The newly released Marvel “superhero” movie ‘Deadpool’ is more of a self-aware, raunchy antihero flick that solidly earns its R rating with graphic violence, lots of dick jokes, and a sex scene montage. Basically, it’s a good time. While ‘Deadpool’ is entertaining, self-referential, self-effacing, and full of pop culture references, how does it measure up with its depiction of its female characters?
Written by Amanda Rodriguez | Spoilers ahead
The newly released Marvel “superhero” movie Deadpool is more of a self-aware, raunchy antihero flick that solidly earns its R rating with graphic violence, lots of dick jokes, and a sex scene montage. It mocks the conventions of the genre while still giving us its warped version of a superhero origin story, a tragic love story, and a revenge story. Basically, it’s a good time. While Deadpool is entertaining, self-referential, self-effacing, and full of pop culture references, how does it measure up with its depiction of its female characters? The movie sadly does not pass the Bechdel Test. However, there are four prominent female characters worth further investigation.
Vanessa Carlyle (Morena Baccarin) is Wade’s/Deadpool’s (Ryan Reynolds) love interest or as she’s billed in the intro credits “The Hot Chick.” She’s a salty sex worker with a dark sense of humor that matches Wade’s. They quickly fall in love, and Vanessa is unfailingly loyal to him. While it’s good to see a sex worker in the role of love interest in a way that doesn’t shame or belittle her for her profession, Baccarin once again fulfills the “hooker with a heart of gold” trope. (Her role as the Companion Inara in Firefly also fits that bill.) Vanessa is the quintessential damsel in distress, as she is, unsurprisingly, the bait during the final showdown that Ajax (the big baddie) uses against Deadpool. While her self-confidence, her no-bullshit attitude, and her nerdiness are all admirable qualities AND it’s refreshing to have a woman of color as a leading lady, Vanessa is, unfortunately, a variation of the standard action movie love interest without much agency or identity outside of her relationship.
A la the opening credits, we also have “The Moody Teen” a young, surly, gum-chewing X-Men known as Negasonic Teenage Warhead (Brianna Hildebrand). Negasonic has very few lines and exists to fulfill the role of angsty teen. Her mutant powers, however, were interestingly changed from the telepathy and precognition of her comic book iteration to “localized atomic detonation.” Though I’m usually a purist, this change created a female character who played an active role in the film’s climax in a way that successfully embodied her angst and was pretty badass.
A twisted version of the buddy trope plays out with Deadpool and his roommate Blind Al (Leslie Uggams), an elderly Black woman who inexplicably associates with our antihero. From the comics, we know that the two have a dark relationship with a much darker version of Deadpool than the film depicts. Al seems to exist in this movie only to give the rough, sarcastic, morally flawed Wade more depth of feeling.
Lastly, we have Angel Dust performed by my ever-beloved Gina Carano. Angel is a mutant with superhuman strength who acts as Ajax’s muscle, right-arm woman, and bedfellow. She’s the strong, silent, torturing type who gives X-Men’s Colossus a sound beating before he’s able to turn the fight around and claim victory. There is no depth to her character. She is your garden variety sociopathic killer henchman.
While Deadpool‘s blunt humor and self-awareness are a refreshing addition to the superhero genre, the intro credits set the tone for all the other characters (male and female) who fall into traditionally prescribed archetypes. While I recognize the meta-humor in this, it’s disappointing to see a film work so hard to expose and subvert genre conventions in a hilarious way and then just turn around and fail to do that same work with its female characters. Fingers crossed that the inevitable sequel will ingeniously develop a female character to match Deadpool’s one-of-a-kind personality.
Bitch Flicks writer and editor 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. Her short story “The Woman Who Fell in Love with a Mermaid” was published in Germ Magazine. 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.
This style of fighting codes our female superheroes as half menacing and half attractive – we are meant to be afraid of them, but also enticed by them. Their violence is inextricably linked to their sexuality.
This guest post by Mary Iannone appears as part of our theme week on Violent Women.
How do we recognize a superhero? The word itself implies strength, power, and, most often in today’s saturated market, traditional masculinity. Tony Stark builds dozens of stand-ins for his Iron Man persona, each bigger and more high-tech than the last. Steve Rogers dons red, white, and blue and acts as an all-American symbol of dominance. Thor, a literal god, fights with the power of lightning and an indestructible hammer which only he is worthy to yield. Where then, is there room for the feminine interpretation of superheroism? And why must there be such a sharp distinction between our heroes?
