Revenge Is a Dish Best Served … Not at All?

Tarantino’s narrative requires The Bride to murder her rapist and to defend herself with some of the masculine characteristics that are used as institutionalized power to oppress women, such as physical strength and aggression. The film insists that she seek revenge, instead of demanding that men simply do not rape. This is barely better than teaching rape avoidance. It dictates that women must assimilate to a male culture of violence in order to have autonomy over their own bodies.

Kill Bill movie poster
Kill Bill movie poster

 

This guest post by Angelina Rodriguez appears as part of our theme week on Rape Revenge Fantasies.

The words “female hero” are likely to fill one’s media-enthused mind with images of scantily clad, predominantly white women wielding weapons–like Lara Croft, Xena, or Wonder Woman. Quentin Tarantino contributes many modernized reincarnations of this caricature in his films. One of his most famous films Kill Bill, starring Uma Thurman as Beatrix Kiddo (also referred to as The Bride) is a prime example. As a result of the male gaze, female heroes that fit a format created by men often fail as heroes in their own right as a result of the male gaze. Even though The Bride is a fierce warrior and martial artist, she is repeatedly raped and must step over the bodies of other women, specifically women of color, on her way to her implied equal, a man.

tarantino_13

While The Bride is comatose, the hospital orderly rapes her and accepts money from people in exchange for access to her room so that they can also rape her. It is suggested that he has done this a number of times and the dialogue is delivered as darkly humorous. Why do we rape our female characters? Is it to show exactly what women must overcome? It is concerning that this is seen as an empowering message. Watching a woman, such as Beatrix, repossess her body is moving, but all reactions to rape are valid and require strength. During the film, Beatrix must overcome her foes in an order that mirrors the racial and gender hierarchies that exist within our culture. Her rapist is the first to die; he is at the very bottom of the barrel. His offense transcends race and gender and he is the lowest of the low.

Uma-Thurman-Confirms-Kill-Bill-III-2

Tarantino’s narrative requires The Bride to murder her rapist and to defend herself with some of the masculine characteristics that are used as institutionalized power to oppress women, such as physical strength and aggression. The film insists that she seek revenge, instead of demanding that men simply do not rape. This is barely better than teaching rape avoidance. It dictates that women must assimilate to a male culture of violence in order to have autonomy over their own bodies. In this scenario responsibility remains on the victim. If she does not prevent her rape she must avenge it. Although rape revenge fantasy can be cathartic, we must question the messages at work within these scenes. This scene, in particular, delivers her rape in a way that is almost humorous. It is disrespectful to our hero and to the countless victims of rape that have viewed the film. Despite Tarantino’s belief in the necessity of rape on the heroine’s journey, our female characters do not have to be raped to find liberation from the chains of rape culture and patriarchy.

 


Angelina Rodriguez studies Sociology at Fairmont State University. In her free time she thinks about things and pets puppies.

Beautiful Girls, Emotionally Stunted Boys

By Robin Hitchcock

The male cast of Beautiful Girls

It always raises a red flag for me when a film presents men one way and women another. My feminist knee starts to jerk—GENDER BINARY—BIOLOGICAL ESSENTIALISM—DANGER WILHELMINA ROBINSON!

So 1996’s Beautiful Girls, an ensemble belated-coming-of-age story centered around New York City pianist Willie (Timothy Hutton) returning to his hometown for a high school reunion, starts out on notice because it centers on big ideas about The Way Men Are. And that’s before it goes down an even more troubling Lolita-esque road. And yet, it’s one of my favorite movies. I’m just not sure if I should qualify it as a guilty pleasure. 

The main thesis of Beautiful Girls is that men will never be satisfied with what they have because they can always imagine having something more. They’ll never be satisfied with the women the are with because there will always be other women they could be getting—prettier, younger, cooler, NEWER women. As the film’s voice-of-lunacy, Paul (Michael Rapaport) explains in the films title-bestowing monologue: 

A beautiful girl can make you dizzy, like you’ve been drinking Jack and Coke all morning. She can make you feel high full of the single greatest commodity known to man – promise. Promise of a better day. Promise of a greater hope. Promise of a new tomorrow. This particular aura can be found in the gait of a beautiful girl. In her smile, in her soul, the way she makes every rotten little thing about life seem like it’s going to be okay. 

