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Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

What have you been reading/writing this week? Tell us in the comments!

Gamechanger Films to Fund Women Directed Films by Melissa Silverstein and Karensa Cadenas at Women and Hollywood
Black Movies 2013: Fall and Winter Preview by ReBecca Theodore-Vachon at The Urban Daily
Lonely Thinking: Hannah Arendt on Film by Roger Berkowitz at The Paris Review
Fall TV Preview – The Best and Worst So Far by Alyssa Rosenberg at Women and Hollywood
Why Characters Like Masters of Sex’s Virginia Johnson Matter by Alyssa Rosenberg at Women and Hollywood
Inequality for All Review by Susan Wloszczyna at RogerEbert.com
The Women & Film Project by Clarissa Jacob and Kate Wieteska at Kickstarter
5 Ways White Feminists Can Address Our Own Racism by Sarah Milstein at Huffington Post
 
 
 
 
What have you been reading/writing this week? Tell us in the comments!

 

Ten Most-Read Posts from August 2013

Did you miss these popular posts on Bitch Flicks? If so, here’s your chance to catch up.

Did you miss these popular posts on Bitch Flicks? If so, here’s your chance to catch up. 

10 Fascinating Female TV Characters Who Are Often Overlooked by Rachel Redfern

Bisexuality in Orange Is the New Black by Robin Hitchcock

Breaking Bad and the Power of Women: Skyler, Lydia and Marie Take Control by Leigh Kolb

Orange Is the New Black and Carrie Bradshaw Syndrome by Myrna Waldron

How to Lose Your Virginity or: How We Need to Rethink Sex by Leigh Kolb

Alice Morgan and the Luther Effect: More Female Villains, Please by Lauren C. Byrd

The Mortal Instruments: City of Mansplaining by Erin Tatum

Female Sexuality Is the Real Horror in Womb by Erin Tatum

The Lifeguard: A Female Antihero on the Cusp of 30 by Leigh Kolb

Elizabethtown After the Manic Pixie Dream Girl by Amanda Civitello

Older Women in Film and Television: The Roundup

This is a Roundup of all pieces that appeared during our theme week on Representations of Older Women in Film and Television.

The Ruthless Power of Patty Hewes from Damages & Victoria Grayson from Revenge by Amanda Rodriguez

Older women in film and TV are generally a stereotypical lot. They’re usually sexless matrons or grandmothers who perform roles of support for their screen-stealing husbands or children. These older women are typically preoccupied with home and family, lacking a complex inner life because they are gendered symbols of, you guessed it, home and family. Occasionally we see older women who go beyond that trope, even defying it to focus more on power, prestige, winning, and their own personal success and public image rather than that of others. Two potent examples of this are Patty Hewes from Damages and Victoria Grayson from Revenge.
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Aging and Existential Crisis in 3rd Rock from the Sun by Jenny Lapekas

Because Mary is teased for her old age, especially since she’s no longer viewed as the sexual being she was once known as, it’s at the forefront of particular episodes. In season three, Dick hounds a photographer who once took “tasteful, artistic” nude photos of Mary when she was younger, and he comes to terms with them only after he begins shredding them. He discovers that the shots are beautiful and capture how beautiful Mary was, but he also realizes that she’s still sexually appealing because he loves her; he tells her that she has aged “like a fine wine.”

 
The First Wives Club: “Don’t Get Mad. Get Everything.” by Jen Thorpe

There is a scene where Brenda is walking past a department store with a friend. She stops to look at a tiny black dress in the window. “Who’s supposed to wear that?” she rhetorically asks her friend, “Some anorexic teenager? Some fetus?” Her rant continues with her intent to lead a protest by never buying any more clothing until the designers “come to their senses.”

Charlize Theron: Too Hot to Be Wicked? by Katherine Newstead

In a scene toward the beginning of Snow White and the Huntsman, during Ravenna’s and the King’s wedding night, she tells of how she has replaced his old (emphasis on the “old”) Queen, and how, in time, she too would have been replaced. Thus, Ravenna speaks of the “natural” cycle of youth replacing age and appears to blame patriarchy for this situation, as men “toss women to the dogs like scraps” once they have finished with them.

“When a woman stays young and beautiful forever, the world is hers.”

Telling Stories: My House in Umbria by Amanda Civitello

“We survived,” Emily is fond of saying to a number of characters in the film – and while she’s obviously referencing the terror attack when she speaks to her fellow “walking wounded” – it’s apparent from its very first utterance that Emily has survived far more than the explosion in carrozza 219. As her story unfolds, we come to discover that Emily is a survivor of childhood abandonment: she was sold as an infant to a childless couple by her parents who had no place for a child in their circus-act lives. She’s a survivor of sexual abuse and a survivor of a succession of abusive relationships. 

Notes on a Scandal: The Older Woman As Predator and Prey by Elizabeth Kiy

Her loneliness is compounded by this narrative technique, as Barbara is often given no one to play off of and instead watches interactions from a distance, remaining an entirely closed off person with a rich internal life she only reveals in her private writing. For an older woman, whose age, unmarried status and perceived lack of attractiveness leave her virtually invisible and of no value to society, this narration allows her to express her resentment. But underneath her malice is the profound loneliness of a woman who seems to have never learned how to connect to people and to remain in their lives without manipulations.

How Golden Girls Shaped My Feminism by Megan Kearns

Golden Girls was ahead of its time. We rarely see female actors over the age of 50 portraying characters embracing and owning their sexuality. Reduced to our appearances, women are told time and again that beauty, youth and thinness determine our worth. When the media body shames and bodysnarks female actors’ bodies, it’s clear how how far we need to go in featuring women’s stories. And so in our youth-obsessed society, it’s revolutionary to see women over 50 on-screen as beautiful, vivacious and sexual. 

 

You Don’t Own Me: The First Wives Club and Feminism by Mia Steinle

As a 12-year-old, my life bore little resemblance to theirs, but The First Wives Club gave me one of my first, delicious glimpses into womanhood — a womanhood that includes sassy retorts and getting drunk at lunch and hanging out with your best friends (and also with Bronson Pinchot and Gloria Steinem). It’s a version of womanhood where we know that Maggie Smith, no matter how old, is always cooler than Sarah Jessica Parker. Where finding out that your daughter is a lesbian is no big thing. (“Lesbians are great nowadays!” Annie remarks after hearing the news.) Where female empowerment isn’t just a nebulous buzzword, but something you achieve and celebrate.

Kind Grandmothers and Powerful Witches in Studio Ghibli Films by Eugenia Andino

The Castle in the Sky includes an ambiguous character which is probably the funniest and most groundbreaking of all of Ghibli’s older women: Captain Dola, an air pirate. She initially appears to be a villain, but later she joins forces with the protagonists, Sheeta and Pazu, against Muska. With her sons as henchmen, stealing treasures is her main objective. She shows a great love for her sons, companionship with her husband, and kindness to Sheeta while still fulfilling the role of reckless, greedy pirate. She’s arguably the most memorable element in the whole film.

Fried Green Tomatoes: A Celebration of (Older) Women by Amanda Morris

In American society and in Hollywood films, too often women are invisible, much less a force to be reckoned with. Older women in particular are meant to be hidden away, not viewed as holders of wisdom or desired as sexual beings or feared as people who could create change or cause damage. And when women ARE a force in film, there tend to be dire consequences for demonstrating independence and strength. This is not the case in Fried Green Tomatoes. Ninny and Evelyn are older female characters who not only carry the film with their stories but also demonstrate real strength and determination in the face of denial, obstinacy, and youthful swagger. 

 

Funniest After Fifty: Four Comediennes to Love Forever by Rachel Redfern

Betty White, Maggie Smith, Judi Dench, and Helen Mirren… At first, when writing this article, I thought about pointing out the ways in which Hollywood has shorted these prolific and amazing actresses, and while I’m sure that’s happened to them at some point in their careers, in reading about their lives, I realized that would almost be a disservice to all that they’ve accomplished. Rather, this piece is meant as a tribute to these enduring female comediennes, who have not only flourished but also paved the way for so many other actresses and actors.

Pretty Little Zombies — The Lure of Eternal Youth in Robert Zemeckis’ Death Becomes Her by Artemis Linhart

This is the turning point of the movie. All the conflicts revolving around jealousy, beauty, and, of course, youth, are henceforth turned into a spirit of sisterhood. The dependence on Ernest transforms into a friendly co-dependent relationship between the two women. However much of a love-hate sentiment resonates throughout the final part of the movie, friendship and solidarity triumph. The special bond that Madeline and Helen share is still based on the wish for eternal youth, but they have finally turned to each other.

