A Review of Seasons One and Two of GLOWBy Marina Brafa The moment I realized I had fallen in love with GLOW happened at the end of season one: the wrestling match between Liberty Belle and Zoya The Destroya. Usually all the moves are precisely choreographed and rehearsed, but this time Liberty Belle went off script and broke Zoya’s ankle. That terrible popping sound of her bone jolted me - not only could I feel her pain personally, I realized that I had not only followed the whole fight or even the episode, but rather the complete season enthusiastically. It turns out that from the very beginning, slowly but surely, the “Gorgeous Ladies Of Wrestling” (or GLOW for short) had put me under their spell. Here’s why.
Imagine Los Angeles in the 1980s. Women wear perms and shoulder pads; businessmen use clumsy mobile phones to negotiate their next deal on Wall Street. AIDS is a minor disease, unknown to most of the world and a wind of change is breezing through the Soviet Bloc. That’s the one side of reality. The other sits in a run-down Los Angeles gym waiting for an audition for an unspecified TV show on an insignificant local network. But hey, it’s a job and how else are you going to pay your rent? A cast of about 15 women end up making the cut for the show - which to their surprise turns out to be a wrestling program - that is supposed to be different from all the others, mainly because the wrestlers are women. What sounds like women boldly evening out the playing field in a male-dominated sport is fake, however – much like the wrestling itself. The TV show’s concept is the brainchild of two men, producer Sebastian “Bash” Howard (Chris Lowell) and director Sam Sylvia (Marc Maron). The target audience is officially families but we know it’s really more for men. At this point I was irritated: What’s going on Netflix? The women are good-looking (*surprise*), the director is obviously a selfish, misogynist idiot, the producer a wannabe big shot living off his mother’s fortune. And yes, there is a certain appeal to making a TV show about a TV show (meta level, you get it…) that, again, presents a completely scripted sports and entertainment show (namely wrestling; meta-meta level, it’s getting complicated…). But is this enough? GLOW appeared to be lacking plot and interesting characters. I was close to switching it off when things started to develop (and Zoya’s ankle popped). For example, as the ladies start developing their characters, and by that I mean the roles they would play in the wrestling ring. Even though the wrestling personas are totally cliché caricatures, the roles the female cast members had created for their work would soon start taking over in real life. And as the lines between truth and fiction blurred, GLOW became more like a reality TV show. Tammé Dawson (Kia Stevens) becomes “The Welfare Queen,” a “bad” character because she is taking advantage of the welfare system (which still seems to be a deeply rooted fear in U.S. society). In “real” life, Tammé is indeed not rich but she is an honest and hard-working mother who’s proud of her son attending Stanford. The wrestling ring therefore is a small reflection of society, which is why the exaggerated characters set up for the show reflect the audience’s/society’s ugly face and the clichés with which they are familiar. Under the surface, however, the Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling have individual, far more complex lives. These personal stories are revealed one after another, which include heated political and societal issues. While GLOW is in the 80s, the problems addressed do not - adding to the show a layer of critical comment on racism and sexism in 21st century-U.S. and societies worldwide. The diversity of U.S. society has not always been reflected in TV and cinema, fortunately the (nearly) all-female GLOW cast does a good job of cover all their bases. Let’s take a closer look at the characters. We have…
I could go on with this list (because GLOW also tells us something about friendships, about body images and female confidence, and so on...) and I am sure after watching GLOW some of you might agree or disagree with some of the points above. In that case: Let us know via IG or FB, or comment below! Finally, the only two main male characters, Sam and Bash, are not as flat as they might seem. Sam treats women in a sexist way, no doubt. Often enough he reduces them to their appearance and sexual attraction and he is very opposed to Debbie becoming part of the production team. However, he supports women whom he considers talented and edgy. Well yes, this could be defined as a patriarchal way of female empowerment and I won’t argue against this objection. He does not take Debbie seriously as a producer and he is annoyed by Ruth’s suggestions to his script. Initially. When he finally realizes in Season Two that their ideas are innovative, we see Sam more open to collaborate with women (other than sexually...) and to fully include them in the production process of GLOW. Hence, Debbie and Ruth enter the male-dominated economic circle and can change the system from within because – let’s be honest – in the end, the question of female empowerment is also a question of money! Bash, on the other hand, seems to feel attracted to men, especially his butler, but does not want to acknowledge or cope with his feelings. Basically, he is nice to everyone and tries to fulfill his dream of getting GLOW on TV. Women are part of his concept and as such he is trading them as goods. At the beginning he seems more concerned with crazy outfits and over-the-top wrestling stories rather than the women’s health. But Bash too gets more mature and realizes his responsibilities (he’s paying the cast’s salaries, after all). According to Netflix’s official GLOW website the show is “a comedy by the team behind ‘Orange is the New Black.’” Yes, it is – but its comedy is funny to a point that it actually hurts watching. You have to get into the mood of GLOW but once you are in this universe of 80s synth-pop, glittery costumes and over-the-top makeup you can fully engage with and enjoy the two selling points of the Netflix series: GLOW’s witty revelation of a conservative world where women are struggling with emancipation and traditional roles of motherhood, and with stepping up while being pushed back by patriarchal structures and sexism; and its ingenious way to lay bare the ridiculousness of stereotypes and people who fall for them too easily (and not only back in the 80s). Find trailer, episode lists and season recaps on the official GLOW website. So far, there are two seasons and GLOW got renewed for a third one in August 2018! The creators behind GLOW are Liz Flahive and Carly Mensch. You can listen to them in the insightful podcast WTF with Marc Maron #827 - who plays Sam Sylvia, you remember? - where the three chit-chat about writing and creating GLOW.