The heroic body is a necessary qualification for superhero status. Physical strength connotes capability. A victim can only trust a stranger who comes to their aid if the stranger looks like they are able to get the job done. Vigilante-type figures can only be accepted within their cities if they look the part and never fail to live up to that standard. This is why the superhero film is not yet inclusive of women – we have not yet accepted the physical strength of women as an equally valid type of heroism.
Within the popular Marvel universe of films, women must exhibit a form of violence that stands in opposition to that which is demonstrated by the traditional male superhero figure. Black Widow, Scarlet Witch, and Maria Hill do not wield immediately recognizable symbols such as those displayed by Iron Man, Captain America, and Thor. Their style of violence relies not on external weapons but on their own bodies; Black Widow is introduced in Iron Man 2 as a physical powerhouse, taking down a hallway full of enemies in mere seconds using nothing but her body and a can of mace. This style of fighting codes our female superheroes as half menacing and half attractive – we are meant to be afraid of them, but also enticed by them. Their violence is inextricably linked to their sexuality.
Women in this universe do not get to display traditional modes of violence; the final act of heroism is always performed by a man. Not only do the men deal the final, killing blow, they perform acts of sacrifice that underscore their worth as a hero. In The Avengers, Tony Stark directs a missile away from New York City, fully expecting that he could die. In Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Steve Rogers confronts the Winter Soldier in the third act’s final battle. In Age of Ultron, Quicksilver sacrifices himself for the team.
In all of these scenarios, Black Widow is part of the action, but is relegated to a supporting role, never getting a huge moment of heroic sacrifice or a moment that causes the audience to burst into applause. She is an integral part of the success of the Avengers team. She tricks Loki into telling her his plan and she closes the portal allowing the alien invaders into Manhattan. But the flashy heroics – Stark’s self-sacrifice, Thor’s battle with the Hulk, and the Hulk’s takedown of Loki – are left to the men. Black Widow is the one who is initially attacked by the Hulk; Thor steps in to save her, leaving her huddled in fear. On one hand, Black Widow does not simply erase her emotions and the potential trauma that this encounter has caused. She is able to remain a hero while still allowing herself to feel victimized. But simultaneously, it devalues her place in the hierarchy of the group and makes her dependent upon a male savior.
It is implied that women are unable to handle the truly horrific violence; Betty Ross is shielded from the Hulk, and both Iron Man 3’s Maya Hansen and Age of Ultron’s Scarlet Witch have a change of heart before the final showdown. Pepper Potts, while not a part of the Avengers team, is still only traditionally violent – using a weapon to take down Aldrich Killian – after she has been injected with Extremis in Iron Man 3. The insinuation is that women can only be physically violent or deal the killing blow when under the influence of a destructive force. Pepper even expresses surprise at her own strength, gasping, “Oh my god…that was really violent!” After Killian’s death, Tony Stark vows to “fix” Pepper – in other words, to return her to her healthier (read: less aggressive) self.
Women in the Marvel Universe can only be directly violent when working on the side of good. Female villains are scarce to begin with, and even then are mostly an assistant to evil rather than the mastermind. Heroes are meant to be idolized; they are set on a plane above true human empathy. But these villains, even with their impossible powers, are still able to be identified with, even in a perverse way. The emotions of anger, resentment, and spite are more potent, and therefore more readily accessible to the layman, than the hero’s complex burden of responsibility and strict adherence to a moral code. But when the villains are female, these negative emotions are perceived not as coolly subversive but as simple complaints. Thus, their violence becomes caustic and reactionary, a nuisance to be eliminated as quickly as possible.
The coding of female superhero violence as less physically destructive than that of their male counterparts reminds audiences that this environment of all-out war is still not a space that is inclusive of women. Each of the title characters is a white, heterosexual, handsome male who acts as an icon of masculinity. The superhero genre reflects many of the same cinematic tropes as the classic war genre; this has left little room for the representation of female superheroes. But at the same time, the multifaceted methods of violence exhibited by these female characters make them the most feared within this universe.
As the Marvel phases continue, Black Widow is joined by Maria Hill and, later, Scarlet Witch. With each addition, our female characters turn more and more towards psychological violence as their most destructive weapon. Black Widow allows herself to be captured in the beginning of The Avengers, giving her male adversaries a sense of dominance before knocking them all out. But she escapes in the superhero genre’s stereotypically “female” way; she does not kill, she only incapacitates. Most notably, she does so in a way that exhibits her entire body. Scarlet Witch looks physically unimposing, but has the power to incapacitate the entire team with one theatrical movement of her hands.
