As the writer, my voice defines each character. Just as male writers paint masculine (or, worse, stereotypical) versions of the female characters they create, my characters each have a decidedly feminine spin. These are not gun-toting, one-dimensional he-men, but rather strong, masculine, flawed characters with quirks and cracks in their armor. They have no need for the mask of locker-room grandstanding. And a woman is telling their story. Unlike other dark comedies/psychological thrillers, this is a character-based story told from a female perspective.
OWEN BY THE LAKE: Brazilian Wood’s Owen Bryant portrayed by Bill Wetherill
This is a guest post by Kristin LaVanway.
Much has been debated about the limited role that women play in film. Many believe that women’s voices are fewer than their male counterparts because of the limited number of strong female roles that are offered.
I was recently invited to participate in a panel discussion entitled “Leading Ladies are People Too.” This title described several topics related to expanding women’s roles in front of and behind the camera. The initial focus was on creating rich, well-developed roles for women, the lack of which is a large concern for many, given Hollywood’s often shallow female representations.
Kristin LaVanway
But as the discussion continued, I suddenly felt pangs of guilt, the need to apologize—an overwhelming dread that I had sold out my sisterhood.
You see, I am making a decidedly male-centered feature film called Brazilian Wood.
All but one of the main characters is a dude. In my defense, the lone woman in the pack is an awesome bad guy. She is a murderous, conniving, delicious, determined woman who knows what she wants. Surely that counts for something in the broad landscape of feminism?
I began assessing my mostly masculine cast to identify possible ways to support the sisterhood and bring a larger X-chromosome component into the fold. Happily, I began to realize that those components already existed. Not in the most obvious way —the gender of the characters— but in the manner in which the characters have been developed and in the way their story would be told: by a woman.
These Leading Ladies are the “People Too” Panel at the 2014 Jerome Indie Film & Music Festival
As the writer, my voice defines each character. Just as male writers paint masculine (or, worse, stereotypical) versions of the female characters they create, my characters each have a decidedly feminine spin. These are not gun-toting, one-dimensional he-men, but rather strong, masculine, flawed characters with quirks and cracks in their armor. They have no need for the mask of locker-room grandstanding. And a woman is telling their story. Unlike other dark comedies/psychological thrillers, this is a character-based story told from a female perspective.
These Leading Ladies are the “People Too” Panel at the 2014 Jerome Indie Film & Music Festival
As a director, I can draw out this untold story. The actors portraying these characters know the back-story. They know the emotional arc these characters will be riding. They are ready to let their emotions show through the cracks, just as strong women do among their trusted friends. In this way, we can explore the motivations that drive them. We will bring more layers, more depth, and at some level, more estrogen to the audience.
As the editor, I have perhaps the strongest voice of all. I can piece together this multi-layered collection of story, emotion, murder, and mayhem, focusing not on the big splashy action sequences, but on the quiet moments, the nuanced expressions —the “girly” stuff. As the last leg in the storytelling journey, editing has a tremendous impact on the final version of the film. It can completely change the tone, message, and even the plot. That this phase is in my control can have an enormous impact in the portrayal of the characters, bringing a richness to a story that is so often told by simply counting the dead bodies and bowing to the last man standing. Bringing that depth into the frame tells the story from a new perspective.
These Leading Ladies are the “People Too” Panel at the 2014 Jerome Indie Film & Music Festival
I don’t view myself as a feminist filmmaker. I am a chick telling stories. I’m telling the stories I want to tell, from my perspective as a woman. I love an intriguing plot with twists and turns, interesting and relatable characters, and yes, even the obligatory happy ending. Whether the characters are male or female, a great story told by talented actors within a well-produced film is much more interesting to me than a film that takes a stand. As an independent filmmaker, my story can be told my way. And the voice behind the camera, my voice, despite the volume of testosterone in front of the camera, is decidedly feminine. No need to apologize for that.
Originally from the beaches of Southern California, Kristin LaVanway is a writer and director living in Mesa, AZ . She has produced numerous short films, including the award-winning comedy, “Reply Hazy,” “Try Again” and the award-winning drama, Condundrum. In 2014, she joined forces with actor/filmmaker Bill Wetherill to form Resonant Films. She is currently in crowdfunding mode for Resonant Film’s first feature, Brazilian Wood on Seed & Spark. She is also working with the AZ Audubon Society to develop a multiple film compilation called “Arizona River Stories.” Kristin is @Rl8rGal on Twitter.
We are living in an age where there is an explosion of films #DirectedbyWomen. That’s cause for celebration, but an enormous number of women filmmakers are working below the radar or on the fringes of awareness in the global film community. The result? Many film lovers are being left in the dark. They’re missing out on a rich vein of film treasures. Let’s draw films #DirectedbyWomen up into the light, so we can explore and appreciate them. Let’s help the world fall madly in love with and wildly celebrate women filmmakers and their films.
This is a guest post by Barbara Ann O’Leary.
We are living in an age where there is an explosion of films #DirectedbyWomen. That’s cause for celebration, but an enormous number of women filmmakers are working below the radar or on the fringes of awareness in the global film community. The result? Many film lovers are being left in the dark. They’re missing out on a rich vein of film treasures. Let’s draw films #DirectedbyWomen up into the light, so we can explore and appreciate them. Let’s help the world fall madly in love with and wildly celebrate women filmmakers and their films.
Go ahead… fall in love! No need to wait. Any moment is a perfect moment to relish films #DirectedbyWomen, but we want to concentrate that love by bringing the global film community together for a powerful 15-day worldwide film viewing party next year: September 1-15, 2015. During this intense and exuberant celebration, film lovers will gather together in their communities around the world for film screenings, guest filmmaker visits and other celebrations, focusing attention on and offering appreciation for women filmmakers and their work.
We want to be sure to give everyone plenty of time to plan, so we’re launching this initiative with over a year to prepare. Film lovers/makers – women and men – everywhere are invited to create #DirectedbyWomen film viewing parties in every corner of the world.
There’s so much beautiful work unfolding and so much more ready and eager to burst forth. Let’s embrace films #DirectedbyWomen with open arms. Let’s stand ready to receive them. Let’s say YES to the films women are creating. Let’s say “I WANT TO SEE FILMS #DIRECTEDBYWOMEN!” Let’s bring the films into our lives… into our communities… proactively. Let’s watch the films with attention and appreciation. Let’s share our responses to these films with the makers and with each other passionately. Let’s say “THANK YOU!” to the makers. Let’s say, “MORE please!” Let’s open greater opportunities for women filmmakers to create and share their work through the power of celebration and appreciation. Let’s step up to repeat this process.
I think it’s time for a worldwide film viewing party. I’m sending out this invitation to you and to every film lover on the planet. Everyone’s invited to co-create a global celebration next year. The only thing required in order for us each to gather with friends next year in September to watch films #DirectedbyWomen is our intention to do so, BUT if we want to be able to create a celebration that raises awareness about women filmmakers and their work on a global scale, we need resources to reach as many people as possible, extend invitations, brainstorm event celebration ideas, share information about films #DirectedbyWomen and how to arrange screening rights, coordinate event and venue information, create podcasts, generate Wayfinder Tributes to honor the individuals and groups who pour their energy into supporting women filmmakers, and other actions that will help the celebration flourish everywhere.
We’re thrilled to be offering our crowdfunding campaign on Seed & Spark. Their invitation to include this project on their Independent Film Championing platform signals that major perceptual shifts within the film community are happening now and will continue to unfold rapidly as more filmmakers and film lovers stop up to embrace films #DirectedbyWomen. Seed & Spark’s innovative approach to crowdfunding, which includes opportunities for supporters to back financially or to provide in kind contributions, makes it a tremendous place to build community and come together to bring this global celebration into being.
It’s exciting to be part of this adventure into deep appreciation and wild celebration of films #DirectedbyWomen. Let’s celebrate!