Judi Dench Carries Notes on a Scandal Amongst Other Badass Accomplishments by Janyce Denise Glasper

There’s an imperative reason why Dench was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Actress in a film for Notes On a Scandal. The Academy can be a load of BS with their ageism and racism, but sometimes, they get it right. It’s also quite wonderful to point out that Dench scored her first nomination at 64, her first and only win at 65, and four nods after– the last being Notes on a Scandal. For people to say that she is too old for anything is simply wrong on all counts. She truly is at her artistic best.

The Extraordinary Romance of an Ordinary “Old Girl”: Thoughts on Ali: Fear Eats the Soul by Rachael Johnson

Of course older women have traditionally not been allowed to be sexual beings, and mothers have always been held to a higher sexual standard than fathers. In fact, when a woman of any age does not conform or transgresses sexually she customarily suffers greater social condemnation. What Ali: Fear Eats the Soul makes clear is that the Whore-Madonna complex still reigned supreme in 1970s Germany. When Emmi first tells her daughter and son-in-law that she has fallen in love with a much younger man, they laugh. The thought of an old mother in love and lust is so impossible, so unnatural–horrific, in fact–that laughter is the only fitting response. When she introduces her children to her new husband, one son calls her a whore and another kicks in her television. In the eyes of her deeply conventional, racist children, Emmi is guilty of the most profane double betrayal–racial disloyalty and defilement of the maternal role.

Older Women Week: The Extraordinary Romance of an Ordinary "Old Girl": Thoughts on ‘Ali: Fear Eats the Soul’

Of course older women have traditionally not been allowed to be sexual beings, and mothers have always been held to a higher sexual standard than fathers. In fact, when a woman of any age does not conform or transgresses sexually she customarily suffers greater social condemnation. What Ali: Fear Eats the Soul makes clear is that the Whore-Madonna complex still reigned supreme in 1970s Germany. When Emmi first tells her daughter and son-in-law that she has fallen in love with a much younger man, they laugh. The thought of an old mother in love and lust is so impossible, so unnatural—horrific, in fact—that laughter is the only fitting response. When she introduces her children to her new husband, one son calls her a whore and another kicks in her television. In the eyes of her deeply conventional, racist children, Emmi is guilty of the most profane double betrayal—racial disloyalty and defilement of the maternal role.

Ali: Fear Eats the Soul
This is a guest post by Rachael Johnson. 
Ali: Fear Eats the Soul is a tale of interracial and intergenerational love set in West Germany in the 1970s. It was both written and directed by one of the key figures of the New German Cinema, Rainer Werner Fassbinder. In his short yet productive life–he died aged 37 of a drug-related heart attack–the workaholic Fassbinder made countless remarkable films and pursued an equally remarkable private life. Anti-bourgeois and anti-establishment, the bisexual Bavarian earned a legendary reputation as a flammable wild child and libertine of extreme appetites. Influenced by Douglas Sirk’s socially subversive melodramas, Ali: Fear Eats the Soul is a fascinating exploration of sexual taboos and non-conformity as well as a searing critique of German racism. It is, also, a deeply affecting love story.
The lovers are Ali, a Moroccan-born mechanic in his thirties and Emmi, a white German woman around 60. Tall, bearded and muscular, Ali is played by El Hedi ben Salam, then a lover of the director. Emmi, played by Brigitte Mira, is a small woman of average looks with a pleasant, pudgy face. There is nothing glamorous about Fassbinder’s heroine, and it is this very ordinariness that endears her to the viewer and makes the story all the more poignant. A lonely widow with three married children she rarely sees, there is, it seems, little remarkable about Emmi either. Nor is she a privileged hausfrau. She cleans for a living.
The bar
The two meet in a bar frequented by Arab immigrants. Emmi takes shelter from the rain, but she is also drawn by the ‘exotic’ music. It is a fairly odd scene. The bar maid is a buxom, blonde German woman, and there is only a handful of customers. They stare impassively at Emmi when she enters. A long shot emphasizes her vulnerability and isolation. She sits by the door and asks the bar maid about her clientele and selection of music. She orders a coke and keeps her coat on. The women mock her and a female companion of Ali prods him to dance with ‘the old girl.’ He obeys her with a mock salute. The others stare at the couple, of course, but Ali is gracious, and they learn a little about each other. He accompanies Emmi home and their extraordinary romance begins in a sweet, ordinary fashion.
Fassbinder lays bare the nasty, pervasive nature of racism in West German society during the seventies. Ali, we soon learn, only calls himself Ali because white Germans have maliciously given him the stereotypical name. His life is hard. He works constantly and drinks heavily. He tells Emmi that he shares a room with five other foreign workers. ‘German master/Arab dog’ is how he describes race relations at his garage. Racism is a constant in the lovers’ lives. Emmi listens with unease as her fellow cleaning women dole out dehumanizing descriptions of immigrants as dirty, lazy, dangerous and hypersexual. Her female neighbors gossip incessantly about her affair and fix merciless eyes on her lover. Her son-in-law, Eugen, played by Fassbinder himself, is a lazy boor enraged at the mere mention of his Turkish foreman. When her landlord’s son accuses her of subletting due to Ali’s presence, Emmi tells him that the young Moroccan is her fiancé. The ruse becomes a reality when they mutually agree to tie the knot. Emmi’s children, neighbors and co-workers ostracize her and her new husband. She is forced to eat lunch alone at work, and he is humiliated by the local shop-keeper. Only the passage of time and naked self-interest mellow their attitude.
Ali surrounded by Emmi’s coworkers
Ali: Fear Eats the Soul explores the impact of racism on human relationships. Fassbinder specifically underscores how its evil even infects those of an intimate nature. Emmi’s relationship with Ali sours and she is shown to be capable of reproducing the racism of her compatriots. Impatient with his craving for couscous, a sign, of course, of deep homesickness, she tells her husband to adapt to German customs. On one occasion, she encourages her co-workers’ sexual objectification of Ali, an objectification that smacks of unsavory white voyeurism. When he quits the room, she puts it down to a changeable ‘foreign mentality.’ Emmi is, of course, a product of her nation’s past. In the 1970s, Germany’s history of genocidal racism was still a living, breathing memory. Emmi was a young woman when the Nazis were in power. When she tells Ali that she and her father were members of the party, it is a quiet, forever mind-blowing reminder that membership was the norm.
Emmi with Eugen and Krista
There are, nevertheless, indications that Emmi was always a little different. She crosses borders. Her parents did not want her to marry a foreigner after the war, but she married a Polish man. She is not a xenophobe like her father. She enters the immigrants’ bar because she is drawn to the sounds of others. Emmi is genuinely curious about other cultures and accepts cultural differences. She is hospitable and questions why white Germans and foreigners cannot be friends. She is appalled to hear of Ali’s intolerable living conditions. Curiosity, empathy, attraction and love make up Emmi’s feelings for Ali. Although she will never suffer the daily degradations and abuse he suffers, she is also a victim of racism. Although she tries to hide it, she is, in fact, tormented by the hatred besieging them. Emmi is derided and marginalized by white Germans for loving and marrying an Arab man. A neighbor asks, at one point, if she is a ‘real’ German due to her Polish last name. White women who have affairs with North African and Turkish foreign workers are labeled ‘filthy whores’ by her co-workers. Although a manifestly provincial product of her time and place, Emmi artlessly manages to challenge German racism through the simple, human act of loving. In the socio-historical context of post-war West Germany, she is a nonconformist.
Ali and Emmi
Seemingly unsophisticated, Emmi also breaks sexual taboos. She is a desiring old woman, and it is this desire that outrages and disgusts her children. Of course older women have traditionally not been allowed to be sexual beings, and mothers have always been held to a higher sexual standard than fathers. In fact, when a woman of any age does not conform or transgresses sexually she customarily suffers greater social condemnation. What Ali: Fear Eats the Soul makes clear is that the Whore-Madonna complex still reigned supreme in 1970s Germany. When Emmi first tells her daughter and son-in-law that she has fallen in love with a much younger man, they laugh. The thought of an old mother in love and lust is so impossible, so unnatural–horrific, in fact–that laughter is the only fitting response. When she introduces her children to her new husband, one son calls her a whore and another kicks in her television. In the eyes of her deeply conventional, racist children, Emmi is guilty of the most profane double betrayal–racial disloyalty and defilement of the maternal role.
Her daughter Krista mirrors her brothers. She calls Emmi’s home ‘a pigsty.’ There is, it must be said, little female solidarity apparent in Ali: Fear Eats the Soul. The older woman’s female peers and acquaintances seem for the most part to be slaves of convention, regarding issues of race and gender. Ali’s female friends are manifestly threatened by Emmi’s sexuality. One calls his wife ‘a filthy old whore’ behind her back. ‘It’ll never work out. It’s unnatural, plain unnatural,’ she spits, with some jealousy. Does Fassbinder identify women in particular with convention? Or does he see his female characters as parts of the patriarchal system?
Emmi and Ali embrace
Fassbinder’s portrayal of Emmi’s passion is, however, empathetic and quite revolutionary. He never depicts the older woman’s desire as warped and unnatural, and it is worth reflecting how rare an attitude this is on screen. Emmi’s sexual subjectivity is acknowledged. When she momentarily looks at Ali showering, she tells him, ‘You are very beautiful, Ali.’ Her looking does not here denote exploitative voyeurism. Her softly delivered words are addressed to her husband only. He smiles back at her. An older female gaze, of course, doubly reverses cinematic male-female conventions of objectification. In this very short scene, the director recognizes Emmi’s subversive female gaze while, it must be said, expressing his own sexuality. Ultimately, Fassbinder understands that his heroine is, at heart, driven by an entirely natural desire for intimate human companionship as well as a simple need for love.
Their intergenerational relationship comprises painful personal humiliations–issuing from racism and infidelity–but it is also an essentially loving one. Ali’s everyday interactions with Emmi are, from the very start, characterized by kindness, devotion and respect. He and Emmi share their insecurities, comfort each other and enjoy each other’s company. Her daughter’s so-called conventional marriage pales in comparison. There are many achingly poignant, well-observed moments in this love story. On the street where she lives, an anxious Emmi fearing that she had lost her new love, cries Ali’s name before running toward him like a little girl. The warm, relaxed way Ali strokes Emmi’s arm their first night together is another arresting sign of their unusual bond. Their supposedly impossible relationship always seems authentic. Fassbinder reveals the unlikely pair’s fundamental affinities. They are both victims of loneliness and social alienation, and they are both hard-working, working-class people.
Emmi and Ali have dinner
There is an essential humanity to Fassbinder’s characterization of both lovers, and their unusual love story is told with tenderness. Unsurprisingly, Ali: Fear Eats the Soul was well received internationally. It honors the empathetic imagination and pays touching tribute to the outsider. It also shows how an ordinary ‘old girl’ can quietly tear down racial boundaries as well as defy conventional expectations of female desire.