This style of violence is meant to destabilize the enemy – to lull them into a sense of victory before knocking their legs out from under them (often literally). By presenting less of an immediate physical threat, they have access to a wider range of psychological violence against their enemies. Scarlet Witch’s hallucinatory attack against the Avengers in Age of Ultron sends the team into hiding; her potential personal destruction weighs more heavily on the Avengers than Ultron’s plans of world domination.
So why is it that we are still waiting for a female-fronted superhero film? When removed from the team atmosphere and pushed into a leadership role, the characterization of female superheroes seems to falter. It’s time for a female superhero who kicks ass, ends the fight, makes sacrifices, and gets the big cheers.
Mary Iannone holds a Master’s Degree in Media, Culture, and Communication from NYU, where she studied genre film, Hollywood archetypes, and pop culture’s representations of mental illness. Follow her on Twitter at @mianno.
I don’t know yet if we made a good movie, but I’m pretty sure we made an honest movie—and you can’t do that while you, or your characters, are busy pretending to be “strong.” Being vulnerable, and weak, and pushing ahead anyway is what’s interesting about anyone, fictional or real.
Bre Mueck and Matthew Luret at the park in a scene from All Earthly Constraints
This is a guest post by Ryan M. Moore.
My first memory of being exposed to a feminist film (and one of my first memories, period) is of my mom setting up a projector in our basement (8mm? 16mm? I am old), loading it with a reel she had borrowed from the library (yes, you could do that!) and showing my brother and me an animated film called Reverse-a-quake! It was set on an island which was hit by a big earthquake, which caused all of the men to have to switch to doing what had previously been women’s work, and vice-versa. That there was anything political about this storyline sailed right over my 6-year-old head, but knowing what I know now, it must have sunk in a little.
I call myself a feminist without reservation, but I didn’t set out to make a feminist statement, or any kind of political statement, when I wrote and directed my feature film debut All Earthly Constraints. The lead character, Emily (played by the amazing Bre Mueck) is a struggling screenwriter (“Write what you know!”) who works in a gelato shop. Emily’s screenplay is about a struggling screenwriter named Emma (“Write what you know!”) who works in a coffee shop, and is also secretly a superheroine named Emmageddon. Emma is Emily’s “Mary Sue” (a character that is a thinly veiled, idealized version of her author), and Emmageddon is Emma’s. It’s Mary Sues all the way down.
In one scene, Emily has just left her writer’s group in tears after having her script “Emmageddon” savaged (“Self-indulgent! Masturbatory!”) by the sadistic self-proclaimed group leader, John. Soft-spoken Dylan goes after Emily, and they end up talking and drinking at a local park. In the course of their first-ever real conversation, this happens:
DYLAN: I guess I just think about… sometimes, you know, a real job, a family, stability. No “someday when I make it.” Is that so wrong? I mean, haven’t you ever thought you might be worthwhile, or good enough, or whatever, just how you are—just being you?
EMILY: Not even once.
DYLAN: (after a long pause) Me neither.
Shooting this scene was incredibly strange. To hear and see the most honest thing I’ve ever written about the creative process brought to life by two amazing actors, seemed, at the time, like an affirmation of all the choices I’ve ever made. I fell largely on Emily’s side as I thought, “Yeah, I’m doing the right thing with my life.”
Three months later, mired in the post-production process, I can see Dylan’s side too. Maybe it should be enough to just work your job and live your life and be happy with you are. Maybe I would’ve been happier that way. Maybe it’s just my ego that tells me I can’t possibly ever settle for “normal.” It’s been an incredibly difficult process trying to finish this film—making a movie is hard. Trying to do anything well is hard. Life is hard.
Bre Mueck as Emmageddon in a scene from All Earthly Constraints
But what I learned in the process of shooting that scene (and of tangling up my reality and emotional state with that of my character’s to a frankly disorienting extent that I hope would make Charlie Kaufman proud), was this: Emily is not a “strong female character.” Emily isn’t “strong,” at least not exclusively. She starts the scene in tears, and continues by admitting her deepest self-doubts to Dylan, not because she has any real connection with him (yet), but because he’s there and willing to listen and pay for the booze.