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The Power of Female Resilience
An entrancing tour de force, Vox Lux grips the viewer/listener from start to finish. From emerging director/writer, Brady Corbet (The Childhood of a Leader), this film captures the power of female resilience in the form of a seemingly delicate young woman, Celeste, portrayed by the captivating Raffey Cassidy (young Celeste), and the ingenious Natalie Portman (adult Celeste). The illusion of delicacy doesn't last long, as Corbet takes us through each chapter of her journey, repeatedly using lingering, close-range shots to highlight the strength and resilience of both Celeste and the women around her.
As the protagonist begins her transformation from mundane teenager to striking pop star, the viewer/listener is consistently left with a feeling of disquiet--verging on discomfort--with the monstrous aspects of our society that she must endure, aided in no small part by the poignant score (Scott Walker and Sia). Yet at every juncture--whether dealing with violence, invasion of privacy, deception, or manipulation--Celeste carries herself with unapologetic hope and magnanimity. Her monologues (delivered with biting self-assurance by both Cassidy and Portman) serve to bring a voice to women who often feel victimized by male violence, dominance, and presumption. Even Celeste's manager, deftly portrayed by Jude Law, seems more easily derailed than his client. That's not to say that Celeste suppresses her emotions; there are several pivotal moments where she unleashes her fury and despair with the selfish, mean-spirited nature of our society. These reactions are shown to be justified, as they are in response to those who detract from her ultimate goal: to provide her audience and the world with a positive atmosphere, where pain is effortlessly eliminated, and all they have to do is focus on her voice. From the Latin, meaning "light voice," Corbet's Vox Lux provides exactly that: a gritty, yet seamless look at the hope and triumph that arise when the dark underbelly of our society is struck with a beam of light in the shape of a woman's voice. 13 of Witchcraft Horror’s Most Iconic Heroines
Female occultism, in particular the concept of ‘witches’ appears to be having a bit of a resurgence in pop culture at the moment. From American Horror Story to I Am Not a Witch (click to read Christina's review) to Witches Of East End to Jenji Kohan’s series about the Salem Witch Trials, the magical woman is undergoing a renaissance cultural moment — and also gaining new respect as an enduring feminist symbol. “Young women in particular are looking for an archetype outside the tired virgin/whore binary that we’re offered, and the witch can do just that,” Kristen Korvette, who created a new course at The New School called "The Legacy of the Witch." Occultist women portrayed in films are inherently connected to the irrational fear of females and their biological bonds to the natural world. They can also be explicit critiques of the modern world — and a much needed form of assertion. Bearing this in mind, get ready to enrich your scary movie diet with some progressive feminism. But first, get on with reading Natalie's list and watching these scenes of bad ass witchcraft feminism! 1. Thomasin, The Witch (Robert Eggers, 2015) This already cult status film takes us back to New England in the 1630s, a few decades before the Salem witch trials, unfolding the story of a teenage girl trapped somewhere between the ambiguity of religious fervor, the eventual relinquishment of religious shame, and eventual sexual abandonment… and above all else the certainty of true evil. 2. Carrie, Carrie (Brian De Palma, 1976) ‘’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’s Carrie focuses mainly on the male fear of powerful women that inspired the film, with the anti-Carrie camp signifying her death as the defeat of the “monstrous feminine” and therefore a triumph of sexism. But Stephen King’s states that the inspiration for his 1973 book, is as much a realization of a feminist nightmare as it is a patriarchal one, with neither party winning. The rise of Second Wave feminism in the seventies posed serious threats to the patriarchal order certainly, but even for those who think change is not only necessary but good, change can be pretty scary. This, also disconcertingly taps into the shared universal fear of being victimized, something most of us can relate to at one point in our lives, and is one of the reasons Carrie still scares everyone. 3. Nancy, The Craft (Andrew Fleming, 1996) The Craft is a teenage tale of witchcraft in the American high school. Sarah (Robin Tunney) is a troubled girl who just moved to Los Angeles. She meets three school outcasts rumored to dabble in witchcraft – Bonnie (Neve Campbell), Nancy (Fairuza Balk) and Rochelle (Rachel True). Sarah joins their coven and, as a result, four teenagers gain access to dark powers, and after Nancy is struck by lightening in the initiation, she lacks empathy and becomes power obsessed. At first, they use them in a most teenage way possible, from unleashing revenge to attracting school hunk Chris (Skeet Ulrich). But things take a darker turn as people start dying, spells backfire and the coven’s leader, Nancy, becomes more and more of an unhinged bad girl as the film progresses. 