Rachael Johnson has contributed articles to CINEACTION, www.objectif-cinema.com and www.jgcinema.com.

 

Older Women Week: Judi Dench Carries ‘Notes On A Scandal,’ and Other Badass Accomplishments

There’s an imperative reason why Dench was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Actress in a film for Notes On a Scandal. The Academy can be a load of BS with their ageism and racism, but sometimes, they get it right. It’s also quite wonderful to point out that Dench scored her first nomination at 64, her first and only win at 65, and four nods after— the last being Notes on a Scandal. For people to say that she is too old for anything is simply wrong on all counts. She truly is at her artistic best.

Notes on a Scandal film poster.
Dame Judi Dench is a favorite of mine and definitely worthy of this appropriately named tumblr.
Dench played the wonderful Armande Voizon in Chocolat, a witty, brooding mother who gluttonously indulged despite having diabetes. She doesn’t have the “traditional” Bond Girl look and physique, but she kicks major ass as M (who is supposed to be a man) in the James Bond films. Sadly, it is her appearance in the Bond films that gets her the most recognition. She also voiced the darling Mrs. Lilly on the British animated series, Angelina Ballerina, and I have no shame in admitting that my hard drive houses several episodes. We can’t forget her unforgettable turns in Importance of Being Earnest,  Iris, Shakespeare in Love, Mrs. Henderson Presents and so on.
When I see Dench on screen, I don’t see an aging actress fading and desiring work outside of matronly figure. I see a talented woman full of zesty relish and passion for her craft. Notes on a Scandal showcased a terrifying brilliance unlike anything I had ever seen from her, ultimately proving that Dench can wear many hats.
Barbara (Judi Dench) in her turtleneck and sweater cardigan wouldn’t hurt a fly.
Dench’s earlier portrayed characters contain humor and charm. In Notes on a Scandal,  a film based on Zoe Heller’s novel, Barbara Covett certainly has that nestled inside her sea of condescending criticisms of the world around her. She drifts sans lifeboat and purpose; her greatest love is writing scribbles and taking care of her cat. Young, sensually stirring, carefree Sheba Hart (Cate Blanchett) floats listlessly into Barbara’s mundane life. A dark and sinister side disguised underneath a mask of a nonthreatening single old woman emerges with savage claws and teeth bared, waiting with perceptive eyes to strike into Sheba’s vulnerability.
There’s an imperative reason why Dench was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Actress in a film for Notes On a Scandal. The Academy can be a load of BS with their ageism and racism, but sometimes, they get it right. It’s also quite wonderful to point out that Dench scored her first nomination at 64, her first and only win at 65, and four nods after– the last being Notes on a Scandal. For people to say that she is too old for anything is imply unstated and wrong on all counts. She truly is at her artistic best.
In the Guardian’s article called, “I Never Want to Stop Working,” Dench briefly touches on why she felt compelled to play such a wicked character.
“I remember reading the novel Notes on a Scandal and thinking: I would love to play that woman, to try to find a humanity in that dreadful person. I was thrilled to be asked to do that.”
Barbara’s (Judi Dench) cat just died and she’s going postal on Sheba (Cate Blanchett) for trying to “abandon” her during the mourning process.
Notes on a Scandal is almost a Single White Femalesituation and some parts are unsettling in this disturbing thriller. Except that Barbara doesn’t want to mimic Sheba. She wants her. The undeniable tension between Barbara and her ravenous fixation on Sheba manifests into an overwhelming viscerally charged moment of raw intensity. Barbara is seeking sensual validation and believes that Sheba holds the key to fulfilling the fragmented jigsaw. She is deluded into actually concluding that Sheba is the missing puzzle piece that fits into an isolated world longing for female companionship. Sheba, so naive and unaware of Barbara’s lesbian attraction and dishonorable intentions, is just as lost and confused as the young boy she seduced. 
Dench plays the hell out of this demented woman on the brink of lunacy with a sweet voice coated in cold calculating manipulation and demure blue eyes spurning icy darts of pure evil. I was so used to  her sweet and congenial characters that Barbara Covett just literally frightened the depths of my soul. She is an unrootable and unstable character, yet smart and sly. It opened up this strange can of worms–I love Dench, but for the life of me, I despised Barbara and her sick, compulsive selfishness. Why couldn’t she have asked Sheba, “Let’s be friends?” Why deceive?
With close cropped silver hair and a diligent work ethic, Judi Dench continues to defy Hollywood’s obsession with long hair and youth.

Notes on a Scandal is a twisted piece of filmmaking that does touch on age and the desire to stay trapped inside youthfulness–that place where all the cool people reside. I have yet to read Zeller’s book, but feel compelled that I must do so.
As for Judi Dench, let’s applaud her never-ending quest to continue shining through and not letting a little thing like age get in the way of a versatile career. I see another Oscar nod or two in her future.

Older Women Week: Pretty Little Zombies — The Lure of Eternal Youth in Robert Zemeckis’ ‘Death Becomes Her’

This is the turning point of the movie. All the conflicts revolving around jealousy, beauty, and, of course, youth, are henceforth turned into a spirit of sisterhood. The dependence on Ernest transforms into a friendly co-dependent relationship between the two women. However much of a love-hate sentiment resonates throughout the final part of the movie, friendship and solidarity triumph. The special bond that Madeline and Helen share is still based on the wish for eternal youth, but they have finally turned to each other.

Death Becomes Her movie poster

This is a guest post by Artemis Linhart.