And Emmageddon isn’t always “strong” either, even though she’s a self-proclaimed superhero. Who would be interested in seeing a story about someone who was nothing but “strong,” all the time, in every situation? It would be like watching a film about a slab of granite. I don’t know yet if we made a good movie, but I’m pretty sure we made an honest movie—and you can’t do that while you, or your characters, are busy pretending to be “strong.” Being vulnerable, and weak, and pushing ahead anyway is what’s interesting about anyone, fictional or real.
I have a lot of problems with the current crop of superhero movies. While the artistry and craft that goes into their creation is almost literally unimaginable, all too often they exist exclusively in the realm of black and white, “good guys” and “bad guys,” strong, wise-cracking male heroes and female sidekicks who exist mostly as window-dressing, or as sexual conquests for the men. One of my goals in creating All Earthly Constraints was to create a female superhero who was also human: Yes, she kicks, punches, and slaps people who deserve to be kicked, punched and slapped, and she’s good at it. But she has no special powers and she can be hurt, physically and emotionally. Under the costume, she’s still a person. I’m not quite delusional enough to believe that All Earthly Constraints will ever be playing in your local multiplex next to the latest Summer tentpole, but I hope it starts a few conversations, or adds a little bit to some that are already happening.
The Joker hit Harley and leaned in and leered at her. She held up a protective hand in front of her and looked up at him with absolute terror. In that moment, The Joker was not the clown, was not the humorous villain poking fun at Batman’s stoicism. In that moment, The Joker was something else, something it hadn’t occurred to me that he, or anyone, could be.
Written by Jackson Adler.
[TRIGGER WARNING: physical, emotional, and psychological domestic abuse]
Though long a star of television and comics, Harley Quinn is finally making her big screen debut. The Suicide Squad (2016) trailer premiered at San Diego Comic Con, and as stated on Episode #41 of geek podcast Take Back The Knight, co-host Tiffany and many others (including myself) are “loving seeing Harley Quinn on the big screen.” On VariantComics, she is accurately described as “one of the most loved characters in all of comic books.” Naturally, every incarnation of Harley is a bit different, such as Mia Sara’s Harley in the 2002’s live action Birds of Prey TV show being much more serious and mellow than how Harley is usually depicted, though still powerfully engaging.
Nevertheless, most incarnations tend to share certain attributes. Harley Quinn is a villain/anti-heroine who is funny, bold, resourceful, clever, adaptable, intelligent (as she was formerly a psychiatrist), and outgoing. She is a marginalized character as a bisexual and mentally ill woman who has often worked in male-dominated fields, whether in psychiatry or villainy. She takes this in stride, making silly faces and bad puns, and has a great time in whatever way she can. She is also a survivor of domestic psychological, emotional, and physical abuse from her on-again-off-again boyfriend, The Joker. Though often tied to The Joker, she is a villain/anti-heroine in her own right, and has succeeded even in outwitting Batman at times.
To ensure the psychological well-being of the actors in Suicide Squad, including Margot Robbie who plays Harley, a therapist was on set. Certainly, the abusive relationship between Harley and Joker will be explored in Suicide Squad, as it should be. Domestic abuse and abusive relationships need to be explored in our culture, especially if the fictional characters are shown to be complex human beings. While The Joker may be the extreme in every way, Harley is a complex character with whom many sympathize and adore.
I remember the first time I ever saw The Joker hit his girlfriend. It was on Batman: The Animated Series, for which Harley was first created by Paul Dini. I must have been around 5 years old. I don’t know which episode it was, as The Joker hurt Harley in a similar way in a number of them, but I remember my shock. The Joker hit Harley and leaned in and leered at her. She held up a protective hand in front of her and looked up at him with absolute terror. In that moment, The Joker was not the clown, was not the humorous villain poking fun at Batman’s stoicism. In that moment, The Joker was something else, something it hadn’t occurred to me that he, or anyone, could be. And he made Harley, who loved him with all her heart, who called him her “puddin,’” look at him like that. And he wanted her to look at him with that fear. In that moment, he did not want her love, but her absolute obedience. He wanted to terrorize her in order to make himself feel more powerful. He wanted his girlfriend, whom he made think he loved, to fear him and to feed his ego. Up until that moment, that first witnessing of this abuse, it had never occurred to me that a person could say or show that they loved someone in one moment, and then intentionally hurt them in another–that someone who said, showed, and even did love you could intentionally hurt you.