4. Jay, It Follows (David Robert Mitchell, 2014) Forgetting the whole “teenagers who have sex die” exhausted tradition of the horror film for a second. In this film, the characters have to have sex in order to survive a deadly curse. Annie is a new kind of final girl, who has to break the rules of the genre and the adult world to stay alive. This is a refreshingly powerful depiction of adolescence, which culminates in an uplifting (literally) scene of personal fulfillment and ecstasy. 5. Rosemary, Rosemary's Baby (Roman Polanski, 1968) This is one of those cases in which you want to separate the director from his work—I would never call Roman Polanski a feminist, but I would argue that this film is. Rosemary’s Baby is a surprisingly honest and intimate portrayal of the expectations, disappointments, and even horrors that can accompany pregnancy. And the lullaby that begins and ends the film will haunt you for a long time (it’s my ringtone). 6. 'The Girl,' A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night (Ana Lily Amirpour, 2014) A mysterious female vampire stalks an Iranian town and, in the process, exposes its secrets. This dreamy, beautifully filmed Persian-American flick draws from both the horror and Spaghetti Western traditions, and immediately became an inspiration for independent horror filmmakers. 7. Countess Marya Zaleska, Dracula's Daughter (Lambert Hillyer, 1936) Dracula’s Daughter is an all too often overlooked Universal Studios monster gem. Gloria Holden stars as Countess Marya Zaleska, a hypnotic vampire who is forced to bear her father’s legacy. She also demonstrates a strong attraction to women, thereby initiating the cinematic trend of the lesbian vampire. 8. Asa Vajda, Black Sunday (Mario Bava, 1960) Black Sunday, also known as The Mask of Satan and Revenge of the Vampire, is a 1960 Italian gothic horror film directed by Mario Bava. Burned at the stake, a vampire witch princess (Barbara Steele) wakes up centuries later with her undead henchman. To this Bava now added a direct approach to historical misogyny and warped religious concepts of femininity and virtue, subjects rarely tackled before except by Carl Dreyer, one of intelligent horror’s strongest influences, in films like The Passion of Joan of Arc (1927) and Day of Wrath (1943). 9. Amelia, The Babadook (Jennifer Dent, 2014) Six years after the violent death of her husband, Amelia (Essie Davis) is at a loss. The Babadook (2014) punctures this myth of the new feminized laborer — a perky, independent professional, free from housewifery and inequality. Instead, we are faced with Amelia, a clearly intelligent, capable woman, who lives in a careworn haze of fatigue and depletion, only emerging periodically to rally herself to tenderness or descend into demonic fury. An amazing depiction of the burdens of being a single mother, and a terrifying watch. 10. Willow, The Wicker Man (Robin Hardy, 1973) When fervently Christian detective Sergeant Howie visits a remote island in the Hebrides to investigate a young girl’s disappearance, he finds a community celebrating May Day with pagan rituals. Whilst visiting, he stays at the local inn where he meets Willow, the innkeeper’s daughter, who attempts to sway him from his Christian path. Willow’s responsibility for demonstrating the loose morals of the Summerisle heathens (and testing Howie’s purity) is exhibited with a bizarre bawdiness – but Britt Ekland’s Bond-girl, pouting sexuality marked her (and her role as Willow) as an iconic figure of seduction within horror 11. Elaine, Love Witch (Anna Biller, 2016) Witches have been portrayed onscreen as evil, hideous hags (Hocus Pocus), as eccentric but kind neighbors (Practical Magic), as rebellious teens in Hot Topic clothing (The Craft). In The Love Witch, Elaine (Samantha Robinson) – despite being a homage to all these vintage vixens, is a different archetype from the ones we’re used to seeing — she’s a seductive woman whose primary goal in life is to find a man who adores her, which she attempts using methods of seduction and spellwork 12. Gwen, The Witches (Cyril Frankell, 1966) Following a deeply disturbing experience with the occult in Africa, a schoolteacher moves to a small English village, only to discover that black magic resides there as well. This film was a pet project of Joan Fontaine, based on a novel by Peter Curtis. It was her last feature film. Fontaine stars as the fearlessly strong teacher Gwen Mayfield, who is in charge of a missionary school in Africa. A witch doctor puts a curse on her, causing a nervous breakdown. Returning to England, she takes a job running a small rural school. In the village, there is an active voodoo cult. They have targeted a young woman named Linda (Ingrid Brett), whom they plan to offer as a virgin sacrifice. The cult members are led by journalist Stephanie Bax (Kay Walsh), whom Mayfield discovers is the head witch. So much female sass for one movie, decades ahead! 13. Suzy, Suspiria (Dario Argento, 1977) Dario Argento’s avant-garde and beautifully shot giallo movie follows the journey of an American dancer, as she enrolls in a prestigious German dance school, only to find it’s run by masochistic witches. Argento’s technical stylings are always a wonder to behold and Suspiria, with its use of mind blowing colors, and a spectacular score by prog-rock band Goblin. Not to mention a bizarre mystery at the heart of it all, is one of his, and Italian cinema’s, most thrilling works. It is definitely a film critic’s film, and remains as influential as it does unnerving. So what do you think about Natalie's list? Have you seen any of the films she included? Let us know in the comments!