Somewhere between Marty McFly and Jessica Rabbit, it became quite clear that one thing Robert Zemeckis’ characters have in common is an utter defiance of the laws of nature. Now, channeling this notion in Isabella Rossellini’s role of Lisle von Rhoman, emerges the ultimate temptress: “Sempre viva – live forever.”
However, for the women of this movie, it isn’t so much the promise of eternal life that entices them to drink the rejuvenating potion offered by Lisle. It is the ever-lasting youthful appearance they are after. For this they are willing to spend all the money they have, which seems to them like a small price to pay. But “the sordid topic of coin,” as Lisle calls it, is not the only price eternal youth comes at; set against the backdrop of a seemingly never-ending thunderstorm, Zemeckis unfolds a lurid tale of (attempted) murder, jealousy and spray paint.
It all begins with the aging starlet Madeline Ashton (Meryl Streep) performing an ill-conceived version of Tennessee Williams’ “Sweet Bird of Youth,” and people stepping on her photograph as they leave the theater mid-show. It is no secret that working as an actress and living as a human being subject to the process of aging don’t go well together – the limitations of which real life Meryl Streep has been known to point out.
Helen Sharp (Goldie Hawn) after Ernest leaves her
As the aspiring writer Helen Sharp (Goldie Hawn) introduces her fiancé Ernest (Bruce Willis) to her long-time frienemy Madeline, their lives start to unravel. Instantly smitten, Ernest loses no time to break off the engagement and marry Madeline instead. His occupation as a plastic surgeon should prove to be beneficial to Madeline’s crumbling career.
“Tell me, doctor, do you think that I’m starting to need you?” she asks him, flirtingly. Her choice of words illustrates the undisputed consensus that, at a certain age, women need to act on the fact that time is taking a toll on their appearance. Retaining a youthful image has become a need like breathing or eating (in moderation, by all means).
Meanwhile, Helen’s appearance undergoes three stages. Starting off as rather mousy and plain, she gains weight after being left by Ernest, resulting in the clichéd cat lady couch potato. The camera mocks her voluminous buttocks on more than one occasion. Due to her inertia as well as an obsession with her rival Madeline, she is admitted to a mental hospital where a doctor yells at her for being overweight. Disregarding the fat-shaming, she plots her revenge. In a cut to seven years later, we see her as what society describes as a desirable beauty, finally having managed to get her life back together. It seems that success and appearance go hand in hand. Her book (titled “Forever Young”) finally sells, as she looks fresher than ever – all thanks to a little magic potion, which Madeline is about to happen upon herself shortly.
Ernest (Bruce Willis) and Helen
Ageism You Can Drink
Madeline Ashton is a regular at a spa where she routinely receives extensive (as well as expensive) facial treatments. It is run by people with European accents, which, in combination with Isabella Rossellini’s character, allows for the impression that the beauty and youth lobby is run by a wealthy Eurotrash elite.
Madeline is told that she cannot undergo a treatment, as her last appointment was only a few weeks ago. Frantic in the face of an employee with “22-year-old skin and tits like rocks,” she begs for a spa treatment, illustrating the obsession with physical appearance women are pressured with.
Upon being offered makeup, she screams, “Makeup is pointless! It does nothing anymore!” thus highlighting a problem many women, especially actresses, face. Once hiding behind a lot of makeup no longer serves the purpose of rejuvenation, more drastic measures have to be taken. In addition, Madeline’s frenzy demonstrates the idea that Botox and collagen treatments as well as plastic surgery often have addictive potential.
Madeline (Meryl Streep), Helen, and Ernest
A staff member apologizes, explaining that they are “restricted by the laws of nature.”

Cue Lisle von Rhoman.

“Screw the laws of nature!” she shouts furiously at one point. Defying every physical law, she is just what Madeline is looking for. Between her twenty-something boyfriend cheating on her with someone his own age, and her husband Ernest having a newfound interest in the now youthful Helen Sharp, Madeline has a nervous breakdown. Youth seems to be all that matters to society, and she has internalized the desire to keep up.
Lisle describes aging as “life’s ultimate cruelty – it offers us the taste of youth and vitality and then makes us witness our own decay.”
Her remedy: “a touch of magic in this world obsessed with science.”
Madeline and Helen
While Meryl Streep was appalled to be offered as many as three different roles as witches as she turned 40, her character in Death Becomes Her now resorts to supernatural powers as an alternative to medical treatments in order to battle aging – when really she should be battling ageism instead.
The women of this movie are consistent with the idea that they are only worthy of success, men, or happiness as long as they are – or appear to be – young. As Madeline watches her body age in reverse after consuming the potion, she exclaims cheerfully, “I’m a girl!”

Hence, womanhood is based on certain physical features defined by society to please the eye. This is mirrored in the character of Ernest who desires whoever looks the youngest, yet accuses Madeline of being cheap for wanting to maintain a youthful facade.

While Ernest is portrayed as a “pushover,” whose domineering spouse makes his life a living hell, we watch his spirit break and his life force dwindle as he is increasingly emaciated and, most notably, emasculated. He is undoubtedly condemned and punished for this until, ultimately, he stands up to Madeline and Helen, which enables him to regain his dignity and lead a decent life after all. Women’s dominance is clearly demonized in Death Becomes Her. It entails depraved moral values, hysteria, and, naturally, a good old cat fight. Helen and Madeline engage in a bizarre brawl that results in a grotesquely comic CGI spectacle. As he lets them lash out at each other, Zemeckis does things to the human body previously only seen in cartoons. The chronic bitchfight based on envy, that the two of them have been carrying out for years in much more subtle ways, has now extended to the physical dimension.
Helen, after Madeline shoots her

Life As We Know It

“It’s alive!” Helen calls out in a nod to Mary Shelley as she sees Madeline’s zombified self happily walking around the house. In a previous foreshadowing analogy, Ernest asks their housekeeper about Madeline, “Is it awake?”, emphasizing his despise for his oppressive wife on the one hand and the objectification of the woman monster on the other.
After shooting a hole through Helen’s stomach, Madeline cheers, “These are the moments that make life worth living.”
And yet, alive is a thing both women are not even close to being. The forces of nature have been tampered with, and disaster is taking its course. Death Becomes Her sends a pretty clear message when it comes to the distribution of power, morality and, ultimately, gender roles. Life, as many a patriarch has come to know and appreciate it, has been turned upside down. Here, a reversal of gender roles results in the collapse of the main characters’ lives.
The moral decay is mirrored in the disintegration of Helen’s and Madeline’s faces. This is where they realize their dependency on Ernest, who has been fixing their lesions with spray paint. Even beyond death, beyond eternal beauty, they still need the plastic surgeon to fix their crumbling visages. “What if it fades? What if it chips? What if it rains? Will he come back for touch-ups?”
As it turns out, he won’t, and they will have to master the skill of restoring their faces themselves.
Madeline’s turning point
This is the turning point of the movie. All the conflicts revolving around jealousy, beauty, and, of course, youth, are henceforth turned into a spirit of sisterhood. The dependence on Ernest transforms into a friendly co-dependent relationship between the two women. However much of a love-hate sentiment resonates throughout the final part of the movie, friendship and solidarity triumph. The special bond that Madeline and Helen share is still based on the wish for eternal youth, but they have finally turned to each other.
Meanwhile, Earnest has been living his life without them, his new motto being “Life begins at 50.” As a man, he can afford this attitude. Earlier on, as Madeline and Helen attempt to convince him to drink the potion and attain immortality, the thought of a youthful appearance never even crosses his mind.
Instead, he contemplates being able to continue his career. Eternal youth is not the determining factor for him. In the light of an everlasting life, in contrast, Ernest refuses to drink it. This goes to show that men, as opposed to women, do not face the terror of the beauty industry in quite the same way.
Helen and Madeline still prevail
In fact, he is rewarded for this decision later on by the pastor at his funeral who asserts that Ernest, just by being a remarkable man who has gone on to found disputable institutions like “The Menville Center for the Study of Women,” he has achieved eternal life. Even after his death he has accomplished eternal youth, as he “lives on in his children.” The irony of this causes Helen and Madeline to get up and leave, not without declaring, “Blaaa blaaa blaaa.”
And yet, as tragic an ending as they face, Madeline and Helen prevail, long after Ernest’s death. Thirty-seven years of interdependent touch-ups later, they now look like bizarre zombie puppets. As they drag their brittle bodies away from the funeral, they fall down a flight of stairs and break into smithereens.
With all their separate body parts scattered across the ground, they are still best friends. This is the actual happy ending – one of solidarity, friendship and emancipation.
 
Artemis Linhart is a freelance writer and film curator with a weakness for escapism.

Older Women Week: Funniest After 50: Four Comediennes to Love Forever

Betty White, Maggie Smith, Judi Dench, and Helen Mirren… At first, when writing this article, I thought about pointing out the ways in which Hollywood has shorted these prolific and amazing actresses, and while I’m sure that’s happened to them at some point in their careers, in reading about their lives, I realized that would almost be a disservice to all that they’ve accomplished. Rather, this piece is meant as a tribute to these enduring female comediennes, who have not only flourished but also paved the way for so many other actresses and actors.