Terribly, the show and much other media featuring Harley victim-blame her, implying she’s too stupid and gullible, and putting all the onus on her to leave The Joker, while hardly offering her any resources to do so. However, the show did at least have the positive message that this sort of relationship is wrong. Domestic abuse needs to be addressed in our culture, and superhero/villain stories are just one way in which that can be done. Because I was introduced to the issue at such a young age, it had more time to sink in and settle in my mind and become real to me, something to be taken seriously. Romantic love had always been put on a pedestal around me – all the Disney movies celebrated it. It was “the happy ending” in so many stories. And yet, Harley Quinn was a remarkable character – clever, outgoing, funny, resourceful, silly, determined, and able to adapt to whatever situation was at hand.
Though in some incarnations, Harley’s relationship with The Joker is romanticized, similar to the abusive relationships in the Twilight Saga and Fifty Shades of Grey; many if not most of the ones I have come across contain the message that the abuse is wrong, not romantic. Besides, Harley, since her debut, has been so much more than just love-sick. And even if The Joker IS the love of her life, she has more to live for than love. Even in the victim-blaming Batman: The Animated Series, when she was out on her own, or teaming up with Poison Ivy, she shone. She was just as enjoyable, and even much more so, to watch when she wasn’t with The Joker. She didn’t NEED him in order to have a story worth telling. Yes, he was a part of her story, but her story was so much more than him.
Batman: The Animated Series and its spinoffs often showed Batman showing her sympathy, patience, and care. He understood that she was mentally ill, and was rarely rough with her. Though he still didn’t treat her perfectly, the hero of the series, through his behavior, still encouraged the audience who worshipped him to treat the traumatized and mentally ill, especially female survivors, with similar respect. Not that she should be reduced to victim-hood and seen as less complex, something that even Batman sometimes forgets (hence her ability to outwit him at times, due to his underestimation of her).
Suicide Squad will feature Harley’s origin and coming into her own, but hopefully there will be a sequel in which her character can more fully be explored independent of The Joker. Maybe her friendship/romance with Poison Ivy could also be explored in this possible sequel. Goodness knows that we need more Harley, even though she is White, skinny, blonde, and blue-eyed. On that note, goodness knows we need more characters like Harley – complex and female. And here’s hoping that Harley gets many more chances to shine.
A character with few rivals and even fewer scruples, Evil-Lyn was arguably one of the better developed villains in the show. And in the annals of females from sci-fi/fantasy, her name should be spoken of in the same breath as Wonder Woman and Princess Leia.
This guest post by Robert Aldrich appears as part of our theme week on Unlikable Women.
The female antagonist has historically been an underwritten, under-explored, and often under-appreciated role in fiction. Going back throughout history, the female villain has almost invariably been seen as more novelty than respected foe, more a token deviation from the norm than anything worthy of real development. The trend started in the modern era with Irene Adler testing her mettle against Sherlock Holmes in the short story “A Scandal in Bohemia,” though by the time comics and sci-fi/fantasy had come into their own, most heroes had their “token women opponents.” Going further, we can find a few sparse and rare examples, such as Milady de Winter from Alexander Dumas’ TheThree Musketeers, Morgan LeFay in the Arthurian Legend, all the way perhaps to Delilah in the Biblical story of Sampson.
While literature was at times more progressive, television and movies still depicted the female antagonist as one who relies on guile and lies (and maybe sex appeal depending on the writers and the era), but rarely if ever are they seen as comparable adversaries. From James Bond to the A-Team, from Flash Gordon to the sword-and-sandal epics of the 1950s into the 1980s, most female antagonists were evil queens or villainous witches who send forth minions to do their work. They were bosses or femme fatales who enacted complex schemes but who faltered when confronted directly with the hero. This is often because no matter how powerful they may appear to be socially, their actual might is negligible. And moreover, they tend to disappear as randomly as they appeared, providing a single-story novelty of the woman-villain, or the feminine agent who only seemed to exist to facilitate the plans of their male superiors.
Then came Evil-Lyn.
Joke all you want about the corniness of 1983’s He-Man and the Masters of the Universe cartoon series (and there’s plenty to joke about), but the show’s writers created a wholly underappreciated female icon in Evil-Lyn, the self-titled Sorceress of Darkness. A character with few rivals and even fewer scruples, Evil-Lyn was arguably one of the better developed villains in the show. And in the annals of females from sci-fi/fantasy, her name should be spoken of in the same breath as Wonder Woman and Princess Leia.
