Women in Sports – Bitch Flicks

Sisterhood and Salvation in ‘A League of Their Own’

Though the simmering sibling rivalry between Kit and Dottie is a thread that runs through the entire film, the importance of sisterhood goes far beyond this. For both women, sisterhood becomes a ticket to another world: a ticket out, but also a ticket in; to friendship, to competition, and to independence. As such, sisterhood exists as a source of empowerment.

This guest post written by Katie Barnett appears as part of our theme week on Sisterhood.

Early in Penny Marshall’s A League of Their Own (1992), Marla Hooch (Megan Cavanagh) is coaxed by her father into leaving him – and their small town – behind for a shot at a place in the newly-established All-American Girls Professional Baseball League (AAGPBL). “Nothing’s ever gonna happen here,” he tells a tearful Marla, as they wait for her train. “You gotta go where things happen.” It is a sentiment that drives many women in the film, not least Kit Keller (Lori Petty). Unlike Marla, however, Kit cannot count on the support of her own parents. Instead, she turns to her older sister Dottie (Geena Davis) in her desperate bid to leave their sleepy Oregon farm life behind, forcing Dottie to make a decision about her own life in the process. Dottie’s sisterly sacrifice paves the way for both women to become part of the inaugural intake of the AAGPBL.

Sisterhood is central to A League of Their Own, and the film does not shy away from depicting its less grateful, more fractious elements. From the beginning, Kit strives to prove herself against an older sister who is always, it seems, a little bit faster, a little bit prettier, a little bit better. “Can’t you even let me walk faster than you?” Kit snaps as they walk home from a baseball game in which Kit has struck out, only to see her sister hit the winning run and secure the team’s victory. As the younger sister, Kit is doomed always to play catch up. “You ever hear Dad introduce us to people? ‘This is our daughter Dottie. And this is our other daughter, Dottie’s sister.’” Later, news reporters refer to Kit as Dottie’s “kid sister”; Kit fumes that their parents “should have had you and bought a dog.” It is perhaps particularly galling for Kit that, despite her own evident passion for the sport, it is Dottie who excels on the baseball field without seeming to break a sweat. It is testament to A League of Their Own that this sisterly rivalry is confined almost entirely to sports; refreshing that it is Dottie’s killer swing that Kit covets most of all. While Dottie is around, Kit is relegated to being the scrappy sidekick – the sister who will always struggle to measure up.

Most obviously, it is Dottie who offers this alternative life to her younger sister. Their mother and father are nothing more than a barely-glimpsed specter of parenthood in the film. Only their mother speaks; when she does, it is to chastise her daughters for running, and to tell Kit to keep her voice down. At home, Kit knows she will always be stifled. It is to her sister whom she turns to facilitate her escape. “Please, Dottie,” she pleads, as the two of them prepare dinner in the Kellers’ claustrophobic kitchen. “I gotta get out of here. I’m nothing here.” Dottie is able to save her sister from a life where the best she has to look forward to is huddling around the wireless with her parents and fending off men like Mitch Swaley (Gregory Sporleder), who Kit declares is “one step up from a pig.” When the scout Ernie Capadino (Jon Lovitz) refuses to take Kit to the try outs in Chicago unless Dottie comes along too, Dottie realizes she holds her sister’s future in her hands: to refuse would preserve her own quiet life, but would crush Kit in the process.

Inevitably, Dottie’s sisterly sacrifice becomes a weapon with which to hurt Kit when the two fight over Kit’s trade from Rockford to Racine towards the end of the season. “I got you into this league, goddamn it!” Dottie hurls at her sister, to the frantic whispers of their teammates. For all that Dottie has done to aggravate Kit – being hailed as the league’s ‘Queen of Diamonds,’ pulling Kit from the pitcher’s mound in a crucial game – this is the one that cuts Kit the deepest. Her sister may have facilitated her escape, but she will always be there to remind Kit of that fact.

If sisterhood saves Kit, however, it also saves Dottie. At first glance this is perhaps less obvious. Unlike Kit, Dottie feels no need to “go where things happen.” “I’m married. I’m happy. That’s what I want. Let’s not confuse things,” she counters, when Kit begs her to try out. Kit, however, is unrepentant. Though Dottie is apparently happy with her neat, conventional existence – once her husband returns from overseas, they will settle down, have their children, and settle into an unremarkable, if pleasant, life – Kit urges her sister to take advantage of the opportunity being presented to them. “But can’t you just have this first? Just so you can say you once did something? Something special?” she asks. Dottie’s desire not to “confuse things” does not convince Kit, who pushes her sister to seek something that will belong only to her – not to her husband Bob (Bill Pullman), not to their future children, but to Dottie.

Being married is a defining aspect of Dottie’s character, both before and after she joins the league. Her first reaction to Capadino’s attempts to recruit her to the league is to tell him she is a married woman, and therefore has no need of the opportunity he offers. News coverage of the Rockford Peaches reminds viewers that although Dottie “plays like Gehrig, and looks like Garbo,” she is romantically off-limits: “Uh-uh fellas, keep your mitts to yourself. She’s married.” She turns down an invitation to join some of the other players at a local roadhouse because – you guessed it – “I’m married.” Kit’s determination to have Dottie join the league is not an attempt to erase this identity, but rather to supplement it. Kit serves to remind Dottie that sure, she can be married to Bob, but she can have this, too. She can be Bob’s wife Dottie, but she can also be – as Coach Jimmy Dugan (Tom Hanks) might have – “a goddamn Peach.”

Kit’s conviction is borne out in Dottie’s decision to return to the league to play in the World Series, despite earlier leaving with Bob to resume their married life together. For all her words to the contrary, the competition and the camaraderie has left its mark on Dottie. In this instance, her kid sister was right. “You are gonna miss this,” Kit insists as the sisters say goodbye following the Belles’ victory. “I don’t care what you say.” Though Dottie demurs, she does admit that she will miss the girls, and Kit most of all. There is an undeniable poignancy here, as the sisters say goodbye, as it seems clear that, as they climb onto different coaches outside the baseball ground, this will be the last time they will ever be together in the same way.

Yet there is also a quiet triumph, for Dottie, as she witnesses Kit finally get what she wants. If Dottie is happy to go back to Oregon with Bob and have children, Kit is equally thrilled to be staying in Racine with some of the other girls and carving out a slice of independence for herself. At the beginning of the film, the local crowd chant Dottie’s name, much to Kit’s disappointment; this is reversed at the end of the film, when Kit’s winning home run has her own name echoing around the stands. It is the moment when Kit finally steps out of Dottie’s shadow, and the moment when Dottie can rescind credit for Kit’s success:

Kit: Thank you for getting me into the league, Dottie.
Dottie: You got yourself in the league. I got you on the train.

Dottie and Kit, it seems, do not maintain a close relationship over the ensuing years. The bookends of the film – older Dottie’s journey to the Baseball Hall of Fame, to see the induction of the women’s league – make this clear; Dottie grumbles to her adult daughter that Kit “probably won’t even be there,” and their surprise at coming face to face hints at limited contact since the days of “dirt in the skirt.” And yet their tearful embrace is a testament to the power of sisterhood, and an acknowledgement not simply of time spent apart, but of gratitude for the life they – however briefly – gave each other as young women.

Katie Barnett is a lecturer in film and media at the University of Worcester (UK) with an interest in representations of gender and family in popular culture. She learned the rules of baseball from Penny Marshall, the rules of espionage from Harriet the Spy, and the rules of life from Jim Henson. Find her on Twitter @katiesmallg.

‘A League of their Own’: The Joy and Complexity of Sisterhood on a Baseball Field

The bond between the sisters is at the heart of the wartime baseball movie, directed by Penny Marshall… Their competitive nature is a motivation to be the best… It’s obvious that Dottie always seems to have one up on Kit, which sets up the relentless struggle of the spirited Kit who wants, finally, to be better than Dottie. … Kit and Dottie are the embodiment not just of sisterhood, but of the true nature of a teammate relationship.

This guest post written by Jessica Quiroli appears as part of our theme week on Sisterhood.

It only takes a few minutes into A League of Their Own that we learn what drives the Keller sisters, Dottie and Kit, as individuals. Their competitive nature is a motivation to be the best, even in the smallest ways, like racing home to see who can run faster. It’s obvious that Dottie (Geena Davis) always seems to have one up on Kit (Lori Petty), which sets up the relentless struggle of the spirited Kit who wants, finally, to be better than Dottie. It’s immediately clear they genuinely love each other and are devoted to family, and Dottie (now Hinson) to her husband Bob. When a scout comes calling, it’s obvious that they’ve always played the game, and he considers Dottie the bigger talent. But Kit is the driven one, filled with an intense desire to play, and not just to compete, but to win.

The bond between the sisters is at the heart of the wartime baseball movie, directed by Penny Marshall, and it serves as the energetic force in many key scenes. There are many female-bonding movies, but this is a rare one that passes the Bechdel Test with flying colors. There are few sports movies focused on women, and none like this. Add to that the driving theme of sisterhood, both forged and biological, and it makes for a complex and emotional ride.