Barbara Ann O’Leary, Indiana University Cinema’s Outreach Specialist, loves to help people engage authentically. Recent projects include: #DirectedbyWomen, a worldwide film viewing part; Every Everything: The Music, Life & Times of Grant Hart (Executive Producer); Indy Film Festival (World Cinema Jury [2014] & Screening Committee [2013]); Indiana Filmmakers Network Made in Bloomington Film Series (Programmer); Bloomington Screenwriting Community (Founder/Facilitator). She’s available to work one to one with people who would like support in making the perceptual shifts that will align them more deeply with their authentic creative core.
What does it mean in a young woman’s life to be constantly stared at and treated as “the Other”? ‘Belle,’ directed by Amma Asante and written by Misan Sagay, has a lush, gorgeous look from the costumes to the landscape, and throughout this new film we, too, are invited to “look,” and to understand that “the dominant white male gaze” is related to power in 18th-century England. An actual 1779 portrait currently hanging in Scone Palace, Scotland, credited to artist Johann Zoffany, is at the heart of the complex ‘Belle,’ as is the issue of race.
What does it mean in a young woman’s life to be constantly stared at and treated as “the Other”? Belle, directed by Amma Asante and written by Misan Sagay, has a lush, gorgeous look from the costumes to the landscape, and throughout this new film we, too, are invited to “look,” and to understand that “the dominant white male gaze” is related to power in 18th-century England. An actual 1779 portrait currently hanging in Scone Palace, Scotland, credited to artist Johann Zoffany, is at the heart of the complex Belle, as is the issue of race.
The film is based on the true story of Dido Elizabeth Belle (poignantly played by Mugu Mbatha-Raw), the illegitimate mixed race child of Captain Sir John Lindsay (Matthew Goode) and a woman named Maria Belle; her parents met on a Spanish slave ship. Dido’s mother dies before the story begins. The opening images of the film depict a child in a cloak in the shadows, a carriage ride on a rough road in England in the 1700’s, and then, the emergence of Captain Sir John Lindsay, who’s come to claim Belle as his daughter. But he’s unable to raise her, as he must sail away with the Royal Navy. He brings Dido to Kenwood House in Hampstead, the home of his aristocratic uncle, Lord Mansfield (sensitively portrayed by Tom Wilkinson), who is the Lord Chief Justice of England. He leaves Dido in the care of the Mansfields, but before Lindsay departs, he assures the girl that she is loved.
The pastoral Mansfield estate already has a young blonde charge on the premises: Lady Elizabeth Murray (Sarah Gadon plays the older Elizabeth), whose own father abandoned her while he’s moved on to Europe. The young Elizabeth and Dido become inseparable, and as “cousin-sisters” grow up doing everything together: frolicking in the grass, sharing a bedroom, studying music, letters, French, and eventually, the proper mores of society as taught by their watchful aunts, Lady Mansfield (Emily Watson) and Lady Mary Murray (Penelope Wilton). The Mansfields themselves are childless, and truly love their great-nieces. The two girls are raised on relatively equal footing in the home, with some notable exceptions. For example, when visitors come, Dido is not allowed to dine with them, due to being born out of wedlock. She is, however, able to meet and greet guests after dinner in the parlor.
The news of Captain Lindsay’s eventual death is delivered by letter; Dido becomes an heiress, afforded an sizable annuity, and therefore, is set financially for life; this is in direct contrast to Elizabeth, who has no dowry and must marry well, much as in a Jane Austen novel, in order to maintain the standards of her upbringing and lineage.
When male visitors do eventually arrive for dinner at Kenwood House, such as potential suitors James Ashford (Tom Felton) and his brother Oliver (James Norton), they stare and whisper in asides, sizing up “the mulatto”; director Asante aptly depicts the 18th-century concept of women as objects here. In a later carriage scene, Elizabeth directly expresses to Dido that choices facing them, as women, are depressingly limited; they are unable to work, and a good marriage seems to be their only hope for the future.
The motif of “looking” is emphasized further in other sequences in the film. There’s a very touching scene of Dido staring at herself in the mirror, and clawing, in agony, at her own skin, trying to come to terms with her own identity.
But when a painter is commissioned for a family portrait of the two girls, there are several separate shots of Dido holding a pose, gazed upon by not only the painter, but surreptitiously spied upon by another potential suitor, the budding abolitionist John Davinier (Sam Reid).
The film points to the multiple meanings of “gazing” at Dido: yes, due to her remarkable female beauty, as in the title, but also because she is “the Other” in 18th-century British society: aristocratic, educated, and biracial. In one scene, this is especially highlighted. Both Elizabeth and Dido are asked to play the piano for the Ashfords during their first visit to Kenwood House. Lady Ashford (Miranda Richardson) doubts that Dido will be able to play at all. But it is Dido who, between the two girls, is the more accomplished musician. In a later scene, the objectification of Dido in British society is more dire, as misogynistic James Ashford, who once called beautiful Dido “repulsive,” stares at her on a river bank, and then assaults her.
Mabel (Bethan Mary-James), the freed servant in the Mansfield’s London home, is another character connected to “looking.” Dido and Mabel stare at each other upon meeting, a recognition of their shared heritage — and yet their different positions in society. Later, in front of a mirror, Mabel shows Dido how to comb through her hair properly, starting with the ends first. Mabel tells Dido that a man first showed her how to do it.
Courtship becomes a major crucible in the film. Who will get a viable marriage proposal? Dido’s first proposal occurs under the watchful eye of a marble statue of Aphrodite in a bathing pose, seeming to imply it’s a love match. But later, the romance falls apart. Earlier, Lord Mansfield tried to entrust the keys of the house to Dido, offering her the honored place that her spinster Aunt Mary holds — a Hestia position as household caretaker. Hestia is the virginal domestic Greek goddess of the hearth who never leaves home. Worried about her future, Lord Mansfield implies that Dido won’t be able to make a suitable marriage match, due to her liminal societal position: her ethnicity combined with her aristocratic background. But his offer greatly disappoints Dido, and so we know that a romance is in her future; she chooses the way of Aphrodite, not Hestia.
Classism and racism are key parts of a secondary parallel plot involving Lord Mansfield, who must render a judgment on the horrible Zong massacre of 1781, about insurers and the deaths of 142 slaves on a cargo ship. Davinier becomes secretly allied with Dido here, trying to convince Lord Mansfield to rule against the ship’s crew, in favor of the insurers. Although there are several points in the film that seem anachronistic, as if twenty-century sensibilities are in motion instead of the more likely constraints of the time period, it is Dido’s agency in this later part of the film that seems most modern, and perhaps unlikely. Still, it gives Dido an important activist goal, and the two plotlines come together well in the end: Dido’s ability to decide her own future, the verdict in the Zong trial, and romance.
The famous Zoffany portrait of the girls is revealed in the end, highlighting the focus on its unusual qualities: a handsomely gowned, pearl-wearing young black woman touched by a well-dressed white woman, given equal center space at eye line level. In the film, Asante has shown us other pictures of the era, where Africans in paintings are given little space, infantilized, or enslaved, depicted as property. The impact of the independent spirit of Dido in the painting, and the equality in stature of the two girls in the portrait, is evocative and satisfying. Director Asante again reminds us of the motif of looking, gazing, as we ourselves finally stare at the family portrait that our heroine dutifully posed for at Kenwood. And instead of Dido merely seated, she’s smiling and in motion. Symbolically, and in contrast to Elizabeth, she is going somewhere. The theme of “looking,” or gazing upon from a position of privilege as related to objectification, is explored thoroughly in Belle. The film challenges us: what do you really see and why do you see it?
Laura Shamas is a writer, film consultant, and mythologist. Her newest book is Pop Mythology: Collected Essays. Read more at her website: LauraShamas.com.
A few thoughts about the Czech filmmaker, Věra Chytilová, who died March 12 in Prague. She was 85. Chytilová was one of the key directors of the Czech New Wave and is renowned for her feminist classic, Daisies (1966). Experimental and surrealist, Daisies is an anarchic trip about two girls behaving badly and strangely.
