sister would. In the show’s tenth season, Meredith feels conflicted about her dual roles as surgeon and mother. As Meredith begins to lash out, Cristina is the one to explain that neither of them are “better” for their life choices. But their choices are different and that will continue to lead them down different roads, which ultimately results in Cristina leaving the world of Grey-Sloan Memorial Hospital. And though it’s difficult for both Meredith and Cristina to separate, they can each understand that Cristina puts her career first and they are each supportive of these life choices, in ways that only sisters can be.

Meredith and Cristina also support each other through their relationships with men. Cristina is even the first to dub Derek Shepherd “McDreamy.” Whether dating men, marrying men, or having sex with men, Meredith and Cristina know not to judge each other’s choices. Meredith stands by Cristina throughout her almost first marriage and then again through her hasty actual first marriage. Cristina is sympathetic to Meredith’s on-again and off-again relationship with “McDreamy” and helped her emotionally be ready for their post-it marriage. A sister knows when to gossip about cute boys and when to hold her sister’s hand through a break-up; a sister knows when to encourage meeting someone new and when to suggest a quiet night at home.

Meredith and Cristina met as surgical interns and continue to work together as residents and attendings. They push each other, steal surgeries from each other, inspire ground-breaking research, and question each other’s judgments in operating rooms. For me, this is the most sibling-like that Meredith and Cristina can ever hope to be. Anyone with a sister knows that sisters know just how to push and prod your buttons. Sisters know when to tattle to mom or hold a grudge. But sisters also know how to celebrate your accomplishments, and that is exactly why Meredith and Cristina are so amazing. They are just as likely to be seen fighting over a case as they are “dancing it out” or drinking to celebrate.

Through Grey’s Anatomy, Shonda Rhimes teaches us that our sisters are not always related to us. Sometimes we marry into a family and discover a sister-in-law and sometimes we start a new job and find a new best friend. ‘Sister’ is so much more than a genetic link. ‘Sister’ is a job description, a kinship, a love, and a friend. Watching Grey’s Anatomy depict such a powerful female friendship consistently inspires me to improve my own relationships with women, looking to Meredith and Cristina as a model for how sisterhood really should be.

Olivia Edmunds-Diez is a Northwestern graduate, where she studied theatre and gender and sexuality studies. Her current favorite finds are Stranger Things, Big Little Lies, and the Waitress cast recording. You can follow her on Instagram, Twitter, and Tumblr.

Sisterhood Week: The Roundup

Check out all of the posts from our Sisterhood Theme Week here.

Sisters in Catherine Breillat’s Fat Girl by Tessa Racked

The core of Fat Girl is these two girls, who contrast each other in some very essential ways, but are inexorably bound together by shared experiences. Both are adolescents grappling with the early throes of sexuality, but their divergent appearances and ages leave them in different positions socially, affecting their worldviews.

Black Sisterhood in Television Sitcoms by Cheyenne Matthews-Hoffman

While many Black sitcoms revolve around a family, it’s rare that specific interactions between sisters are depicted. While “sisterhood” here often refers to the strong bond between friends, biological sisterhood is sometimes forgotten. Sisters with strong relationships on television display some of the deepest and truest kinds of family love out there.

“A Truth Universally Acknowledged”: The Importance of the Bennet Sisters Now by Maddie Webb

But more and more it seems you can judge the quality of modern adaptations on how the filmmakers view Lizzie in relation to her sisters. Even though the representation of women has greatly expanded since Austen’s time, a story that revolves mostly around sisterly relationships remains rare, which makes it even more vital. And while it is true that Austen’s romance has a timeless quality that makes it popular, the narrative of sisterly love remains transcendent.

The Repercussions of Repressing Teenage Girls in The Virgin Suicides and Mustang by Lee Jutton

Both are critically acclaimed dramas directed by women documenting the coming-of-age of five teenage sisters under close scrutiny for their behavior — especially when it comes to their sexuality. And in both films, the girls’ response to this repression is to resort to desperate measures to regain control, resulting in tragedy that could have been averted if they were given the freedom for which they hungered.

The Scary Truth About Sisters in Horror Films by Laura Power

So what makes sisters such fascinating subject matter for horror films? What makes them both scary and powerful, yet the most vulnerable, both to outside forces as well as to each other when they are threatened? … Sisters can behave as a single entity and fight for the same things, but there are two bodies — two physical forces — to reckon with.

Our Little Sister: Making Enough Room for the Half-Sister by Katherine Parker-Hay

Hirokazu Kore-eda’s Our Little Sister is a mature and subtle exploration of the place of the half-sister within family life; how she fits in and how she transforms what we think the family means. … The camera lingers on Suzu’s face in a moment of indecision: will she go on as before, having no feelings for what are essentially strangers anyway, or will she take a leap of faith that will mean her identity will be forever tangled with theirs?

A League of their Own: The Joy and Complexity of Sisterhood on a Baseball Field by Jessica Quiroli

The bond between the sisters is at the heart of the wartime baseball movie, directed by Penny Marshall… Their competitive nature is a motivation to be the best… It’s obvious that Dottie always seems to have one up on Kit, which sets up the relentless struggle of the spirited Kit who wants, finally, to be better than Dottie. … Kit and Dottie are the embodiment not just of sisterhood, but of the true nature of a teammate relationship.

Second Mom Syndrome: Sisterhood in My Neighbor Totoro by Clara Mae

The film shows how Satsuki struggles with this dual role of acting as the most present parent while still being only a child herself. … While Satsuki fulfills the role of mom to Mei, it’s her status as sister and child that ends up saving the day. … My Neighbor Totoro is one of Miyazaki’s best odes to sisterhood, portraying both the struggles but also the benefits of having a sibling at your side.

Little Women: Learning to Love All of the March Sisters by Allyson Johnson

However, the clearest, most poignant development that comes through growing with the films is how ultimately, the love story between Jo and Bhaer and the unrequited love story between Jo and Teddy mean little juxtaposed to the love shared between the four sisters. They are one another’s hearts and souls, evident as Jo writes her novel at the end of the film.

Grey’s Anatomy and Assertive Sisters by Siobhan Denton

Meredith doesn’t feel obligated to form relationships with Maggie and Amelia due to her sibling connections with them. She doesn’t deem it necessary to acquaint herself with Maggie simply because they share a mother, nor does she try to force a friendly relationship between herself and Amelia simply because she’s the sister of the man she loves. This means then, that when these close relationships are formed, they are all the more powerful. They are formed through choice, not responsibility.

My Sister’s Keeper: When Sisterhood Sours in Horror Films by Jamie Righetti

But there’s also a darker side to sisterhood, where rivalries take violent turns and where bonds are almost too strong, superseding everything else including reality. When sisters are pushed to the extremes, when women don’t meet society’s expectations, what does this tell us about the constraints on women to conform to idealized versions of femininity and sisterhood? Are bad sisters just failures or are they simply women with complicated narratives that a patriarchal society doesn’t allow room for?

The Virgin Suicides: Striking Similarities Between the Lisbon and Romanov Sisters by Isabella Garcia

Two sets of sisters, different in circumstance but alike in experience: the four Romanov Grand Duchesses of Russia and the four Lisbon sisters from 1970s Michigan in The Virgin Suicides. … Clear links between the two sets can be drawn, but ultimately reveal that in both situations, living in a gilded cage only leaves behind a haunting memory.