There are a lot of themes at work here. World War II created a lack of spirit in the U.S., with many of the men who once played sports serving their country overseas. Based on the real All-American Girls Professional Ball-League, the film shows the unfolding drama of the Rockford Peaches: women learning to be professional ball players and prove that they’re perfectly capable of playing the game, mixed with the fear of losing their husbands, which throbs beneath the surface every moment.

When scout Ernie Capadino (Jon Lovitz at his acerbic best) finds them on the farm, there’s something striking about the parallels to other jobs in sports; slots are few, so women must battle harder, and, hopefully, uplift each other along the way. Dottie wants to help her sister succeed and does what she can to make sure she too has a slot. Kit’s opportunity is a hard-fought chance, something any woman in any area of sports can relate to. In 2012, A League of Their Own was selected for preservation in the United States National Film Registry by the Library of Congress for being “culturally, historically or aesthetically significant.”

The theme of overcoming barriers and refusing to settle is threaded throughout the stories of some of the single women, like Doris Murphy, portrayed so beautifully nuanced by Rosie O’Donnell in one of the most tender, throat-tightening moments (at least for me). She quietly tells her teammates on the team bus about her boyfriend who treats her poorly. She explains that she stays with him because, “They always made me feel I was wrong, you know? Like I was some sort of weird girl… I believed them too. Not anymore. There’s a lot of us. I think we’re all alright.” In a moment of inspired strength, surrounded by support, she tears up his photo and throws the pieces out the window.

Similarly, Megan Cavanagh, in one of the more memorable roles, has a heart-wrenching scene with her father, as he sends her off at the train station. Her character embodies the constant struggle women, particularly those in sports, endure as “tomboys” (let’s ban that word). As women we’re judged first by appearance, and judgments hold even after we’ve proven our ability. Marla plays through taunts from fans, and being openly mocked in a team introductory video. In these days of social media, women athletes are subject to that verbal abuse every day at an overwhelming level. Hooch, like any female athlete, just keeps on playing.

Everything always comes back to Dottie and Kit’s push-pull relationship. Dottie’s quiet leadership guides the team, while Kit’s frenetic nature pops in almost every moment she’s on-screen. On the field, their teammate relationship is tempered by that leadership. Dottie is asked to be honest about her sister’s limitations when Jimmy Dugan (the unbelievably perfect Tom Hanks) wants to lift Kit for another pitcher. Kit’s explosive anger is a snapshot of the experience of women in sports, today and throughout history. Women, especially in that era, were made to feel small, incapable of physically achieving what men could. In this story, however, Kit’s main adversary isn’t a man with an agenda, but a sister whom she regards as a more capable rival. Dottie’s loving and supportive (she’s the reason they’re on the team after all), but she takes the upper hand when necessary. That pivotal moment in the game embodies the rich, emotional bond of sisterhood.

There are no male heroes in the traditional sense. There’s an equal respect that grows between Dottie and Jimmy. She doesn’t stand down. He stands up. In the scene that is a turning point for Dugan, he and Dottie give competing signs to Hooch. It’s a classic moment, perfectly performed. And, more pointedly, a man and a woman, on equal ground, communicate (argue really) through the language of baseball.

Other characters emerge in their own way and aren’t lost by the central storyline. But how could Madonna ever just blend in? Not here. As Mae Mordabito, she’s the other half of the comedy duo with O’Donnell and, although opposites in a number of areas, their relationship shows what drives the soul of sisterhood. She’s flirtatious and free-spirited, while Doris struggles with self-confidence, but is also good for a scrappy on-field fight. Their loyalty and love for each other shines through, despite personality differences.

Watching A League of Their Own is a meditation of sorts for me as a baseball writer and fan. My heart swells, and my eyes fill, and I feel tremendous pride. I’m moved by the loss, the confusion, and the struggle the women face to keep going and to, eventually, let go. Kit and Dottie are the embodiment not just of sisterhood, but of the true nature of a teammate relationship.

We need these images of women physically competing, motivated by a love of a sport, winning, and the unique bonds of teammates and sisters.

Jessica Quiroli is a minor league baseball writer for Baseball Prospectus and the creator of Heels on the Field: A MiLB Blog. She’s also written extensively about domestic violence in baseball. She’s a DV survivor. You can follow her on Twitter @heelsonthefield.

Athena Film Festival Review: ‘Althea’

You don’t have to be any kind of sports watcher to be compelled and moved by Althea’s story. It is not (though Althea herself might have wished it to be so) merely a story of athletic excellence, but a tale of race, class, and gender, of how these factors are inextricable in the United States: a story of intersectionality.

Written by Max Thornton.

“I never knew.” In a voice soft with wonder and respect, director Rex Miller expresses the sentiment with which he hopes audiences will respond to his biopic about Althea Gibson. “I never knew.”

Miller is likely to get his wish. Unless you’re a tennis buff, or (like me) you live around the corner from a statue of Althea, you may not ever have heard of her. The erroneous factoid still circulates that Arthur Ashe was the first African American to win a Grand Slam, erasing Althea’s legacy.

Statue of Althea Gibson in Branch Brook Park, Newark, NJ. Image via Wikipedia. — Statue of Althea Gibson in Branch Brook Park, Newark, NJ. Image via *Wikipedia*.

Tennis remains nearly the only sport I have voluntarily watched, but you don’t have to be any kind of sports watcher to be compelled and moved by Althea’s story. It is not (though Althea herself might have wished it to be so) merely a story of athletic excellence, but a tale of race, class, and gender, of how these factors are inextricable in the United States: a story of intersectionality.

The details of Gibson’s career – winning the French Open in 1956, with ten more Grand Slam titles to follow in the next two years – are only a Wikipedia search away. It’s both Althea’s complexities as a person and the broader social context of her life that the film portrays with grace and nuance.

As an African American woman, born in South Carolina in the 1920s, raised in Harlem, Althea might not have been expected to play tennis, of all sports. Then as now, tennis was the sport of the genteel, and it seems to have been very much the hobby of the aspirational classes. Althea began playing paddle tennis as part of the Police Athletic League, and was mentored by Black doctors who were also tennis enthusiasts.

At the time, the structures of the sport tended to exclude those who lacked an independent income, so Althea’s success was as much a matter of transcending economic and class barriers as race barriers (not, of course, that these have ever been fully separable in United States history). And yet, despite being hailed as the Jackie Robinson of tennis, she was extremely reluctant to be a civil rights figure. Althea Gibson was not particularly interested in politics; she was interested in playing excellent tennis.

Winning the hell out of Wimbledon, like a boss.

As a Black woman, of course, her life was inherently, unavoidably political. The Athena Film Festival screening of the film featured a discussion with the director, and the politics of Black womanhood were an integral part of this discussion. For much of the film, interviewees describe Althea’s toughness, her steely determination and hard edges born of a childhood playing hooky in the streets of Harlem; yet in all of the footage of Althea herself, she appears very poised, dignified, and ladylike. Black women in America are subject to stereotyping and exclusion from all sides, and have used their double and triple consciousness to make enormously important contributions to the pursuit of justice. Even a Black woman like Althea, who rejects the burden of explicitly fighting for racial and gender justice, carries within her the multiple consciousness necessary to survive in America.

A second aspect of discussion was the film’s silence regarding rumors around Althea’s sexuality. Miller explained that he consciously chose to exclude all mention of the rumors, because with so little information available (Gibson leaves, it seems, no relatives who might have been able to confirm or deny), he felt he would have been able to do little more than pander to sensationalism. Whether this was the appropriate decision or not is an open question. It is certain that Althea was married to a husband with whom she seems to have been very much in love, but it is not hard to read subtext into her close friendship with British tennis star Angela Buxton. Given that rumors did exist in Althea’s lifetime, their omission does leave a lacuna; and yet, given the meticulousness of the rest of the film and the dearth of certainty regarding Gibson’s sexuality, it is hard to fault Miller for shying away from such speculative territory.

Impoverished and forgotten, Althea Gibson planned to take her own life in the early 1990s. Her friend and tennis partner Angela Buxton galvanized the tennis world to provide financial support, and Althea lived another decade. Hopefully, this fine film will help to ensure that her legacy survives long into the future.

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Max Thornton blogs at Gay Christian Geek, tumbles as trans substantial, and tweets at @RainicornMax.

‘Love & Basketball’: Girls Can Do Anything Boys Can Do

Prince-Bythewood’s ability to draw commentary about the Black family experience in America is so well-integrated we, as the audience, are able to enjoy the emotional ride the characters take us on without the feeling that we’re watching a heavy-handed representation of the social issues of the time.

This guest post by Alize Emme appears as part of our theme week on Black Families.

“I’m gonna be the first girl in the NBA,” proclaims a young Monica (Kyla Pratt). “No, I’m gonna be in the NBA,” replies a young Quincy (Glendonn Chatman). “You’re gonna be my cheerleader.” Breaking down the idea that women can’t play sports, can’t do the same things men can (like in that late 90’s commercial) is the overarching theme of Gina Prince-Bythewood’s debut feature film Love & Basketball (2000). This is the kind of movie you can watch, like I did as a teenager, and think, “what a nice love story” and it’s not really about anything more. Or, you can take a step back, and with a more seasoned eye, find a story that is rich with nuances about race, gender, and relationship roles and realize Prince-Bythewood’s artful commentary is so subtle you’ve spent the past 15 years just really enjoying this movie about a sports romance.