A few thoughts about the Czech filmmaker, Věra Chytilová, who died March 12 in Prague. She was 85. Chytilová was one of the key directors of the Czech New Wave and is renowned for her feminist classic, Daisies (1966). Experimental and surrealist, Daisies is an anarchic trip about two girls behaving badly and strangely. The exploits of Chytilová’s anti-heroines include cutting up and setting fire to stuff, disrupting a cabaret act at a chic club, wining and dining with older men (only to abandon them later at train stations), gate-crashing an opulent, official banquet, and starting a food fight. It is their merry, nihilistic response to their rotten, meaningless world. The look of the film is extraordinary- the colors change, the images and cuts daze- while the tone is, at once, provocative and exhilarating. Seek it out if you haven’t already experienced its anti-patriarchal, anti-establishment energy. Here’s to a great filmmaker. Rest in peace, Ms. Chytilová.
The British Academy of Film and Television Arts Awards took place on Sunday night. One of the films nominated for “Best Outstanding British Film” was the critically-acclaimed ‘The Selfish Giant’ (2013). It lost out to the sci-fi juggernaut ‘Gravity’ but it is a powerful, low-budget film that deserves a greater audience. ‘The Selfish Giant’ was, also, the only nominated film in that category written and directed by a woman. The director’s name, of course, is Clio Barnard and my primary aim, this post-BAFTA Tuesday, is to appeal to readers to seek out her films, if you haven’t already done so.
The British Academy of Film and Television Arts Awards took place on Sunday night. One of the films nominated for “Best Outstanding British Film” was the critically acclaimed The Selfish Giant (2013). It lost out to the sci-fi juggernaut Gravity, but it is a powerful, low-budget film that deserves a greater audience. The Selfish Giant was, also, the only nominated film in that category written and directed by a woman. The director’s name, of course, is Clio Barnard and my primary aim, this post-BAFTA Tuesday, is to appeal to readers to seek out her films, if you haven’t already done so.
The Selfish Giant is a beautifully made film about the friendship between excluded boys on the margins of British society but the director has also made another remarkable film about alienated, disadvantaged women. I’m talking about The Arbor (2010), Barnard’s innovative and involving documentary about the life and career of British playwright Andrea Dunbar. The Arbor was also critically acclaimed. Barnard won Best New Documentary Filmmaker at the Tribeca Film Festival of 2010 as well as a British Independent Film Award.
Clio Barnard
Andrea Dunbar was a teenaged, working-class literary star and mother of young children from a deprived area of Bradford in West Yorkshire. Her autobiographical plays were produced at The Royal Court Theatre in London in the early 80s. An important cultural voice of underprivileged youth in divided Thatcherite Britain, the playwright died of a brain haemorrhage in 1990 after collapsing in a pub. She was only 29 years old. But the documentary not only tells the story of the dramatist’s extraordinary short life; it also focuses on the tragic fate of her eldest daughter, Lorraine Dunbar. Let’s take a closer look at The Arbor before returning to the current success of The Selfish Giant.
Andrea Dunbar grew up on the run-down Butterworth Estate in Bradford, on a street called Brafferton Arbor. She wrote about the world around her and drew from her own life. Her thematic concerns included intergenerational and interracial relationships, domestic violence, teenage pregnancy, and alcoholism. Dunbar’s play, The Arbor (1980) is about teenage pregnancy while Rita, Sue and Bob Too (1982) is about two teenaged girls who are having an affair with the same older, married man. For Dunbar, the role of the writer is to tell the truth about her world. In a featured TV interview, she observes, “Nowadays, people want to face up with what’s actually happening coz it’s actually what’s said. And you write what’s said. You don’t lie. If you’re writing about something that’s actually happening, you’re not going to lie and say it didn’t happen when it did all the time.”
Connor Chapman (Arbor) in The Selfish Giant
Clips are shown of the film adaptation of Rita, Sue and Bob Too (1987) but Barnard adopts a more original approach with The Arbor. The documentary features excerpts of an open-air performance of the play on the same estate today. The Arbor is, in fact, a deeply absorbing and stylistically adventurous documentary. Fiction and fact echo and combine. The film does offer interesting glimpses of the writer, and her family, in archival footage, but what makes it inventive is the sustained use of actors to voice the people who knew Dunbar. Their observations and memories of her are quite perfectly lip-synched and performed. Barnard is intrigued by verbatim theatre where actors speak the words of interviewees. Of particular interest to her was A State Affair, a verbatim play by Robin Soans that revisited Andrea Dunbar’s home in 2000. Barnard states in the production notes of The Arbor that her radical intention to apply verbatim techniques to film is to “make the audience aware they are watching a construct.” This makes for an artistically and intellectually stimulating viewing experience. The distancing effect encourages the viewer to question orthodoxies about documentary filmmaking, particularly questions regarding truth and representation.
The Arbor (2010)
Dunbar’s life was eventful and extraordinary. How many writers have been teenaged literary stars and mothers? She did not conform to culturally conservative, working and middle class norms of feminine behavior. She was a right-wing tabloid’s living nightmare: a young working-class mother with three children by three different fathers. Barnard’s approach does not serve to pass any judgment on the writer. Family members and former partners recall Dunbar and their reminiscences and attitudes towards the writer sometimes conflict; Dunbar herself is glimpsed in interviews and comes across as an intense, shy-looking figure. She was, it seems, a complicated character. Lip-synched voices of her family testify to child neglect and hard drinking but it is equally evident that Dunbar was a young woman with deep insecurities. A victim of male exploitation and violence, she spent time in women’s refuges. She, also, most likely suffered from depression and alcoholism.
The Arbor also examines the difficult relationship between Andrea and her biracial daughter, Lorraine. Lorraine’s father was of Pakistani heritage and she observes that her mother’s situation was very unusual on her “all-white, very racist estate.” Virulent racism was commonplace in Yorkshire in the 80s and Lorraine’s memories of the racism she experienced within her own family are disturbing to hear. She even recalls overhearing her own mother- back from the pub- make the sickening, soul-destroying confession to another that she did not love her as much as her other children because of her race. Her relatives, she maintains, also denied her Asian heritage. Lorraine further maintains that her mother was uncaring and unloving in general.
Playwright Andrea Dunbar with daughter Lorraine
Lorraine’s white half-sister, Lisa, disagrees with her characterization of their mother and claims it covers deep hurt over her loss. What is clear is that Lorraine simply unravelled after her mother’s death. Her life was blighted by bullying and drug addiction. She fell into sex work to pay for her habit and, like her mother, became a victim of domestic violence. Lorraine was imprisoned in 2007 for the manslaughter–through neglect–of her two-year-old son who died after ingesting methadone whilst in her care. It perhaps comes as no surprise to learn that she actually preferred prison life.
The Arbor is a unique, evocative portrait of creative talent and inter-generational pain. Both mother and daughter suffered from terrible demons but Barnard’s approach does not offer easy explanations. The young literary star from the streets of Bradford remains a mystery, in many ways, and we are encouraged to ask if we ever really know the truth about someone. The documentary is about an extraordinary woman from a particular place but it deals with the universal theme of family. Are we not all shaped by our families, if not haunted by them? The poet Philip Larkin wrote in This Be The Verse: “They fuck you up, you, your mum and dad/They may not mean to, but they do./They fill you with the faults they had/And add some extra, just for you.” Whether you concur with his darkly amusing observation, The Arbor makes you think about what we inherit from our parents. Another theme is the nature of creative talent and I took away from the documentary an acknowledgement that creativity does not always come in clean, little packages. The film also makes the viewer reflect on the impact of poverty, class, and racism on the psyche of human beings.
Manjinder Virk as Lorraine Dunbar
The Arbor contributes to our understanding of the dramatist in a compelling, original ways. It is an important feminist work too in that it restores to the collective memory the story of a young, disadvantaged female cultural figure while drawing attention to the plight of young girls struggling to survive in societies where racism, lack of opportunity, and masculinist violence are all-pervasive.