The Sister as Revenant in Brian De Palma’s Sisters by Stefan Sereda

‘Sisters’ displays an early concern with women’s liberation in mainstream American film (De Palma’s collaborator on the screenplay was Louisa Rose). Many of the film’s social complaints remain liberal talking points today: that police can be motivated by racism, that the legal institution can subject women to excessive scrutiny, and that the medical-psychiatric institution remains patriarchal and sexist in its diagnosing and treatment of women. Yet the film’s intersections with disability are more complicated.

Sisterhood with a Capital “S” in The Triplets of Belleville by Laura Shamas

Sisterhood is powerful, magical, and resilient: that’s the sororal message in the celebrated 2003 animated film… Character distinction between the sisters as individuals is not a major focus for writer/director Sylvain Chomet, although each Triplet has different functions/feelings at specific times. The bond of the sisters as a more monolithic force is depicted instead: Chomet presents the unity of sisterhood. … The agency of older women, including the eponymous trio, is vital to The Triplets of Belleville.

Sisters in Downton Abbey and Fiddler on the Roof and the Slow March Toward Equality by Adina Bernstein

The narratives surrounding the television series Downton Abbey and the musical film Fiddler on the Roof are about change and more specifically, how the daughters within both families represent the small, but important contributions that these characters make to modern feminist narratives. … In both Downton Abbey and Fiddler on the Roof, each trio of sisters takes a step in determining her own fate. While the decisions these girls make may seem innocuous, these steps represent the larger cultural and societal fate that will impact future generations of women.

Sisterhood and Salvation in A League of Their Own by Katie Barnett

Though the simmering sibling rivalry between Kit and Dottie is a thread that runs through the entire film, the importance of sisterhood goes far beyond this. For both women, sisterhood becomes a ticket to another world: a ticket out, but also a ticket in; to friendship, to competition, and to independence. As such, sisterhood exists as a source of empowerment. It is only as sisters that Dottie and Kit ever make it out of Oregon and to the baseball diamonds of the Midwest.

Sense and Sensibility: Sister Saviors in Ang Lee’s Adaptation by Melissa-Kelly Franklin

On first glance, it may well appear that the film follows the usual trappings of the romance genre, in which the young women eventually marry the men that they love, who fortuitously possess more than ample funds to elevate them and their families from poverty, thereby “saving” them. I would argue however, that if we delve a little deeper into Lee’s adaptation it becomes clear that the sisters are not saved by the men they marry, but rather by each other, and multiple times throughout the story.

Sisters in ‘Downton Abbey’ and ‘Fiddler on the Roof’ and the Slow March Toward Equality

The narratives surrounding the television series ‘Downton Abbey’ and the musical film ‘Fiddler on the Roof’ are about change and more specifically, how the daughters within both families represent the small, but important contributions that these characters make to modern feminist narratives. … In both ‘Downton Abbey’ and ‘Fiddler on the Roof,’ each trio of sisters takes a step in determining her own fate.

This guest post written by Adina Bernstein appears as part of our theme week on Sisterhood. | Spoilers ahead.

Progression, especially for women, is often a slow march toward equality. It’s easy for this generation of women to take for granted some of the rights we have: K-12 education, the opportunities for a fulfilling career, and — for cis straight people — the right to marry or not marry and choose a spouse. Although we still have a long way to go as we still contend with barriers to justice, such as abortion restrictions, wage inequality, police brutality, lack of healthcare for trans people, and only last year did the government pass nationwide marriage equality for same-sex couples.

While many modern women don’t think twice about some of these rights, there was a time in history, not too long ago, when these questions coming from women were unthinkable. Women were supposed to marry by a certain age, bring children (and by children, I mean boys) into the world, take care of the home, and ensure that their husband was happy; that was the extent of a woman’s life (except for poor women and women of color who worked outside the home).

Modern feminism often refers to the term “glass ceiling,” which represents the barriers and boundaries that have prohibited women (as well as people of color, LGBTQ people, and people with disabilities) from advancing in their careers the same as men have. It’s sometimes easier to see the larger cracks in the glass ceiling (represented by Hillary Clinton accepting the Democratic nomination for President, for example). But while we cheer on the larger victories, we must also pay attention to the smaller achievements as well.

In the early 20th century, some women may have been content to live out the lives pre-planned for them, fulfilling the traditional roles of marriage and motherhood. But some women did question if it was right or fair that a woman was forced to live a life with rigid parameters while her husband or brother was given freedoms that seemed out of reach.

The storylines and themes in the television series Downton Abbey and the musical film Fiddler on the Roof are about change and more specifically, how the daughters within both families represent the small, but important contributions that these characters make to modern feminist narratives.

Downton Abbey starts in 1912 in an aristocratic estate in Yorkshire, England. Robert Crawley (Hugh Bonneville), the Earl of Grantham and his American-born wife, Cora (Elizabeth McGovern), the Countess of Grantham, have three daughters: Mary, Edith, and Sybil. As they have no son, this poses a problem as the title and Robert’s fortune will not pass to his daughters. An unbreakable entail was set up years ago. Without a son, the title of the Earl of Grantham and the money tied to the estate must go to the closest male relative. Robert’s cousin and heir is dead, he is among those who did not survive the sinking of the Titanic. The closest living male relative is a distant cousin, Matthew Crawley (Dan Stevens), a middle-class lawyer who is shocked to find out that he will one day be a member of the aristocracy.

Adapted from the Broadway musical, Fiddler on the Roof is set in 1905 during the Russian Empire. Tevye (Chaim Topol), a poor Jewish milkman and his wife, Golde (Norma Crane), have five daughters — three of whom push the narrative forward: Tzeitel, Hodel, and Chava — and no sons. In that community at that time, young people did not choose their spouse. A match was arranged by the town matchmaker and if the marriage was agreeable to the parents (and the father, specifically), then the couple would wed. Tevye agreed to betroth his eldest daughter, Tzeitel (Rosalind Harris) to the town butcher, Lazar Wolf (Paul Mann). But there is a major hitch to the plan: Tzeitel wants to marry her childhood sweetheart, Motel (Leonard Frey), the tailor.

In both Downton Abbey and Fiddler on the Roof, each trio of sisters takes a step in determining her own fate. While the decisions these girls make may seem innocuous, these steps represent the larger cultural and societal fate that will impact future generations of women.

Mary/Tzeitel: At the outset of both stories, the eldest of the sisters know what their lives will look like: marry, have children, and generally live out the same lives that their mothers and grandmothers lived. Mary (Michelle Dockery) understands her status and value as an earl’s daughter, but as she’s stubborn and opinionated, she will not take the first man that comes her way. Mary initially rejects Matthew as an interloper when he is announced as her father’s new heir; it’s not the greatest start to what would become one of the great TV relationships of this era. But over time, Mary Crawley will prove herself to be much more capable than just being an earl’s daughter, as she eventually becomes a widow, a single mother, and a savvy agent of the estate.

Tzeitel is very much her mother’s daughter. Strong, outspoken, and very smart, she makes the world-shattering decision to ask her father for permission to marry Motel; not an easy feat in that community and time period. Her father balks, knowing that not only does her request break with tradition, but also fractures the verbal contract he already made with the much older butcher. Tevye finally agrees, putting his daughter’s happiness above the accepted practice of allowing the matchmaker to present a future spouse to the young person’s parents. Not only do Tzeitel’s actions pave the way for her sister’s choices, but they also encourage her future husband to achieve his goals.