But yearning for this promise leads these guys to neglect the women they can and do have relationships with. This is laid out without any subtlety in a quaint quasi-feminist rant oh-so-clearly written by a man in the 1990s but delivered with winning gusto by Rosie O’Donnell, who details the artifice of the women presented in a pornographic magazine and laments: “But you fucking mooks, if you think that if there’s a chance in hell that you’ll end up with one of these women, you don’t give us real women anything approaching a commitment.” The men don’t really consider that even if one of these perfect supermodels walked into their lives they might not be able to have her, which becomes abundantly clear later on.

Rosie O’Donnell as Gina in Beautiful Girls

So much of the conflict in Beautiful Girls reads as “Woe, the pain of basking in male privilege.” This can be very annoying. But the film clearly aims to critique this attitude and demonstrate that its men would be much happier if they would just settle down (emphasis on “settle”). So it’s possible that Beautiful Girls actually seeks to deconstruct gender stereotypes and attack the system which creates both the perils of the privileged and desperation of those who are not.

Timothy Hutton and Natalie Portman in Beautiful Girls

But before I go any further with giving Beautiful Girls the benefit of the doubt, I should mention that the core plot thread is the main character Willie falling in love with the girl next door. The girl next door who is thirteen-years-old. RECORD SCRATCH! This thirteen-year-old neighbor, Marty (Natalie Portman), is so charming and vibrant and precocious (she explains that she has an “old soul”) that it is easy to sympathize with Willie’s creepy crush. And it helps that Willie, most of the time, knows that his feelings for Marty are skeevy and wrong. [When I first saw Beautiful Girls, I was fourteen, and had already had my share of crushes on age-inappropriate men, so I related to Marty’s impossible longing more than I worried about the inappropriateness of Willie’s. My husband watched this movie for the first time this week, at age 29 (the same age as the character Willie), and could not get past the ick factor of someone his age pining for a girl that young. So your mileage may vary regarding the possible automatic disqualification of Beautiful Girls.

Willie has a perfectly lovely and age-appropriate girlfriend back in the city, but he can’t commit because that means giving up future chances to fall in love again before he “settles in to the Big Fade.” Willie’s infatuation with Marty represents the ultimate fantasy in the worldview of Beautiful Girls‘ menas a girl on the cusp of womanhood she’s the ultimate in “promise”, and because of the circumstance of her age she’s completely unattainable without the pesky pain of rejection.

Uma Thurman as Andera in Beautiful Girls

Although the men in Beautiful Girls seem to take rejection almost alarmingly in stride in a no-means-yes kind of way. Uma Thurman shows up at some point as The Perfect Woman, Andera (not a typo, just an obnoxious name). She’s gorgeous, confident, funny, and smart. She shoots whiskey and knows exactly how many days there are until Spring Training beginsso we know she’s not just cool for a chick. She’s also in a committed relationship with an unseen man back in Chicago. Despite being out of everyone in town’s league and being unavailable besides, all of the male characters (except her cousin) assume they will be able to have sex with her. When Paul asks her out (she’s not aware it is a date) and takes her to a bar where he knows his ex Jan (Martha Plimpton) will be, she reiterates that she’s unavailable and uninterested, but ultimately agrees to play along as though she’s on a date with him to help make Jan jealous. To that end, Andera takes Paul to the dance floor and puts on an hot-n-heavy show. Paul responds by kissing her. She angrily leaves. 
Then Andera runs into a drunk Willie, who asks her to sleep with him. She says no, and he asks again. She refuses again but does agree to go ice fishing with Willie, where she charitably tries to disabuse him of his manly notions that there will always be another better woman around the corner. He responds for propositioning her for sex yet again. For a movie that is struggling to excuse itself for presenting statutory rape as a possible happy ending, you’d think it would take it’s other representations of consent much more seriously.