You can follow Natalie on Instagram (@nataliemariawardle) and be sure to check out her site tarredandfeatheredofficial.com, where you can find the original version of the above list. It was slightly edited for Femfilmfans. And if you haven't followed us yet, please do so! We are on Facebook and Instagram (links below). You can also do us a favor and like your favorite posts, use the comment submission form below or email us with your feedback. Thanks! 😊 By Lissy Granzow SPOILER ALERT - If you haven’t watched the second season of The Handmaid’s Tale and do not want it to be spoiled, stop reading! “The Word,” the last episode of the second season of Hulu’s critically acclaimed dystopian drama The Handmaid’s Tale, left many viewers and TV critics baffled. After numerous escape attempts, protagonist June (Elisabeth Moss) finally has her best chance yet to escape the tyranny of Gilead with her newborn daughter Holly (or is it Nicole now?) and reunite with her husband in Canada. However, in the last scene she hands off her baby to Emily (Alexis Bledel), another handmaid on the run, and decides to stay in Gilead. This ending, which sets up a third season of June remaining in Gilead, came as a big surprise and shock to many viewers seeing her decision as incomprehensible or straight out nonsensical (The New York Times provides a great summary of the different reactions from critics). While I generally liked the second season, the last episode also left me quite confused about the future of the series and whether creator Bruce Miller has a clear plan for how the series will coherently continue and eventually conclude. My viewing experience of the thirteen episodes of the second season was very different from watching the first season. While the series remains thrilling and captivating, it was often almost too much for me to take in and I truly needed the full week in between each episode to recover. One main reason why it was harder to watch for me lies in the fact that season two goes beyond the source material. The first season closely resembled Margaret Atwood’s novel, which I read for the first time right before Hulu aired the first episode. As a result, I was already familiar with the horrific world of Gilead and June’s experiences, although it was still very chilling to see it come to life on the screen. At the end of the first season, as in the novel, June’s fate is left open after she is hauled into a van without knowing where it will take her. The second season picks up where the novel ends and from then on every viewer is as much in the dark about what’s happening as June herself. The second season depicts June’s three escape attempts, which are juxtaposed with scenes of her return to the Waterfords. Throughout the whole season, June is continuously in danger: with her rebellious behavior against Aunt Lydia (Ann Dowd), Serena (Yvonne Strahovski) and Commander Waterford (Joseph Fiennes); her secret love affair with Nick (Max Minghella); and as she tries to escape, of course. The only thing protecting June from life-threatening harm is the fact that she is pregnant since fertile women are even more in demand after a number of handmaids are killed in a bomb attack. Not knowing the fate of June in the second season and the horrendous things that happen to her and the other characters makes this show increasingly difficult to watch. My anxiety is further amplified by real life events in the U.S. and the Trump administration’s and conservative politicians’ policies and viewpoints aiming to control women’s bodies, which sometimes makes me wonder if a real-life version of Gilead is not that far off. And here lies my main criticism and my confusion about the ending of the second season. After June’s unsuccessful escape attempts and Eden’s execution following her own escape attempt, I was hoping that the show runners were setting up the storyline of June reuniting with her husband in Canada and fighting the Gilead regime from the outside. Instead, June gives up her newborn baby Holly, which makes me wonder who will take care of her. Will it be deeply traumatized Emily who will probably be reunited with her wife and son? Or will June’s husband Luke (O.T. Fagbenle) take care of the love child between his wife and another man (although Luke will probably think the baby is a product of rape). And what will happen to June? After “stealing” the child of one of the most powerful people of the regime, all of Gilead will probably be searching for her. Where will she go? And how is she supposed to get to her other daughter and bring her to safety? Saving Hannah is probably the only reason why she decided to stay behind. But would her chances to get her daughter back not be better with an organized mission from the outside? I’m not sure if her decision to leave her infant daughter so she can go on a suicide mission to rescue her older daughter seems like the sensible thing to do, as this will very likely leave both her children without a mother. Of course, I don’t believe June will die, but considering the numerous dangers she will face remaining in Gilead, it is hard for me to imagine a believable scenario that leaves her coming out unharmed. Another major event in the last episode that I could not comprehend was Serena’s major turn of character. Serena’s flashbacks depict her as an educated, highly conservative and religious working woman who wrote books and gave public speeches about her viewpoints on the woman’s place in the domestic sphere. Her ideas helped shape Gilead’s regime of terror. Before Gilead existed, Serena was better known and yielded more power than her husband. But when the men of Gilead, including her husband, overthrew the American government, she lost this power and her husband became one of the most important figures in the new regime. The paradox of her old-fashioned values compared to her life before Gilead puts Serena in a tricky position in this season. She is clearly bored with her life as the dutiful housewife, just waiting to be a mother while knitting, gardening and tormenting June every day. When her husband is injured after the bomb attack, she seems thrilled to assume some political power again, acting in secret on her husband’s behalf, which results in her husband spanking her as punishment. During a diplomatic visit in Canada with her husband, she experiences contempt from other women for her more-or-less voluntary lifestyle as a housewife. In Canada, she is also approached by a diplomat and secretly offered asylum. The diplomat points out that with asylum, she has the chance to bear her own children, since her husband is probably the person who is infertile. She refuses the offer, however, although I had the impression that she briefly considered it. It seems like her highest priority is to have children and be a mother. In her life before Gilead, her viewpoints blame the whole infertility crisis on the loss of core family values and conservative Christian beliefs. She cannot conceive children with her husband and in the first and second season her whole life revolves around her desire to become a mother via her handmaid June. With June about to give birth, she is closer than ever to finally having a child. This is probably one of the reasons she does not take up the offer of asylum and, of course, the fact that her whole life is built upon her vision of Gilead