Edith/Hodel: Lady Edith (Laura Carmichael) is the classic middle child and creator Julian Fellowes’ answer to Jan Brady. Caught in between her beautiful elder sister and her independent younger sister, Edith starts out the series as a mean spirited, angry young woman, especially towards Mary as the two share a rivalry. She begins to find her purpose at the beginning of season two during the changes that World War I brings. After Edith is dumped at the alter by her fiancé, she finds her purpose in life in unconventional ways that would have been unthinkable for the daughter of the aristocracy a generation before. She becomes a journalist and a magazine editor. She starts a romantic relationship with her editor Michael Gregson (Charles Edwards), becoming pregnant. After finding out that Michael is dead and after many emotional hurdles, she eventually makes the decision to openly raise her child. Edith finally finds marital happiness with Bertie Pelham (Harry Hadden-Paton), the newly titled Marquess of Hexham. Surprising everyone, including herself, Edith now ranks above her father and her entire family in terms of aristocratic rank and social standing.

While Hodel (Michele Marsh) is not writer Sholem Aleichem’s answer to Jan Brady, Hodel experiences a similarly unconventional story arc to Edith. Like her older sister, Hodel knows that she must marry. Her choice of husband in the beginning of the film, if she had one, is the rabbi’s son. But like any society, there is a social hierarchy. The daughter of a poor milkman is unlikely to marry the rabbi’s son. Hodel will marry Perchik (Michael Glaser), a traveling teacher with radical ideas that do not sit well with the denizens of Anatevka. When Perchik is arrested in Kiev at a protest and sent to Siberia, Hodel makes the unconventional decision to follow her fiancé to Sibera. Traveling alone to meet up with her fiancé, Hodel makes the brave choice to leave her family and everything she knows behind, not knowing when she will see them again.

Sybil/Chava: If one were to look the definition of rebellious in the dictionary, one might see a picture of Lady Sybil Crawley (Jessica Brown Findlay). The youngest of Robert and Cora’s three daughters, Sybil not only gets along with her two older sisters due to her kind spirit, but she’s also unafraid to step away from a traditional life. Whether she attends dinner wearing blue harem pants or her passionate political activism, she charts her own course. While attending a political rally, Sybil is knocked unconscious during a riot. Finally, she shocks her family with her marriage to Irish socialist chauffeur, Tom Branson (Allen Leech). Sybil dies in season three, leaving a grieving husband, a newborn daughter who would never know her mother, and a devastated family. In the end, Sybil’s legacy of love, independence, and acceptance that change was a good thing would forever leave a mark on her family.

If Tzeitel and Hodel made small steps outside of a traditional life, Chava (Neva Small) jumped across the boundary of tradition. Her marriage to Fyedka (Raymond Lovelock), a Christian boy, breaks all the rules. By marrying out of her faith and converting to her husband’s religion, she does not even think twice about asking for permission the way her elder sisters had; she just goes for it by eloping. Her parents and her father especially, are extremely upset and Tevye disowns her. In the end, Chava and Fyedka receive a reluctant blessing from Tevye as the Jewish denizens of Anatevka are forced out of their homes.

Looking back, the cracks in the glass ceiling that these women made may seem small and insignificant, but in the long run, the cracks are substantial. This generation, the great-granddaughters of the young women who lived in that era, owe a huge debt to our great-grandmothers who lived in the early 1900s. Without the bold and unconventional choices they made, we would not have the rights and opportunities that many of us take for granted today.

Adina Bernstein is a Brooklyn-born and raised writer who finds pleasure and release in writing. You can find her on Twitter @Writergurlny and on her blog at writergurlny.wordpress.com.

How ‘Big Business’ Made Big Business Thanks to Two Women Big in the Business

Yet what sets this 80s flick apart from most films of that era is the fact that the four protagonists are all women AND completely independent. … Ultimately, it is Midler and Tomlin who save the film from being just another forgotten comedy of the 1980s. The two stars bring a certain gravitas to the screen — a perfect combination of comedic timing and contagious chemistry…

This guest post written by Kyle Sanders appears as part of our theme week on Ladies of the 1980s.

When you combine the talents of Bette Midler and Lily Tomlin, you wind up with three Academy Award nominations, four Grammy awards, three Tony awards, and ten Emmy awards — not too shabby for two women in show business. Both have shined so brightly in their respective fields, that it was only a matter of time before the two starred together in a film, which ultimately became 1988’s Big Business. Loosely based on Mark Twain’s The Prince and the Pauper and William Shakespeare’s Comedy of Errors, the film stars Midler and Tomlin as two sets of twins mismatched at birth, who eventually reunite over the fate of a small town. The film was a modest box office success at the time, but decades later, their comedic chemistry still remains intact, and stands as a testament to successful female-driven comedies.

Big Business begins with the coincidental timing of two births: one from a wealthy couple traveling through Jupiter Hollow (an Appalachian town in West Virginia) and the other from a family of impoverished locals. Both women give birth to identical twin girls. In a hilarious mishap, both sets of twins get mixed up thanks to the confused nurse. Nearly forty years later, wealthy “twins” Sadie (Midler) and Rose (Tomlin) Shelton are co-chairwomen of Moremax — the successor to their father’s business located in New York City — and ultimately want to sell Hollowmade, a furniture factory located in the very town where they were born. Naturally, there is some resistance from Jupiter Hollow’s townsfolk, led by the factory’s forewoman, Rose Ratliff (Tomlin, again), who plans to travel to New York and protest with her “twin sister” Sadie (Midler, again) to “raise some heck” and “kick some snooty New York ass.” As luck would have it, both sets of twins end up staying at the Plaza Hotel, causing much comical confusion and physical hijinks amongst the women’s suitors and hotel employees. It’s not until the end of the film that all four women become acquainted, recognizing their familial bond and end up saving the rural town from being completely strip mined.

This film came out in the summer of 1988, so of course, there are some choice fashionable references of the era — shoulder pads, stark white Reebok sneakers, polka dots — but also gnarly pop cultural references of the 80s as well. Sadie Ratliff is mesmerized by an episode of Dynasty, a Times Square marquee features Disorderlies and Monster Squad (both films from 1987), and a totally bogus movie ending features Steve Winwood’s “Higher Love” playing over the credits (hey, it was the 80s!). Yet what sets this 80s flick apart from most films of that era is the fact that the four protagonists are all women AND completely independent.

Sure, it’s clear that Midler’s Sadie Shelton had once married and had a child, but has chosen business over family, maintaining heavy control over her father’s corporation instead of devoting attention on her out of control son (played by a young Seth Green). Although Tomlin’s Rose Ratliff has a boyfriend who expects her to cheer him on at his miniature golf tournament (tubular!), she chooses to save her town’s way of life over standing at her man’s side. These women are ambitious and too focused on their professional futures to be restrained by traditional standards. The film makes it clear that these women are forces to be reckoned with.

Let us not forget the other sisters either. Rose Shelton may not be as hard edged or ruthless as her sister Sadie, but she too remains independent. She feels out of place in the corporate world, struggling to maintain even a flimsy shoulder pad slipping down her sleeve (a metaphorical rejection of the big business lifestyle, perhaps?). She’d rather exchange it all for a simpler existence involving “a goat and some ducks.” Meanwhile, Sadie Ratliff feels stuck in the sticks and dreams of a totally glamorous, upscale lifestyle. As she reenacts a scene from Dynasty (involving bitchin’ iconic businesswoman Alexis Carrington, no less), it’s clear how much she’s yearned for a dazzling position in power, of which her rural upbringing has very few resources to offer.

