Time Travel – Bitch Flicks

The Manipulative Woman in Sci-Fi: Bending Time and People to Her Will

Individually, each film presents interesting, tough, somewhat complex female characters – which could be considered feminist in its own right. Taken together, however, I can’t help but see a pervasive trend that doesn’t reflect well on women. Why do filmmakers see women as master manipulators so readily? Is it simply because they believe women to be cold and calculating? Or, conversely, are they relying on audiences not seeing how tricky these women are, banking on their innocent façades to make the ending a real surprise (i.e. the ‘Basic Instinct’ effect)?

This guest post written by Claire Holland originally appeared at Razor Apple. It is cross-posted with permission. | Major spoilers ahead for the films Blood Punch, Coherence, Time Lapse, and Triangle.

I’m a huge fan of time travel thrillers, and some excellent ones have come out in the past several years. In fact, the four films I’ll be talking about today – Triangle, Time Lapse, Blood Punch, and Coherence – are four of my all-time favorites within the genre. As a disclaimer, I have to say that I deeply enjoyed all of these films, and wholeheartedly recommend them to anyone. But we’re allowed to think critically even about the things we enjoy, right? Despite loving these films, I couldn’t help but notice while watching these films that there was a conspicuous trend uniting them all – manipulative female characters. In every one of these films, a deceitful woman acts as a catalyst for the (generally unfortunate) events of the film. To be fair, some other event out of the anyone’s control causes the rift or bend in time, but it’s always a female character that underhandedly uses that time loop/lapse/rift to her advantage.

Before we get into it, though, a quick primer on the four films (although, seeing as these are time travel movies, and therefore complicated and confusing by nature, I recommend actually watching them). Time Lapse involves three friends – Callie and Finn, who are dating, and their roommate Jasper – who find a camera in their missing neighbor’s apartment that faces the window of their apartment. They soon discover that the camera’s photos show events 24 hours into the future, and try to use this to their advantage. Triangle is about Jess, a single mother who goes on a boating trip with her friends. They hit some bad weather and are forced to board what appears to be an abandoned ship, where a masked figure begins stalking and killing them. It turns out the masked figure is another version of Jess herself, trying to put an end to a time loop they’ve all been stuck in for quite some time. Coherence is the story of Em who, while at a dinner party with friends, experiences a rift in time that opens up parallel universes – some of which seem better than the one in which Em currently lives. Finally, Blood Punch revolves around Skyler, Milton, and Russell, who are stuck repeating the same day over and over again due to a Native American curse, until blood is spilled and only one person is left alive.

First of all, don’t misunderstand me – I’m not positing that any of these films set out to make an anti-feminist statement, or any statement at all, necessarily. Individually, each film presents interesting, tough, somewhat complex female characters – which could be considered feminist in its own right. Taken together, however, I can’t help but see a pervasive trend that doesn’t reflect well on women. Why do filmmakers see women as master manipulators so readily? Is it simply because they believe women to be cold and calculating? Or, conversely, are they relying on audiences not seeing how tricky these women are, banking on their innocent façades to make the ending a real surprise (i.e. the Basic Instinct effect)?

I think it’s a combination of both. The stereotype of women as emotional manipulators goes back all the way to Shakespeare (can I get a Lady Macbeth monologue?) and further. Google “women are manipulative” and you’ll find all kinds of research claiming it’s part of female biological makeup – being the “weaker” sex, women supposedly had to find other ways to survive, chief among those tactics being the manipulation of men. And society has reinforced this for, well, forever, by disempowering women and shackling their choices to the whims of men. Before 1974, a woman would have had trouble getting a credit card without her husband’s approval, so it’s no wonder if women employed a little manipulation to get what they needed. In short, the stereotype certainly still exists, even if only subconsciously, making it an easy archetype to draw on while writing a character.

Then there’s the surprise factor. Even though Basic Instinct pretty well shattered the notion that women can’t be cutthroat decades ago, these films employ the reveal of a shrewd, often merciless woman quite well. So much of each film’s runtime is spent watching men bloodily, showily batter one another in the most basic grapples for power; we’re distracted from figuring out that a woman is the one pulling all the strings, engineering the situation to her advantage, until much later. Of course, after four movies, I’d think the jig is up by now, but who knows.