and the oppression of women. Even though she seems to become more disillusioned with her role as the wife and her place in Gilead, her main hope is to have a child of her own. This is why I struggled with her decision to let June flee with “her” baby in the last season finale. In the episode, June points out to Serena that baby Nicole will not be safe in Gilead as a girl, since even pious Eden (Sydney Sweeney) had been executed for defying Gilead’s rules. Serena was clearly shaken by Eden’s brutal death and tries to slightly change the laws by addressing her husband and the council of Gilead’s powerful men and propose that women should be allowed to read the Bible (women are not allowed to read at all in Gilead). She even reads a passage from the Bible in front of the council. But her husband and the council refuse to consider her proposal and instead her husband orders for her finger to be cut off, which is the punishment for women reading in Gilead. After this shocking event, Serena realizes that neither she nor other pious women are safe in Gilead. When she catches June fleeing with “her” baby, she first tries to stop her, but June convinces her to let the baby go. To me, this decision still seems very out of character. As mentioned above, both seasons highlight how Serena’s whole life goal is to be a mother. Throughout the series it seems that her finally being a mother makes all the torture, violence and rape worth it for her. But when she loses a finger and the violence is directed against her and another wife in her household, she finally realizes how dangerous this regime is for her and has a change of heart? And now, after she let June go and sacrificed being a mother, has she redeemed herself and are the viewers supposed to sympathize with her? While I find her character fascinating, especially because women like Serena who advocate for their own oppression exist, I do not think we should let her off the hook for the one decent decision she has made. She helped shape Gilead’s violent laws and is implicated in the rape and torture of June and other women. This is also why I find it incomprehensible that she would give up her daughter since her being a mother was the one thing she always wanted and one of the main purposes of Gilead. So in the end, both mothers decide to leave their daughters behind. But for what? Will Serena be alone with her abusive husband and continue to garden and knit? Or will she try to escape Gilead as well and be hated by everyone inside and outside of Gilead for her hypocrisy? After all the violence, torture and abuse, I think this show is in desperate need of hope. The viewer understands the horror of Gilead now. I think the series needs to wrap up by showing the fall of Gilead instead of more seasons of torture porn and violence against women that is so prevalent on television already. There needs to be some narrative purpose for violent depictions and shocking decisions besides shock value. Sometimes, the problem of TV shows, in comparison to a novel for example, is that many showrunners do not have a clear, coherent plan of how a show is supposed to end, but rather go with it as long as they are successful, providing a rushed, unsatisfying ending when the show is canceled. I truly hope this will not be the case with The Handmaid’s Tale. Why not end on a high note and go into history as a coherent piece of quality television acclaimed by critics? The unconvincing decisions in the final episode, however, make me worry that we will have another season of Serena deluding herself while being disillusioned by her abusive husband and June experiencing the full terror of Gilead with no end of violence in sight. Atwood’s novel and its visualization in the first season already gave us enough of the horrors of uncontrolled oppression of women. The purpose of a TV show that goes beyond this source material should be to give the viewer some hope and satisfaction. There is nothing wrong with a - more-or-less - happy ending in dystopian fiction.
(Note: Our editor Christina translated the text from German into English. The original German version can be found here --> Time is Up for Irony: Notes on Hannah Gadsbys Nanette) Cynicism is easy. It it a way to get involved in something without getting involved in something. In male-dominated stand up comedy, punchlines and ironic distance to the subject have become essential genre conventions. Actress and comedian Hannah Gadsby, known for her lesbian “gender not-normal” perspective in the Australian television dramedy Please Like Me, completely does away with these conventions in her show Nanette and in doing so, criticizes central mechanisms of the culture industry and the patriarchy. Hannah Gadsby recalls how she was confronted with homophobic and sexist violence at a bus stop at the age of 17, however; a man assumed that she was a man - albeit a “faggot” - and was hitting on his girlfriend. She mentions this at first just for the punchline: the man apologizes to her when he realizes she is a woman - he doesn’t hit women. The audience laughs. She then delivers several other punchlines that have to do with her past: with her coming out; with the omnipresent and until 1997 legally backed homophobia she faced growing up in her small hometown in Tasmania; with her deep-seated dissatisfaction, her depression, her isolation and her shame. It appears to be a self-deprecating coming to terms with the past. But Gadsby has had enough of not telling her story and her memories to the end. She has had enough of jokes about women and lesbians, even if they are ironic. In the middle of her show, she radically questions all of this and her profession itself: “I have built a career out of self-deprecating humor and I don’t want to do that anymore. Do you understand what self-deprecation means when it come from somebody who already exists in the margins? It’s not humility, it’s humiliation. I put myself down in order to speak, in order to seek permission to speak, and I simply will not do that anymore, not to myself or anybody who identifies with me. If that means that my comedy career is over, then, so be it.” Gadsby is through with self-deprecation, cynicism and humiliating and retraumatizing punchlines. She thus tells one memory vividly to the end. The man who let her have it at the bus stop returns, “he beat the shit out of me and nobody stopped him,” precisely because she is a lesbian woman and does correspond to the dominant gender norms. And because of these dominant gender norms, she did not turn to the law enforcement authorities: “I thought that was all I was worth. And I didn’t take myself to hospital. And I should have. But I didn’t, because that’s all I thought I was worth. I am ‘incorrect’ and that is a punishable offense.” Like a successful drag performance, Gadsby’s show is mimetic. Mimesis involves imitating, deconstructing and reassembling someone different from us (but this process can also apply to societal practices) with aesthetic intention so that the individual pieces no longer belong to a whole in a hierarchical relationship. In Hannah Gadsby’s case, this applies to narrative modes and gender norms that are de- and reconstructed. They are placed in new relations to stand up comedy as a genre and to the masculine as an idealized norm. In comedy, life stories and societal shortcomings are commodities; what counts are the punchlines that pay off, ones with a high short-term rate of return. Aesthetics and ethics only have a functional significance. Stories are then told to the end if it pays off. But “we tell ourselves stories in order to live” (Joan Didion); to tell our stories first gives history and meaning to our lives and makes it possible to orient ourselves morally in the world. The time is up for irony. Great news: Hannah Gadsby says she's no longer quitting comedy (click to read full article by Broede Carmody)