These diverse options provide a radically different perspective of living compared to the mothers that birthed them in the 1940s: Mrs. Shelton’s pregnancy was more of a negotiation in exchange for an extended wardrobe and jewelry, while Mrs. Ratliff’s pregnancy seems to be business as usual, commenting on what’s changed in the delivery room since “the last time” she was there. In a way, the film specifically opens during that time to suggest how women have evolved in the “modern era” of the late 80s.

And who better to portray the modern woman? The four varied, fully dimensional characters in Big Business could only be compellingly and hilariously portrayed by Midler and Tomlin. Between Midler’s big-eyed glares and Tomlin’s dizzying hysterics, both actresses’ comedic physicality provide specific mannerisms to each version of Sadie and Rose that when all four do share the same screen (thanks to some bogusly dated 80s special effects), it’s easy to distinguish these characters.

As different as each woman is, they all share one thing in common: respect amongst their peers. The Shelton sisters are president and senior vice president of Moremax, surrounded by men who await their professional decisions. While Rose is the “wispy” sister, Sadie holds court at Moremax. Sadie’s grand introduction (in a setup that clearly inspired Miranda Priestly’s entrance in The Devil Wears Prada) has her entire staff racing around the office to prepare for her appearance, and within seconds upon arriving she’s already ripping into her employees, be it with their choice of attire or failure of completing tasks. Her cold composure and piercing stare are intimidating; she is never intimidated or buckles to corporate pressure. It’s surprising then that not once throughout the entire film is she ever referred to as the proverbial “bitch.” Sadie is one bodacious businesswoman, and no man ever undermines her decisions.

The Ratliff sisters also are shown a great amount of respect. The entire community calls upon them to save their town from getting strip mined, which is surprising considering how rural culture is often depicted as placing women either in the kitchen or in the nursery — like their mother 40 years prior. Once Rose and Sadie Ratliff arrive in New York, completely out of their comfort zone, they quickly adapt to their surroundings. Through a string of cheesy 80s montages, Rose infiltrates the ins and outs of the Plaza Hotel, spreading word of Moremax’s devious intentions with Jupiter Hollow through various disguises (“Guten morgan!”), while Sadie explores the city, learning how to (aggressively) hail a taxi cab. The Ratliff women might be from a small town but they are not small minded.

For a film centered on strong-willed women, the weakest part of the plot comes from their interactions with men. Sadie Shelton’s ex-husband is judgmental of his wife’s monetary bribes to their spoiled son, yet instantly falls back in love with her once (unbeknownst to him) Sadie Ratliff does some quick-thinking discipline inside the toy store FAO Schwarz (??). Rose Shelton’s spineless boyfriend won’t propose marriage because he’s scared of her sister, but Rose Ratliff rebuffs his advances later on and somehow inspires him to buy a ring (??). I don’t buy it. As palpable as Sadie Shelton’s sexual power plays with Fabio Alberici (the man who plans to buy out Jupiter Hollow from Moremax) are, the deal ultimately falls through, and seems to have no consequences on their romantic chemistry. The only relationship that seems to have enough substance to continue on occurs between Rose Shelton and Roone, Rose Ratliff’s boyfriend. He sets out to New York in a quest to rescue Rose Ratliff, but instead ends up saving Rose Shelton from a life she’d rather not live. He senses the insufferableness of her situation, which in turn helps her discover her true nature, allowing her to focus and feel comfortable about herself for the first time in her life. Sure, it plays out like a grody Damsel in Distress scenario, but it ultimately makes Rose a fully realized individual by the end of the film, and it’s because of her solid plea to the stockholders to not sell out Jupiter Hollow that eventually saves the day.

Ultimately, it is Midler and Tomlin who save the film from being just another forgotten comedy of the 1980s. The two stars bring a certain gravitas to the screen — a perfect combination of comedic timing and contagious chemistry in scenes that might otherwise fall flat in the hands of other capable actresses. The material provided from the script (co-written by Dori Pierson, who unfortunately never penned another screenplay after this one), isn’t entirely fresh, yet Midler’s and Tomlin’s performances keep the comedy from going stale.

These women are no strangers to the medium, as Midler got her start gaining a following in a gay bathhouse, thanks to her vibrant showmanship and bawdy humor. Tomlin, on the other hand, is considered a female pioneer of standup, who in the 1960s presented cerebral character sketches instead of self-deprecating jokes about marriage and motherhood. Both women proved their star power throughout the 1980s, in previous female-driven comedies such as 9 to 5 (1980) and Outrageous Fortune (1987). Thanks to them, Big Business earned a solid box office return, ranking in the top 30 highest-grossing films of 1988. Their solid comedic teamwork — much like the combined efforts of all four Shelton and Ratliff sisters — saves the film from being a run-of-the-mill, haphazard case of switched identities, into a film that shows how the ladies of the 1980s are able to run businesses and conserve communities at the same time — even if it means kicking some snooty New York ass!

Kyle Sanders lives in Chicago, where he studies improv at iO whenever he can afford it. He has previously written for Bitch Flicks, as well as NewsCastic: Chicago and GIGA: Geek Magazine.

Love is an Open Closet Door in ‘Frozen’

Amanda did a brilliant queer reading of Elsa’s powers as a symbol of queer sexuality. While our fantastic commenters proposed additional, equally plausible readings, relating the treatment of Elsa’s powers to society’s fear and suppression of mental illness, disability, and even women as a whole, I think the queer reading deserves a little further exploration. Specifically, I want to look at the recurring motif of doors in Frozen.

Warning: Here be (mild-to-moderate) spoilers.

This weekend, I finally saw Frozen, and I loved every minute of it. I loved it for all the reasons everyone has been talking about, from its female-centered narrative to the subversion of Disney’s own tropes about love and romance. I especially loved that it was primarily a story about sisters. I adore stories about siblings, but it seems to me that I rarely see relationships between sisters taken as seriously in pop culture as brothers.

(Though maybe that’s because, as the middle of three very close-knit brothers, I have SO MANY FEELINGS about Sam and Dean Winchester.)

Our own Amanda did a brilliant queer reading of Elsa’s powers as a symbol of queer sexuality. While our fantastic commenters proposed additional, equally plausible readings, relating the treatment of Elsa’s powers to society’s fear and suppression of mental illness, disability, and even women as a whole, I think the queer reading deserves a little further exploration. Specifically, I want to look at the recurring motif of doors in Frozen.

The symbolism of doors is multifarious: entrances, beginnings, thresholds, transition (though after what happened last time I read as a Disney princess as trans* I’ll step back from explicitly reading Elsa as trans*) (even though I think it totally works) (and actually I really want to read her as a trans girl) (but I’ll leave it to my trans sisters to tease out the details).

Doors have a religious and supernatural element too. Think of the safety of home from the vampire, who can’t cross the doorway uninvited; the placing of the mezuzah on the doorway in Jewish tradition; Catholic ideas of Mary as a holy door.

Queer theory has found its doorways in its affinity with Victor Turner’s notion of liminality, though there’s a risk of theorizing queerness away into nothing if you take this too far. I am particularly taken by the idea of the doors in Frozen as closet doors. So, what happens if we read the film with this in mind?