As a film that revolves around 12 years in the lives of two African-American basketball stars, Monica Wright (Sanaa Lathan) and Quincy McCall (Omar Epps) and their neighboring families, it’s not really about basketball. “It’s about emotion,” as Robin Roberts says during a brief cameo. Prince-Bythewood’s ability to draw commentary about the Black family experience in America is so well-integrated we, as the audience, are able to enjoy the emotional ride the characters take us on without the feeling that we’re watching a heavy-handed representation of the social issues of the time.

This isn’t a Black film either. This is the Grey’s Anatomy approach to storytelling before Grey’s Anatomy existed. You look at these characters with a colorblind eye, only seeing their passion and emotion for basketball and each other. Race is directly mentioned a grand total of one time: at the start of the film when the two family’s matriarchs first meet. Nona McCall (Debbi Morgan), mother of Quincy, has just brought over a “freshly baked” cake for her new neighbors and Camille Wright (Alfre Woodard), mother of Monica, is happy to receive her. Nona explains their neighborhood at one time was “a little more mixed,” and jokes, “that was before the Black people down the street became the Black people next door, OK!” Camille, dutifully playing the role of good little domesticated housewife, looks at Nona with utter confusion – OK what? – before an embarrassed Nona quickly switches gears and that’s that.

Economic status is also never mentioned though it’s clear that both families are affluent. Both homes are spacious and have pools; the McCalls have a basketball court in the backyard. These are not struggling families; the passion Monica and Quincy share for the game comes from the heart, not the motivation to achieve a better life.

For the majority of the film, we see this very strained relationship between Monica and Camille. Monica is a basketball-obsessed, jersey wearing, make-up free tomboy whose mother “doesn’t know where [she] came from” because she “acts different” than her dress wearing, hair-styling sister and Camille, the classic country homemaker. Monica is our feminist heroine who personifies the idea that feminist women look down on women who choose more traditional roles. Camille has a longstanding belief that her daughter is disappointed in her “prissy” lifestyle, telling Monica she’s “a female superstar athlete whose mother is nothing more than a housewife.”

Misconstrued thinking creates nearly a decade of strife for these two women until it finally arises that Monica’s only shame for her mother lies in Camille’s inability to stand up for herself at home. Indeed, we see Camille falling deep into a submissive role with her husband. Camille has spent a lifetime silencing herself so her “husband can feel like a man.” The flip side of this coin is that Camille consciously put her life dreams on hold so she could “be there” for her family and create a loving home environment. But most importantly, we learn each woman was merely seeking the approval of the other. While Monica would rather “wear a jersey than an apron,” she wanted her mother’s approval both on and off the court.

Next-door to the Wrights, across a small grassy patch of lawn, resides the McCall family. Led by patriarch Zeke McCall (Dennis Haysbert) we find here another relationship being tested. From a young age Zeke has instilled in Quincy a resilience and confidence geared toward shaping a boy into a man he can be proud of one day. Quincy treats his father’s words as gospel and views him like “he [is] god.” Prince-Bythewood introduces this theme of “My Father Was a God” early and often throughout the film. Quincy wants to be just like his father, play for the same pro ball team, and wear the same number on his jersey and around his neck. But it is tantamount to Zeke that Quincy not be like him, to focus on school and not “care about the team.”

“'Can’t’ should never be in a man’s vocabulary.” — “’Can’t’ should never be in a man’s vocabulary.”

The crumbling of this immortal facade, the fall from grace, comes from the affirmation that all the years Zeke spent being the hyper-masculine bread winner, shutting out his wife, and running to business meeting after business meeting, were all actions masking a love affair which has now evolved into a paternity suit. What really gets to Quincy is that his father, his hero, addresses the accusation of infidelity head-on with a bold face lie. A lie their relationship will never recover from. The outcome is a harsh unveiling for the young phenom; he loses trust in all around him and no longer has an accurate idea of who his father was, and by extension, who he is himself. It’s clear to us that Zeke’s steadfast molding of Quincy was deeply rooted in the mentality that Zeke “just couldn’t” be that man himself. Quincy’s big revelation, and arguably a revelation many young men face, is that he can no longer try to be his father. He “needed ball when [he] was trying to be like [his] pop,” and now that the curtain has lifted, he must redefine himself on his own terms.

The relationship between Monica and Quincy, while romantic and passionate at times, is Prince-Bythewood’s way of knocking down long enduring stereotypes about women in sports. Monica challenges everything Quincy thinks he knows about girls and life in general. He has never met a girl who not only knows how to ball, but balls better than he does. Monica won’t ride on the back of his bike and would rather have Twinkies than his apology flowers.

Monica is a ball player, and she knows how to “show emotion” on the court. But she continuously finds that those around her view her passion as aggression. If Monica were a guy, she’d “get a pat on the ass,” but because she’s “a female” she gets told to “calm down and act like a lady.” There is a huge double standard exposed here. Not only are men, on and off the court, encouraged to be aggressors, they are rewarded for it. But when a woman does the same, she’s seen as this negative force, a beast that needs to be tamed, which those around Monica try to accomplish.

“I’ve loved you since I was 11, that shit won’t go away.”

Despite Quincy being a serial offender of treating women like objects, he does share this very specific friendship, turned romance, with Monica. She gets him like no one else can. But the double standards in their relationship become clear when they arrive at USC to start their basketball careers. Quincy expects Monica to handle the spoils of his success, i.e., the friendly female fans eager to cheer him on, but he will not let her off the hook when she chooses a starting spot in her game versus “being there” for him. He’s already told her it doesn’t matter if she’s “not known as the first girl in the NBA,” she’ll “get more play” being “Quincy McCall’s girl anyway,” so it’s not surprising when he further diminishes her dreams by forcing her to make this decision.

Monica has spent her freshman year struggling on the court, she hasn’t had the “red carpet” treatment like Quincy, and when an opportunity finally does arise, her boyfriend guilt trips her. The idea that women must make this sacrifice between career and relationship is so antiquated but still so accurate. In a great twist of irony, Quincy, who has spent his childhood hearing Mom complain about how Dad doesn’t make time for her and always puts basketball first, accuses Monica of the same behavior and uses that as the catalyst in his hasty decision to break-up with her. Equally interesting, Monica at this point has fallen into a more submissive role in their relationship and blames herself for its demise, pleading, “Whatever I did, we can fix this.”

As someone who grew up going to sports camps, I heard girls comment daily that they wanted to play in the NBA. So, it was completely lost on me that Monica’s constant repetition of “I’m gonna be the first girl in the NBA,” was because there was no WNBA at the time. There is this prevailing idea throughout the film that these female players are good enough to be playing with their male counterparts, but instead are relegated overseas where, as Monica finds, it’s alienating, uninspiring, and also, unfair.

At the end of the film, Prince-Bythewood has shown us the struggles a Black woman faces when entering a highly competitive arena, the breakdown of a Black father/son relationship, a Black mother who has finally given herself a voice, and a Black relationship that through time and maturity is able to advance into its own sort of “Destiny,” all while never feeling like these are Black issues. But mostly she has taught us that women can do anything men can do. This could be any woman’s triumphant story. The film’s final scene shows Monica as the starting guard in the newly formed WNBA while Quincy and their young daughter clap for her on the sidelines, begging the question: Who’s your cheerleader now?

Alize Emme is a writer and filmmaker living in Los Angeles. She holds a B.A. in Film & Television from NYU and tweets at @alizeemme.

‘Bend It Like Beckham’ And The Lesbian Hate Debate

Bend it like Beckham film poster.

Written by Janyce Denise Glasper

“You bitch!”

This thunderous exclamation seems to occur every five minutes. If a girl is way prettier, she’s a bitch. If a girl “steals” a man of a girl who isn’t even dating that said man, she’s a bitch. If a girl is thought to be a lesbian, she’s a bitch. Twice Jesminder “Jesse” Bharma, Bend it Like Beckham’s football loving protagonist, has been on the receiving end of the blow, but I started to lose sight of this supposedly empowering feminist sports movie due to the infinitely alarming amount of lesbian hatred disguised as harmless humor. To be a lesbian is a bitch? Really? Why?

Joe the coach (Jonathan Rhys Meyers) makes damn sure that Jesse (Parminder Nadra) is no lady lover.

Lesbianism appeared to be an invisible villain to both Jesse and her equally talented teammate, Juliet “Jules” Paxton—a horrendous nasty vile “disease” that could only arise from women who enjoy contact sports.

In Gurinder Chadha’s debut feature film, Jesse is inspired by David Beckham and has his posters and jersey decorating bedroom walls. She wants to emulate his prowess and expertise on the football field and certain people think that it’s not only his athleticism that propels her. She might just like women too. Jesse’s mother hates that she doesn’t want to be called “Jesminder” or act more feminine and domesticated.

“We aren’t lesbians! We both love Joe!” Jesse (Parminder Nagra) and Jules (Keira Knightly) should have chanted.

Jules notices Jesse’s skills against the boys and asks her to join a local team. Jesse eagerly agrees and plays in secret, knowing that her parents would greatly disapprove. Jesse and Jules start to build a positive relationship with Jules schooling Jesse on the amazing Mia Hamm, one of many American women football players in action. The close twosome begin sharing dreams of becoming an active member of the overseas sports team.