While I would guess that pragmatism is most often at the root of the manipulative female character, I still find this trend troubling for one glaring reason: there is always an aspect of punishment to the character’s treatment. More often than not, the word “bitch” follows the word “manipulative,” and these stories reinforce that by indicating that the female character is bad and she deserves her situation – more so than the male characters. It’s as if attempting to shape the outcome of the situation in a way that’s favorable to her is a mortal sin, and being left to deal with the worst consequences is her penance.

Take Callie in Time Lapse, for example. Even though every character uses the photos of the future to their advantage in selfish ways that cause harm – Finn uses them to overcome his artistic block, neglecting his girlfriend in the process; Jasper uses them to gamble, putting everyone in the crosshairs of a dangerous bookie – Callie is the one who is most punished for it, when her goal is perhaps the least selfish, or at least the most sympathetic: she uses the photos to try to reignite the passion in her relationship with Finn by making him jealous. A photo shows Callie and Jasper kissing, and because the trio believes the events shown in the photos have to occur in order to avoid a paradox and keep time going along as normal, Callie and Jasper are “forced” to kiss in front of Finn. As it turns out, Callie has been secretly changing the order of the photos she shows to Finn and Jasper, presenting old photos of past transgressions (we discover she cheated on Finn with Jasper weeks ago, and the camera caught those moments) as new.

The most superficial way of looking at the situation is that Callie is a cheater who deserves everything she gets, but it is just that – superficial. The fact that Callie cheated on Finn once or twice, months ago, also points to the fact that Finn has been neglecting Callie for quite some time before the discovery of the photo machine. When Callie first finds the photo machine, she is so frantic to hide the evidence of her indiscretions and win back Finn’s love that she immediately forms a plan to do so. It’s not a malicious plan, but a desperate one, for which she is harshly punished.

Callie ends up killing Jasper in order to save Finn’s life, but when the entire scope of her manipulation is revealed, Finn rejects Callie and she kills him as well. Callie plans to warn herself of this course of events by using the photo machine so that she can change things and Finn won’t be dead or know about her manipulation, but she is interrupted by a police officer and unable to carry out the warning. Thus, Callie is doomed to her current timeline, where the love of her life is dead by her own hand, and where she will certainly be found guilty of murdering at least two (and as many as four) people. The manipulative woman is always the final witness, forced to live out the consequences of her actions – and the actions of all those around her. It is the most serious punishment, worse than death, doled out in this case for the grave sin of wanting to be loved.

The most complicated character of these three movies may be Jess in Triangle, but her motivations are only explored briefly, making the handling of her arc difficult to parse. As the single mother of an autistic child, it is revealed at the end of the film that Jess has become abusive towards her son. Jess is forced to watch herself – or rather, another version of herself in a separate time loop – abuse her son again and again. Horrified at seeing herself this way, she murders the other version of herself and takes off with her son in the car, where her frenzied driving results in his death. This sequence ends with her restarting the loop by going on the boating trip (yet again) in an effort to get to another time where her son is still alive – which spurs on the events in which she’s forced to kill her friends, and alternate versions of herself, ad nauseam.

On the one hand, Jess abuses her child – is there any adequate punishment for that? However, the Jess we see throughout most of the film seems entirely divorced from the Jess we see abusing her son at the end of the movie, and for that reason, I have a problem buying into her character as a whole. She appears to be a kind person throughout the film, and when she sees herself yelling at her son, she looks deeply dismayed and repentant. She kills the other version of herself without hesitation in an effort to protect him. For the majority of the film, she shows herself to be a loving mother who has simply been stretched too thin (it’s also hinted at that she may have been abused by her late husband), who spends every ounce of energy she has attempting to save her child’s life. There’s a disconnect between the character we get to know for 90 minutes and the one we see hitting her child for two minutes that seems mainly in place to make the viewer believe that Jess deserves to relive this agonizing loop forever.