In the narrative film, The Selfish Giant, inspired by the Oscar Wilde short story of the same name, Barnard addresses the troubles of two young boys growing up in the same economically deprived area of Bradford. It is, of course, important for female filmmakers to examine masculinity as well as femininity. The Selfish Giant sheds light on both the aggressiveness and vulnerability of boys. Barnard’s lads are lost and disadvantaged. Arbor (Conner Chapman) has a drug-addicted older brother and Swifty (Shaun Thomas) comes from an extremely large, needy family. Both have been excluded from school for discipline problems. Arbor is an angry, insecure lad with ADHD. Swifty is more unassuming. An animal lover, he is a natural with horses. Kicked out of school, the boys resort to scrap metal dealing and get involved in illegal “sulky” (or harness) racing. Arbor feels left out when Swifty is chosen to be the sulky rider of a scrap metal dealer called Kitten (Sean Gilder). He also steals from him. Punishment is a risky but potentially profitable mission that ends in tragedy.
The boys of The Selfish Giant
The Selfish Giant highlights the exploitation of children by adults but it is also a sensitive study of male friendship. Arbor can be belligerent but he can also be engaging, even affectionate. He loves his friend and the friendship moves the viewer because we realize that it is his only authentic relationship. Barnard understands that his bravado masks raw sensitivity. Arbor’s home, for Swifty, is a refuge from the insecurity and turmoil of his family life. Chapman and Thomas, it must be said, deliver persuasive, natural performances as the boys.
The Selfish Giant is a hard-hitting, sometimes harrowing, film. Of course, there are those who would charge Barnard with exploiting poverty as well as giving a too depressing picture of the lives of poor people in the UK. I would not, however, accuse the director of being a class tourist. Although the daughter of a university lecturer, she grew up in West Yorkshire and knows the area in question well. The Selfish Giant is not manipulative. It engages you emotionally but it is not sentimental. In fact, it grows more powerful and beautiful as the story unfolds. Stylistically, The Selfish Giant is a social realist tale with a modern, picaresque feel. The spiritual themes of Wilde’s story also become more apparent as the film develops. Barnard’s formidable sense of place is, again, manifest. The Selfish Giant’s post-industrial, semi-rural landscape is shot with skill and imagination. This world does not lack poetry but Barnard endows it with an austere power. In short, The Selfish Giant is a beautifully made film that that needed to be made, and needs to be seen. It critical successes–BAFTA nomination and Europa Cinemas prize at Cannes in 2013–are richly deserved.
Sulky harness racing (The Selfish Giant)
Clio Barnard is not frightened of tackling tough subjects. She is concerned with the marginalized and the forgotten–untutored children, abused women, anguished addicts and wayward, natural-born artists. Both films explore the alienation of the English underclass and working class. They are not directly political but it is clear where the director’s ideological sympathies lie. The films show what poverty does to people psychologically. This is, in fact, what they are ultimately about. There is a sureness and artistry in Barnard’s directing and her work has been both aesthetically striking and intellectually engaging. Stylistically, her films so far have revealed experimental daring as well as strong social commitment. I hope she goes on to make many more beautiful, thought-provoking films. Let’s celebrate her rise.
My entry point to this area is my interest in creating media that highlights women of color, queer people, its intersection, and other types of characters not often seen on screen. People who aren’t lawyers or in advertising. People who wear the same sweater more than once. People who don’t fit into prefab boxes. My conviction about the need for more diverse content won’t ever falter, but hearing truths from women working in the field is, unfortunately, a downer. While representation of women remains a glaring issue, it’s in the creation of stories and characters where we continue to see problems.
The Panel
This is a guest post by Emily U. Hashimoto.
To reveal how films are created is to lose faith in a medium many of us love so much; perhaps like laws and sausage, it’s best not to see how it’s made. Yet for those of us interested in being a part of that process, the fascination lingers, and to this end I made my way to the Athena Film Festival last weekend, a three day celebration of women and leadership. The three day event featured films – including Frozen, Farah Goes Bang, In A World, and Maidentrip – as well as panels and workshops with seasoned professionals that are creating and helping to create strong portrayals of women.
My entry point to this area is my interest in creating media that highlights women of color, queer people, its intersection, and other types of characters not often seen on screen. People who aren’t lawyers or in advertising. People who wear the same sweater more than once. People who don’t fit into prefab boxes. My conviction about the need for more diverse content won’t ever falter, but hearing truths from women working in the field is, unfortunately, a downer. While representation of women remains a glaring issue, it’s in the creation of stories and characters where we continue to see problems. For example, during a panel with producers, an entertainment lawyer, and others, one woman who works in production said that when a film is in its initial stages and agents have the opportunity to suggest writers and directors, they won’t mention any women because they know the studio won’t go for it. When studio executives get asked why women’s names aren’t put forward, they say that agents won’t support those choices. What we have here is a classic catch-22 clusterfuck that’s hard to escape, without a suitable conclusion that puts more women to work.
Nina Shaw
This inclusion issue exists at all levels. Executives that are women or people of color aren’t willing to step forward to support a script about women or people of color, lest they be seen as ‘pushing an agenda.’ So even when there is more representation of studio executives, a balm you’d think is a panacea, the willingness to stick to the predetermined rules is more of a draw for the people who select this kind of work.
It kind of continues to be bad news.
The statistics don’t support a woman’s endeavor into film. San Diego State University’s Center for the Study of Women in Television and Film’s research tells us that in 2013, only 16% of all directors, executive producers, producers, writers, cinematographers, and editors involved in top grossing films were women. In television and independent film, women are better represented, with these figures being closer to 30%, but we’re still a long way from parity.
Callie Khouri
If one does make it through to the exclusive group of filmmakers, it doesn’t guarantee work. Nina Shaw, a leading entertainment lawyer, said during the panel that when studios are working on a project, they’ll have “The List” of possible directors and writers, a list that is often devoid of even one woman’s name. When she brings up women creators, the response is often, “Well, we talked about her…” She said, “it’s almost always a guy talking to a guy,” though as mentioned above, even having more women executives isn’t a boon to more women creators. The problem is bankability; women are not seen as people who can make a large-scale film because of the way we are perceived – never mind the fact that films with a woman lead are less expensive to make and end up making more money.
But the perception persists that women are not leaders enough to take the helm of a huge project. Directors (read: men) are supposed to be powerful, tough, and wise, and the way women are perceived clashes with that. When a woman director does sneak in the door and she displays the traits that a director should, there can be a terrible clash. Shaw described an anonymous situation of a woman director who had an adversarial relationship with her male producer on a film. She behaved as any director would, but that behavior made the producer bad mouth her all over town. She didn’t work steadily for years until she fell in with a successful female TV creator and showrunner.
Anna Holmes
Whether you work within the lines or not, as a woman creator you must be overwhelmingly prepared and talented. Lena Waithe, a queer woman of color that writes and produces, says that for women of color especially, there’s no room for mediocrity because you’re already seen as a risky entity. You have to work the hardest you’ve ever worked, while a male peer can, as Shaw described, get into a fight and be put in jail the night before a film starts shooting, halting production until he’s bailed out – and not get fired. If a female director pulled a stunt like that, she’d end up in “director jail,” a term for not being able to get work that Shaw said was very real.
Perception of women feeds into the writing process, too. Callie Khouri, writer of Thelma and Louise and creator of Nashville, said during her master class that before Thelma and Louise was made, the first question she’d get in a meeting was: “How are you going to change the ending?” Not “are you?” but “how?” – because what kind of movie ends with the female leads doing something as traditionally masculine as thinking the only way out is down? Khouri’s answer in these meetings was, “I’ll have the car drive faster over the cliff,” and her non-compromise formed what’s become a deeply iconic symbol of female friendship and rebellion. But it doesn’t change the fact that she was asked to make changes, a change that’s hard to envision someone asking of a male writer.
So. You’ve made your film, and Roger Ebert hates it and writes a really sexist review, which is the place Khouri found herself in after co-writing and directing The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. Reviews from Ebert and others tanked the film at the box office, which wasn’t so surprising to Khouri because “women’s films are denigrated” by critics, many of whom are men. Khouri went further, insinuating that the criticism came from a less than objective place, because the film “wasn’t made for him.” This kind of frustration seems to be part and parcel of the job, but after years in Hollywood, Khouri is able to distinguish who does what. It’s someone’s job to be critical. “Our part of the gig,” she said, “is to say, well, fuck you. It got made.”