Lauren Holly as Darian and Matt Dillon as Tommy in Beautiful Girls

Tellingly, consent is also a fuzzy concept for the female character Darian (Lauren Holly), former high school Mean Girl, current philandering wife, who of the women in Beautiful Girls is most in line with the male characters. Darian regularly cheats on her husband with high school flame Tommy (Matt Dillon), who is also straying from his girlfriend Sharon (Mira Sorvino). Darian crashes a surprise birthday party Sharon throws for Tommy and drunkenly throws herself at him. Tommy’s repeatedly refuses her advances which just leads Darian to up her seduction game, because she treats Tommy’s consent as foregone conclusion. As high school Queen Bee, Darian had status and privilege. So she falls into the same traps of male privilege that plague the men of Beautiful Girls. It’s one of the saving graces that keeps the film from being completely mired in Men Are From Jerkass Mars/Women Are From Long-Suffering Venus territory.  
Unfortunately, only Darian gets an unequivocal smack-down when she’s soundly rejected by Tommy and told off at her high school reunion by someone she bullied. The other disillusioned-by-privilege (male) characters in Beautiful Girls either find the peace of mind to settle with the women they have, or in the case of Paul, give up the chase for the woman he lost. That this happy ending seems kind of sad belies how difficult it is to disengage from the allure of beautiful girls. The italicized and capitalized Beautiful Girls is just as frustrating and compelling as its lowercase namesake.

The Gender Situation in ‘Pulp Fiction’

Written by Leigh Kolb.To celebrate the 20th anniversary of Quentin Tarantino’s major directorial debut, Reservoir Dogs (1992) and Pulp Fiction (1994) were shown in theaters on Dec. 4 and 6, respectively, as special engagements.

While Reservoir Dogs solidified Tarantino’s spot in Hollywood, Pulp Fiction made him a star. It won the Palme d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival, the Academy Award for Best Screenplay (it was nominated for Best Picture) and John Travolta, Samuel L. Jackson and Uma Thurman were nominated for Academy Awards.
The film opens with a couple (Pumpkin/Ringo and Honey Bunny/Yolanda) eating at a diner. The two are discussing their next robbery attempt and realize robbing a restaurant would maximize their profits. The banter between the two shows that they are partners, and are in love.
As they enact their plan, they stand up with their guns. Pumpkin announces that this is a robbery, and Honey Bunny screams:

“Any of you fucking pricks move, and I’ll execute every motherfucking last one of ya!”

Honey Bunny/Yolanda, left, screams and threatens restaurant patrons as Pumpkin looks on.
The iconic sounds of “Miserlou,” by Dick Dale and His Del Tones begin, and the audience quickly realizes that unlike Reservoir Dogs, women will have a voice in Pulp Fiction.
Like Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction examines masculinity–glorifying and critiquing it. Instead of conversations about women, however, women have integral roles in each of the intertwining narratives.
Vincent Vega & Marcellus Wallace’s Wife
 
When Vincent and Jules discuss the meaning of a foot rub, they are speaking about intimacy and what it means to touch a woman’s feet. The rumor is that their boss, Marcellus Wallace, had a man pushed off a building for rubbing his wife’s feet. They’re exploring something beyond a foot rub (although Tarantino himself does love feet). On some level, they’re exploring male/female interactions and levels of intimacy.
Vincent tells Jules that Marcellus asked him to take his wife Mia out, and it’s clear that this woman invokes intimidation in men. Vincent goes to Lance’s house (his drug dealer) to purchase some heroin. He self-medicates before going to pick up Mia. She’s left a note on the door to come in, and she watched Vincent enter the house on security camera footage and speaks to him over an intercom. She is god-like in this scene (and while it fits the narrative, we know that Uma Thurman is also a god/muse to Tarantino).
Mia self-medicates with cocaine, and the scene at Jack Rabbit Slim’s makes the audience feel high. Mia chooses the restaurant and made the reservation (she is in control), and the two engage in friendly banter. She was an actress, and tells him about her failed television series, Fox Force Five. Vincent confronts her about the foot rub rumor, and she denies it, pointing out that a husband protecting his wife is “one thing,” but that was ridiculous. She says:

“Truth is, nobody knows why Marsellus threw Tony out of that fourth-story window except Marsellus and Tony. When you little scamps get together, you’re worse than a sewing circle.”