[youtube_sc url=”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9YwXff-i1fY”]

The song “Do You Want to Build a Snowman?” is a heartbreaking portrait of three of Anna’s attempts to reach out to her sister over the years. As a five-year-old, as a pre-teen, and as an adolescent, Anna knocks on Elsa’s door but gets no response. In the very first verse, she sings, “Come out the door,” whereas by the final verse her urging has changed to “Just let me in.” If this door is indeed a closet door, Elsa is unable to do anything as simple as come out, because her parents’ fear of her queer sexuality has taught her that she must suppress it. Elsa internalizes her parents’ lesson that coming out is not an option, but she is equally unable to “let in” the sister who has never been inside the closet and indeed does not yet know of Elsa’s queerness.

And again, when the castle must be opened up for Elsa’s coronation, the opening lines of Anna’s joyful song “For The First Time in Forever” mention doors specifically:

The window is open, so’s that door
I didn’t know they did that anymore

[youtube_sc url=”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dOReid0vEwY”]

Elsa, however, refers to opening “the gate” rather than any doors, and she tells herself:

Don’t let them in, don’t let them see
Be the good girl you always have to be
Conceal, don’t feel, put on a show
Make one wrong move and everyone will know

Her refusal of a man’s invitation to dance that night, while Anna accepts it, could be taken as indicative of a lack of interest in men at all. (Am I taking it too far if I find evidence of a straight woman’s puzzlement at her closeted sister’s lack of interest in men in Anna’s line, “Why have a ballroom with no balls?”!)

[youtube_sc url=”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j6nnoWgbdvg”]

The symbol of the door is made most explicit in the delightful number “Love is an Open Door” – the third song in a row to open with a lyric about doors:

All my life has been a series of doors in my face

The brilliant thing about this song is how differently it plays on first watch versus how it plays when you know how the story will turn out. Like the proverbial length of a minute in the bathroom, it depends which side of the door you’re on. Played straight (forgive the pun), this is a song about the exciting opportunity of embarking on a new relationship. But there are also resonances of the importance of honest communication in the success of a relationship and the freedom of leaving the metaphorical closet – both of which become tinged with irony once you have seen the whole film.

Indeed, Elsa’s refusal to bless Anna and Hans’s marriage seems to Anna like the sour grapes of a closeted sister who resents the straightforwardness of hetero romance, but in truth it’s a piece of real wisdom that Anna will come to appreciate. And yet it also leads to Elsa’s unintentional, very public coming-out. She flees in shame, and succumbs to her sexuality in an almighty ballad that is (deliberately?) reminiscent of “Defying Gravity” from that Broadway show most susceptible to queer readings, Wicked.

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

Let it go, let it go
Can’t hold it back anymore
Let it go, let it go
Turn away and slam the door

– of the (now empty) closet, yes, but also of the open door that is love. Being out isn’t much good if you don’t have love in your life: ultimately, Elsa learns that love is the way to control her powers. It would be possible to do a fairly conservative reading of this – female queer sexuality is acceptable as long as it’s within the confines of a long-term monogamous relationship – but I think there’s a better reading available. Based on the fact that the love between sisters is at the heart of this film, the love that controls Elsa’s powers isn’t romantic love, but familial love: the kind of love that loves you for who you are, not in spite of it.

Frozen isn’t saying that queerness is only acceptable in certain kinds of relationship. On the contrary, its message is that love comes in many different forms, and we all of us – including women, and queer people, and people with mental illnesses, and people with disabilities, and everybody else – need to be loved for who we are, with the kind of love that opens closet doors.

Max Thornton blogs at Gay Christian Geek, tumbles as trans substantial, and is slowly learning to twitter at @RainicornMax. Excuse him while he gets back to writing polyamorous Anna/Kristoff/Hans slashfic.

‘Frozen’: Disney’s First Foray into Feminism

I was surprised by Disney’s latest animated film “Frozen”. I was sure it was going to feed us Disney’s standard company line about princesses and marriage and girls needing to be rescued all the time. I was wrong. Though the film still showcases impossibly thin, rich, white girls who are princesses, this isn’t a story about romantic love or some dude rescuing a damsel in distress. “Frozen” is a story about sisterhood and the power that exists inside young women.

Spoiler Alert

Frankly, I was surprised by Disney’s latest animated film Frozen. Even though it featured the voice of my beloved heroine Veronica Mars (or as she’s known in real life: Kristen Bell), I was pretty sure Frozen was going to feed us Disney’s standard company line about princesses and marriage and girls needing to be rescued all the time. I was wrong. Though the film still showcases impossibly thin, rich, white girls who are princesses, this isn’t a story about romantic love or some dude rescuing a damsel in distress. Not only does Frozen effortlessly pass the Bechdel Test within five minutes, it’s a story that’s centered around sisterhood and the power that exists inside young women.

The most important relationship in Frozen, the one that drives all the action, all the pathos, is that of Anna and her sister Elsa. The two of them love each other very deeply, but they struggle to connect. Snow Queen Elsa strives to protect her little sister from harm first by hiding her own amazing abilities to create/manipulate snow and ice and then by refusing to allow Anna to marry a man she’s only just met. Elsa has donned the mantle of big sister with a great deal of seriousness, including all the responsibility that comes with it. When Elsa’s powers are outed at court, Anna’s unflagging love and determination prompts her to go after her fleeing sister who holes up in a pristine snow castle. We learn that Elsa was right to protect her sister from a hasty marriage, which is a huge change from Disney’s traditional espousing of the myth of love-at-first-sight, but we also learn that Anna’s love and acceptance is the only thing that can save her reclusive sister.

In Frozen, female agency and power are paramount. Elsa has cosmically awesome winter powers (she should seriously consider a trip to Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters). Anna, our heroine, is normal, which is a refreshing change of pace from most fantasy stories where the lead is imbued with a striking talent or birthright. Though Anna has no unique skills or magical powers, it is her compassion that makes her extraordinary. Anna’s personality makes her special because she never gives up, never questions her own capability, and never thinks she can’t do something. With her courage and conviction, Anna is the driving force behind all the film’s action. The male characters are mostly along for the ride, lending support or acting as obstacles to the true goal of the film: the reconnection of two estranged sisters.

Let’s talk a little bit about Elsa’s winter superpowers. From adolescence, Elsa and her parents fear her growing powers. Elsa seeks to control, minimize, and hide her powers. With the “swirling storm inside”, Elsa loses her grip on her carefully guarded secret and outs herself at her coronation party. After fleeing the scene, she sings, “Conceal. Don’t feel. Don’t let them know,” before declaring she’s going to, “Let it go.” (Full song below.)

[youtube_sc url=”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1DQYdcUB0eg”]

Elsa’s abilities that are connected to her emotions and mature with age are obviously a metaphor for her powerful sexuality, and I’d even go so far as to argue that Elsa and her family struggle with her queer sexuality, her parents even fearing that she would infect her younger sister. Yes, I think there is general discomfort around female sexuality in all its forms. However, Anna is blossoming sexually, and there is not the same stigma or fear surrounding it because her conventional hetero sexuality gravitates towards marriage to a prince. There is no male love interest for Elsa (despite Anna having two suitors). Elsa’s queer sexuality is so foreign that her subjects are horrified, and she must isolate herself, becoming a literal ice queen. While Elsa feels free to be honest with herself and to feel her feelings within her isolated castle, she does not believe acceptance is possible nor that she can be a part of normal society.

Elsa tries to scare Anna away and even accidentally hurts her in the process.