Then there’s Em, whose fate is foreshadowed early in on Coherence. During dinner at the beginning of the film, Em explains that she lost out on an opportunity to dance the lead in a big show because she turned down the understudy part. The dancer who was supposed to do the part got sick, and the understudy who did take the job became famous. Another female guest at the dinner remarks, “So basically she stole your entire life.” Immediately, the female characters, both onscreen and off, are depicted as jealous and conniving. That depiction is reinforced when, during a comet passing that opens up alternate realities, Em finds a better reality in which she did take the understudy part, and proceeds to murder the version of herself living in that reality so she can take over. As it turns out, there are two other versions of Em wandering that reality at the same time, and though she attempts to murder them both, she only succeeds once. At the end of the film, her boyfriend receives a phone call from the other version of her that she failed to kill, and it is implied that she is about to be outed as an imposter in her own life – a feeling she already knows too well.

Once again, the punishment seems overly moralistic and self-flagellating. While other characters reveal unflattering secrets and pummel one another out in the open to little consequence, Em is, both literally and figuratively, only hurting herself throughout the film – and yet she is penalized most harshly for it. Em has obviously spent a lot of time berating herself for losing out on big opportunities. It’s unclear whether she really feels like the life she was meant to have was taken from her by someone else, or if she faults herself alone for letting it slip through her fingers, but either way, she’s not going to let opportunity pass her by yet again. She kills the alternate version of herself in an ambitious, albeit ruthless move, and she is punished dearly for that ambitiousness.

Finally – and I’ll try to keep this one short, because boy is this post getting out of hand – we have Skyler in Blood Punch, whose biggest fault appears to be that she’s smarter than the two male characters, Russell and Milton. Stuck in a time loop where the same day is played over and over again, Skyler is the first to realize that the only way out is by killing everyone else – the last person left standing will then be freed. Since she’s not strong enough to physically overcome either of her male counterparts, she uses her wits to manipulate the two men into fighting to the death. Unfortunately, her plan doesn’t go as smoothly as it could, and even after Russell and Milton are dead, she ends up trapped in the time loop again with two new people. Skyler, like Jess, is condemned to her terrible situation, possibly forever, and the audience is left feeling like she deserves it. But does she really? Because she wanted to survive – the most basic, relatable human instinct there is – and she was smart enough to figure out how to do that?

Muddying the waters further is Milton, who is a supremely likeable character, making Skyler seem all the worse. Milton thinks he loves Skyler, and is content with the idea of existing together in the time loop forever, even if it means killing Russell himself every day for eternity. Skyler recognizes what a bad idea that is – even the best couple would likely go insane being trapped in that situation forever, and Milton and Skyler barely know each other – but Milton comes off as a sweet, selfless romantic nonetheless. He serves as a foil to Skyler, highlighting her narcissism and disingenuousness, even though his motivations only take his own feelings into account and are therefore selfish as well.

Perhaps all of these films are simply metaphors for Hell, where the characters’ worst fears and traits spur on the cycle they’re doomed to live out over and over again. It’s an effective illustration, to be sure, but why is it always the women who are seen getting the worst of it? Why are they so often blamed for the very existence of Hell? In essence, the female characters are viciously punished for not being selfless every minute of every day – for sometimes being desperate, or ambitious, or for breaking down – despite the fact that the other characters surrounding them are overwhelmingly selfish as well. Even if the case can be made that these women do deserve what they get, why is it always the women who are written as the most self-centered and conniving of all characters? It’s not flattering to men, either, who populate these films as oafish idiots, lovesick dopes, and pawns.

As I’ve said, taken individually, the depictions of women in these films don’t seem nearly as damaging. Viewed together, however, I think they represent a concerning tendency to stereotype women as deceitful and untrustworthy, while men are regarded as too decent or too dumb to defend themselves. In these films’ defense, it’s the way the world has been depicted for a long, long time. In defense of women, however, I don’t think it’s all so cut-and-dried.

See also at Bitch Flicks: ‘Coherence’ Is the Best Movie You Didn’t See Last Year

Claire Holland is a freelance writer and author of Razor Apple, a blog devoted to horror movies and horror culture with a feminist bent. Claire has a BA in English and creative writing, but she insists on writing about “trashy” genre movies nonetheless. You can follow her on twitter @ClaireCWrites.