The world of He-Man is one of classical pulp fantasy. Science and high technology co-exist on a world that is full of marvels that defy comprehension (and sometimes reason). Benevolent monarchs, feudal societies, and creatures of more varieties than can be imagined, all make up the foundations of daily life. It’s here on Eternia, a world at the center of the universe, that cosmic forces are personified as colorful individuals or encapsulated in simple objects such as rods, gems, staves, and swords.
Over the course of the show, we’re introduced to a menagerie of dynamic characters like He-Man, Skeletor, Orko, as well as many other fan favorites. Among the many characters are three prominent females: the Sorceress (a pseudo-deity who sees over the forces of good), Teela (Captain of the Royal Guard and sidekick to He-Man), and Evil-Lyn. Initially conceived as a counterpart to Teela in the action figure toy line (because this was the 1980s and of course there was a toy line), Evil-Lyn would almost immediately transcend that balancing role and become something different, something outside the hierarchy of power and roles found in most traditional fantasy stories.
Probably the most distinctive element of Evil-Lyn was her thirst for power, which was terrifying considering the power she already commanded. Evil-Lyn’s magical might was matched by very few (principally only Skeletor himself, the show’s primary villain, and the Sorceress of Grayskull). Outside of those two key and central figures, Evil-Lyn had few if any peers.
Also fundamental to her character, as well as underscoring her magical prowess, is that Evil-Lyn never demonstrated any combat prowess. While not unheard of for female characters in traditionally male-targeted shows, she stands out in a show like He-Man because everybody is a master combatant. The aforementioned Teela is the Captain of the Royal Guard and debateably as capable a fighter as He-Man. The Sorceress, from whom pretty much all the powers of good derive their might, gets involved in many a battle (often in the form of a great falcon known as Zoar). Even He-Man’s own mother, Queen Marlena, is actually a combat pilot (Lt. Marlena Glenn, and reputedly one of Earth’s first female astronauts). Every woman in this show was capable of throwing down, except Evil-Lyn.
This isn’t a short-coming on her part, however. It’s a testament. In a world where physical might and combat prowess are universally required, that she doesn’t have (or certainly never demonstrates) the requisite skills speaks volumes to the intelligence, cunning, and magical might that she does command. Unlike the “evil witches” in other fantasy stories, however, Evil-Lyn doesn’t rely on henchmen or artifacts to work her will. She is shown throughout the run of the show to have little need for henchmen or intermediary agents, nor does she often rely on magical amulets or great artifacts. Even her oft-present orb staff appears to be more trinket than necessity. Her magic is her own and she has more than enough for almost any need.
While Evil-Lyn is powerful, she is also ambitious. Her role as Skeletor’s aide is on the promise that he will grant her greater power (or that she will take his when the opportunity presents itself). Beyond working with Skeletor, Evil-Lyn works with anyone else she chooses, more than occasionally executing her own schemes independent of Skeletor’s plans or ambitions, loaning out her skills and knowledge to other malevolent forces in the pursuit of greater power.
The 1987 live-action movie deviated somewhat from the depiction of Evil-Lyn, but only in downplaying the verbose demeanor she showed in the cartoon and replaced it with a colder and harsher, otherworldly presence. Played by Meg Foster, Evil-Lyn showed fewer magical powers and less boisterous personality, but she lost none of her critical role to Skeletor. Indeed, we see instances where he confides that his success in conquering Eternia and holding the people is due almost solely to her, while there are hints of perhaps more than a partnership (maybe even romance?) at play between the two.
Almost two decades after the first series aired, He-Man would be rebooted for the 2002 animated series. This series would develop Evil-Lyn even further as well as more firmly establish her as more than mere henchman to Skeletor. She undermines Skeletor’s plans by aligning with other factions (namely Kobra Khan and the Snake Men), all in the pursuit of power. In the wake of this betrayal, we learn that Skeletor and she once were partners before he was turned into the deformed warrior-wizard we all know today.
Looking at Evil-Lyn as a character, she was almost without peer. Never before in pop culture – especially children’s entertainment – had a female character been so unmitgatingly evil, so self-serving, and yet so powerful. In the He-Man franchise, she is one of the great powers of the world, whom no one dares underestimate. She has no minions, and has no need for any. She is no diabolical queen, sitting scheming atop a throne, and hiding behind others. She is a mercenary who does what she wishes and goes where she pleases.