Written By Rachel Redfern
The always hilarious Betty White
When thinking about female comediennes, we often consider the hilarity of Tina Fey and Amy Poehler, Sarah Silverman, Ellen Degeneres and Mindy Kaling (plus many more); however, rarely do we think about those funny women who helped to pioneer women in comedy, and who manage to stay current today. Even more than that, do we ever think about actresses over the age of 80 who are still out there, busting sides and helping to expand the boundaries of cinema? Four people who are doing just that? Betty White, Maggie Smith, Judi Dench, and Helen Mirren. These women have managed to retain a certain appeal and charisma, keeping them current and having a substantial effect on popular culture. 

But what roles are they playing? Are they merely fulfilling our stereotypes of older women? It is common knowledge that most female actresses are given a narrow width of roles once they top the age of 45, the focus at that point aiming more towards how well they aged and can they convincingly play Scarlett Johansson’s mother?

At first, when writing this article, I thought about pointing out the ways in which Hollywood has shorted these prolific and amazing actresses, and while I’m sure that’s happened to them at some point in their careers, in reading about their lives, I realized that would almost be a disservice to all that they’ve accomplished. Rather, this piece is meant as a tribute to these enduring female comediennes, who have not only flourished but also paved the way for so many other actresses and actors.

Betty White (1922)

While Betty White has had a career in show business for most of her life, White was most known for her role on Golden Girls over twenty years ago, a role in which she was spunky and hilarious. But the steam generated by that show built her up until suddenly, ten years ago when she started guest starring on dozens of shows, won seven Emmys, become the oldest person to ever host Saturday Night Live, and even had a spot on a major super bowl ad.

But why? What’s so enduring and endearing about her? Is the fact that White, born in 1922 (she is now 91 years old) retains a youth and vitality that is staggering? Is it the comedic roles she easily slips into as a lovable and sassy grandmother? At first, when considering the usual roles that she plays I wondered, is White fulfilling a wishful stereotype for audiences (that of a hilarious, raunchy, older woman) without playing more dramatic roles or portraying realistic situations for the elderly?

But in my consideration of her career, I changed my perspective; Betty White is a comedienne and has been for most of her career. The fact that she’s still entertaining and embracing offbeat comedic roles, and even hosting her own prank show called Betty White’s Off Their Rockers, is actually one of the best tribute to funny women everywhere.

Maggie Smith (1934)

You’ve watched Harry Potter, and probably Downton Abbey, so you know who she is, but Smith has been a prominent actress since 1952, although she started her career in the theater. However, I didn’t necessarily consider Smith a comedic actress until actually taking a closer look into her expansive and productive bibliography. Since 1956, Smith has been recognized as both a powerful dramatic actor (becoming a member of the Royal National Theater in the 1960’s, nominated for an Oscar only a few years later for her role as Desdemona in Othello) and as a woman of great comedic timing and talent.

Consider her acerbic wit and hilarious disdain as the Dowager Countess in Downton Abbey, the prim nun in Sister Act, and a lovely, elderly Wendy in Hook. The unfortunate moment in all of this research is the realization that most people of my generation have tasted only the barest sample of Maggie Smith’s range, especially in regard to her comedic abilities.

Judi Dench (1934)

 

We don’t always consider Judi Dench as a comedic actress, because well, let’s face it, she’s a drama powerhouse. Elegant, confident, she displays all the characteristics of a self-assured woman of grace and intelligence, both off- and on-screen. However, similar to Smith, Dench was also a fixture of the England theater scene for many years, being a member of the Royal Shakespeare company, and it was there, that she gained prominence for both her drama and comedy work, once being cited as the greatest comedic actress in all of England.

In 1981 she starred in the critically acclaimed British romantic sitcom, A Fine Romance, with her husband, Michael Williams, but it’s her more current work as M in the James Bond series that I find interesting. Her performance has been acclaimed for its combination of British sarcasm and competent, cold leadership.

Besides that, she’s hilarious in private life, once stating that since Harvey Wienstein helped to further her career that she had his name “tattooed on my bum ever since.”

Helen Mirren (1945)

Helen Mirren has retained a sexiness and a dynamic appeal, which she happily carries with her as she enters her seventies. I love that. While it’s true that too much emphasis is placed on the physical beauty of the women in Hollywood, Mirren’s draw comes from more than just her good looks. She’s always been known for her sensuality and for the heat and intensity she could bring to a film or theater production.

Like Judi Dench, Mirren was also a member of the Royal Shakespeare Company in her youth who then moved onto fame for ability to portray British royalty, having played three queens so far: Queen Elizabeth I, Queen Elizabeth II, and Queen Charlotte. Yet, while most of her substantial theater experience was in drama and displaying “sensuality” and “sexual allure,” in film and television, she’s become a recognizable comedic personality.

Her roles in Calendar Girls, the dark-comedy and action thrillers Red and Red II, countless television interviews and even, a night spent hosting Saturday Night Live in 2011 have solidified Mirren as a sultry and mischievous comedienne. (Click here to see Helen Mirren and Billy Crystal consider a remake of When Harry Met Sally and here to see a fabulous video of Mirren talking about women in Hollywood and the “worship of the young male and his penis.”)

I find that combination fabulous, and in many ways groundbreaking; Mirren has managed to successfully embrace her famous sexuality and incorporate it into her own unique style of slapstick, confident comedy.

The brilliance in examining the comedic range of these four women is that all have developed a unique style and are at ease with their age. They don’t take themselves too seriously, and because of their resilience, diligence, hard work, and talent, (in a notoriously competitive and unfriendly-to-women-environment) they embody the best of women in Hollywood—stalwart performers whose years of experience is outstanding and mind-boggling.

What are some other actresses that have successfully retained their comedic abilities as they’ve entered their golden years?

Rachel Redfern has an MA in English literature, where she conducted research on modern American literature and film and its intersection, however she spends most of her time watching HBO shows, traveling, and blogging and reading about feminism.

Older Women Week: ‘Fried Green Tomatoes’: A Celebration of (Older) Women

This is a guest review by Amanda Morris.
Sassy and fearless storyteller, 82-year-old Ninny Threadgoode (Jessica Tandy), takes Evelyn Couch (Kathy Bates) and viewers on a journey through a tableaux of Southern family and friendship in Fried Green Tomatoes. There’s a lot going on in this film worth talking about, from race and sexuality to class and masculinity. But let’s focus on how the film presents older women. Based on a Fanny Flagg original novel, Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe, the movie presents a vision of mature women who are survivors that guide their families and communities with compassion, stubbornness, and love.

Original trailer for Fried Green Tomatoes
Set in 1920s Alabama, Fried Green Tomatoes is a story about the healing power of stories, as much as it is about how Evelyn develops a friendship with Ninny that is forged from story. The primary characters are older women, with men taking supporting roles, which is an impressive reversal for any Hollywood film. The story within the story features the friendship and love between young Ruth Jamison (Mary-Louise Parker) and Idgie Threadgoode (Mary Stuart Masterson), Ninny’s family and friends from 50 years in the past. Ninny, Evelyn, Mama Threadgoode (Lois Smith), and Sipsey (Cicely Tyson) present four different views of older womanhood in this complex film that touches on many taboo subjects that older women aren’t usually permitted to grapple with on film. All four demonstrate the the kind of agency and decision-making prowess usually reserved for younger women and men.
“I’m too young to be old and I’m too old to be young,” Evelyn says to Ninny during one of their visits. Ninny asks a few pointed questions and then diagnoses Evelyn as going through menopause. This subject opens the door to a further conversation about Ninny’s son Albert, “the Lord’s greatest gift,” who died at 30. Mentioning child death and menopause in the same scene is unusual, not to mention the casual and straightforward way it is handled, without excess drama or emotion. Rather, these issues are presented as just a part of life, and Ninny’s wisdom is hard-earned and taken in stride, which helps the middle-aged Evelyn change her own attitude about feeling depressed and lost.

For Ninny, who remembers by the end of the film that the most important thing in life is “friends, best friends,” keeping friendships alive through story provides a pathway to both the fascinating past and the unknowable but exciting future. On her birthday, Ninny tells Evelyn not to fear death because even though she is “at the jumping off place,” she isn’t scared at all. Ninny’s spirit is energetic and intoxicating as she regales Evelyn (and us) with the life and times of Idgie and Ruth, including how Idgie was accused of murdering Ruth’s husband, Frank Bennett (Nick Searcy). Ninny’s frank mode of speaking, indomitable spirit, and ability to treat everything as an adventure, even while sampling the fried green tomatoes that Evelyn brings for her birthday, sets this character apart from other representations of older women on screen. In fact, Ninny is so different from our expectations of an 80-something woman that the disconnect between Ninny and the nursing home where she lives becomes starkly apparent when Evelyn discovers that Ninny really is meant to stay in this dying, sad place for good.