When Elsa accidentally strikes Anna with a shard of her ice powers, Anna’s heart becomes frozen, and only “an act of true love” can thaw it and save her from death. Everyone in the film assumes true love’s kiss will cure her, but, frankly, I had my fingers crossed (literally) that Elsa would have to kiss her sister to save her (platonically, of course). We were all wrong. It turned out that Anna had to perform the act of true love, keeping her firmly in the self-actualized role of heroine, making her own choices, taking action, and creating her own destiny. That’s an even better plot twist than I could have imagined! Anna’s act of self-sacrifice shows Elsa that acceptance is possible, that Anna knew about her dark secret and loved her anyway. They’re not saved by a man or romantic love. This is an act of true love between sisters, and that act saves them both. One word: beautiful.

Disney was clearly doing their feminist homework when they came up with Frozen. They created a story about young women that didn’t revolve around men, where family and sisterhood trump everything else, where two sisters save each other. They even have Kristoff ask Anna for consent before he kisses her, and the movie doesn’t end with a wedding. Disney still has to work on its depiction of impossible female bodies that are usually white. They need to start telling stories about regular girls and not just richie-rich princesses. They need to be more open and honest about their queer characters instead of hiding them under metaphor, but all in all, Frozen is a huge leap forward for Disney. I’m glad I went to see it. I’m glad I took my six-year-old niece to see it with me, and though their white skin and privileged lifestyle doesn’t match hers, I think Frozen imparted an important lesson about sisterhood, love, and acceptance that is invaluable to young girls everywhere.
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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.

Women of Color in Film and TV Week: A Girl Struggles to Survive Her Chaotic Homelife in ‘Yelling to the Sky’

Written by Megan Kearns.

Yelling to the Skystruck a visceral chord with me. I related to it in a way I often don’t with films. I’m not a biracial woman growing up impoverished, who turns to selling drugs as a means of survival. But I grew up with an absent father and a single mother struggling with mental illness, feeling trapped by my surroundings, desperate to break free.

All the actors give stellar performances in this emotionally raw and gritty film. Zoe Kravitz in particular captivates with a nuanced, powerful performance as the smart, struggling Sweetness O’Hara, trying to survive in a whirlwind of turmoil. Sweetness and her older sister live in a troubled home with unstable, unreliable parents: their white father, an alcoholic and their African-American mother who suffers from mental illness.

Yelling to the Sky opens with a jarring scene. Sweetness is getting bullied and beaten up in the street by her classmates. Latonya (Gabourey Sidibe) taunts her for the lightness of her skin and her biracial heritage – briefly raising complex issues of race and colorism. But she’s rescued by her older sister Ola (Antonique Smith in a scene-stealing powerhouse performance) who we see, as the camera eventually pans out, is very pregnant. This juxtaposition of a brawling pregnant woman, a fiercely protective sister, makes an interesting commentary on our expectations of gender.

Sweetness’ unpredictable father Gordon (Jason Clarke) vacillates between affectionate charisma and volatile violence and rage. He verbally and physically abuses every woman in the household. He tries to make amends for his deplorable parenting later in the film. But since he’s caused so much trauma, it might be too late for forgiveness.

Unfortunately, we never really learn about Sweetness’ mother Lorene (Yolanda Ross) who seems numbed by medication and/or depression beyond Sweetness asking if she was hospitalized in a mental institution when she “went away.” I wish the film had explored more of their relationship.

While I was disappointed the film didn’t explore mother-daughter relationships, it does show the bonds of sisterhood. The relationship between Sweetness and Ola is my favorite part of the film. We see the girls joke, play, challenge and comfort one another. Both rely on one other for support. Ola leaves home to live with her boyfriend, leaving Sweetness to fend for herself alone. But she’s not the only one trapped. Months later, Ola must return home with her baby, now a single mother. Her dreams of escape nothing but nebulous memories.

Yelling to the Skyis a searing portrayal of one girl’s pain. Of her frustration at being confined and trapped in a world not her choosing. Sweetness doesn’t focus on her education or her future. She deals with the immediacy of her pain. She starts selling drugs as a way to make money. She numbs herself with drugs, alcohol and surrounding herself with a cadre of bullies and drug dealers. Sweetness desperately yearns to escape. But where to? Where can she go?

Mahoney said she wanted to evoke feelings of claustrophobia when Sweetness spent time at home. And she succeeds beautifully. You feel just as trapped as Sweetness, chained by loneliness, fear and desperation. When she’s out in the streets, it feels frenetic with drunken stupors, drive-by shootings and drug deals gone wrong.

Zoe Kravitz as Sweetness O’Hara in Yelling to the Sky

Is the film perfect? No it definitely falters at times. I wish we had learned more about each of the characters. It feels very much like a snapshot, a voyeuristic peek through the window into their messy and complicated lives. Just when you’re lured in, the window abruptly closes. But the biggest flaw? I wish it had more deeply explored the issue of race without resorting to stereotypes.

A painful history of colorism and skin shade hierarchy— dark vs. light skin — exists amongst black women. When the media portrays black women, we often see women with lighter skin, straighter hair and more Caucasian features. Both L’Orealand Ellephotoshopped black to make their skin appear much lighter. The media often whitewashes black women, continually perpetuating the unachievable attainment of the white ideal of beauty. “The myth of black beauty” and the preference for lighter black skin can be traced back to slavery.

While light-skinned biracial and black women possess privilege, they may also face a backlash and be deemed not “black enough.” While the jarring opening scene of Yelling to the Sky certainly alludes to this, it is never explored further. Instead, the film resorts to racial stereotypes: “dark(er)-skinned black people are mean and like to victimize light(er)-skinned black people,” “girls/teenagers/women who are “authentically” black are bad” and “interracial relationships are dysfunctional.”

I cringed seeing Sidibe depicted as the dark-skinned, mean, overweight bully terrorizing a lighter-skinned petite girl. When the roles reverse and Sweetness beats the shit out of Latonya, I get the sense that it should feel like vindication for her earlier torment. But it feels empty and hollow. But maybe that’s the point, that retribution and violence are empty and hollow. As this is a semi-autobiographical film, perhaps these circumstances transpired in writer/director Victoria Mahoney’s own life, especially as she’s a biracial woman. But as these racial stereotypes occur over and over in media, it would have been great to have them deconstructed or not appear at all.

We don’t see enough female protagonists, women of color in film or female filmmakers of color. We don’t see enough films exploring issues of gender and race. And we should. In an interview, Mahoney (a promising new filmmaker who is certainly one to watch) shared her inspiration for the film:

“Stemming from my teenage obsession with Chekov’s Three Sisters and a connection to the theme of “manufacturing illusions in order to sustain day to day life.” I related on a gut level to the notion of joy and opportunity, existing elsewhere while in the same breadth knowing it was a lie. The illusion of “one day it’ll be different” is what kept me alive and smashing that illusion might’ve been my death. Putting this film out is important because (yet another generation of) young people are facing the exact same isolation, confusion, neglect, inquiry, desire, and heartache. All these years later, there’s little to no progress or solution. Adults have become freakishly focused on ‘self’, so much so, that we’re failing our responsibilities to participate and aid in the development and advancement of young people’s spiritual and intellectual growth.”

This is what I related to and why I’m so thankful for Yelling to the Sky. I may be a white woman and I may not have made the same choices Sweetness made, but it showed me I wasn’t alone. It felt cathartic watching.