The Complex Masculinity of ‘Outlander’s Jamie Fraser

This guest post by Carly Lane appears as part of our theme week on Masculinity.

Jamie Fraser, of the Outlander series (and subsequent television adaptation), is the quintessential romance hero. Mention his name to any fan of Diana Gabaldon’s works and you will likely hear a swoon in reply. When it comes to romantic traits, Jamie’s got them in spades. He’s a Highland warrior, a well-educated man, and he’s good with horses – not to mention easy on the eyes.

His role in the series, however – first as Claire Randall’s love interest, then as her hastily wedded husband – is anything but predictable, and it’s in looking at his story in the first book (and first season, respectively) that we realize just how multifaceted this masculine hero truly is.

When we’re first introduced to Jamie in the year 1743, he’s actually something of a damsel-in-distress; due to a dislocated shoulder suffered in the heat of battle, he cannot ride a horse without intense pain. Although Claire has been recently rattled by her time travel through the stones from the 1940s, her medical training won’t allow her to sit by and watch while his fellow Highlanders attempt to set his arm incorrectly. She takes it upon herself to put his shoulder back in place – and then to tend to him later through various gunshot and stab wounds. It’s interesting to watch the dynamic between the two characters in their first interactions together. Claire is familiar with taking charge in a situation after serving as a nurse in the Second World War, but Jamie doesn’t allow his masculine pride to get in the way of letting her help him. (Then again, given Claire’s headstrong nature, he likely doesn’t have much of a choice either way.)

And he can wear the heck out of a kilt, ya ken?

The more we learn about Jamie, the more we come to see him as the epitome of a manly man. He volunteers to take a public beating instead of a lashing for a girl accused of loose behavior, and we see him smiling even after getting punched in the face. We’re witness to his participation in a very violent game of shinty against fellow clansmen, tackling other players into the mud. He’s survived through two severe whippings at the hands of Black Jack Randall, a captain of the British army, which left him with serious scars on his back. And when he relays his past as a fugitive to Claire in private conversation, we find out that he’s had to do some pretty hairy things in order to stay alive – like eat grass, for example.

But what’s most surprising about Jamie is that he encapsulates both the (fairly) innocent virgin and the male warrior in tandem, something that has almost been unheard of in fiction. After he and Claire learn that they will need to get married in order to ensure Claire’s protection from Black Jack, she confesses that she’s not exactly a virgin due to her first marriage. “Does that bother you?” she asks. “No,” he answers, “so long as it doesna bother you that I am.”

It’s a surprising twist on the trope. Jamie is undoubtedly a force of man to be reckoned with, though the fact that he is a virgin and thus relatively inexperienced in terms of sex when he encounters Claire – the older, more experienced woman – attributes some unexpected “feminine” qualities to his character. In the wedding episode, there are several scenes dedicated to his sexual education. His comprehension of the act in itself is completely transformed – he admits to Claire that, up until that night, he had believed it was something done with the man behind the woman, “like horses.” He does make a point of reminding Claire after a particularly heated first kiss, however, that while he may be a virgin it doesn’t mean he’s been a monk.

But he is a fast learner and a conscientious partner – he listens to Claire when she tells him he’s crushing her with his weight, and he’s careful to ensure he hasn’t hurt her when she experiences an orgasm the second time they have sex, inquiring if it happens every time for a woman. That thoughtfulness and willingness to reshape his worldview is not something that often goes hand-in-hand with an uber-manly man.

He does define the meaning of "heart-eyes" from time to time. — He does define the meaning of “heart-eyes” from time to time.

That worldview is also challenged again when Claire runs away, endangering the clan in the process, and Jamie is expected to beat her as a disciplinary act according to tradition. In the beginning, he can’t grasp why Claire is angry with him for doing so – but later agrees that adhering to a custom is not always the best course of action. After a particularly intense interlude on the bedroom floor (during which Claire holds Jamie’s dirk to his throat in the throes of passion and makes him swear he won’t beat her again), Jamie understands that what may be the conventional response to something in the 18th century isn’t necessarily the right thing to do.