Jesse’s parents and Jules’ mother Paula are horrendously incomprehensible characters for sexist views about women’s lock length.

“They wear their hair so short these days, you can never tell,” says Jesse’s mother, twice.

This supposed to be a joke, but why?

Hair length is such a sensitive topic to women, especially when length is close cropped and called “boyish.” No one ever seems to really comprehend the meanings behind hair and what it truly says about someone. Whether a woman likes it away from their face, hate strands touching their butts, donates tresses to worthy causes, wears a protective scarf, or battles cancer or other form of loss, hair is worn differently by all women of all cultures and creeds and shouldn’t be a mark set against them if it’s above shoulders or just plain bald. Feminism should not be marketed towards hair, but unfortunately it always has and will be. Lesbians also wear their hair in various styles and the short hair cut is so beyond stereotypical. It isn’t that powerful to make fun of a group of women or use them as a catalyst to drive laughter. Lesbians also are people too– not a dirty circumstance.

When Pinky’s wedding is called off due to her fiance’s parents seeing Jesse and Jules “kissing,” Pinky is enraged and calls Jesse a bitch for ruining her life. So yes, lesbianism is so treacherous, it gets in the way of events like holy matrimony. Chadra’s co-written screenplay entails all the wrongs of same sex pairings, using misunderstandings as trivial humor– seen by both Jesse and Jules’ reactions to hearing that their families believe them to be drawn together and not to boys. It fails miserably at being sentimental to lesbians as a whole.

Jesse (Parminder Nagra) and her sister Pinky (the awesome Archie Panjabi) both look surprised by Paula (offscreen Juliet Stevenson) announcing that Jesse is part of a lesbian couple with Jules.

“Mother, just because I wear trakkies and play sport does not make me a lesbian!” Jules tells Paula, as if lesbianism the most foul label ever.

Bitch is fine. But lesbian is a slap to the cheek.

Paula was the absolute worst.

Now what if Jules really were a lesbian? If I were in Jules’ shoes (or cleats), I wouldn’t explain a damn thing to rude, insensitive Paula. For Paula to coldly burst into Pinky’s wedding and “call out” Jesse wasn’t exactly classy even if she tells Jules that she wouldn’t have minded Jesse and Jules being a couple. However, didn’t she not just yell for Jesse to get her “lesbian feet” out of her shoes? That doesn’t sound like someone who would’ve been supportive. Perhaps this is to be a humorous notion (still finding it hard to laugh), but politics on a woman’s style of hair and dress to be considered masculine instead of powerful and sophisticated is outrageous! Not only can’t women have short hair without being labeled manly, we cannot wear pants everyday because that’s an acute sign of lesbianism! Oh and if we play sports especially football, we might not like boys…..

It’s a shame that Jesse and Jules’ fallout had to be over a man– Joe, the coach.

Joe is going to see Jesse (Parminder Nagra) in a new light thanks to “The Makeover” by Jules (Keira Knightly) and Mel (Shaznay Lewis).

Joe trained Jesse hard on the playing field and shared a couple of his old football glory days prior to injury, but the moment Jesse wore makeup, a form fitting nearly backless number, and long wavy hair cascading about shoulders, he gazed in that beseeching manner that is supposed to be considered romantic. Awww. He really likes her outside of uniform and ponytails.

Pish posh!

This just truly means that her fuckability status moved up and sports took an immediate backburner! All of a sudden Jesse is hot stuff and Joe wants to have his sample, asking her to dance and almost taking advantage of her drunken state at the club celebration. Now the film has switched over from thrilling lady sports to a man getting his power on– thankfully for a few minutes at a time. A friendship gets spat on over a man. It becomes war between Jesse and Jules and that “you bitch!” comes bursting out like a launching torpedo—expected but crappy nonetheless. Jesse and Jules make it abundantly clear that they don’t want each other, but they sure do want that Joe.

However, pissed over the typical women falling for the same man BS, I respect that they don’t battle over the spot for the American team. Irate Jules took the time to seek out Jesse because she knew that Jesse was needed. When they played football, they were in it together, functioning, reacting, and showcasing talents together, victorious champions on the field, telling the world that women can kick around a soccer ball, that their dainty feet can work just as craftily and aggressively as a man. They put differences aside with cleats, game faces, and their other female counterparts to take on one hell of a win! Jesse and Jules prove that just because playing sports is considered a masculine way of showcasing aggression, women too can be rough, wield scars, and sweatiness.

Those kisses? Those hugs? That’s a female’s version of the butt taps that male athletes do. Why factor more into that?

The girls win big!

After all, the moral of the story is that girls can play sports and like boys– not be one of those scary lesbians!

I applaud Chadha’s direction, but let’s lay off the meanness next time.

I Love ‘Whip It!,’ But You Probably Shouldn’t: A Roller Derby Athlete Reflects

The cast of Whip It!

This review by Sarah Chamberlain originally appeared at her blog Sarah Chamberlain Does Things and is cross-posted with permission.

Whenever I meet a fellow skater, and they ask me how I got into roller derby, I get a little sheepish.

“I was in college and I saw Whip It!, and I decided I wanted to do that,” I say every time, hoping for a nonjudgmental reaction. Joining the sport post-Whip It! is not the coolest thing for a derby athlete to cop to. Unfortunately for me, my simple derby origin story is true. I walked into a movie theater expecting to see a frothy girl-power flick with my friend, and I did—but I also walked out figuring starter skates into my college budget. For at least the first year and a half of my derby career, until I was well past the point of knowing better, I’d watch Whip It! the night before every bout while I painted my nails in my team colors and sipped on a healthy, nonalcoholic beverage. And while I know that Whip It! Is not the best roller derby film out there, when I sat down a few nights ago to re-watch it for the first time in over a year, I cried at the same parts that always made me weepy. I love Whip It!, but I’m a sucker for it.

The cast of Whip It!

Whip It! Was Drew Barrymore’s directorial debut. Based on a young adult novel by Shauna Cross, the screenplay centers around a seventeen-year-old misfit named Bliss Cavendar (Ellen Page), who spends a lot of time screwing up at the beauty pageants her mom (Marcia Gay Harding) makes her do, until she discovers roller derby while on a shopping trip to Austin. Without permission from her mom or her sports-loving dad, Bliss lies about her age, joins the 21+ league, and becomes star jammer Babe Ruthless. Problems arise when she starts dating an indie rocker she meets at a bout, when she clashes with a member of an opposing team, and when her parents find out about her secret double life. While the plot is heavy on teen and sports movie cliches, it’s also generously sprinkled with esoteric cultural references and cameos. Jimmy Fallon has a minor role as Hot Tub Johnny Rockets, a perpetually hungover announcer who just wants to get laid, and Andrew Wilson (the elusive third Wilson brother!) faces off against opposing coach Har Mar Superstar. Many of the extras, skaters, and non-speaking roles are respected real-life derby skaters, including one of my coaches, who plays the deaf Manson Sister #1—hi, Krissy!

It barely broke even at the box office and drew mixed reviews. Mainstream critics were on point about the film’s predictability; however, their reviews lose credibility when they make uneducated comments about derby aspects of the film. For example, one critic questioned Page’s casting in the lead role, saying she seemed too small to play roller derby. Never mind the fact that Bliss is a jammer, a position traditionally (though certainly not always) assigned to small, agile skaters. More interesting criticism came from within the roller derby community. If you ask a skater about Whip It!, she’ll probably complain about the “Play #3” scene, when Wilson’s character fields a strategy combining an elbow and a 180-degree turn. In real-life regulation play, this move is grounds for immediate ejection from a bout.

Not okay.

However, the biggest problem with Whip It! isn’t the punches and elbows—if you watch closely, you’ll notice that Barrymore’s Smashley Simpson is always ejected, anyway—it’s the erasure of certain people and philosophies that make roller derby unique among modern sports. No visibly queer characters are included in the film, which is unrealistic for a sport known for its LGBTQ superstars and being relatively trans-inclusive a few years before anyone had ever heard of Fallon Fox. The grown women who drive both the skating and business aspects of competitive roller derby are weirdly two-dimensional. A big reveal happens when Bliss learns that her team captain, Maggie Mayhem (Kristen Wiig), skips afterparties because she needs to be with her young son, and another occurs when league bully Iron Maven (Juliette Lewis) snarls that she’s earned her derby stardom at age thirty-six—but after that, the film lets those characters return to the background. A large part of the criticism Whip It! received from the roller derby community regarded the age of its protagonist. Roller derby is so transformative and special for women who find it in their 20s, 30s and 40s, the criticism goes. Why make teenage Bliss the heroine, when Maggie’s and Maven’s stories are much more compelling?

Juliette Lewis as Iron Maven in Whip It!

This is where I begin to get soft on Whip It! When I started playing roller derby at twenty-one (not quite a grown-ass woman, to be fair), I became a teenager again. My body changed and I was hungry all the time. I worried about what to wear to practice. My new passion worried my mom, and I had to be a little bit sneaky to keep everybody happy. I had to make choices about relationships and priorities that I’d never had to make before. And I could think of nothing but roller derby: after class, I’d sit in my room ogling gear, watching and re-watching league promo videos. In class, I’d doodle pictures of skates and myself wearing a jammer star on my helmet. I felt about roller derby the way I felt about my crushes in middle and high school. Maybe it’s easier to translate that giddy feeling to non-skaters if you just make the main character a typical teenage girl who is still figuring things out.