Robert V Aldrich is a novelist and speaker based out of North Carolina. His most recent book, Rhest for the Wicked, is now available, and he publishes a blog and serials at his website, TeachTheSky.com. You can follow him there, or on Twitter @rvaldrich.
Who doesn’t love Catwoman? She’s smart, sassy, independent, has her own moral code, and often outfoxes (or maybe outcats) Batman, one of the greatest superheroes of all time. Though I’d be hard-pressed to label her skin-tight, uber-revealing outfit as feminist, Catwoman is a famous sex symbol who uses her sexuality to her own advantage. The figure of Catwoman has gone through dozens of iterations over the years, which goes to show that this iconic figure is a potent anti-heroine or villainess who continues to appeal to audiences throughout the generations. Now I’m answering the question: which of is the most feminist representation?
The many faces of Catwoman
Spoiler Alert
Who doesn’t love Catwoman? She’s smart, sassy, independent, has her own moral code, and often outfoxes (or maybe outcats) Batman, one of the greatest superheroes of all time. Though I’d be hard-pressed to label her skin-tight, uber-revealing outfit as feminist, Catwoman is a famous sex symbol who uses her sexuality to her own advantage. The figure of Catwoman has gone through dozens of iterations over the years, which goes to show that this iconic figure is a potent anti-heroine or villainess who continues to appeal to audiences throughout the generations. I’ve done a bit of meditating on these incarnations and questioned which of them is the most feminist representation.
Illustrated
First, we’ve got her comic book origin as The Cat in 1940’s Batman #1.
Old school comic book Catwoman
That’s right. Catwoman was birthed alongside the legend of Batman himself. Unfortunately, her creator Bob Kane was a misogynist and sought to portray traits that he coded as feminine:
“I felt that women were more feline creatures and…cats are cool, detached, and unreliable…You always need to keep women at arm’s length. We don’t want anyone taking over our souls, and women have a habit of doing that. So there’s a love-resentment thing with women. I guess women will feel that I’m being chauvinistic to speak this way…”
All I have to say is, “You’re right, Bob: you are a chauvenist,” and, “ew.” That said, Catwoman was designed as an unattainable love interest that personified the aloof and perhaps vindictive qualities her creators saw within female sexuality. Her depiction is more about drumming up some sexual interest and excitement for Batman than creating a nuanced character.
In her earliest incarnations, Catwoman is an attention-seeking naughty girl type.
Though I’m a bit of a comic book nerd who’s absolutely drawn to strong female characters, I’ve never been interested in reading any graphic novel Catwoman series. Her later depictions always struck me as a lot of tits and ass without substance, which I’m primarily basing on the cover art. Her sexuality is showcased to the extreme where it’s hard to imagine anything else beneath it. (If you’re a reader of Catwoman comics and feel differently, please set me straight in the comments!)
Those are some ridiculously large boobies.
I am, however, intrigued by her more recent, vicious comic book portrayals. Those have grit and make me curious about her.
Fierce Catwoman comic rendition
There are also multiple cartoon renderings of Catwoman that are more or less underwhelming. In Batman: The Animated Series, Catwoman does get to have layers in that she’s a jewel thief, an animal rights activist, and has her alter-ego as Selina Kyle, but her main role continues to be an elusive love interest for Batman as opposed to a compelling character.
Cartoon Catwoman
Television
Catwoman made her television debut on the Batman series in 1966. Julie Newmar performed perhaps the most memorable version of Catwoman. I was certainly smitten with her. She was lovely, imposing, and “diabolical” (as Batman would say). She was a lone woman who commanded a group of male thugs. Among the great supervillains of the TV Batman mythology, she was the only woman, and she certainly held her own.
The (in)famous Julie Newmar Catwoman
Lee Meriwether was chosen for the film version of the Batman TV show. She, too, was stunning and very similar in appearance to Julie Newmar. Meriwether’s Catwoman also had a faux-alter ego as Miss Kitka, Russian journalist designed to seduce and lure “Comrade Wayne” into supervillain coalition custody to elicit Batman’s rescue attempts. This may have been the first sustained disguise Catwoman ever put on. She was never Selina Kyle in the TV show, which left her somewhat one-dimensional, but none of the other supervillains really had alter egos either.