Here, the men are gossiping and being “silly,” which are most often the stereotyped flaws of female characters.
The two dance in a twist competition–upon her insistance–and win the trophy. The dance itself is one in which no one really leads; they are partners.
Mia and Vincent dance as equals.
Back at the Wallace mansion, Mia finds the baggie of heroin in Vincent’s coat pocket, mistakes it for cocaine, and snorts a long line, immediately overdosing. She’s a modern-day damsel in distress, whose distress is really a simple mistake.
Vincent rushes her to Lance’s house, and Lance yells, “You fucked her up, you fix her!” But we know this isn’t the case. Again, the assumption is that the man is at fault, and the woman is helpless, but that isn’t how they end up here. Everyone bumbles around the apartment, trying to figure out the adrenaline shot (at one point Lance is in a cluttered room looking for a medical book, and the board game “Chauvinist Pigs” is perched atop a pile). No one in this scene is truly heroic or capable, which makes it feel realistic. Vincent successfully injects the adrenaline into Mia’s heart, and Vincent takes her back home. They, and we, sober up fast.
The Gold Watch
 
The story of the gold watch, passed down to Butch from his great-grandfather, to his grandfather, to his father and then to him, is essentially a story about the decline in traditional American manhood. By the time the watch got to Butch’s father in the Vietnam War, he was a POW and had to “hide it in his ass” for years so he could pass it down to his son. The shift in American war culture/patriotism between WWII and Vietnam was stark. The “Greatest Generation” of American men in the second world war gave birth to boys who would serve in Vietnam, a war that utilized a draft and was met with protest and hostility. By the time Butch becomes an adult man, he is fighting, yes, but for money and not his country. His war is internal, and devoid of the heroism from a few generations ago. (This crisis of a lack of clearly defined masculinity is the cornerstone of Gen X novels/films such as Fight Club, which explores at length this generation of young men with no great war.)
Captain Koons presents a young Butch with his father’s watch.
Butch’s desperation to have that gold watch with him, even eventually risking his life to do so, is indicative of his desperation to hold on to this generationally diluted manhood.
Butch doesn’t throw the fight that he’d fixed with Marcellus, and instead wins and accidentally kills his opponent. In the getaway cab ride, the female cab driver asks him what it’s like to kill a man, because it’s a subject she’s “very interested” in. She seems more interested than he does, in fact.
Esmerelda lights Butch’s cigarette.
When he’s back at the hotel room with his girlfriend Fabienne, the two share intimate moments and comedic dialogue. Fabienne seems silly and child-like, but Butch is sweet and respectful to her (although he erupts when he realizes she’s forgotten the watch, he quickly apologizes and says he was to blame). As she’s lying on the bed wishing for a pot belly, she says:

“I don’t give a damn what men find attractive. It’s unfortunate what we find pleasing to the touch and pleasing to the eye is seldom the same.”