Don’t give up on film depictions of roller derby if you’re less sentimental than I am. There are better representations of derby in film, but you have to go looking for them. Brutal Beauty, a documentary which follows Portland’s Rose City Rollers through their 2010 home and travel seasons, is a great introduction to the sport and is available for streaming on Netflix.

Trailer for Brutal Beauty

An upcoming documentary that promises to take a different approach to the topic of derby is Erica Tremblay’s The Vagine Regime, which will profile the titular pan-derby LGBTQ all-star team.

Trailer for Vagine Regime

Finally, my current favorite roller derby film is Turner Van Ryn’s dialogue-free short film Skater 26, which follows San Francisco skater Chantilly Mace through the weekend leading up to a high-stakes home bout. It’s breathtaking to watch, and does an incredible job of quietly creating a detailed narrative out of what is still a niche subject. Best of all, it’s available in full on YouTube.

Skater 26 (full movie)

Personal reasons for loving Whip It! aside—I’ve sat in the penalty box on delicate technical fouls enough times to scoff at “Play #3”—I can detect the tense, rehearsed quality of a new skater in many of the actors’ jumps and sprints. Johnny Rockets’s announcing places a little too much emphasis on the fishnet stockings the players wear, a trope that still crops up in mainstream coverage of derby. The underwater sex scene is truly unnecessary–so unnecessary that I won’t link to it. I cringe when Page’s Bliss tells her mom to “stop shoving your psychotic idea of ’50s womanhood down my throat,” because who actually says that?

But right after that, she throws out her hands and says, “I am in love with this.” I believe you, Bliss. I just understand why a lot of us don’t. Fortunately, there are just enough film options out there for the derby-curious.

Sarah Chamberlain (twitter.com/SChamberlainLA) graduated from DePauw University with degrees in creative writing and flute performance. She lives in Los Angeles, where she works in a charter school and skates and coaches for the Angel City Derby Girls. Her work has been featured on The Billfold and LAist.com.

Women in Sports Week: The Roundup

“Edge of America: Indigenous Communitism on the Hardwood” by Amanda Morris

Based on the opening scenes, the viewer might assume that this story is about Kenny, but it is not. This movie ultimately focuses on community, defining one’s own identity, and the grounding strength of women… This film privileges the indigenous perspective from the start and specifically shows strong women guiding the action either explicitly or implicitly.

“Because Being Girly Doesn’t Mean Being Weak: Bring It On“ by Deborah Pless

I was a rebel. A grrrrl. And no cheerleader was going to get in my way or the way of feminism.

So imagine my surprise when partway into the movie I’d rented as a hatewatch I realized that I cared. A lot. I really, really wanted the Rancho Carne Toros to win that darn cheerleading competition. It made me deeply uncomfortable.

“Documentaries That Inspire” by Marcela De Vivo

Over the past decade, however, a number of low-profile yet potent documentaries have arrived to stir up the rules. Here are five documentaries any fan of women’s sports—or sports in general—will not want to miss.

All of these films are as packed with joy and pain as any glossy Hollywood product, and through the passions of their filmmakers, convey a sense of humanity few fiction flicks can compete with.

“Bend It Like Bynes: Ambivalent Empowerment in She’s the Man“ by Caitlin Moran

Viola’s conquest of her gross ex is facilitated through this penalty kick, on a pitch where the winners and losers are clearly delineated. This isn’t a symbolic victory: Viola literally puts the winning point on the board…. Through her athletic talent, Viola gets to vanquish the boy who insulted and belittled her on a playing field where the subsequent victors are easily recognizable.

“The Toughest Trio: A Review of The Boxing Girls of Kabul“ by Rachael Johnson

Boxing has always, of course, been the most traditionally masculine, most brutal and most controversial of sports. Female boxing remains a divisive issue around the world and only became an Olympic event at the London 2012 Games. It is all the more remarkable that girls from a land scarred by gender discrimination have taken up the sport. The girls’ coach, Sabir Sharifi, explains, “The Taliban were absolutely opposed to sports. They had an especially strong opposition to boxing.” A girl boxer in a hijab is an incongruous image for many–or most–Westerners. For the Taliban, female boxing is simply sinful. Boxing has also, however, been the sport of the marginalized and oppressed so it is perhaps unsurprising that these young Afghan women have chosen boxing. The sport for the trio is identified with self-empowerment and female self-worth.

“The Political Gets Personal for Friday Night Lights‘ Jess Merriweather” by Sarah Stringer

In season four, Jess strode into that hyper-masculine domain with every bit as much passion as the male characters, and the extra savvy, self-awareness, and anger that comes from being a woman in a man’s world. She became a cheerleader because it was the only way for a girl like her to get close to the sport she grew up teaching to her much younger brothers, but as she gets older, that’s not enough for her. Helping her little brothers and running drills with her football star boyfriend isn’t enough; she wants to be involved for herself. She convinces Coach Taylor to let her be an equipment manager, with the intention of someday becoming a high school football coach.

“Sports Night: That ’90s Show” by Artemis Linhart

Another particularly remarkable aspect is that these women are in no way portrayed as “butch,” highlighting the (seemingly little-known) fact that characteristics typically associated with femininity (physical and otherwise) and a genuine passion for sports are, in fact, not contradictory.

“Surfers in Blue Crush and Girls in Blue Crush 2“ by Robin Hitchcock

While it takes a sort of post-feminist approach to surfing, Blue Crush attempts to work in some subdued class commentary… Which brings me to Blue Crush 2. This straight-to-video “sequel” is just another movie about surfer girls, with no connection to the original film other than someone paying for the rights to the title. Here we have another white girl protagonist, although this one has the opposite amount of class privilege.

“Five Reasons Why A League of Their Own Is ‘Feminism: The Movie'” by Myrna Waldron

Every single woman on the league was ticked off about the silly uniforms that they were forced to wear, with the frilly skirts instead of pants. They point out how impractical they are, and we see the results of the terrible uniforms when one player gets a severe bruise after taking a rough slide into a base. The newsreels, which constantly try to reaffirm the players’ femininity, come off as a total joke because of how little attention they pay to the players’ athletic abilities. Marla is constantly overlooked by others because she is plain, instead of being celebrated for being the best slugger in the league. One sequence involves a snooty middle-aged woman decrying the “masculinization” of women on the radio, complaining that things like the girls’ baseball team will have longstanding effects on home, children and country. She even calls the league “sexual confusion” and wonders what kind of girls the men overseas will come home to. Well, there WERE longstanding effects on home, children, and country…but hardly the destruction of life as we know it.

“Blast from the Past: Jonathan Kaplan’s Heart Like a Wheel“ by Melissa Richard

“The Blind Side: The Most Insulting Movie Ever Made” by Nine Deuce

Well, there it is. Now you see why this movie made 19 kajillion dollars and won an Oscar: it tells a heartwarming tale of white benevolence, assures the red state dweller that his theory that “there’s black people, and then there’s niggers” is right on, and affords him the chance to vicariously remind a black guy who’s boss through the person of America’s sweetheart. Just fucking revolting.

“A Review of The Fighter“ by Jessica Freeman-Slade

Women in Sports Week: Five Reasons Why ‘A League of Their Own’ is “Feminism: The Movie”

Dottie performs a catch while doing the splits.

Written by Myrna Waldron.

When one thinks of films featuring women in sports, A League of Their Own is probably the first title that comes to mind. It’s such a well known film that it has been preserved in the Library of Congress for being culturally significant, and “There’s no crying in baseball” is an oft-quoted line. The film stars Geena Davis, an outspoken feminist, and was directed by Penny Marshall, a well known comedienne/actress. ALOTO was a huge blockbuster, making $132 million in 1992 dollars. (Roughly $213 million in 2012 dollars) This film proves that a woman director can produce a blockbuster AND that films mostly about women (in a traditionally masculine field) can be successful.

It also beautifully illustrates a few of the core beliefs of feminist philosophy:

Freedom of choice is essential.

The film takes place during WWII, so it was not unusual for the members of the Rockford Peaches to be married with children. Although the men in the story are often contemptuous/sarcastic about the subject (including mentioning which players are married and which ones are single in newsreels), the women notably accept each other’s life choices wholeheartedly. Mae embraces her sexuality completely (Madonna’s basically playing herself with 40s hair), but no one condemns her for it. Marla chooses to leave the league early because she has fallen in love and gotten married. No one resents her; they are genuinely happy for her. Dottie chooses to leave the league to be a wife and mother, and the only one who objects is Jimmy, because he doesn’t want her to have any regrets. Each woman is free to choose how her life turns out, and they all accept and encourage each other.

The importance of female friendship, teamwork, and camaraderie.