It certainly got made. Which feels like the perfect time to segue over to good advice and bright spots that came from panels and workshops at the festival:
Khouri said try – to write, to direct – then finish. It’s simple advice, but many people are nervous to try their hand at something they’ve never done. Waithe attested to this, too: she offered to produce a friend’s film without even knowing what a producer does. This kind of go-with-it attitude sparks against the more gender-enforced norm of wanting to master something before starting up, as founder of Jezebel.com Anna Holmes said is a trait she can’t easily discard. Even more specific than try and finish, Waithe said start with a question that your viewers will engage with; it’ll make your work much more interactive and innovative.
Where you’re working and who you know are integral to making moves in film. Khouri said you have to go to the ballpark to play ball, whether it’s Los Angeles or New York or wherever your particular form of creativity is taking place. Once there, spend time with people who know more than you. Learn from the wisdom that others can offer, and then be willing to play that role once you’ve been around the block. Once you’re in the space, you may have to start as an assistant, then work your way up; that seems to be the route for most of the women who spoke during the festival. There’s something refreshing about such meritocracy, even as it feels like a challenging path with no guarantee.
Lena Waithe
Having said that, you can always buck the system entirely. During the panel with women experts, there was a lot of discussion about Kickstarter, Indiegogo, and how independent filmmaking are the way to truly run the show. Putting your work and intentions out into the world ahead of an actual film being produced can be a great way to find your audience, involving them ahead of time, but it needs to be done well to stand out. Working with a producer who can help with marketing was one suggestion on how to make this work.
Once your content is in motion, deciding how it’s presented is another important step. The panel discussed Orange is the New Black and how Jenji Kohan created the show with its white female lead as the “trojan horse” to hook mass audiences, then tell stories of a diversity of women characters – older women, queer women, women who are well off, women living on the streets, trans women. Likewise, Shonda Rhimes created Grey’s Anatomy and Meredith Grey with a similar set up, both shows displaying the success in employing these kinds of tactics. This method clearly works, but Waithe said that she prefers to be more straightforward – that her characters are people of color, that they’re queer, and there’s nothing to hide. Creators need to make these decisions, to decide how they want to represent their work.
So much of the representation of women in film feels inorganic to our lived experiences. Waithe attributed that to the phenomenon of men writing female characters, which leads to men “telling stories that are foreign to them.” Indeed, it’s undeniable that a woman directed and/or written film can often be truer than, for example, the way Woody Allen writes women, but more than anything, the statistics tell us that we simply need more women writing and directing more stories. As Holmes put it, it’s “important to mainstream women’s voices,” which will serve the women pushing to get their work produced and seen, and the audiences of women and men who will benefit from more inclusion, onscreen and off.
For more on the Athena Film Festival, read this terrific interview with co-founders Kathryn Kolbert and Melissa Silverstein.
Emily U. Hashimoto is a writer interested in pop culture, feminism, sexuality, and its intersections. She’s currently working on a memoir about her women’s studies study abroad trip and a screenplay that she hopes will cement her as the queer Nora Ephron. You can find her at books-feminism-everythingelse or @emilyhash.
What I like about this film is that not only did we come up with a full female driven story, but every woman in this film is a bad ass. No meek characters here. Every single one of them has a strong point of view and sense of self. Those are two things I think we need to focus on in this male dominated industry. As characters, and as women on sets, we can’t be afraid to take charge, voice our opinions and be ourselves.
Elena directing The Catch
This is a guest post by Elena Weinberg.
Being a female filmmaker isn’t hard, but it is definitely interesting. Maybe that statement isn’t true for everyone; maybe I just surround myself with good people. Either way, making films has been great for me as a person, but especially as a woman.
In December of 2012, my partner, Duncan Coe, entered into a screen writing contest. He has been a playwright for years and thought “Why the hell not? I’ll try my hand at the screen too.” The catch was that if he made the top 20, they wanted to see films he had written, produced or directed. So, it looked like we needed to make a film, just in case. But in Texas we have this phrase: “Go Big, or Go Home.” So, instead of just making one little short film in case he got in, we decided to go on a 12 month long journey. See, I got my degree in acting, and he got his in acting and writing. Neither of us knew anything about the behind the camera stuff. But hey, we live in the digital age, we could learn, right? So, we did. We decided to make one short film a month for the year of 2013. Each month we would focus on something different that we hadn’t learned yet. The first month, we did a music video for a friend’s band so that we didn’t have to worry about sound. The next month, we focused on specific shot techniques. March and April focused on voiceovers and live sound. By August, we were getting creative and even tried our hand at stop-motion. He didn’t make the top 20 of the contest, be we had grown into something much bigger than that. We had formed a production company, TurtleDove Films, out of sheer will and determination. We finished the twelve months and not only came out alive, but even have 2 film festivals under our belts and one award. What an accomplishment, right?
Still of actress Kimberly Gates, who plays Jamie in The Catch
That’s all great on paper, but let’s dig a little deeper. What was this experience like for me, as a woman? It was pretty crazy good. Duncan and I fell into our roles early on: he wrote and did cinematography and I directed and business managed. As the female in our duo, I got to be in charge. Now, that has nothing to do with the fact that I AM a woman (I’m just naturally better at taking charge and more organized than he is) but it definitely feels good to be a female in that position. I found myself looking for ways to empower myself and other women on my sets. In November, I decided to challenge Duncan on the writing end. I pointed out that we hadn’t had a full female cast yet, and that most of our female characters hadn’t been particularly strong. He’s a “write what you know” kind of guy, so he blamed that on being a dude and not really understanding women. I called bullshit and told him he just needed practice. So, “The Catch” was born. (Watch it free to play, here: https://vimeo.com/80720328).
What I like about this film is that not only did we come up with a full female driven story, but every woman in this film is a bad ass. No meek characters here. Every single one of them has a strong point of view and sense of self. Those are two things I think we need to focus on in this male dominated industry. As characters, and as women on sets, we can’t be afraid to take charge, voice our opinions and be ourselves. Maybe I’m just lucky, but when I’m directing on set, it feels really really good. People listen to me and value my opinions. Since TurtleDove’s inception, I’ve grown exponentially as a director: after just one three hour directing class in college, I had no idea if I was going to be able to do it. Spoiler alert: I did it. And I now identify as a director. But guess what else that has done for me? It’s made me a better actress. On top of that, it’s made me a stronger person. It’s even made me a better audience member.
I’ve discovered that I’m capable of anything I set my mind to. TurtleDove is now a licensed LLC and we are crowdfunding through Seed & Spark to raise start-up funds for our in-home studio. Before last year, I never dreamed of being a business owner. But, I stood up, owned my woman-hood and said “yes, I can.” So, whether you’re a female director, producer, actress or film buff, I encourage you to keep your strength in mind. Being a female in film is anything but boring. But if it was boring, what would be the point?
Elena Weinberg
Elena Weinberg is an actress, director and producer. She graduated from Saint Edward’s University in Austin, Texas with a BA in Theatre Arts. She co-owns TurtleDove Films, LLC in Austin, Texas. TurtleDove Films is currently running a 60 day campaign on Seed&Spark to fund start-up costs for the production company (www.seedandspark.com/studio/turtledove-films) In addition to filmmaking, she is active in the local theatre community, a yogi, a cat lady and an avid San Antonio Spurs fan. The way to her heart is with wine, cheese and pickles.
There is an empowerment to seeing women use their bodies to intently serve their character’s purpose. There is honest recognition of the female form in all of its glory and trust in the actress, director, or writer to create that honesty. There is also a young little lady, up way past her bedtime, copying your every move as you high-kick your way into Saturday night.
Molly Shannon on SNL as Mary Katherine Gallagher
This is a guest post by Jessie Jolles and Tracy Soren.
When Molly Shannon threw herself into a pile of chairs as Mary Katherine Gallagher on Saturday Night Live, funny girls whose parents let them stay up past 11:30 p.m. were, from that point on, changed. Cheri Oteri as a Spartan Cheerleader, kicking her legs up high during an uncomfortable routine, or Ana Gasteyer, stiff but still dancing as Bobbi Moughan-Culp, one part of the trying-to-be-hip-music teacher duo, were telling us our bodies are for us.