My childhood existed of treacherous terrain to navigate. My mother was preoccupied by her own problems. I never knew what I was walking into when I went home. So I focused on the future. I clung to the hope that one day things would be different. That was the sole reason I survived. It’s the one thing that kept me going. While my mind was fixated on the future, my actions were grounded in the present. Like Sweetness, I skipped classes and almost didn’t graduate high school for I wanted to numb my pain. It’s this delicate dance of present angst and future hopes that Mahoney captures so well.

Sure, some people may find Yelling to the Sky bleak or hopeless. It’s heartbreaking to watch Sweetness spiral out of control. Sweetness clamors to escape, to break free. Yet there’s nowhere to go. Echoing real-life, the film ends with ambiguity and uncertainty. You don’t know how her life will turn out. Sweetness’ story – her struggle to survive amidst the chaos swirling around her, desperate to cling to any semblance of community – is one worth telling. And it’s one we don’t see often enough.

Horror Week 2012: ‘Absentia’ Showcases Terror, Strong Female Characters and Sisterhood

Guest post written by Deirdre Crimmins.

Though I like explosions and interesting methods of execution as much as any other horror fan, it is always great characterization and relationships that make a horror film great. Actually, great characters and their relationships are what help make any film great, but often they are an afterthought in horror films. Too often we see a group of teenagers getting hunted by a maniac, and we never know any of their names or why they were poking around that abandoned cabin in the first place. And while I do like those sorts of films — I would even argue that torture porn films should have a place in horror’s canon — it is the films that have characters I care for that haunt me for years. And should that not be the goal for any horror film?

Last year’s Absentia is just such a film. I first saw it when it was making its lauded tour of the film festival circuit, and to this day certain scenes and concepts in it still disturb me. These images grab me in the middle of my day-to-day life and make me uneasy to continue on. Absentia terrified me, which is not an easy thing to do.

In addition to actually being scary (something that an unfortunate number of current horror films avoid) Absentia also features two lead female characters, and the bedrock of the film’s plot is their relationship. These two characters, sisters Callie (Katie Parker) and Tricia (Courney Bell) are not there simply to be eye candy, or to function as the lustful objects of affection for a killer, but rather they are there because they are both strong, flawed, and painfully relatable. It does not necessarily matter that they are women, but it matters more that they are family and that writer/director Mike Flanagan has created two fully formed characters, rather than all too common caricatures.

L-R: Callie (Katie Parker) and Tricia (Courtney Bell) in Absentia

The film starts with the reunion of Callie and Tricia. Callie is the younger, free-spirited and troubled sister, who has wandered in and out of her sister’s life since they were young. She has come to be with Tricia at a time when Tricia needs her most. Seven years ago Tricia’s husband, Daniel (Morgan Peter Brown) disappeared without a trace. No note, no body — just gone. Tricia needs Callie there for strength as she mourns. She is no longer mourning the loss of Daniel, but now is struggling with the loss of hope. Tricia has decided to finally declare Daniel as dead in absentia. Callie is eager to be at Tricia’s side as she too is trying desperately to get her life back on track.

Tricia’s decision to legally acknowledge Daniel’s death has reignited a host of emotions that she has little to no control over. She has clearly moved on in some ways, as she is nearly 8 months pregnant with the lead detective’s child, but that does not stop her from the dread and guilt of finally letting go. Tricia has taken up Buddhist meditation as a way to calm and center herself, which is a mystery to the Catholic Callie.

Though the initial circumstances of the sister’s reunion seem more like a melodrama than a horror film, the film’s plot quickly twists and turns from there with each sister confronting their own demons (possibly literally) and negotiating their levels of trust in one another.

Tricia (Courtney Bell) in Absentia

For Tricia, her biggest battle initially is that she keeps seeing Daniel. His image jumps out at her in the middle of the street, or at the back of her closet. And the Daniel she keeps seeing is not the Daniel she lost. He is gaunt, and in pain, and seems to be stalking her so that she cannot move on with her life. Each time Daniel pops up on screen, it makes you jump in fear. It is both startling, and the image itself of this disheveled, whimper of a man is disturbing. However these instances are not just the cheap jumps that would scare you in a haunted house. When Daniel is there, the camera does not flinch. Rather you get to see how painful it is for Tricia to be living in fear of these moments. She cannot escape the horror of her husband’s mysterious disappearance, and the prospect of never being able to live without him terrifies her. By watching her fright and seeing this woman who has been through so much continue to get emotionally berated that the real horror of her situation becomes clear. The horror is in Daniel’s lingering, and not in his sudden appearance.

Callie is having her own issues with the curious neighborhood she has moved to. It seems that people, and small animals, often go missing on Tricia’s street. There is a long dark tunnel just at their cul-de-sac that seems to keep calling Callie, though her instincts tell her to stay away. It is the lure of that tunnel, and what might be lurking beneath it, which is the true terror of the film.

Callie (Katie Parker) in Absentia

I cannot emphasize enough how astoundingly convincing the two lead characters are. Both actresses deliver nuanced and genuine performances as believable sisters. These two have a long and complicated history together, and their relationship cannot be summed up with a single line of dialogue. However they do communicate their relationship by how they act around one another, how they fight, and how they forgive. You feel deeply for each of them, and understand the longing they each feel to be forgiven by one another for all of the issues in their past.

While I could continue on about the remarkable characterization of Callie and Tricia, it saddens me a little bit that strong non-sexualized female characters in horror films are such a unique phenomenon. While there are plenty of ass-kicking final women in slasher films, and many smart lady doctors who help stop the spread of a zombie outbreak, it is rare to feature a realistic female friendship, or a complicated sibling rivalry, in a horror film. Both Callie and Tricia are attractive, but that is not why they are there. The purpose that they are serving goes so far beyond their gender and their bodies that the contrast to other horror vixens seems like night and day. And neither of them plays the victim, or the unnaturally stoic heroine. They are both complex, and with long histories that they carry with themselves, and impact their judgments.

Had Absentia featured the relationship between two brothers, rather than the sisters, it would still be an artfully crafted, ambitious, successful, and utterly terrifying horror film. The fact that is does feature two multi-dimensional female leads makes it that much more satisfying and original. It is one of the few recent horror films that I recommend to every horror fan, without a single reservation.

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Deirdre Crimmins lives in Boston with her husband and two black cats. She wrote her Master’s thesis on George Romero and works too much.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer Week: Are You Ready to Be Strong? Power and Sisterhood in ‘Buffy’

Buffy Summers (Sarah Michelle Gellar) in Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Guest post written by Amanda Rodriguez.

No one will argue that the television show Buffy the Vampire Slayer isn’t populated with strong female characters. Buffy’s best friend, Willow, is a computer-hacking lesbian witch with the magical prowess to end the world. Her sister, Dawn, is a mythic Key who can open gateways between dimensions. Faith, Buffy’s sometime friend and ally, is a sexually and physically empowered slayer who revels in her body’s physical gifts. The female villains are also intensely powerful and iconic, ranging from ancient vampires, werewolves, and vengeance demons to genius scientists and even the ultimate foe, The First (though technically genderless, this force often takes the form of Buffy herself). Season 5’s villainess, Glory, is even a goddess whose power is only diminished when she is forced to inhabit the body of a human male, and if that ain’t feminist commentary, I don’t know what is.