Fabienne and Butch.
She requests and receives “oral pleasure” from Butch, and in the hotel room scenes, the audience sees more of Butch’s body than Fabienne’s. Again, she seems naive and childish, but their relationship is equitable and for the most part, enjoyable to watch. Maybe Butch has a similar innocence, but it is well-guarded under his outward masculinity.
The next morning, when he flies into a rage about the watch, warfare and explosions blast on the television in their room, another reminder of the distance between Butch and that celebrated masculine pastime.
He goes off on a quest to retrieve the gold watch before they flee to Knoxville (since Marcellus will be trying to find him and kill him for not throwing the fight). He takes off in a Honda hatchback, and gets to his apartment. Vincent is already there, sent to kill him, but he’s on the toilet reading Modesty Blaise, who debuted as a female action hero in a comic strip, collection of stories/novel and films of the same name in the 1960s. (Tarantino is a Blaise fan, and certainly Kill Bill‘s The Bride shares many similarities with the female protagonist.)
Modesty Blaise, a 1960s crime series with a female protagonist.
Butch picks up Vincent’s gun and kills him as he steps out of the bathroom. When he escapes, he runs into Marcellus (women flock to the sides of Butch and Marcellus to help them), and the two end up in a depraved dungeon of a pawn shop with a racist owner. When Butch breaks free as Marcellus is being raped by security guard Zed, he can’t leave. He goes back down and kills the shop owner with a sword, and breaks Marcellus free (who then shoots Zed in the groin). There are obvious masculinity issues here, from the anal rape (my gosh what would Freud do with Butch’s narrative) to the phallic sword, Marcellus and Butch agree that they are even, and Butch will never utter a word about the rape.
Butch takes off on Zed’s motorcycle and arrives back to pick up Fabienne. Some kind of post-modern manhood has been achieved, and he’s free to go on–with the gold watch.
The Bonnie Situation
 
When Jules and Vincent are saddled with the problem of a dead man in their car, they turn to Jimmie and go to his house. He is adamant that they take care of their situation soon, because his wife Bonnie is about to come home. He says:

“Now don’t you fucking realize man that if Bonnie comes home and finds a dead body in her house, I’m gonna get divorced, all right. No marriage counselor, no trial separation. I’m gonna get fuckin’ divorced. Okay? And I don’t wanna get fuckin’ divorced. Now then, you know, I mean, I wanna help you but I don’t wanna lose my wife doin’ it, all right.”

This honest admission of a husband who doesn’t want to lose his wife is refreshing. She’s not a nag, she’s not a bitch, but she’s his wife and he wants to be married to her.
Marcellus calls Winston “The Wolf” Wolfe, who is the antithesis of Jimmie. The Wolf is partying with glamorous women at 9 a.m., clearly living like James Bond and speeds to Jimmie’s in a silver sports car. Jimmie is waiting for his wife to get home from work, brews fancy coffee and is hesitant to give The Wolf their best linens to clean up the mess. As a trade, The Wolf gives him a stack of bills to buy themselves a new bedroom set.
Jimmie’s “feminine” tendencies and The Wolf’s classic masculinity complement one another.
These two men–Jimmie and The Wolf–exist in opposite worlds and diametrically opposing masculinities. However, the two of them working together solves problems. This acceptance of and need for different shades of stereotypical masculinity and femininity reminds the audience that Tarantino is aware and critical of gender performance.
When they drop the cleaned-out car to Monster Joe’s Truck and Tow, Joe’s daughter Racquel comes to meet them. The Wolf says, “Someday, all this will be hers.” This is a nod to the next generation of gender roles–whether it be women running junk yards, crime rings or killing sprees, Tarantino’s women are not shut in dainty boxes.
Racquel, the heiress to Monster Joe’s Truck and Tow.
During the epilogue, we are again in the diner where Pumpkin and Honey Bunny/Yolanda are holding up the customers. Vincent and Jules are there (Vincent is in the bathroom during most of the scene), and Jules engages in a stand-off between the two while trying to talk Pumpkin out of doing what they’re doing. He allows them to collect the customers’ cash without hurting anyone. Yolanda becomes unhinged and pitiful in this scene, and a viewer may be dismayed at Tarantino’s decision to make the woman fall apart at this very moment, and that this shows her weakness. However, we must realize that many of the characters throughout the film have shown fallibility or been in positions of weakness (Vincent’s self-medication and debilitating nerves about Mia, Mia’s overdose, Marcellus’s sexual assault and Jimmie’s anxiety about his wife). This does not mean anything except that the characters are human.
Jules and Vincent have been scrubbed clean and left to look like “dorks,” somehow emasculated without their black suits.
Humans are not one-dimensional caricatures. They commit crimes, they overdose, they are racist, sexist and complex. As long as men and women alike are portrayed in all aspects of the human experience in a film and are reflections of reality (no matter how unpleasant that reality is), then authenticity can be achieved. Pulp Fiction, in all of its gore, turns a critical eye on masculinity and femininity and offers a more nuanced take on its male and female characters than films of similar genres. And as Tarantino’s later films went on to have female characters who take active and leading roles, The Wolf was right in pointing out that “all this” will someday be a woman’s, too.