As women, we are told we are meek and frail; we should be smaller, thinner, and able to fit in a spoonful of sugar so a man can put us in his coffee and swallow us down. There’s nothing new here that we are saying. I believe there’s an Upworthy post on your Facebook that’s exhibiting the notion right now (as they should be!). How many times have you watched a film or TV show where the woman is in some well-shaven, acrobatic position for the male gaze. So for us, Jessie Jolles and Tracy Soren, comedians and creators of the web series, DIBS, we enjoy nothing more than a woman allowing herself to transform her body for the sake of a well-earned laugh.
We should point out that we met in an improv class at the Upright Citizens Brigade and were improvisers before we decided to create something on camera. We are now on all-lady improv team named Gulf Oil, kickin’ ass, takin’ names, getting suggestions. This past weekend, we had a show where Tracy ended up with a bruised knee and Jessie actually flew across the stage in an all out physical improv fight. We had a blast! There is something very interesting that happens though when you are a woman very physical in your comedy… the audience becomes your collective mother. They are laughing BECAUSE WE ARE FUNNY (right?!) sure, but there is also a gasp of breath as if our lady bodies will disintegrate into Tinkerbell’s fairy dust. It is sometimes a shock to them when we get down and dirty on a down and dirty theatre floor in the East Village. We are guilty of this reaction too, I’m sure. I mean, boobs hurt when they are sliding across the ground but in improv, you can’t think, you just do. And that’s how we want to see filmmakers treat ladies when they are making funnies or not. Because the question really is: what would the character’s body actually do in this moment?
Tracy and Jesse “being physical” on the set of DIBS
Now that we are writing and preparing for the Season 2 of DIBS, we know the characters Joey and Emily deeply and we are excited to use the entire range of our physical comedy to get the laugh. But this doesn’t only apply to comedy of course. We want to see filmmakers and content creators let female actresses and female characters use their true range. Indie films and content respond to this more so then mainstream media (again, nothing new here). Imagine what it takes to decide you want to be an actress or a creator and go for your dream; the skin is already tough, we don’t need our character to be one-dimensional in their physical abilities. Of course, if the character calls for a delicateness then I’m sure the actress playing her can master delicate. But we women can take it! Molly Shannon threw herself into a bunch of fold-out chairs, than she made a movie doing it. Trust us to know our abilities.
The physicality of women cannot be spoken about without the sexualization and oppression of women’s bodies in media which is of course cyclical. They tell us our bodies are supposed to look like x (x can be thin, hairless, light-skinned, small, etc…). We think our bodies are supposed look one way so we then make our bodies look like that and people go, ah yes, that’s what women look like or what women want to look like so we will put out another film/ad/show/beer bottle representing women as x. So then our female characters are widely represented as x. But then there’s that special moment when we see Maya Rudolph shit her pants in a wedding dress on the street in Bridesmaids and it’s amazing, hysterical, and women go “See! That’s what America needs!”
There is an empowerment to seeing women use their bodies to serve intently serve their character’s purpose. There is honest recognition of the female form in all of its glory and trust in the actress, director, or writer to create that honesty. There is also a young little lady, up way past her bedtime, copying your every move as you high-kick your way into Saturday night. So audiences, filmmakers, friends, families, dentists, healthcare workers, Bugs Bunny, let’s let women get down already. We promise, you’ll laugh.
Jessie Jolles and Tracy Soren make up the comedic duo, Soren & Jolles. They are in pre-production for the second season of their web series DIBS and are crowdfunding here on Seed & Spark! They both study at the Upright Citizens Brigade and are on a wonderful improv team, Gulf Oil.
The reality is that when I started to write about women I wasn’t trying to defend them; I was actually trying to connect with them. I thought to myself, “if I can understand where you’re coming from, I will be less likely to judge you.” However, the moment you attempt to expand on such a controversial concept, such as gender, you will inevitably undergo a huge learning curve. Your opinions and your stances will change over time, and that’s okay.
Art by Ricardo Cabret
This is a guest post by Zoé Salicrup Junco.
Hello there. My name is Zoé Salicrup Junco. I’m a film director in-the-making, but more importantly, I’m a woman in-the-making. I have a funny feeling that both the former and especially the latter will be never-ending journeys… Hit me up if that’s not the case.
A couple of years ago, I wrote and directed a short film called GABI about women, sexuality, and my native island of Puerto Rico. Fortunately, the film had a great run in the 2012 and 2013 film festival circuit, having its international premiere at Clermont-Ferrand Film Festival, and its USA premiere at Tribeca Film Festival. Most recently, the short film joined the Seed&Spark family, as it was invited to screen in Christine Davila’s curated channel “Más American.” And at this very moment, I’m finishing up the feature-length script version of GABI.
The main concept behind both the short and the feature screenplays is to present a mid-thirties woman, who’s independent, financially stable, and is not in a hurry to settle down with a family. Oh, and she happens to enjoy sex openly (as in she’s not afraid to hide her sexual appetite). I particularly like her nickname because it’s neutral; it suits both male Gabriels and female Gabrielas. And as you might have already noticed, my character walks the very fine line between conventional male and female attributes.
Now here’s the irony- I built a female character who was fully confident and in control of her life because something was preventing me from feeling that way. For a very long time I had voiced my opinion against machismo, and then one day I caught myself upholding those same values. Judging women became way more easier than understanding them. But the moment I became aware of the fact that I was guilty of my own double-standards everything changed.
The short film’s writing began and I strived to live vicariously through Gabi. I allowed myself to live free like her, but I also allowed myself to feel judged like her. I’m not going to lie- all the “hater” attention from other female characters was somewhat thrilling, but it did get to a point where it was plain hurtful, and even the most liberated woman would’ve felt humiliated and worst, alone. I empathized with my protagonist and I vowed to defend all women like her.
Then the feature screenplay came along, and I caught myself feeling uneasy again. I still empathized with Gabi, but I was also starting to understand other women, who perhaps would frown upon Gabi. Did this mean I was abandoning my Gabi ways? Was I switching sides?
Zoe Salicrup Junco (left) directs lead actress Dalia Davi (right)
A few days ago, the ultimate example of beauty and brains, Rashida Jones, published and online article, “Why is everyone getting naked? The Pornification of Everything.” If you haven’t read it, it’s kind of an open letter to the media and the public where she voices her frustration about the year 2013 being “the year of the very visible vagina.” She expands on a few tweets she made a while back lashing out at the pornification, or better yet, the over-pornification of certain pop-stars and how this movement has got to stop. To be fair, she clarifies that she loves sex and is in no way asking us to be prudes; she’s simply asking to tone it down. As you might suspect, Rashida received both support and heat for her blunt opinions. She admits she was shocked to hear other women call her a slut-shammer and a misogynist.
Her article serves as the prime example of the great divide, and the grand fault behind women’s liberation: we don’t appreciate it when our own kind seems to sway back and forth between gender-classified opposing point of views. The moment we sense inconsistency in one of our sisters’ stances we fear to be viewed as weak, and we shun our sister out the club. But is this shifting pendulum really a weakening factor among us?
Sure, I don’t know Rashida personally, but to put all of this into perspective, let’s just bounce around these general facts about her: she’s a well-educated woman, she’s in her mid-thirties, she’s financial independent (we can’t blame all of her success on Quincy Jones), she openly admits to being promiscuous for some time in her life, she’s been linked to multiple high-profile relationships, but hans’t settled down yet, and surprisingly, even this kind of modern, sexually liberated woman is saying- “Enough with sex! Let’s get to know women on a more profound level!”
And that’s where the funny feeling about the never-ending journey through womanhood kicks in. Let’s forget about the whole “setting an example for other women” fiasco for now, and actually ask ourselves: What does getting to know a woman on a more profound level really mean? What are women interested to learn about other women? And more excitingly, what will evoke us to open up with one another?
The reality is that when I started to write about women I wasn’t trying to defend them; I was actually trying to connect with them. I thought to myself, “if I can understand where you’re coming from, I will be less likely to judge you.” However, the moment you attempt to expand on such a controversial concept, such as gender, you will inevitably undergo a huge learning curve. Your opinions and your stances will change over time, and that’s okay.