Deconstructing the Stigma of WitcheryBy Christina Schultz
Zambian-Welsh director Rungano Nyoni’s award-winning debut film I Am Not a Witch poignantly thematizes the stigma of being a witch in her home country Zambia, a place steeped in tradition. However, the traditions might appear more like odd superstitions comically amplified to viewers from the Western World. This absurd contrast between reality and possible fiction comes to life as the patriarchal society firmly in place in Zambia and the general authority of men are undermined and even threatened by a tight-knit matriarchal community of “witches,” who are kept like animals in the zoo by the government. Once accused and confirmed as witches, the women are bound to servitude in both the literal and metaphorical sense: the witches must wear white ribbons attached to mounted spools, allowing them to go only so far. When moved, the large spools and the mounts allude to a penetrating phallus, which seems to be no coincidence on the part of the director. The symbolism makes us think the women are beholden to their male keepers but relatively early on in the film, we, the feminist-minded viewers, realize the witches have the power to (figuratively) screw the men and not vice versa. The male government official, Mr. Banda (Henry B.J. Phiri), wants to exploit the witches for his own benefit but depends on their cooperation. They are, among other things, an integral part of the justice system as they determine whether someone is guilty of committing a crime. They also perform manual labor, mainly fieldwork, which turns into profit. They are even put on display for tourists, resulting in one of the film’s funniest scenes. Without the witches’ cooperation, Zambia would certainly be worse off, so the film suggests. The star of the film, an incredibly terse but bright eight-year-old orphan named Shula - played by Maggie Mulubwa with a poignancy seldom seen in children on screen - causes enough trouble to lead the townspeople to suspect she is a witch. All it takes to be accused is to be at the wrong place at the wrong time or to make people uncomfortable by doing the unexpected, which is not actual witchcraft, as far as am I concerned. Shula, whose name appropriately means “to be uprooted,” appears ungendered or unidentified when we first meet her. The prepubescent child wears neutral clothes (although one tragicomical camera shot reveals her in a shirt brandishing the phrase #bootycall) and has not yet found, or chooses not to use her voice. Her presence unsettles the townspeople and quickly she is coaxed into joining the witch community because otherwise she will become a goat, so she is warned. Shula, while at first unhappy, quickly adjusts to her new life as a witch and lives happily among her matriarchal society. And even though being a witch is a decidedly female occupation, if you could call it that, she maintains her gender neutrality and much of her freedom. She becomes part of a family, gains respect and has opportunities she otherwise would not have had. Mr. Banda’s wife (Nancy Murilo), however, shows how deeply ingrained the hatred of witches, i.e. strong, emancipated kweens, and traditional gender roles are in society. She tells Shula that she herself was once a witch but she gained “respectability” through marriage, which set her free, allowing her to live a relatively lavish lifestyle with her husband. In other words, if witches change their “evil” ways and do as they are told, they can be released from their ribbons and their lifelong servitude. But aren’t they just exchanging one type of servitude for another? Is not the ribbon merely a physical limitation, a trifling nuisance, and the bonds of marriage and societal shackles placed on women a much worse kind of servitude? It would seem that the answer is the stuff of Kindergarten because even eight-year-old Shula could not be hoodwinked by the glamor or the promise of “freedom.” Sure the witches might be persecuted or ridiculed, as witches have been throughout history in just about every part of the world, but they are free in a different way. Their independence is their strength. They are not repentant for their “non-conformist” behavior, they are not adherent to traditional female roles, they are not seeking out “respectability.” Shula is clearly happiest with her family, the people who embrace her for who she is. And that family, that group of people are all women. Women who care deeply for one another, who stick together through thick and thin, who embrace new members with open arms and would (more or less) prefer to live by different rules than the ones society expects of women. I would say the film’s message couldn’t get much more feminist. Yet the feminism on display here is not blatant; it is incredibly subtle, albeit undeniably present. It’s the kind of feminism that causes you to think about what is worth fighting for and what “freedom” really means. And in this aesthetically beautiful, narratively creative, emotionally moving film, it is quite freeing to be a “witch.”
The Phantom Menace Han Solo, accurately recreated by Alden Ehrenreich, and Lando Calrissian, expertly portrayed by Donald Glover, have never been feminist icons, nor should they be. They are chauvinistic, self-absorbed scoundrels, the lovable, but flawed products of the seedy underbelly of the Star Wars universe. Yet behind the women, weapons, and card games, the viewer is always aware of their hidden loyalty and compassion. Han and Lando’s bravado undoubtedly makes up part of their identities, but it can still be easily punctured by the wit and gaze of the late great, and hopefully still around in Jedi-ghost form, Carrie Fisher. “I love you,” says the princess. “I know,” answers the smuggler, while allowing himself to be frozen in carbonite. An act of compassion, which displays what his words cannot. Overall, the characters Han and Lando don’t exude aggressive masculinity, but perform it rather obviously. This performance was made legible through their actions, failures to perform, and most importantly, the strength (physically, mentally, and politically) of Princess Leia as a balance in the force. The Princess Strikes Back Leia is of course imperfect. Subordinate to Han and Luke, she only succeeds in (accurately) criticizing their plans, not changing them. But it was the 70’s and one had to start somewhere. Unfortunately, years and years in the future in a film not really that far away, the balance she provided back then, however imperfect, is wholly missing from the new Han Solo story. Unlike Leia, Khaleesi the…wait, I mean, Qi’ra the love interest and presumed counterweight to Han’s hubris in Solo, portrayed by the talented Emilia Clarke, is complicit in, rather than skeptical of the arrogant criminal that young Han wants to perform. Where Leia calls Han’s bluff with cutting