In American society and in Hollywood films, too often women are invisible, much less a force to be reckoned with. Older women in particular are meant to be hidden away, not viewed as holders of wisdom or desired as sexual beings or feared as people who could create change or cause damage. And when women ARE a force in film, there tend to be dire consequences for demonstrating independence and strength. This is not the case in Fried Green Tomatoes. Ninny and Evelyn are older female characters who not only carry the film with their stories but also demonstrate real strength and determination in the face of denial, obstinacy, and youthful swagger. Consider one of my favorite scenes in the final third of the film where Evelyn stands up to two young women over a parking lot slight:

Evelyn discovers her inner Towanda
Who else hasn’t wanted to react this way when cut off in a parking lot or in traffic? Evelyn’s action is cathartic for older female viewers as we imagine ourselves in her seat, embracing our inner Towandas right alongside her. She is accessible because she is imperfect, emotionally complex, and full of vigor. As a character, Evelyn is not just a reflection of Southern middle-aged womanhood; she is a modern Everywoman and we cheer for her every discovery and improvement that she makes for her own benefit, such as her decision to invite Ninny to live with her and Ed (Gailard Sartain), who is less than thrilled with the idea.

When Evelyn states, “Don’t you ever say never to me,” this is a direct reflection of Ruth’s statement when she and Idgie have to jump from the train. The scenes in this film intertwine and interconnect in ways that help viewers see older women as positive, strong, and wise role models. Even the tertiary but important characters of Mama Threadgoode and Sipsey show strength and determination when it isn’t popular or socially acceptable to do so.
The scene where Sipsey stands up to Frank Bennett and says, “I ain’t scared of you,” sets the stage for her later accidental murder of the man when he tries to abscond with his and Ruth’s infant son from the Cafe.

Cicely Tyson as Sipsey
While murder is decidedly against the law, audiences are meant to sympathize with this older Southern black woman who is standing up to white male domination.
As for Mama Threadgoode (Smith), she also stands up to societal expectations when she invites Ruth to stay for the summer as a way to reach Idgie. She says to Ruth after Idgie, who appears indifferent to Ruth’s presence, walks away, “Oh, it’s got to work. Somebody’s got to help her and I can’t.” The expectation is that mothers can fix their children’s problems, and Mama Threadgoode reverses that expectation by reaching outside for help.
Nominated for two Oscars (Best Actress in a Supporting Role and Best Writing, Screenplay Based on Material Previously Produced or Published), Fried Green Tomatoes weaves a moving picture of older women that is uplifting even as this vision borders on the sentimental. Gentle strength is the beating heart of this story, embodied by the older female characters who weave powerful stories that are strong enough to heal even the toughest cynic among us.

Amanda Morris, Ph.D. is an assistant professor of multiethnic rhetorics at Kutztown University in Pennsylvania, and when she’s not writing or wrangling students, she loves shark fishing, gardening, and cooking with her man.

Older Women Week: Kind Grandmothers and Powerful Witches in Studio Ghibli Films

Studio Ghibli

This is guest post by Eugenia Andino previously appeared at her Web site (in Spanish) and is cross-posted with permission. 

The female protagonists in Studio Ghibli films have often been analysed as examples of feminist work; ranging from young women (like Nausicaa or Princess Mononoke) to little girls like Ponyo. The most popular ones, like Chihiro in Spirited Away, are just on the brink of adolescence. While it is true that there are not many adult women in Studio Ghibli films, there are varied, sympathetic and imaginative portraits of older women, normally in supporting roles.
These older women can be broadly grouped in two types.
The main ones are the wise or nurturing women. The first of them is Obaba in Nausicaa. We first meet her when her family meets Lord Yupa, a visitor, and Obaba interprets for them the local legend of a hero in blue, in a golden field, who will save the Valley. Obaba is brave and strong, if somewhat fatalistic; she dares invaders to kill her, and near the end of the film she seems resigned to the end of the people either by the toxic plants, an attack of giant insects, or foreign invaders. In any case, it is remarkable that for the role of symbolic voice of the Valley culture, the film chooses an old woman rather than a wise man or a warrior.
Princess Mononoke is a film with a similar theme, the conflict created by an industrial city whose prosperity depends on the exploitation of a magical forest. The old, wise woman here is Hii-sama. She tries to placate the possessed boar who bites and curses Ashitaka, without success, and then decides that the protagonist should leave the village and find a cure in the west. Since Ashitaka leaves not to come back, she doesn’t reappear. Again, the character gives richness to the film.

 

Dola and her sons

 

Sometimes the nurturing woman isn’t a “wise woman” type but simply kind, nurturing, and treated with great sympathy by the story. This is the case with Granny in My Neighbour Totoro, and of the many women in the home where Lisa works in Ponyo. In the forced absence of Satsuki and Mei’s mother because of her illness, Granny (who is not their grandmother but a neighbor, and the grandmother of Satsuki’s friend, Okagi), gives much needed love and attention to the little girl. At the same time, the film never implies that only women should take care of children, as can be seen in the initial scenes of the two little girls housekeeping and bathing with their father, in a rare, realistic and positive example of fatherhood. In this film and in Ponyo, these kinds old neighbors form a community that gives much needed emotional support to little children with loving but busy parents.
But older women’s roles as family caretakers aren’t only surrogate, as we can see in My Neighbors the Yamadas, a sweet “slice of life” piece composed of vignettes. Here we find a family with Takashi, the father, Matsuko the mother, Shige the grandmother, Noburu, a teenage boy, and Nonoko, a little girl. At the end of the film, Noburu jokes that the family works because all three adults are crazy: if any one of them were sensible, the balance would be broken. There’s some truth to this, as there are a number of unresolved tensions among the adults that would be unbearable with only two of them (or if they didn’t love one another very much). The conflict between Granny Shige and her son-in-law is stated early on the film: the property is hers, but he built the house himself. Here and elsewhere, Matsuko doesn’t take sides and tries to stop the fight. On their part, Shige and Matsuko both argue about their (unenthusiastic) housekeeping. Although Shige is often witty and very funny, it’s not all rosy; for example, the melancholy caused by the nearness of her death and the sickness of a friend is the theme of one of the Shorts.

 

In Spirited Away, we find an example of each category, so let’s introduce the second one: the ambiguous villain or antagonist.
This film has two twin sisters, Yubaba and Zeniba. Their age is doubtful: they look old, but Yubaba has a baby boy. In a way that reminds me slightly of Lady Eboshi in Princess Mononoke, she is, first and foremost, a businesswoman. Her biggest flaw is her greed, but she’s not truly evil. She doesn’t want to cause unnecessary harm, and she always keeps her word, even when she complains that it goes against her interests. Her sister Zeniba starts off as another antagonist, who attacks Haku and transforms Yubaba’s baby boy into a mouse, and then turns out to be grandmotherly and friendly and angry only at her sister for ordering Haku to steal from her. This gives complexity and appeal to the character, showing that “nurturing grandmothers” have their own interests and needs too.

 

Hii-Sama dictates Ashitaka’s destiny
In Howl’s Moving Castle there is another couple, if not so well paired up: Sophie, the main character, is transformed into a 90-year-old woman by the Witch of the West. This gets the main adventures of the film started as she searches for a way to break the spell and finds Howl. Just like in Spirited Away or Ponyo, the spell is broken with love, which isn’t very original. The interesting thing about Sophie’s transformation is that a shy, insecure, and practical girl finds a housekeeping job that suits her well, but only after being cursed with old age. This, in the context of Ghibli films as a whole, suggests again the nurturing, caring values of grandmotherly types. Here, they are certainly compensated and kept refreshing and fun rather than repetitive with the Witch of the West, a rare character because she’s mostly (or completely) villainous, with no redeeming features. And finally, Madame Suliman, of uncertain age (her hair is white, but she doesn’t look as old as the other two), is a powerful magician who used to be Howl’s master and teacher.
The Castle in the Sky includes an ambiguous character which is probably the funniest and most groundbreaking of all of Ghibli’s older women: Captain Dola, an air pirate. She initially appears to be a villain, but later she joins forces with the protagonists, Sheeta and Pazu, against Muska. With her sons as henchmen, stealing treasures is her main objective. She shows a great love for her sons, companionship with her husband, and kindness to Sheeta while still fulfilling the role of reckless, greedy pirate. She’s arguably the most memorable element in the whole film.

 

A grandmotherly Zeniba teaches No-Face how to knit

 

Despite the repetition of patterns, with all these witches and grandmothers, the characterisation of older women in Studio Ghibli films is never stereotypical. If Ghibli heroines can show children that little girls can be clever, courageous and admirable, these secondary characters show that their spark and their charm are not lost with age.
Eugenia Andino Lucas is a teacher of English as a Foreign Language in Spain. She’s also working on a PhD on Gender Violence in the novels of Charles Dickens. You can follow her on twitter: @laguiri and on her blog: eugeniaandino.bachpress.org.