Perhaps the shifting pendulum should be embraced, rather than feared. Instead of crucifying each other over failed expectations, why not raise awareness about the fact that being a woman is an ever-changing, never-ending journey?
Awareness may just guide us to openness: “Hey! I’m a woman too, I’m not exactly sure what I’m doing here. Maybe you, another woman, can teach me a thing or two?” Why not tackle the real blurred lines amongst each other with this kind of dialogue?
Zoé Salicrup Junco was born and raised in Puerto Rico. GABI is her thesis film from NYU film school, under the guidance of film director Susan Seidelman. In June 2012 Zoé became one of “The Independent” Magazine’s top 10 filmmakers to watch in 2012. She is currently writing the feature-length version of GABI. You can read more about her and her film at www.gabifilm.com.
I’m really inspired these days by filmmaker, entrepreneur, community builder Ava DuVernay – inspired about film and about life. IndieWire named her one of their 40 top Industry Influencers and they definitely got it right when they put her in their “Shapeshifter” category. She IS indeed a shapeshifter. She’s not only transforming herself, but she’s calling into being a highly fluid, passionately creative era in filmmaking. She’s inviting us all to shift our perceptions and change our world. She’s calling on us to step out of a sense of desperation and lack, look around, notice what we have available to us, and begin to create.
Ava DuVernay
This is a guest post by Barbara Ann O’Leary.
I’m really inspired these days by filmmaker, entrepreneur, community builder Ava DuVernay – inspired about film and about life. IndieWire named her one of their 40 top Industry Influencers and they definitely got it right when they put her in their “Shapeshifter” category. She is indeed a shapeshifter. She’s not only transforming herself, but she’s calling into being a highly fluid, passionately creative era in filmmaking. She’s inviting us all to shift our perceptions and change our world. She’s calling on us to step out of a sense of desperation and lack, look around, notice what we have available to us, and begin to create.
In a recent interview during her visit to Indiana University Cinema, Ava shared about her approach to actively engaging with what she has access to in the moment: “I HAVE an idea. I HAVE the passion. I HAVE friends. I HAVE this little bit of money. I HAVE this location. I HAVE access to this camera. OK, I can make something with those things I have instead of focusing on all the things I did not have. All the things I wanted. My needs start to change. And my posture became much more active. And I was moving forward as opposed to standing still.”
This is a radical act of power. Saying YES to what is available in this moment. We have what we need right now. Begin!
She expanded on these themes during her incisive Film Independent Forum Keynote speech in October. Have you taken time to really watch and listen to what she shared there? I hope you’ll let her insights sink into your consciousness and start to inform how you move through your life. Here it is. Go ahead and soak it up. I’ll wait.
[youtube_sc url=”http://youtu.be/-pFoBks5ly0″]
What sparked you? Something she shared that resonated strongly with me was what she wants to say to people when they’re feeling and acting desperate: “Knock it off. It doesn’t work. It’s never going to work for you, that feeling of, ‘I need help. I need all these things to proceed.’ And when I got that, a revolution happened for me and that’s when things started to change.”
She went on to stress: “I didn’t stop being desperate because things started to go my way, I changed my mind and things started to go my way.”
It thrills me to hear a filmmaker stand on such a public stage and make the clear, bold statement that perceptual shifts change our lives. It reminded me of something Alberto Villoldo shared in his book Shaman, Healer, Sage: “Shamans are people of the percept. When they want to change the world, they engage in perceptual shifts that change their relationship to life. They envision the possible, and the outer world changes.”
Filmmakers are people of the percept too. They change the way we see the world. Ava’s calling on us to shapeshift our awareness to create new experiences for ourselves. She’s a bold example of how perceptual shifts lead to transformation. Let’s change the way we see ourselves as creators and watch our experiences truly shift. I’m ready for a revolution in consciousness about creativity and authenticity.
But I also know that this is a process that benefits from concrete practice as we move from old ways of seeing ourselves and the world around us. Even though I work extensively with perception and consciousness, I still find myself in need of reminders to wake up to this moment and what’s arising right now. As I sat down to write this blog post this morning, I caught myself thinking, “Oh, no! I don’t have enough time.” When I noticed the thought, I got a good laugh out of it. I took a breath and assured myself that I HAVE what I need. I HAVE this little bit of time. I HAVE these things to share. I HAVE the opportunity to share them with this community of film makers and film lovers. I HAVE the passion to share what arises from the depth of my being. I HAVE what I need at this time.
And so do we all. Join me in shifting perceptions and opening up to our creative potential. I can’t WAIT to see what we all bring forth.
Addendum: Just as I was completing this I felt drawn to look at Facebook. I found this link to a brand new blog post by my friend Jenn Will about the nature of grasping: Aparigraha (Non-possessiveness, Non-grasping). It relates to what I’ve been writing about here, so I’m passing it along. It’s a sign that what we need arrives when we need it. Enjoy.
Barbara Ann O’Leary
Barbara Ann O’Leary, Indiana University Cinema’s Outreach Specialist, loves to help people engage authentically. Recent projects include: Every Everything: The Music, Life & Times of Grant Hart (Executive Producer), Indy Film Festival (Screening Committee), Indiana Filmmakers Network Made in Bloomington Film Series (Programmer), Bloomington Screenwriting Community (Founder/Facilitator). A Film Explorer/Blogger, Barbara shares her adventures in film and reports on her initiative A Yearlong Film Viewing Balancing Act at O’Leary’s Reel Life: http://olearysreellife.tumblr.com/. She’s available to work one to one with people who would like support in making the perceptual shifts that will align them more deeply with their authentic creative core.
Most feminist criticism of Stephen King’s Carrie has focused on the male fear of powerful women that the author said inspired the film, with the anti-Carrie camp finding her death at the end to signify the defeat of the “monstrous feminine” and therefore a triumph of sexism. But Stephen King’s honesty about what inspired his 1973 book notwithstanding, Carrie is as much an articulation of a feminist nightmare as it is of a patriarchal one, with neither party coming out on top.
Carrie movie poster
This guest post by Holly Derr previously appeared at Ms. Magazine and is cross-posted with permission as part of our theme week on Cult Films and B Movies.
Carrie is largely about how women find their own channels of power, but also what men fear about women and women’s sexuality. Writing the book in 1973 and only three years out of college, I was fully aware of what Women’s Liberation implied for me and others of my sex. Carrie is woman feeling her powers for the first time and, like Samson, pulling down the temple on everyone in sight at the end of the book. —Stephen King, Danse Macabre
Most feminist criticism of Stephen King’s Carrie has focused on the male fear of powerful women that the author said inspired the film, with the anti-Carrie camp finding her death at the end to signify the defeat of the “monstrous feminine” and therefore a triumph of sexism. But Stephen King’s honesty about what inspired his 1973 book notwithstanding, Carrie is as much an articulation of a feminist nightmare as it is of a patriarchal one, with neither party coming out on top.
The rise of Second Wave feminism in the ’70s posed serious threats to the patriarchal order–as well it should have. But even for those who think change is not only necessary but good, change can be pretty scary. This, with a hat tip to the universality of being bullied, is one of the reasons Carrie scares everyone.
Carrie (Chloe Grace Moretz) and Margaret White (Julianne Moore)
While men in the ’70s felt threatened by the unprecedented numbers of women standing up for themselves and attempting such radical social changes as being recognized as equal under the law, women themselves must have felt some anxiety that the obstacles to fully realizing themselves might be too big to conquer. The story therefore resonates with men in terms of the fear of (metaphorical) castration prompted by changing gender roles, and with women in terms of the fear that no matter how powerful we become, social forces are still so aligned against us that fighting back might destroy not just the patriarchy but ourselves.
Feminism was not the only thing on the rise in the ’70s: so was Christian fundamentalism. In 1976, the year that the original movie debuted, 34 percent of Protestant Americans told the Gallup Poll that they had had born-again experiences, leading George Gallup himself to declare 1976 the Year of the Evangelical. In fact evangelism, then as now–when 41 percent of Americans report being born again–was one of feminism’s more formidable foes, one of those very social forces that would rather destroy women than see them powerful.