sarcasm and political rank, Qi’ra lacks power and cunning. She is not a senator, but the assistant to mob boss, Dryden Vos. Rather than rejecting Han’s attempted outlaw routine, she is wooed by his antics and can’t talk with L3 about anything other than love. Although she does have some pretty awesome sword moves in her brief fight with Vos and ultimately assumes his powerful role in Crimson Dawn next to robot-legs Darth Maul, her action-hero abilities are never explored. Even her decision to abandon Han for a promising career in crime comes across not as agency involving forethought, planning and execution, but rather as betrayal and opportunism, both old tropes about strong women. Ultimately, Qi’ra serves to reinforce rather than resist Han’s machismo, creating the mess that Princess Leia will have to clean up later. A New Hope? One could ask: Maybe the balance in the gender side of the force doesn’t come from a human at all, but a robot!? One could ask, but one would be wrong. L3, Lando’s droid co-pilot, voiced by Phoebe Waller-Bridge, is a noticeably activist figure, so much so that it comes across as parody and farce. When confronted with the injustice of robot-fighting at Lando’s hideout, L3 attempts to incite the droids to rise up and resist their oppression. Her powerlessness to affect the situation is obvious and allows the scene to function as comic relief, rather than having an empowering edge. The moment is awkward enough that Lando, embarrassed by his droid/partner/crush?, guides her away like a child. Thus, the fight for equal rights, equal representation and equal voice for droids, Banthans, workers, women, POC, LGBTQ and many more, becomes nothing more than a silly distraction and one that ultimately costs L3 not only her voice, but her life. While leading a failed revolt, she is hit by a laser blast. Her hard drive is then integrated into the Falcon and permanently made part of the ship’s system, never to be heard again. With L3’s assimilation, Qi’ra’s weaker character, Val’s early death, and the narrative unimportance and limited screen time of Enfys, Solo falls short in leveling out Han and Lando’s bravado. Without this counterbalance, there is little artifice to their arrogance and even less reason for introspection in the viewer. An Actual New Hope It feels like it’s time for something more positive. There’s always a lot one can find wrong and too seldom suggestions for what can be done better. To the credit of director Ron Howard and the film team of Solo, the film is very Star Wars and there are interesting, subtle moments that challenge the observations above. Also to their credit, it would have only taken one simple suggestion to return balance to the force of the movie: to have Val (Thandie Newton), super smuggler villainess (she, I assume, would also then be entitled to a last name), keep Han in check. In many ways, it is Tobias Beckett (played by Woody Harrelson), Val’s lover, who takes on role of Han's mentor and counterpoint. He is strong, but self-serving, wise, but untrustworthy. Had Val taken on Beckett's role, the story remains the same, except she would provide the strong, clever, complex, influential and indeed longer living character that would have given Solo all the Leia-esque female counterweight it needed to check Han’s brash bravado exterior. But in Yoda’s words “Do or do not. There is no try.” Solo provides all the camp, action, intrigue, and adventure one loves in a Star Wars story. Han and Lando are their scoundrel selves, and the viewer is sucked along to seedy depths of the galaxy and the enticing debauchery of the smuggler lifestyle. Solo captures much of what there is to love about a Star Wars film from the 70’s. Unfortunately, it brought with it the many problems of representation in a space western from the 70’s. By Elisabeth Granzow With the introduction of many streaming services such as Netflix, Hulu and Sky, the consumption of TV shows has become easier than ever. Unfortunately, however, picking the right program to watch has become much harder with the vast selection of scripted television. Another challenge for a critical viewer like myself is to find a show that transgresses common stereotypes of race, gender and class among others and includes complex marginalized and underrepresented characters and viewpoints. Many programs on television still revolve around straight white men and do not even pass the Bechdel Test, which already sets a low bar for the quality of female representation. This is why I compiled a list of my top 5 current TV series that can be watched on Netflix and Co. Of course this is just my personal selection and does not constitute an exhaustive list. It should be noted that even the best shows can have problematic characters and storylines and could do a better job in some areas. Yet the programs that have made it into this list present complex and complicated female characters, are often partially written and produced by women and include important storylines that feature empowered women. Please feel free to comment about your opinions of these shows and offer your own recommendations! The Handmaid’s Tale (2016-, Hulu) This widely acclaimed Hulu original might not be watchable for everyone. The drama is set in a near dystopian future, where a stark decrease in the fertility rate has resulted in a theocratic revolution in the U.S. In this world, women are oppressed and assigned certain roles for specific purposes, such as housewives who support their husbands or house servants called “Marthas.” The protagonist June/Offred (played by Elisabeth Moss) serves an infertile rich powerful couple as a “handmaid.” Her duty? To become pregnant by the husband in a cringeworthy religious ritual that involves the wife as well. Season One is based on the novel by Margaret Atwood. The series was created by Bruce Miller, but has a number of female producers and writers. The drama also has a fantastic female cast (Elisabeth Moss, Samira Wiley, Yvonne Strahovski, Ann Dowd among others) and gives the viewer a chilling outlook of the dangers of uncontrolled systems of oppression. I highly recommend this show for fans of thrilling, suspenseful dramas and dystopian fiction. The show presents highly artistic cinematography and depicts the resilience and empowerment of complex female characters in a world that treats them as subhumans. However, I also should warn viewers about the graphic depictions of rape, violence and torture, which makes this drama not for everyone. In addition, the Handmaid’s Tale has been criticized for not addressing race in this world, but rather using a colorblind approach in its treatment of its characters of color. The show does, however, include a number of actors of color, such as Samira Wiley. Westworld (2016-, HBO) This big-budget HBO drama blends the Western and Sci-Fi genres into a thought-provoking product that delves into philosophical questions, such as what makes humans human and whether violence and oppression against AI robots is ethical. In this futuristic world, Westworld is a theme park reminiscent of the Wild West, in which rich people can interact with intelligent robots called hosts that resemble humans so much that they can hardly be distinguished from the human guests. As a result, most park guests live out their darkest fantasies, which includes violence against the hosts, whose