 

Older Women Week: How ‘Golden Girls’ Shaped My Feminism

Golden Girls
Written by Megan Kearns | A version of this article originally appeared at The Opinioness of the World.
 A child of the 80s, I grew up watching TV shows like Murder She Wrote and Love Boat. Living with my grandparents for 6 years clearly influenced my television viewing habits! But my favorite series of my childhood — and one of my absolute faves as an adult — was Golden Girls.
Humorous and feel-good, I didn’t realize at the time that Golden Girls was such a cutting edge show. It’s not often that a movie or TV series focuses solely on female characters. It’s even rarer when those women are over the age of 50. Following the lives of four single female friends living together in Miami, Golden Girls showed us that grandmothers are sharp, funny and sexy, that they still have goals and dreams. It forever shaped the way I view women.
Created by Susan Harris, the series’ quartet featured smart, sarcastic Dorothy (Bea Arthur), sexy, feisty Blanche (Rue McClanahan), sweet, clueless Rose (Betty White) and sharp, jaded Sophia (Estelle Getty). These women formed a tight-knit family. They teased one another and supported each other through tough times, all while gossiping and eating cheesecake. Sidebar, it was great to see women unabashedly eat on-screen. Dorothy Zbornak, a bibliophile with her witty quips and shrewd outlook on life, was the one I could identify with most. But the show gave equal time to delve into each woman’s life and her perspective with a palpable chemistry between them.
Golden Girls was ahead of its time. We rarely see female actors over the age of 50 portraying characters embracing and owning their sexuality. Reduced to our appearances, women are told time and again that beauty, youth and thinness determine our worth. When the media body shames and bodysnarks female actors’ bodies, it’s clear how how far we need to go in featuring women’s stories. And so in our youth-obsessed society, it’s revolutionary to see women over 50 on-screen as beautiful, vivacious and sexual.
A groundbreaking show, it dealt with issues such as safe sex, ageism, sexism, mental illness, domestic violence, interracial relationships, homelessness, HIV/AIDS, LGBTQ rights, immigration and animal rights. Yet it was equally revolutionary for focusing on women and their friendships.  
Too few films and TV shows feature female leads. It’s even rarer to see a series focus on female friendship. Golden Girls paved the way for TV series like Sex and the City (even down to conversations revolving around the diner, echoing Golden Girls‘ late-night cheesecake chats), Living Single, Girlfriends, Designing Women, and Girls. While it might be easy to brush off the four women as caricatures or archetypes, each role was nuanced and complex. It’s important to see ladies celebrating ladies.
Women’s dialogue and plotlines in film and (to a lesser extent) in television, don’t typically focus on other women or even themselves. If women talk to each other, it’s often focusing on men. While imperfect, this is why the Bechdel Test matters. Dorothy, Blanche, Rue and Sophia cared about their careers and volunteered in their communities. They talked about current affairs, social issues, motherhood, family, their aspirations and goals. They swapped stories on dating, marriage and sex. But they were never defined by the men in their lives. They defined themselves.
In the series finale, Dorothy tells Blanche, Rose and Sophia, “I love you, always. You’ll always be my sisters. Always.” It was that kind of powerful sisterly camaraderie that resonated with me throughout my years. It informed my feminism.  

Golden Girls reinforced the importance of women’s opinions, that their lives and stories matter. It highlighted the value of female friendship, proving that women’s lives don’t revolve around men. It showcased social justice, conveyed the detriments of patriarchy, and proved that women don’t have to abide by confining stereotypical gender roles. It taught me that it’s never too late to start over. You’re never too old to live the life you wish or to forge new friendships.

So Dorothy, Blanche, Rose and Sophia…thank you for being a friend to us all.

Older Women Week: You Don’t Own Me: ‘The First Wives Club’ and Feminism


Movie poster for The First Wives Club

This guest post by Mia Steinle previously appeared at Canonball and is cross-posted with permission.

In the late nineties, as I was entering early teenagerdom and as a group of marketers was inventing the term “tween,” my favorite movie was about a group of middle-aged divorcees waging war on their self-centered ex-husbands. The First Wives Club had come out in 1996, and it’s possible — nay, likely — that my parents rented it from our local Blockbuster shortly thereafter, but it wasn’t until some years later, at the dawn of a new millennium, that I was treated to this quintessentially 90s nugget of female empowerment, over and over again on my friend’s VCR.

Diane Keaton, Goldie Hawn, and Bette Midler in The First Wives Club

We admired Bette Midler as ballsy, street-smart Brenda, who is incensed that her ex-husband Morty has the gall to bring his girlfriend (Sarah Jessica Parker) to their son’s bar mitzvah. We laughed at Goldie Hawn as Elise, a habitually drunk, botoxed actress, whose producer ex-husband has just taken up with an even younger actress (Elizabeth Berkeley, whose performance makes SJP look like a comedic genius). And, while the other ladies are fun and glamorous, I think we were most touched by the neurotic realism of Diane Keaton as Annie, an anxious, eager-to-please, but ready-to-burst housewife whose husband (played by the Rev. Eric Camden, aka Stephen Collins) leaves her for their therapist.

After the suicide of a mutual friend — a woman who gave the best years of her life, and her self-esteem, to a man who then left her for a younger woman — the ladies band together to get back at their exes. As Annie explains, it’s a matter of justice; they made life easy for their ex-husbands for years, only to be discarded in middle-age — that time of life when society tries to force women into invisibility: sexually, romantically and professionally.

The ladies set to work destroying their exes, using a combination of cunning and, perhaps most unconventionally, financial savvy. Their greatest successes aren’t born of cat fights with second wives, but of their ability to read tax returns (Morty cheated on his), rig auctions (Annie uses her winnings to buy ownership of her ex-husband’s advertising firm) and do simple arithmetic (turns out Elise’s ex-husband’s new girlfriend is only 16). And their accomplices, on the surface, are the types of characters who don’t usually get to be clever, the types of characters we’re supposed to laugh at. But Maggie Smith as a wealthy socialite, Jennifer Dundas as Annie’s lesbian and feminist daughter and Bronson Pinchot as an interior decorator of vague foreign origin, are just as smart and savvy as the first wives. Not being male, not being young and not being straight aren’t liabilities for these characters.

As a 12-year-old, my life bore little resemblance to theirs, but The First Wives Club gave me one of my first, delicious glimpses into womanhood — a womanhood that includes sassy retorts and getting drunk at lunch and hanging out with your best friends (and also with Bronson Pinchot and Gloria Steinem). It’s a version of womanhood where we know that Maggie Smith, no matter how old, is always cooler than Sarah Jessica Parker. Where finding out that your daughter is a lesbian is no big thing. (“Lesbians are great nowadays!” Annie remarks after hearing the news.) Where female empowerment isn’t just a nebulous buzzword, but something you achieve and celebrate.
When I sat down this week to watch the movie with fellow Canonball editor Lindsay (who had never seen it before — by contrast, our contributor James owns two copies), I wondered how it had weathered the 15 years since its release. But, really, aside from a few instances of characters exclaiming, “It’s the nineties!” the movie holds up surprisingly well. In a way, it’s almost more progressive than a lot of today’s female-led comedies. Spoiler: while we’re left to assume that Brenda and Morty are going to get back together, neither attention-seeking Elise nor insecure Annie take back their ex-husbands. As Annie explains:
He wants to come home again and he feels emotionally ready to recommit to an equitable and caring relationship. I told him to drop dead.

Because at its core, The First Wives Club isn’t a story about romance or marriage. It’s a story about finding the bravery to stand up for yourself — especially when “yourself” is a woman, and not the young, pretty kind either. And seeing Keaton’s Annie transform from the nervous wreck that I so deeply identify with, to the kind of woman who can tell the dad from 7th Heaven to drop dead, is like a breath of fresh air. 
 

Mia Steinle is a journalist living in Washington, D.C. Her work has appeared in Huffington Post, Columbia Journalism Review, and POLITICO, among others.