The players of the Rockford Peaches have occasional moments of friction, but instantly come together when it’s time to play. They understand each other’s strengths and weaknesses, and are honest with each other when it counts. (Kit unfortunately doesn’t take brutal honesty and criticism very well.) Off the team, they help each other as well. Mae teaches the illiterate Shirley how to read by having her recite an erotic novel out loud. When Mae‘s choice of reading material is questioned, she points out that the important thing is that Shirley is reading. Dottie is also someone who stands up for others. She refuses to join the team unless Kit and Marla are included.

Women can do anything that men can do.

Much of the plot of the movie is concerned with the players of the Rockford Peaches proving what good athletes they are, and changing the minds of the skeptical men around them. Mr. Harvey sees the ‘girls’ as placeholders while many of the men’s major league players are overseas. On their first game, the audience jeers at and teases the players, only to be silenced by their talent. Mr. Lowenstein points out that the women will still play while nursing sprained ankles and broken fingers. The Rockford Peaches players demonstrate willpower, enthusiasm, and skill. Although they never reach the heights of popularity that the male teams get, they gain a devoted audience and respect amongst baseball fans.

Women are meant for more than just the domestic sphere.

Mr. Harvey, and many of the other men employing the women left behind while the men went off to war, failed to foresee the sociological implications of encouraging women to “get out of the kitchen” and fill her patriotic duty by working, and then expecting them to meekly go back into the kitchen once the men came home. This was an opportunity for women to prove that they had something to contribute to the world besides cooking, cleaning and birthing, and once they had a taste of ambition, they weren’t going to let that go. Dottie was perfectly happy being a wife and mother, and that was her choice to make. But for many of the others, they wanted more. Mae refused to return to her tawdry life as a taxi dancer, for instance. The All-American Girls’ Baseball League gave the players the opportunity to work for themselves, and many of them continued to do so well after the war ended.

Sexualization, objectification and gender roles suck.

The Rockford Peaches

As for the type of girls waiting for their husbands, what the men came home to were independent women of free thought. There was enormous social upheaval in the decades following the war, and most of it devoted to getting women out of the constricting domestic sphere and out into the working world. The All-American Girls’ Baseball league is just one real-life example of the type of work women can do if only given the chance. Female athletes are hardly “sexual confusion.” Women are free to choose the homemaker life if they want, but this film’s story proves that women are capable of more than what society thinks they should be.

Myrna Waldron is a feminist writer/blogger with a particular emphasis on all things nerdy. She lives in Toronto and has studied English and Film at York University. Myrna has a particular interest in the animation medium, having written extensively on American, Canadian and Japanese animation. She also has a passion for Sci-Fi & Fantasy literature, pop culture literature such as cartoons/comics, and the gaming subculture. She maintains a personal collection of blog posts, rants, essays and musings at The Soapboxing Geek, and can be reached on Twitter under @SoapboxingGeek.

Women in Sports Week: Blast from the Past: Jonathan Kaplan’s ‘Heart Like a Wheel’

DVD cover of Heart Like a Wheel

This guest post by Melissa Richard previously appeared at Bitch Flicks on March 29th, 2012.

Coming from a family of amateur drag racers (and a family where women outnumber men), it’s no surprise that my super-duper #1 female idol as a kid was Shirley Muldowney. A three-time National Hot Rod Association Top Fuel champion, Muldowney has been a part of professional drag racing since the mid-1960s and faced innumerable obstacles gaining entry into the boy’s club of the NHRA. Although not the first woman to race, she was the first to be licensed as a professional competitor and ran cars for the better part of nearly four decades, retiring only due to lack of sponsorship in 2003. Naturally, at the height of her career in the 70s / early 80s, her gender made excellent material for a biopic of her life, Heart like a Wheel (1983). And, perhaps just as naturally, the film does a pretty disappointing job of capturing the complexity of a woman who struggled to break the gender barrier in professional drag racing.

Bonnie Bedelia as Shirley Muldowney in Heart Like a Wheel

Directed by Jonathan Kaplan and written by Ken Friedman, Heart like a Wheel hits the high points of Muldowney’s rise to prominence in the racing world: her beginnings as an amateur drag racer (which she did for extra money as a young, newly married waitress); her desire and ability to race professionally with the help of her first husband, mechanic Jack Muldowney, and son John; her divorce from Jack and relationship with fellow racer / crew boss Connie Kalitta; the failure of that relationship and, of course, the movie’s climax in which Muldowney beats Kalitta to take the NHRA U.S. Nationals championship in 1982. Heart like a Wheel has a certain B-movie quality to it, but garnered a 1984 Golden Globe nomination Best Performance by an Actress for Bonnie Bedelia, who plays Muldowney in the film. While not tremendously popular at the box office, it received favorable critical acclaim at film festivals and, among racing aficionados at least, still holds significant underground popularity.

Like most “women breaking barriers” films, especially those involving sports, Heart like a Wheel has a sort of against-all-odds feel to it that makes you want to like it, even if you know hokey story lines like that tend to be amped up by filmmakers for the benefit of paying audiences. This is no surprise. What is surprising, however, is that viewers are privy only to a watered-down version of the significant odds that Muldowney really faced. There are the typical sexist lines that a female drag racer could’ve expected to hear in a male-dominated sport (like when an announcer decries Muldowney receiving a kiss from her husband prior qualifying for her competition license ) and scenes that illustrate the roles Muldowney had to play as an hyper-sexualized novelty in order to do something she loved and was good at (including taking on the exotic name conferred on her by Connie Kalitta, “Cha Cha,” which she later rejected as a racing moniker).

Instead of developing important moments, like those in which she has trouble getting sponsorship because of her gender or struggles to make ends in the furious balance between a burgeoning racing career and a family, the film aims most of its dramatic focus on Muldowney’s romantic relationship with Kalitta. In all of the drama of her seven-year fling with her hot-headed, womanizing guy, the lines and scenes that purport to represent the barriers Muldowney broke down seem pale and artificial, like they’ve been inserted only for the sake of occasionally reminding the viewer that Muldowney had to put up with a lot of macho crap in order to race.

Movie still from Heart Like a Wheel, starring Bonnie Bedelia and Beau Bridges

In all fairness, Muldowney and Kalitta’s relationship did have a significant impact on her career. They were involved professionally as well as personally, and her decision to cut him from her crew once the romance died made her even more of an underdog that she already was in the NHRA (since she couldn’t make it in racing without a bigger name than her own, apparently—or a man). In life and in the film, Muldowney took advantage of Kalitta’s license suspension (for fighting) and asked if she could race his top-fuel dragster with him as her crew chief, which put her on the road (literally) to three NHRA top-fuel championships. In fact, Kaplan and Friedman’s decision to organize the movie’s plot around Muldowney’s relationships with men is not unwarranted and lends an interesting masculine frame to a movie about a woman who came from and broke into, well, a masculine-framed world. From the opening black-and-white scene in which we see a young Shirley sitting on her father’s lap as he drives “too fast” down a deserted road through to the end when she shakes her fist in victory alongside her son / mechanic, this is a movie about a woman who lives in a world of men, is influenced by men, is supported and abandoned by men.

However, the male relationships that fostered Muldowney’s confidence and faith in her abilities hardly go noticed—especially the encouragement of her father. One of the more touching scenes occurs in the first 10 minutes of the film, when a young Shirley Roque and her then beau Jack Muldowney approach her burly father to ask for permission to marry. Tex Roque, a rough-and-tumble Country and Western singer, does not necessarily object to the marriage based on Shirley’s age—she’s sixteen—nor does he object to her choice of husband—he says that Jack is a really nice kid. What he objects to instead is that Shirley’s decision to marry so young will thwart her development as a self-sufficient woman. He advises her that “there’s not a man anywhere who’s worth giving up your ability to take care of yourself.” Tex died fairly early in his daughter’s racing career, so perhaps there just wasn’t enough of a presence there to make it a bigger part of the film, but his advice – that Shirley take care of herself – doesn’t necessarily serve as the story arc that it seems set up to be. Muldowney certainly gets things some things done herself: soliciting sponsorship, getting those needed signatures of support for her license application, and generally making it known that she would “mouth off” when she needed to. But the crucial lesson for Shirley behind Tex’s advice gets lost in the development of her relationship with Kalitta, who is important in telling the Muldowney story, but who is certainly not the whole of it.

Heart Like a Wheel film still

The relationship with Kalitta, of course, sets up the film’s narrative climax: the 1982 U.S. Nationals race in which Muldowney beat Kalitta to claim her third national title. They’d separated before the ’82 race, and the romance – in the film, but also to NHRA fans at the time—injects the duel with a provocative rivalry in which the little lady who can drive fast beats not just a male competitor, but a cheating, lying bastard. It’s one of those convenient moments from Muldowney’s life story that make for a good Hollywood story, but the real victory there is overlooked by the film. In 1982, no one had won three national NHRA titles and suddenly, someone had. And it happened to be a woman. This achievement, though, is lost behind the drama of Muldowney beating a former lover who treated her badly and, by the film’s end, you wonder if Heart like a Wheel was really about a woman breaking into the male-dominated world of racing to begin with.