Lee Meriwether: claws out
The last Batman TV show Catwoman is the late, great Eartha Kitt. A magnetic personality who brought more flare to the role than any before, Kitt was the first Black woman to play Catwoman…and, I believe, the first Black woman to prominently feature on the show. Race and inclusivity were and continue to be issues that most media fail to properly address. Eartha Kitt’s Catwoman was much like Nichelle Nichols‘ Uhura on Star Trek: a pioneer, a weather vane showing that times were changing, and a kickass character to boot. If it had been gratifying in Season 1 & 2 to see a solitary woman ordering around a gang of male minions, then it was even more so in Season 3 to see a Black woman calling the shots.
No other Catwoman purred quite like Eartha Kitt
Film
We got to see another talented Black woman, Halle Berry, reprise the role in 2004’s Catwoman. Unfortunately, the flick was universally considered a turd that was really a vehicle to showcase/exploit an Academy Award winning actress’s body with the most revealing catsuit of all time (and that’s saying something). I could really push the envelope to suggest a feminist reading of the film’s beauty industry critique, as Berry’s Patience Phillips struggles to destroy the anti-aging cosmetic corporation that employs her because it is selling a faulty and harmful product, but the fact that her boss (the one who kills her thus turning her into Catwoman) is a woman (Sharon Stone, no less) takes a lot of the steam out of that argument.
Halle Berry’s uber-revealing Catwoman costume
We also have the most recent depiction of Catwoman in Christopher Nolan‘s third installment of his Batman trilogy: The Dark Knight Rises in 2012. Though I’ve never been a fan of Anne Hathaway, I was nonetheless generally impressed with her Catwoman performance. Hathaway’s Selina Kyle was strong, independent, clever, and had a righteous sense of class justice, and in spite of the catsuit, she wasn’t quite as sexualized as earlier film incarnations.
Anne Hathaway’s tech-heavy Catwoman
That said, Hathaway technically isn’t Catwoman. She doesn’t give herself that name nor is she dubbed with it by an opponent or ally. Contrary to the opinion of fellow reviewer Kelsea Stahler, I think taking the title away from her divests her of some of the power, prestige, and legacy that is inherent in her name. Though I did admire Anne Hathaway’s smart-and-ruthless-with-a-smattering-of-conscience characterization, this version of Catwoman ultimately fails my feminist expectations because she ends up with Bruce Wayne in the end. She runs away to France and allows him to domesticate her. Stripping Catwoman of her counter-culture independence and settling her down with a man is tantamount to de-clawing her.
I bet Bruce Wayne will have a hard time housebreaking her
No, in this reviewer’s humble-ish opinion, the most feminist depiction of Catwoman is Michelle Pfeiffer from Tim Burton’s 1992 Batman Returns. Though this Catwoman is oozing sex, she always has her own agenda and is crafty enough to DIY-style make her own iconic cat costume. Pfeiffer’s Selina Kyle is mentally unstable and has periodic breaks with reality, which is a realistic rendering of a woman suffering post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) after being attacked and murdered by her boss.
Catwoman mounts Batman and licks his face
The end of Batman Returns has Batman stripping off his mask and asking Catwoman not to kill her boss, but to leave town and come away with him instead. This is the inverse of what happens in The Dark Knight Rises as Hathaway’s Kyle begs Batman to abandon Gotham and run away with her. Pfeiffer’s response as Catwoman is, “Bruce, I would love to live with you in your castle forever just like in a fairy tale. I just couldn’t live with myself, so don’t pretend this is a happy ending!” She then claws Batman’s face and kills her boss, using up all but one of her nine lives to do so. Now, I’m not all about killing or anything, but the point is that Selina Kyle rejects Batman’s idea of who she should be, what her moral code should be, and how she should heal. She acknowledges the appeal of the traditional “fairy tale” conclusion that ends her story with a man and love, but her need for independence and for self-actualization becomes too important for her to sacrifice by relying on romantic love to save her as she once would have before her transformation into Catwoman. Instead, her story continues on, and we can imagine all the possible paths she may have chosen for her life.
Catwoman lounges with Miss Kitty
All the Catwomen are hyper-sexualized and mysterious. All of them wield power over Batman and Gotham’s underworld. Though Pfeiffer’s Catwoman is my pick as the most feminist of all the iterations I’ve seen, she’s still problematic as are all her Cat sisters. I see the feminist strength and independence in her, but I also see the way sex is her weapon and that she mostly exists as a foil for Batman, a temptation and a lesson on what rampant desires can lead to. Maybe I’m more like Batman than I’d care to admit in that I, too, recognize the appeal of Catwoman as a mixed bag, and I, too, am drawn to her against my better judgement.
—————— 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.