Jamie is not the first character to experience sexual assault in Outlander, but he is the first male character. When he is captured by British soldiers, his masculinity and how he views himself as a man are completely fractured after his traumatic assault at the hands of Black Jack Randall in Wentworth Prison. His entire sense of identity is shattered in those harrowing hours where he faces abuse after abuse, and through his recounting of the events to Claire the audience is privy to every agonizing moment. Not only is he subjected to physical violence that permanently impacts the full use of his hand, he is emotionally manipulated by Black Jack into forced climax, his body unable to stop what his mind is straining to resist.

It’s no wonder Jamie feels less than a man when he is finally rescued from Wentworth. The damage that has been done to not only body but mind causes him to pull away from Claire and any sense of shared intimacy between them. He admits that he can’t even think of returning to his wife’s bed when any attempt at sex would make him feel sick to his stomach.

Through Claire’s love, support and assertion of his masculinity, as well as his willingness to share about his experience, Jamie is finally able to begin to reclaim his sense of self – and the first season ends on a note of hope, as the two sail away from Scotland together. It is rare that a series portrays a leading male protagonist – especially the undisputed romantic hero of the story – as a survivor of rape and sexual trauma, and how he will be healing from that harrowing experience as time goes on.

At first glance, Jamie Fraser might seem like just your average hero – but he’s a fascinating, layered character who doesn’t simply fall prey to the typical traits of masculinity. In true Highlander fashion, he defies them.

Carly Lane is a writer based in New York City who specializes in obscure pop culture references and miscellaneous geekery. Her work has been featured on HelloGiggles, The Mary Sue, Femsplain and more. You can find her on Twitter at @equivocarly.

Dude Bros and ‘X-Men: Days of Future Past’

With a running time of two hours and 11 minutes, audience members are subjected to some thematic repetition, gratuitous gags, and an unnecessarily meandering plot. That said, there’s no shortage of amazing costumes and make-up to bolster a ton of sweet action sequences depicting mutants kicking serious booty. ‘X-Men: Days of Future Past,’ though, is disappointing in its general dearth of female characters and its under-utilization of the ones it does have.

Huh. No ladies are shown on the movie poster for 'X-Men: Days of Future Past' — Huh. No ladies are shown on the movie poster for *X-Men: Days of Future Past*

Written by Amanda Rodriguez.

It’s no secret that I’m a tremendous fan of superheroes nor that I am on a mission to expose the ridiculous lack of superheroines on the big screen. The X-Men movie franchise has been relatively so-so with regard to its general quality: some hits, some misses, some overwhelmingly mediocre films. It’s also been pretty hit-or-miss with its representations of female characters. The latest installment, X-Men: Days of Future Past, is no exception. With a running time of two hours and 11 minutes, audience members are subjected to some thematic repetition, gratuitous gags, and an unnecessarily meandering plot. That said, there’s no shortage of amazing costumes and make-up to bolster a ton of sweet action sequences depicting mutants kicking serious booty. X-Men: Days of Future Past, though, is disappointing in its general dearth of female characters and its under-utilization of the ones it does have.

Blink, a member of the future's mutant resistance. — Blink, a member of the future’s mutant resistance.

Despite the film featuring four female characters, X-Men Days of Future Past fails to pass the Bechdel Test. We have Blink (Bingbing Fan), a mutant in the future reality who has the power to teleport and create portals through which others can teleport. I’m not sure if she speaks at all…maybe a single line. Then we have the classic Storm (Halle Berry), who controls the elements via weather. The talents of Berry, an Academy Award-winning actress, aren’t showcased at all what with her having maybe two lines throughout and, much like Blink, zero character development. The “phasing” and walking-through-walls Kitty Pryde (Ellen Page) is back with a slightly more substantial role than Storm, but her character is also static with very few lines. Finally, we have Jennifer Lawrence as Mystique/Raven, the shapeshifting martial arts expert who has the most screen time and the most depth of the bunch.