Maybe Heart like a Wheel is just a love story with fast cars in it—something for the boys and the girls in the Hollywood mindset. But the real story here is one about a woman who loved to drive and compete, inaugurated the participation of women in a sport decidedly “for boys,” and dealt with a mountain of complexity in the process (the usual accusations of being a bitch that go along with being an ambitious woman, the failure of her first marriage because of her racing career, and the emasculating threat a woman with a great ability posed to her male competitors). As someone who watched this movie over and over as a kid, and who could still watch it over and over as an adult, I can’t help but love Heart like a Wheel because I love Shirley. But I don’t love what Heart like a Wheel says about a woman who had a tough row and has served as a significant influence to those who follow in her footsteps– and what it doesn’t say about the challenges of women in a world dominated by men.

Melissa Richard is a part-time English instructor at High Point University in the Piedmont Triad area of North Carolina. She writes about nineteenth-century factory girls in British literature and culture, likes to take photographs of things and stuff, and thinks that dancing is really fun.

Surfers in ‘Blue Crush’ and Girls in ‘Blue Crush 2’

Michelle Rodriguez, Kate Bosworth, and Sanoe Lake in Blue Crush

Written by Robin Hitchcock

To borrow an observation from my friend Liz, subculture movies are awesome. Well, they have a better chance of being awesome, and an excellent chance of being at least interesting. Focusing on people who build their lives and identities around an activity that many people never even have the chance to try is a pretty good starting point for a story. Passionate characters are interesting characters. Blue Crush credits itself as based on the article, “Life’s Swell” by Susan Orlean, about “the surf girls of Maui.” It’s more of an inspirational source for a loose adaptation, but I’m sure the studio was influenced by the line, “At various cultural moments, surfing has appeared as the embodiment of everything cool and wild and free; this is one of those moments. To be a girl surfer is even cooler, wilder, and more modern than being a guy surfer.”

To its credit, Blue Crush ignores Orlean’s notion that women surfers are “in a tough guy’s domain.” There are some surfer dude characters in the background, but they’re scenery (the way beach babes might be in a movie about male surfers). Anne Marie (Kate Bosworth) surfs with her two best friends/roommates/coworkers, Eden (Michelle Rodriguez) and Lena (Sanoe Lake). Eden dedicates herself to training Anne Marie for a competition at the North Shore’s Pipeline, sometimes angrily trying to push Anne Marie out of her self-doubt (she’s traumatized from nearly drowning while surfing at a previous competition). Anne Marie also is the primary caregiver for her younger sister Penny (Mika Boreem). Blue Crush mainly deals with personal problems rather than conflicts between social spheres.

While it takes a sort of post-feminist approach to surfing, Blue Crush attempts to work in some subdued class commentary. The girls live in a trailer, drive a beater car, and eat convenience-store candy for breakfast. They work on the cleaning staff of a high-end hotel, getting glimpses into the materialistic and carefree lives of rich tourists. There’s an unfortunately overemphasized romantic subplot between Anne Marie and an NFL quarterback in for the Pro Bowl, wherein Anne Marie is ostracized by the WAGs who also mock him for his propensity for “slumming it” with local girls. While it is superficial and not very sophisticated, it is nice that Blue Crush at least ACKNOWLEDGES some of the class dynamics at play in Hawaii. [Of course, our protagonist is the white Kate Bosworth rather than her Hawaiian co-star Sanoe Lake, because Hollywood hates making movies about people of color.]

Sasha Jackson and Elizabeth Mathis in Blue Crush 2

Which brings me to Blue Crush 2. This straight-to-video “sequel” is just another movie about surfer girls, with no connection to the original film other than someone paying for the rights to the title. Here we have another white girl protagonist, although this one has the opposite amount of class privilege. The first ten minutes of the film are devoted to clunky exposition establishing Dana (Sasha Jackson) as a) richer than chocolate cheesecake, b) spoiled as curdled milk. After a fight with her father she storms off from Beverly Hills to Durban, South Africa, to follow in her dead mother’s footsteps of surfing along South Africa’s Wild Coast. She makes a fast friend when she uses another young girl as a Scary Dude buffer. “I’ve never seen a white girl on the bus before,” says the new friend, Pushy (Elizabeth Mathis). “Well I’ve never seen a black girl who surfs.” Don’t worry, Dana, there won’t be any others in this movie. Or any other black PEOPLE, except that one same “Scary” Dude on the bus—seriously, the same guy, I was worried I was racistly confused but I guess they were trying to save on hiring actors by having THE SAME. EXACT. PERSON. a) “rudely” ask to sit next to Dana on the bus b) steal her things out of her beach locker c) menace her in a dance club d) POACH IVORY. I am not kidding about that last one.

In case you can’t tell, Blue Crush 2 is profoundly terrible. I was trying to figure out why I find it so execrable when I’m so fond of the original despite its flaws, wondering if it was just a matter of basic acting skill and production values. But there is more to it than that: Blue Crush 2 isn’t really about surfing. It’s about a privileged white American girl going to Africa to find her soul (Pushy actually tells her she is on an “uhambo” or “journey” for personal meaning). Dana doesn’t learn ANYTHING; she just experiences more. She visits Africa and leaves with photographs of her in the same places her white mother had been. She visits Pushy’s township and walks away with the experience of having shown everyone that a white girl can dance. She surfs Jeffrey’s Bay not for love of the surf but because it was her mother’s dream break. Blue Crush might inelegantly handle some of the race and class issues inherent to its story, but it’s a movie about SURFING, not a movie about how great it is for a rich white American girl to visit South Africa and happen to surf while she is there.

Robin Hitchcock is a white American girl living in South Africa. She doesn’t surf (yet).

Women in Sports Week: A Review of ‘The Fighter’

Movie poster for The Fighter

This guest post by Jessica Freeman-Slade previously appeared at Bitch Flicks on February 2, 2011.

The adage of “Behind every good man is a great woman” is worn out, particularly in the realm of boxing movies. You can reduce the entirety of Rocky to the battered Stallone’s anguished cry of “Adrian!” as he wraps up a brutal fight. We’re meant to believe that what kept him alive was passion, love, a desire to see life through to the closing bell. It’s a hackneyed way of suggesting that though Rocky pounds with his fists, he really leads with his heart. This is the kind of boxing movie that writes itself, and one that doesn’t really need to be seen more than once. Luckily for everyone, David O. Russell’s The Fighter is not that kind of movie. Instead of being a movie about masculine physicality and power, we get a subversive movie about the women that wage real battles outside the ring, the kind of battles aren’t cleanly won.

The sisters of The Fighter

The same idea is suggested in David O. Russell’s The Fighter, which tells the true story of boxer Mickey Ward’s comeback from next-to-nothing welterweight to one of the most admired fighters in the ring. Micky, as portrayed by that yummy hunk of Irish soda bread Mark Wahlberg, is a softie who finds himself losing fight after fight under the coaching of his half brother Dicky Eklund, a former boxer and current crack-addict (played by a wiry, skittish Christian Bale) and his domineering dye-job of a mother, Alice (the always wonderful Melissa Leo). Behind Dicky and Alice looms Micky’s seven sisters (the most foul-mouthed Greek chorus you could ever come upon), and beyond them the town of Lowell, a neighborhood that treats Dicky like the prizefighter he believes he once was. What defines Micky as a fighter is not so much his hesitation to throw a punch as his willingness to suffer them. In a fight shown early in the film, Micky is beaten so hard his cheek is punched clear through—a beating he takes because his brother and mother placed him against a much larger opponent, and one he takes because unless he fights, no one gets paid. Micky is punished as a boxer and as a son because he is obligated to his family—to his mother, a manager without any managerial tendencies; his brother, bossy in the ring but willing to jump through windows to escape being caught on the crack pipe. (Both sons seem more terrified of disappointing their mother than they do of getting arrested or beaten down.)

Alice the Mom (played by Melissa Leo) in The Fighter

And they’re right to fear her: with her steely nerve, Alice is as brazen a coach, Mama Rose in the boxing ring, Joey LaMotta in a push-up bra. When Micky goes absent from her immediate purvey, she shows up on his porch with the sisters in tow, posing questions that put him right back in the place of the apologetic son. “What’re you doing, Mickster?” she asks, her eyes all hard with disdain and disappointment. “Who’s gonna look after you?” Alice knows that mother love—and filial obligation—is one of the most powerful weapons she has. “I have done everything, everything I could for you,” she mutters. Her life is bound up in her children, and her coaching mantra is entirely one of maternity. When she catches Dicky sneaking out of a crackhouse, she shakes her head, on the verge of tears, and he has to sing to her like a little boy to pull her back to sanity.

Micky (Mark Wahlberg) and Charlene (Amy Adams)

It’s not easy being the son of such a demanding mother, and while Dicky gets to joke his way back into favor, all Micky can do is fight—fight and lose, but fight nonetheless. So it makes sense, given his messed-up family history, that Micky first starts to move out of the nest after falling for Charlene, a local bartender and the first person to call “bullshit” on his family-as-manager situation. (As portrayed by an utterly unglamorous Amy Adams, Charlene is one of the few college-educated characters in the film—due to an athletic scholarship for high-jump.) Charlene’s power in this movie is not as a love interest, but as someone who doesn’t treat Micky like a son or like a brother. She tells him he has to seize control of his career, toss Alice and Dicky off his team, and get serious with a real coach. We think she’s imagining him as a full-grown, self-sufficient man, but she also can’t help but place herself as an equal contender for the managerial job. She gives him a reason to go looking for new management, but she also seats herself decisively by the side of the ring. This is not a woman content to show up after the fight is finished—she is very much an active participant. “You got your confidence and your focus from O’Keefe, and from Sal, and from your father, and from me,” she declares, and there’s not an ounce of hesitation in what she says. It’s thrilling to watch the formerly meek mouse known as Amy Adams get to play someone so fierce.