Older Women Week: The Ruthless Power of Patty Hewes from ‘Damages’ & Victoria Grayson from ‘Revenge’

The shadow of Patty Hewes dwarfs her protege Ellen Parsons in Damages
Emily Thorne stands beside her enemy Victoria Grayson in Revenge
Written by Amanda Rodriguez
Spoiler Alert
Older women in film and TV are generally a stereotypical lot. They’re usually sexless matrons or grandmothers who perform roles of support for their screen-stealing husbands or children. These older women are typically preoccupied with home and family, lacking a complex inner life because they are gendered symbols of, you guessed it, home and family. Occasionally we see older women who go beyond that trope, even defying it to focus more on power, prestige, winning, and their own personal success and public image rather than that of others. Two potent examples of this are Patty Hewes from Damages and Victoria Grayson from Revenge. 
The award-winning actress Glenn Close brings Damages‘ corporate lawyer and anti-heroine, Patty Hewes, to life with complexity, subtlety, and sheer force of presence. Patty Hewes is the uncannily successful proprietor of the law firm Hewes & Associates. She has high-up connections that she thinks nothing of exploiting, and she has no problem circumnavigating the law and propriety to win a case or to get what she wants. She thinks nothing of, say, attempting to murder her protege, Ellen, and succeeding in murdering Ellen’s fiance or blackmailing witnesses or judges. Patty has a reputation for ruthlessness, and, basically, people know she’s not a woman to be fucked with because she will toy with her opponents before unleashing an unholy shit storm that utterly destroys them. She’s beyond smart; she’s brilliant. She’s dedicated, ambitious, addicted to winning seemingly unwinnable cases, and cares more about her career than she does about anything else in her life.
Patty Hewes: You do not want to fuck with her.
The much acclaimed Madeleine Stowe portrays the equally ruthless Victoria Grayson on Revenge. The playing field is different: instead of a court of law, Victoria reigns supreme as a filthy rich socialite in the Hamptons who, like Patty, plays deep games of power and manipulation and is a woman who gets what she wants. Victoria shamelessly throws around her wealth to gloatingly buy off people and services, and if that doesn’t work, she capitalizes on her cool poise to threaten unspeakable reprisal if her powerful will is not obeyed. In all honesty, it was hard to find emotive pictures of Victoria because Madeleine Stowe masterfully plays her character’s unruffled containment, with emotion only briefly escaping through her eyes or a momentary flash of facial expression before disappearing beneath a well-practiced veneer of composure.
Victoria Grayson sits in her signature chair smugly triumphant about…something. To be fair she’s usually smugly triumphant.
Both Patty and Victoria have elegant homes and expensive wardrobes that are further embodiments of their success. They both play the game. It is usually a game of their own making where the rules are known only to them and are likely to change when it suits them. Both are detached and calculating, having trouble relating in genuine, meaningful ways even to the people who mean the most to them. In fact, their closest loved ones tend to despise them the most for the atrocity of their actions. However, their maternal instincts (or lack thereof) are points of differentiation. Patty has a son, Michael, and she wrests custody of his daughter from him primarily to teach him a lesson. She is cold and harsh with Michael, and once she has sole custody, Patty is distant and downright absent from the upbringing of her granddaughter, Catherine. We also come to find out that she aborted a child in her youth, choosing her career over motherhood. This sets Patty up as a typical Hollywood example of the masculinized female authority figure. Her lack of maternal instinct is set up as proof that her power has dehumanized her, implying that a woman who succeeds in the masculine world of corporate law can’t possibly be a good mother with a happy home life. Aside from the glory of her career, Patty’s life is depicted as empty and lonely; her nights are filled with solo booze consumption, and the only companion to whom she can freely relate is her pet dog, Cory.
Patty feeds her beloved Cory.

While she is a twisted excuse for a mother, Victoria has a ferocious maternal instinct. She ascribes the utmost importance to her role as “mother.” Though her games, plots, and intrigues enmesh her children in a suffocating web of deceit and motherly control, Victoria’s goals (however misguided) are always designed to protect and benefit her children. For example, Victoria offers her daughter Charlotte’s boyfriend $20,000 to piss off, and in her mind, she’s doing it to save her child from a boy who is unworthy and with whom a lasting relationship is doubtful. Victoria also has her son, Daniel, viciously beaten in prison in order to show the court that his life is in danger and he should be remanded to house arrest under her direct care and supervision. Power, in Victoria’s hands, hasn’t robbed her of her maternal instinct; instead it has made her love dark and hard and cruel.

Victoria bears the strongest distaste for Emily Thorne, her son’s fiancee; her maternal instinct telling her (correctly) that Emily is up to no good.

Patty and Victoria also differ in the depictions of their sexuality. Patty is basically an asexual being, especially after her vitriolic divorce from her cheating husband, Phil. The show alludes to her complex sexual past (with two marriages and a sordid affair with a witness resulting in the birth of her son), but no relationships or trysts materialize throughout the series because when would she have the time? Like her maternal instinct, Patty has surrendered the freedom of sexuality in return for power and prestige.

Patty sacrifices what society tells us it means to be a woman for masculine power.

Victoria, on the other hand, has a passionate sexuality that is as fierce as her ambition, as fierce as her maternal instinct. Equal to the contained control of Victoria’s public facade, is the pure abandonment of her sexuality. Unlike Patty, Victoria desperately wants love. Revenge shows that Victoria’s denial of love and the denial of the honesty of her sexual desires (first with her painter/counterfeiter Dominik and later with her husband’s coworker David Clarke) in exchange for money and power has lead her to deeper darkness, deeper emptiness, and a dwindling moral compass. The supposition seems to be that a woman can’t be rich and powerful while feeling love and tenderness.

Victoria rapt in her lover David Clarke’s arms.

Both Patty and Victoria live in a perpetual state of guilt and remorse for their actions. Victoria suffers from interminable guilt for helping her husband frame her lover, the only man she ever loved, David Clarke, for terrorism and murder. She does this, presumably, because she is afraid to lose her wealth, her position, and the power that come with them. Victoria identifies her past crimes as “heinous.” In flashbacks, there’s a softer edge to Victoria, an openness and a willingness to love and to connect. Over the years, we see that her choice of power over principles has eroded her ability to empathize and turned her into the stereotypical ice queen. Eventually, we see a shift in Victoria where it seems she can no longer bear the guilt she suffers, and she seeks to purge herself of her crimes through confession (of course she manipulates the situation to ensure her own immunity…and it doesn’t end up happening).

A seemingly pivotal moment for Victoria as she prepares to board a federal plane to Washington and make her confession.

Patty also feels unassuageable remorse about many of her decisions, most notably her youthful abortion and the path on which it set her life. The symbolic weight that the abortion bears and the resulting demonization of Patty for her choice are disappointing. The implication is that if Patty had had the child instead of aborting it, she would’ve been a better person, contented and whole. This idea goes against the very grain of Patty Hewes. Would her ambition have dissipated upon the birth of her daughter? Her love of power, the law, the game, and manipulation disappeared when she looked at her screaming newborn? None of those things happened when she later gave birth to her son, so the reality is that having that child instead of aborting it would’ve made her gravely unhappy and trapped her, and she probably would’ve fucked up that kid’s life and its sense of self even worse than she fucked up Michael’s.

Though we learn much of Victoria’s past which casts her in a more sympathetic light (i.e. her mother was a gold digger who resented her, allowed her to be molested, and then kicked her out when she turned 15), she remains aloof and composed, while Patty has more moments of genuine vulnerability. Barefoot, curled on her couch with Ellen and her dog, Patty becomes human. Her temper tantrums where she wrecks her desk and throws her oft-held whiskey glass across the room show the depth of her frustration and impotence. Her wracking sobs and hysteria after she’s given the order for Ellen’s murder show the viewer the true emotional cost of her choices…and that she makes them anyway.
Patty loses it after giving the order to have Ellen murdered.
It’s no secret that I’m fascinated by women with power. I wrote about the machinations of women and corporate power in my review of Passion, and I wrote about the ruthless Claire Underwood of House of Cards (another aging anti-heroine). Patty Hewes and Victoria Grayson are both complex, compelling characters. The way they inhabit their power is endlessly watchable. Despite their borderline amorality, it’s infinitely gratifying to watch both of them at work, setting up the players and knocking them down in a life-sized game of chess. Unfortunately, there is such a profound darkness and emptiness in both Patty and Victoria as well as in their lives. They have cut themselves off from human connection and have lost the ability to love the simpler things in life. The message is “power corrupts,” but I wonder if Victoria and Patty are extreme examples of this because they are women, as if femaleness automatically bestows qualities of nurturing, affection, connectivity, and compassion. The implication is that the kind of power these women seek is outside the feminine realm, and to grasp it, they must reject their very nature, which leaves them a hollow shell of a person. It’s all too rare that we see a subtle, powerful woman who commands respect who hasn’t sacrificed her humanness in the bargain. Though I love these wicked, wicked anti-heroines, I want to see more balanced representations of women with power who aren’t demonized and damaged due to its pursuit.