A sentinel gets the drop on a stoic Storm

Despite the fact that these women aren’t given nearly as much airtime as the dudes in the film, it’s no secret that they’re all seriously badass. In fact, the entire plotline revolves around the sheer power of two of these women’s mutant abilities. Kitty Pryde has managed to hone her phasing ability to allow others to pass through consciousness and time much the way she would pass through a wall. It is her ability that allows Wolverine to travel back in time to prevent a dystopian future fraught with mutant genocide and mutant-sympathizer wholesale slaughter. Kitty’s strength holds Wolverine’s mind in two places at once despite physical and emotional trauma that he may suffer while traipsing through time. In the original comic book storyline, Kitty, herself, travels back into her past consciousness in order to avert disaster, which firmly places her in the position of agent and heroine in an epic tale. In the film, however, her power, though vast, is incidental to the real drama of the story: setting a lost and bitter young Charles Xavier back on the path of hope and mutant/human unity.

Kitty Pryde phases Bishop's consciousness into the past — Kitty Pryde phases Bishop’s consciousness into the past

The entire film itself details the chain reaction the decisions and actions of Mystique set off. Her murder of anti-mutant weapons innovator, Dr. Bolivar Trask (performed by Game of Thrones favorite Peter Dinklage), followed by the synthesis of her shapeshifting capabilities into mutant-hunting sentinels, sets the stage for mutant genocide and a post-apocalyptic Matrix-like future. Mystique’s agency is so influential that she defines the future in a single act. Not only that, but her mutant ability is so powerful that it is coveted by the government and used to create an unstoppable weapon.

I'd watch the hell out of a solo Mystique movie — I’d watch the hell out of a solo Mystique movie

Despite the importance of Mystique not only to the plot of the film but also to the fate of mutants as a species and the world as a whole, her agency is full of negative consequences. The choices she would make on her own lead to destruction and despair. This echoes a generalized fear of the power of female agency and the belief that, if left to their own devices, women can’t or won’t make the right choices. That is why we have the two warring patriarchal, paternalistic forces seeking to shape her: Magneto and Professor X. Professor X evokes her familial bond with him and urges her towards unity and peace while Magneto uses their past sexual relationship, the allure of unfettered power, and the rage inspired by the persecution of fellow mutants to appeal to her. Professor X calls her “Raven,” a name that makes her his, while Magneto dubs her “Mystique,” asserting ownership over her identity.

Raven is Professor X's creature, while Mystique is Magneto's. — Raven is Professor X’s creature, while Mystique is Magneto’s.

An either/or dichotomy is formed in which she must choose to be either Raven or Mystique. Charles’ or Eric’s. There is no third option that allows her to be her own person, to make a choice outside of the ones presented to her by these two men. She is nothing but a symbol of the fight between our two great, male adversaries and their disparate philosophies. Yet again, a woman’s body (in that her DNA is pivotal to the extinction or survival of all mutantkind) is the grounds on which a man’s war is fought. Boo.

Mystique kicks serious as but, in the end, is a pawn — Mystique kicks serious ass but, in the end, is a pawn in a male ideology battle

The representations of race also inspired a “What the hell??” in me with Bishop (Omar Sy) being divested of his time traveling role (in the cartoon TV show version, if not the original comic storyline, Bishop travels back in time, not Wolverine) as well as the lotta people of color being killed off. The use of Peter Dinklage, a little person, to play Trask, a man obsessed with the threat mutants pose, to carry out prejudice and the genocide of those who are simply different from him rang a bit hollow as Dinklage/Trask, himself, is part of a marginalized group who likely knows firsthand what oppression looks like.

Trask, an oppressed little person, seeks to kill all mutants because they're different and scary — Trask, an marginalized little person, seeks to kill all mutants because they’re different and scary

It’s a step in the right direction that there are powerful, pivotal women in X-Men: Days of Future Past, but it’s not enough. Why isn’t this a story about Mystique’s internal landscape, her struggles, and how she learns that she’s not only powerful enough to change the world but powerful enough to change her mind? Why is her story a proxy to tell the tale of the men who seek to shape her? I hoped for better from X-Men: Days of Future Past, but I can’t say I’m surprised. Hollywood keeps churning out sub-par superhero movies with shitty plotlines, an over-reliance on explosions and action sequences, and a general all-about-the-dudes vibe. The X-Men franchise places a lot of emphasis on evolution; it’s time to do more than pay lip service to that notion. It’s time to evolve to the point that we’re telling the heroic arc of women and superheroines with the knowledge that that story is every bit as important as those of their male counterparts.

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. 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.