Dicky (Christian Bale), Alice, and Micky in the ring

It’s when the instincts of the protective mother and the defensive girlfriend go up against each other that all hell breaks loose. Alice decides to storm over to Micky’s house with her daughters in tow, ringing the bell and banging on the door just as Micky and Charlene are doing the nasty. The bell rings and rings, and Charlene, furious at being interrupted, throws on a t-shirt and storms downstairs. Alice pleads with Micky to leave and come back home, but Charlene accuses Alice of allowing her son to get hurt, instead of stepping in and protecting him. In the midst of a boxing movie, what we get is a treatise on how women are the only ones that really know how to fight. Alice calls Charlene a skank, an “MTV Girl” (because clearly all MTV girls are hefting pitches of lager and fending off crude bar patrons), and Charlene lands a solid punch on one of the Eklund sisters. Her fists crunch into the girl’s face, red hair flying wild and legs kicking, and we know that none of these women can be fucked with.

Dicky is manic, and Micky is panicked, but it’s the women who are the real pillars of strength. Thus Micky and Dicky are forced to mediate through their female counterparts—Alice, who can’t stand to let her son give up, or Charlene, who forces Dicky into conceding some deeply held delusions. The dual strength of these women are what define the movie, what separates The Fighter from its fellow inspirational tales of athletic triumph, and what catapults it into a movie about athletic effort, and the force of will. And in the movie’s final joyous fight, we still get a triumphant romantic kiss…and it feels anything but hackneyed.

Jessica Freeman-Slade is a cookbook editor at Random House, and has written reviews for The Rumpus, The Millions, The TK Review, The Los Angeles Review of Books, and Specter Magazine, among others. She lives in Morningside Heights, NY.

Women in Sports Week: Because Being Girly Doesn’t Mean Being Weak: ‘Bring It On’

Bring It On movie poster

This guest post by Deborah Pless previously appeared at her blog Kiss My Wonder Woman and is cross-posted with permission.

I first saw Bring It On when I was still deep into my rebellious phase. You know the one. Lots of punk rock, plaid bellbottoms (they came back in style just in time for my middle school years), and an intense loathing for anything that smelled of “school spirit.” I prided myself on never attending a single football game in high school, and I absolutely never ever cared about cheerleading.

I was a rebel. A grrrrl. And no cheerleader was going to get in my way or the way of feminism.

Kirsten Dunst and Eliza Dushku in Bring It On

But looking back on it, I know exactly why I love that movie. It’s not “just” a cheerleading movie; it’s a cheerleading movie. A movie about female athletes in a feminine sport doing incredibly difficult things for the sheer love of the game. And doing those difficult, athletic things as a team.

More than that, this isn’t a movie about a ragtag group of misfits who somehow rise to success. It’s not about women trying to succeed in a man’s world. It’s got more interesting, diverse female characters than you can shake a spirit stick at, and the male characters are the ones who feel ancillary. The male characters are the ones getting flack for joining the sport, and the whole story revolves around a team of women in a female-dominated sport competing against other women at the top of their game.

Cheerleading.

I just dumped a lot on you right there, so let’s back up. Bring It On, released in 2001, stars Kirsten Dunst as Torrance Shipman, a peppy high school cheerleader in her senior year. Torrance has just made team captain of the Rancho Carne Toros, a team that’s just won their fifth National Championship in a row. She’s excited. She’s ambitious, and in the first five minutes of the movie she sends a girl to the hospital.

Gabrielle Union as Isis in Bring It On

And injured player means they need a replacement, so bring on the recruits! Torrance and the team hold tryouts, eventually selecting Missy Pantone (Eliza Dushku), a transfer student from LA and a gymnast looking for an athletic outlet. While Missy is leery of joining the cheerleaders at first, she eventually gives in, because they are athletes, and it sounds like fun.

Unfortunately, Missy gets pretty pissed when she realizes, and tells Torrance, that the Toros have stolen all their cheers, plagiarizing them from an inner-city squad in LA, the East Compton Clovers. She proves it too, and Torrance is horrified to learn that all their National Championships were the result of cheating. Worse, the Clovers know about it, as their captain, Isis (Gabrielle Union), makes very clear. The Toros won’t be getting away with it this year.

Torrance is devastated and has to figure out what to do. They try to carry on as usual, but the Clovers show up at a football game and humiliate them by showing that the cheers are stolen. They try hiring a choreographer, but that ends badly when another team hires the same choreographer, and they both bring the routine to Regionals.

Kirsten Dunst as Torrance Shipman in Bring It On

Finally, they reach the end of their rope, and Torrance decides to do something drastic: make up their own entirely original routine, like they should have been doing all along.

From there to the end of the movie it’s a lot of training montages and inspirational speeches, but the ending is what really sticks the landing here. The Toros and Clovers both compete at Nationals. They’re both really good. And the Toros lose.

But they don’t care, because for once, they lost on their own merits. Besides, second place in a National Championship with a routine they made up in three weeks isn’t all that bad, and the Clovers were genuinely and indisputably better.

Torrance (Dunst) and Isis (Union) face off in Bring It On

Now, there is a romance in the movie, with two guys vying for Torrance (Missy’s brother Cliff, the punk rocker, and her college boyfriend Aaron, the cheating jerk), but the romance is never the feature. It’s a nice side dish to the entrée that is competitive cheerleading. And the entrée is fantastic.

For all that it’s ridiculously sexualized by the media, cheerleading really is a sport. Not only that, but it’s also the single most dangerous high school and college sport, resulting in the most injuries and hospital visits. Cheerleading is terrifying, and it’s hard, and it’s really hard to do well.

The story in Bring It On is about women in a sport that’s totally hardcore trying to be the best. It doesn’t gloss over the sport’s sexualized history, with the football players, who have never won a game, taunting the male cheerleaders by calling them fags, and openly objectifying the women on the squad. No one respects the cheerleaders. But they don’t care.

Missy (Dushku) and Torrance (Dunst) in Bring It On

Or rather, they do, but they don’t let it bring them down. Missy, the character who first disses cheerleading as “not a real sport,” comes around in a big way when she sees that it is physically challenging, and just, you know, fun. She sticks by the team, and even contributes to their ultimate routine. Her gymnastics expertise is sadly underused in the film, but it’s clear that she’s a consummate athlete, and her devotion to the team helps us as an audience get invested.

More than that, though, Missy starts to appreciate the “girliness” of the team. At first she sneers, but she slowly comes around. Because being girly doesn’t mean being weak, the movie shows us. Girly girls are just as capable of kicking butt. Doesn’t mean you have to be a pretty princess, but you can. It’s okay. You can like shoes and still be a top-notch athlete. When Missy starts to get it, we start to get it. She doesn’t lose herself in the squad; she just gets more comfortable. Like she doesn’t have to front, and whatever she’s into is fine. Because they’re a team, and teams support each other.

It’s funny too, because you don’t often think about it, but not only does the movie pass the Bechdel Test with flying colors, it also passes the Race Bechdel Test, and contains a surprising lack of White Savior behavior. While Torrance does feel terrible about what her team has done to the Clovers and tries to make amends by raising the money for them to attend Nationals, the Clovers turn her down. They don’t need her help, and they manage to raise the money themselves.

The Toros perform their routine in Bring It On

The title of the movie itself is a sign of how seriously this movie takes the competition, not only wanting to win, but wanting to win because you are actually the best. When Torrance tries to use her white guilt to “make it right,” Isis tells her that all she should do is bring it.

“You want to make it right?” she says. “Then, when you go to Nationals, bring it. Don’t slack off because you feel sorry for us. That way, when we beat you, we’ll know it’s because we’re better.”

Ultimately, I’m pretty sure that’s the message of the movie. That the real pride in sports comes from doing your absolute best no matter what, and win or lose, being completely proud of what you did. The Toros don’t have a lot to be proud of for most of the movie, and you can see the damage it does to them. So their final performance, and their second place win, is a moment of triumph. They fight long and hard and they get the score they deserve.

Kirsten Dunst as Torrance Shipman in Bring It On

I’m not saying the movie is perfect, mind you. There is an alarming amount of sexual objectification even with the caveat that it’s bad, and some of the characters are total stereotypes. Jan, the male cheerleader who just does it because he can finger girls, disgusts me, and the entire bikini car wash thing is sad. But no movie is perfect.

So back to little high school me sitting on the couch, jaw dropped that a movie about cheerleaders in sexy uniforms, that doesn’t skimp on the sex-talk or avoid the sexual issues surrounding the sport, actually made me care. And it made me kind of excited. I wasn’t about to go and try out for the squad, but I was still inspired.

I saw women at the peak of their skill competing in a sport that is for women, by women. A sport where being girly doesn’t mean being weak, and where you try your absolute best because you refuse to go quietly. I fell in love.

Deborah Pless is the blogger-in-chief over at Kiss My Wonder Woman. She lives in Western Washington.