Though the show suffers from no shortage of powerful women, the ways in which they relate to one another throughout the series is a constant struggle. This is because the dominant patriarchal paradigm within which the show is operating insists that one powerful woman is a delightful anomaly, but multiple powerful women are a threat to hegemony. By these standards, Buffy, by herself, is set up as a superior paragon of womanhood: strong, independent, sassy, beautiful, smart,courageous, and compassionate. If all women, however, were empowered like Buffy, or even a small group, it would be a subversive threat to male dominance,which is why Buffy and her power are exceptional and solitary. This, in effect,handicaps her, limiting her power.

“Into every generation, a slayer is born. One girl in all the world, a chosen one. She alone will wield the strength and skill to fight the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness.” | Image of Buffy Summers (Sarah Michelle Gellar)

Within this context, each woman’s power in the Buffyverse sets her apart from others and often puts her at odds with other powerful women. Buffy laments the isolation that her power causes, feeling as if no one can relate to the magnitude of the unending burden that she must bear alone. On multiple occasions, her power also puts her into a position where she feels she must destroy other women who are abusing their power.

Though Buffy has no qualms destroying evildoing villainesses, her decision-making becomes more complicated when it is a female friend/loved one/ally using her power in ways that go against Buffy’s code. Inevitably in these instances, Buffy struggles with her duties as a slayer but always comes back around to what the dominant patriarchal paradigm expects of her. Buffy begrudgingly conforms to patriarchy’s prescribed dichotomy that polarizes powerful women, steeling herself to kill the love of Xander’s life, her sister-slayer, and even her own blood sister.

Anya, Xander’s ex-fiancee and Buffy’s friend, returns to her vengeance demon ways in Season 6 after Xander jilts her at the altar. In the Season 7 episode Selfless, Anya kills an entire fraternity as part of her vengeance demon work, punishing men who wrong women. Buffy says of her responsibility to kill the rampaging Anya, “It’s always complicated. And at some point, someone has to draw a line in the sand, and that is always going to be me…I am the law.” Here again the series insists that two mighty female forces cannot coexist. Their power will be constantly at odds, and a balance must be struck by either the neutralization or the destruction of one of the women’s powers. Though Buffy stabs Anya in the chest, Anya lives and chooses to “take back” her murder of the fraternity and relinquish her vengeance demon powers, becoming human again. There is a price, though, for this transformation, and another powerful woman pays it. In a cruel twist, Anya’s friend and fellow vengeance demon, Halfrek, is obliterated in order to restore balance. This implies that women are to be punished for their powers and nonconformist desires and, most importantly, that all powerful women are interchangeable.

“The proverbial scales must balance. In order to restore the lives of the victims, the fates require a sacrifice: the life and soul of a vengeance demon.” – D’Hoffryn | Image of Anya

The polarization of powerful women in the series is most exemplified by the relationship between Buffy and Faith. The nature of slayer power allows only one slayer at a time. She possesses all the power until death. Buffy is drowned and dies briefly in Season 1, disrupting the slayer line, causing another slayer to be “called.” The relationship between Buffy and Faith (commonly known as “the dark slayer”) is contentious from the beginning. There is resentment and jealousy between them. Faith is set up as the outsider little sister who has no friends, no home, no family, causing a deep resentment toward the stability of Buffy’s life. This reveals the unspoken power of Buffy’s privilege, calling attention to the economic and educational disparities between the two slayers. On the other hand, Buffy is simultaneously judgmental toward (in a classic big sister way) and intoxicated by Faith’s free sexuality and her love of slaying (fans and academics alike have cited the two as metaphors for each other).

In Season 3, Faith betrays her sacred duty as a slayer, killing humans and aligning herself with the evil Mayor. Buffy decides to kill Faith, but because the two women share the same abilities, this task is easier said than done. The two go round and round before Buffy finally stabs Faith in the stomach with her own knife, putting her in a coma. In Season 4, Faith wakes up, and after more discord, Faith leaves town and turns herself in, choosing prison as a method of atonement. Faith’s threatening power is effectively neutralized behind bars.

“There’s only supposed to be one. Maybe that’s why you and I can never get along. We’re not supposed to exist together.”- Faith | Image of Buffy (Sarah Michelle Gellar) and Faith (Eliza Dushku)

The only time Buffy refuses to do her duty and kill someone she loves is in Season 5 when her sister, Dawn (the mystical Key), must be killed to stop her from unwillingly opening a gateway to a demon dimension that will send the world into chaos. Throughout the season, the sisters often have an uneasy relationship due to typical sibling rivalry and the fact that Dawn isn’t truly Buffy’s sister. Monks harness the awesome power of the Key and shape it into human form, using Buffy’s blood and altering her memories so that she will be compelled to protect it. In spite of all this, when Dawn must die to save the world, Buffy chooses to sacrifice herself and dies instead. This is meant to be a beautiful,selfless act of love, and, though it is, Buffy’s death simply reinforces the idea that only so much female power can safely exist in the world.

“This is the work that I have to do.” – Buffy | Illustration by boo21190 via deviantart.com

All these “sister” relationships are deeply dysfunctional and problematic from a feminist perspective. The show itself sits uneasily within the patriarchal paradigm that it is constantly reinforcing. Though the series complies in a circuitous way by systematically disempowering powerful women by divesting them of their abilities (in the case of Anya) or forcing them to reign in their strengths (in the case of Willow), the show refuses throughout to actually kill these women(permanently anyway). To stop another apocalyptic menace in the final season, Buffy,Anya, Faith, and Dawn all work together alongside a host of “potential slayers.”The “potentials” are women who are not actually powerful but could become powerful should a slayer die, further underscoring the notion that female power must be balanced and finite.

This is when it gets really good. The ending of this series gives me goosebumps every time I watch it. It’s a feminist dream come true. They are facing The First, a truly invincible foe who is only able to rear its ugly head when the cosmic balance is upset because of Buffy’s mystical resurrection, allowing two slayers to exist in the worlds simultaneously. One could even posit that The First is symbolic of patriarchal and misogynistic oppression of women, especially since Its right-hand man is a woman-hating religious fanatic. Not only that, but The First appears often as Buffy, herself, implying, perhaps, that female complicity or conformity to an oppressive standard is a major obstacle to equality. That’s a whole other paper, though.

To muster enough force to beat back The First, Buffy creates a new paradigm. She enlists the help of another powerful woman (Willow) to subvert the paradigm that requires only one woman/one slayer to exist at any given time. In a speech that moves me almost to tears every time I watch it, Buffy explains that Willow will use an ancient slayer artifact to release its power to all potential slayers around the world.

Paper Video #5 – Buffy Summers (2) from Zombi Tard on Vimeo.

“So here’s the part where you make a choice. What if you could have that power, now? In every generation, one slayer is born, because a bunch of men who died thousands of years ago made up that rule. They were powerful men. This woman is more powerful than all of them combined. So I say we change the rule. I say my power, should be our power. Tomorrow, Willow will use the essence of this scythe to change our destiny. From now on, every girl in the world who might be a slayer, will be a slayer. Every girl who could have the power, will have the power. Can stand up, will stand up. Slayers, every one of us. Make your choice. Are you ready to be strong?” — Buffy

The series finale of Buffy the Vampire Slayer tells us that women must band together to defeat patriarchal oppression. Here Buffy chooses to share her power with other women,creating a community of slayers. Buffy has evolved into a powerful woman who refuses to see other women as a threat. She is now a strong woman embracing and empowering other strong women. Together they create a unified force that changes the world forever.

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 about food and drinking games on her blog Booze and Baking. Fun fact: while living in Kyoto, Japan, her house was attacked by monkeys.