Leigh Kolb is a composition, literature and journalism instructor at a community college in rural Missouri. 

Guest Writer Wednesday: Tarantino’s Women

Uma Thurman (The Bride/Beatrix Kiddo) in Kill Bill Vol. 1

Guest post written by Jamie McHale.

I’m going to start this blog post with a bold statement; few directors make films with such strong female characters as Quentin Tarantino. Surprised? Known for stylized ultra-violence and shot to fame with macho flick Reservoir Dogs, you’d be forgiven for thinking Tarantino’s films are more targeted towards guys but let me explain why I think you’re wrong by running down some of his characters and why actually, Tarantino should be celebrated by female cinéphiles.
Shosanna Dreyfus 

Melanie Laurent (Shosanna Dreyfus) in Inglorious Basterds
Putting the fact she runs a Parisian cinema under Nazi occupation in Tarantino’s Inglorious Basterds aside, Shosanna Dreyfus (Melanie Laurent) should be celebrated as a powerful female character. After escaping persecution, she hatches a plan to kill the upper echelons of the Nazi regime, beautifully described in this quote from her dialogue:
“I am going to burn down the cinema on Nazi night. And if I’m going to burn down the cinema, which I am, we both know you’re not going to let me do it by myself. Because you love me. And I love you.”
Beatrix Kiddo

Uma Thurman (The Bride/Beatrix Kiddo) in Kill Bill Vol. 2
B, The Bride, Black Mamba, Beatrix Kiddo or whatever else you want to call her, Uma Thurman’s portrayal of the blood-thirsty protagonist of Kill Bill is undoubtedly one of cinema’s strongest women. Systematically slaying those who crossed her in a self proclaimed “rip-roaring rampage of revenge,” Uma Thurman secures her place as Tarantino’s muse. Dealing strictly in black and white morality and taking no prisoners (well, apart from Sophie) Beatrix Kiddo secures her places as the femme, the most, fatale. In fact, the Kill Bill trilogy (to-be) showcases a plethora of strong women including orphan to Japanese mafia boss O-Ren Ishii (Lucy Liu) and Elle (Daryl Hannah) who makes up for what she lacks in eyeballs with a mean tiger’s crane.
Elle: “I killed your master, and now I’m going to kill you, with your own sword no less. Which in the very immediate future will become my sword.”
Kiddo: “Bitch…You don’t have a future.”
Jackie Brown
Pam Grier (Jackie Brown) in Jackie Brown
Pam Grier rose to fame in the 70s through a string of Blaxplotation films and was immortalized in pop culture by Tarantino’s 1997 film Jackie Brown. It follows the story of a struggling flight attendant who ends up smuggling money from Mexico into the US only to be arrested by the police. After agreeing to act as an informant to the police she proceeds to play the situation to her advantage in a dangerous double-crossing game. Exuding power, control and cool, the limitlessly cool Jackie Brown is the ultimate screen siren.
Jackie Brown: Now sooner or later, they’re gonna get around to offering me a plea deal, and you know that. That’s why you came here to kill me.
Ordell Robbie: I ain’t come here to kill you…
Jackie Brown: No, no, it’s OK, it’s OK, now. I forgive you.
Few women on screen are so complex, so powerful, so dangerous as Tarantino’s, granted they may be also be violent and often sadistic but they always take centre stage. Almost all of Tarantino’s women deserve a place in the pantheon of great female leads alongside Clarice, Ripley & Thelma. And let’s just forget about Death Proof, please?

Jamie McHale (Twitter: @jamie_mchale) runs pop culture blog TQS which covers film, TV and music as well as anything else that takes his fancy.