Carrie and her mother pray
The triggering event of Carrie–the infamous shower scene–is a product of the meeting of these two forces. Because of a fundamentalist Christian worldview in which menstruation is not simply a biological process but rather evidence of Eve’s original sin being visited upon her daughters, Carrie‘s mother does nothing to prepare her for getting her period. When she starts bleeding at school, Carrie naturally panics, and as a result faces the scorn of her peers–who laugh at her for not knowing what’s happening–and the scorn of her mother, who believes that “After the blood the boys come. Like sniffing dogs, grinning and slobbering, trying to find out where that smell is.”
I can’t believe I’m about to go all Freudian here, but for the male viewer the shock of seeing unexpected blood between one’s legs clearly represents a fear of castration–a literal embodiment of King’s anxieties about feminism. From the woman’s perspective, the menstrual blood obviously signifies Carrie’s maturation–coming into her power–which has been marred by fundamentalism.
The new Carrie and the old Carrie (Sissy Spacek)
Without making the new remake of the movie any more violent, director Kimberly Peirce emphasizes the imagery of this inciting event by adding waaaaay more blood to her Carrie. When Carrie gets her period in the shower, there’s more blood than in Brian De Palma’s film. When Carrie gets some of that blood on her gym teacher, which happens in both films, Peirce adds more of it, and the camera lingers on it longer and returns to it more often.
When Carrie’smother locks her in the closet, Peirce has the crucifix bleed–something that doesn’t happen in the first movie. The blood of the crucifix connects Carrie’s first period to the suffering of Christ, deepening the relationship between debased femininity and religion.
Carrie gets ready for the dance
Then, when Carrie gets pig blood dumped on her head at the prom, there’s not just more of it in the second film: Pierce shows the blood landing on her in slow motion three times. This final deluge of blood echoes a scene that Pierce added to the beginning of the movie, in which Carrie’s mother endures the bloody birth of her daughter. Carrie, then, is essentially born again at the prom, and the devastation she wreaks can be read as a result not of her feminine power but of the corruption of it by religion.
Peirce told Women and Hollywood that her goal was to make Carrie as sympathetic as possible. She removes the male gaze aspect of the original shower scene, in which many of the girls are naked and the long, slow shots of Carrie’s body are rather pornified. She makes sympathy for Carrie’s primary nemesis at school pretty much impossible by changing her from an angry girl in an abusive relationship to a sociopath without a conscience. In the new film, Carrie even has the strength to challenge her mother’s theology. Her prom date is more likeable and Peirce uses his death–something De Palma doesn’t reveal until the end–as further motivation for Carrie’s rampage.
Carrie’s rampage
None of this changes the fact that Carrie dies at the end, but it does foreground the idea that the message doesn’t have to be that powerful women are indeed dangerous. It can be that fundamentalism is dangerous to women.
If you’re a feminist, I say go see Carrie. Watching her be destroyed–but not without taking out a lot of the patriarchy with her–and then, as a viewer, emerging again into the sunlight unscathed, allows feminists to process some of our deepest fears about what we’re up against. Then we can get on with making the world a place where religious beliefs don’t corrupt our sexuality, where women don’t have to destroy themselves to be powerful and where women’s equality doesn’t trigger men’s fear of their own doom.
Holly L. Derr is a feminist media critic who writes about theater, film, television, video games and comics. Follow her @hld6oddblend and on her tumblr, Feminist Fandom. For more of the Feminist Guide to Horror Movies, check out Parts One, Two, Three, and Four.
Though our adversaries might be impermeable to facts and logic, this thing isn’t unwinnable. We just have to use the right strategies to get through to people. If After Tiller can’t change the minds of anti-choice die-hards (and maybe it can! I haven’t asked any!), then it might at least be a mobilization tool for our side to recruit activists from among the undecided.
One of the first classes of my master’s degree was called “Religion and Politics in the US,” and one of the assigned texts was Ziad W. Munson’s The Making of Pro-Life Activists: How Social Movement Mobilization Works. Rather to my surprise, I learned that anti-choice activism does not on the whole result from strong anti-choice convictions: in fact, movement involvement often precedes the formation of convictions. People come into contact with the movement at times of major life transition – through new friends at college, say – and begin their activism for primarily social reasons. Beliefs come later. This is not only a good poststructuralist account of subjectivity (holla at Foucault and my homegirl Judith Butler), but it’s also a useful lesson to those of us on the other side. Though our adversaries might be impermeable to facts and logic, this thing isn’t unwinnable. We just have to use the right strategies to get through to people. If After Tiller can’t change the minds of anti-choice die-hards (and maybe it can! I haven’t asked any!), then it might at least be a mobilization tool for our side to recruit activists from among the undecided.
I’m not kidding. I genuinely think After Tiller is the most important film that will be released this year.
Reproductive Justice League!
Directors Martha Shane and Lana Wilson portray the daily lives of four late-term abortion providers, LeRoy Carhart, Warren Hern, Susan Robinson, and Shelley Sella. They chose these doctors because they are the only providers of third-trimester abortions left in the United States. All four were friends and colleagues of Dr. Tiller, and all four clearly derive at least some of their professional motivation from the desire to pay appropriate tribute to the memory of his sacrifice. This is not a film about the anti-choice movement. As the directors state in their press notes:
We decided to represent the anti-abortion movement as it is experienced by the doctors themselves – as a constant presence in the background, whether standing outside their clinics in protest, or lurking in the air as a potential threat – but not as the main story.
This is a film about the individual human beings, the everyday heroes, who provide this essential service, and the daily workings of their clinics. It is their story, a project in which they chose to participate in order to be humanized in the eyes of those who would vilify them as “baby-killers.” I hope some anti-choice hardliners will see the film, because they surely couldn’t ignore the truth about these four doctors:
How good they are, providing a desperately needed service, and treating their patients with oceans of compassion.
How human they are, getting up daily and keeping at their work despite the dangers and psychological toll of the constant threat from anti-choice terrorists, and relying on the love and support of their families to keep them going.
How moral they are, clearly thinking about the issue deeply every day of their lives, and fully aware of the moral burden of being the last resort for pregnant people who don’t want to be pregnant. Even an unyielding anti-choicer would have to admit that these doctors are far from cheery baby-murderers. They all have backgrounds in midwifery or obstetrics. They like babies! They want babies to live and be loved and have wonderful lives! That’s why they provide this service, to spare the babies who wouldn’t live and be loved and have wonderful lives.
How feminist they are, living out their commitment to women’s rights, and trusting pregnant people’s personal moral reasoning. One doctor speaks very movingly of her absolute refusal to morally infantilize pregnant people, of her unwavering faith that anyone seeking a third-trimester abortion will have been through all the ethical legwork necessary to make such a heart-aching decision.
And make no mistake, this film is also the story of the patients. It’s gut-wrenching to hear the testimony of the parents-to-be whose desperately wanted baby is so ridden with fetal abnormalities as to be unviable; of the rape survivor who spent the early months of the pregnancy in traumatized denial; of the sixteen-year-old Catholic who doesn’t think she will ever forgive herself, but feels abortion is the least worst option for her at this time. All the patients have given this decision immense amounts of thought, and they all urgently need this service.
Worryingly, it’s not clear how much longer late-term abortions will be available in the US (and the filmmakers do not omit the fact that medical costs alone are far beyond the means of most people, let alone the price of traveling to either Albuquerque, Boulder, or Germantown, MD). None of these doctors are getting any younger, and there isn’t exactly a clamor to replace them. This is by far the most troubling aspect of the film. All of the doctors speak of formative experiences seeing the terrible impacts of criminalized abortion on both women (who suffer tremendously from DIY abortion attempts) and children (who, unwanted, are sometimes horrendously neglected and abused). Those of us who have only lived in a post-Roe world have not seen this firsthand; we don’t know that world and we don’t have that drive.
This film is a remarkable spur to much-needed action. I feel compelled to speak out to from my own context of mainline Christianity, which is too often evasively silent on the topic of reproductive justice. George Tiller, murdered on a Sunday as he served at his beloved Lutheran church, did not worship the forced-birther God of the anti-choicers, and neither do I.
Go Team Leftist Christians for reproductive justice!