memory is wiped out after each violent death. As the first season progresses, the hosts slowly start to rebel, although it is not always clear whether they were programmed that way of whether they have found “consciousness” and therefore their own agency. The drama is created by Lisa Joy and Jonathan Nolan. Having a woman co-create such a popular show is still rather rare in the industry. In addition, women take on the most important roles in the typically male worlds of Westerns and Sci-Fi with very strong performances by Thandie Newton and Evan Rachel Bloom. They play the female hosts Maeve and Dolores, the first to realize they are not human and to fight back against their male/human oppressors. The particular abuse of female hosts therefore serves as a metaphor for violence against women in our present world. Yet one can raise the question whether gender even exists for robots. I argue that the programming of the hosts’ gender parallels the construction of gender in humans. Both in terms of human gender and race, the world outside of the Westworld park seems egalitarian with many women and people of color in positions of power within the companies that are involved with the park such as Charlotte Hale (Tessa Thompson), an executive director of one of these companies. Westworld is a compelling drama with fantastic performances by the many female lead characters and a variety of plot lines centered around female protagonists. Dear White People (2017-, Netflix) This Netflix comedy is based on the 2014 indie film Dear White People. Both the film and the series were created by Justin Simien and follow a number of (mostly) black students at a fictional, predominantly white Ivy League college. The title Dear White People refers to the name of a campus radio show by Samantha White (Logan Browning), who uses her program to address racism and share the experiences of black people in the privileged environment on campus. Each episode follows one main character, shows their unique perspectives and interweaves their storylines into one coherent plot. Thus, this satire of campus life is not only witty and smartly written, but also includes many complex male and female black characters with different backgrounds and sexualities - such as biracial Samantha, Lionel Higgins (DeRon Horton), Coco Conners (Antoinette Robertson) and Joelle Brooks (Ashley Blaine Featherson) - as well as political and social viewpoints. Throughout its two seasons, it tackles relevant and urgent topics including debates around activism and protests against racism, internet trolling, abortion, racism and police brutality. The intelligent writing combined with compelling characters and great performances by the cast presents the viewer with an entertaining dramedy and insights into the diversity of black life in the privileged setting of an Ivy League school. One Day at a Time (2017-, Netflix) This Netflix sitcom was created by Gloria Calderon and Mike Royce and depicts the life of a working class, Cuban-American household. The family includes three generations of women with single working mother Penelope (Justina Machado), her mother Lydia (the fantastic Rita Moreno) and her daughter Elena (Isabella Gomez), as well as her son Alex (Marcel Ruiz). The comedy includes many important topics around identity into its storylines, such as sexuality and Cuban American identity. Furthermore, One Day at at Time tackles the everyday struggles of working class, veteran and immigrant families. While these are serious topics, One Day skillfully manages to combine social and political commentary with the lightheartedness and comic elements of the sitcom genre and shows that sitcoms can also be thought provoking. My full review of One Day at a Time can be found in the review section of our Femfilmfans website. Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (2015-, The CW) Crazy Ex-Girlfriend is a quirky, intelligent musical dramedy created by two incredibly talented women, namely Aline Brosh McKenna and Rachel Bloom. Bloom also plays the main character, the successful Manhattan lawyer Rebecca Bunch. Rebecca decides to move to the California hometown of her summer camp love Josh Chan (Vincent Rodriguez III) on a whim. While the title and premise suggests problematic stereotypes of the crazy and romance-obsessed woman, the show is actually quite self-aware of sexist stereotypes and adds complexity and nuance to them by thoughtfully depicting Rebecca’s mental illness and its stigmatization. Despite this serious topic, Crazy Ex-Girlfriend includes incredibly hilarious yet thought-provoking musical numbers and a coherent narrative, which will be wrapped up in its fourth and final season. I can truly recommend this show to everyone for its freshness, wit and many extraordinary female characters. For my full review of Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, please check out the Femfilmfans review section. By Christina Schultz This review contains SPOILER ALERTS! If you haven’t watched the new episodes of Arrested Development on Netflix, be warned, some of the details will be revealed below. Consuming television shows or films critically helps us as an audience hold mainstream media accountable for producing problematic images. Being aware of what happens behind the scenes of our favorite shows and movies feeds into this critical-viewing process. For example, watching the show Arrested Development (Fox 2003-2006; Netflix 2013-) post-scandals certainly leaves a funny taste in my mouth, and not the good kind of funny. The first incident involves Jeffrey Tambor, who was fired from the show Transparent (Amazon 2014-) when two team members accused him of sexual harassment, which he never really apologized for (because how can you apologize for something you deny having done?). The second incident involves Tambor yet again and his now-notorious verbal abuse of Jessica Walter and Jason Bateman’s mansplanatory brushing over of the whole affair during a New York Times interview. Knowing about this now, I can’t help but blur the lines between actor and character as I view the first half of the new season (Netflix released the first 8 episodes of Season 5 on May 29). But that’s not the only reason why I feel the show falls flat in comparison to previous seasons. For the record, I have been a loyal fan of the show for years, even wearing cut-off jean shorts and wielding chocolate-dipped bananas and “juice boxes” (what Buster calls Lucille’s boxed wine) to AD viewing parties. The previous seasons of the show have provided me with so many LOL moments and hilarious one-liners that I still quote them as if I just saw the episodes yesterday (which is not far off, I rewatch the show a lot). Yet Season 5 shows everyone’s age and another round of quite literally being stuck in arrested development somehow has lost its charm in this generation of promoting the exact opposite: self-love, acceptance, personal growth and honesty with a firm refusal to put up with the same old bullsh*t. The family dynamics somehow seem more cruel and painfully awkward in the once laughably comical dysfunctional Bluth family. Ron Howard tries to add some freshness by including more of himself and his family - his children, wife and father have cameos in one episode and Isla Fisher reprises her role as his daughter from Season 4 - in an odd pseudo-nod to the comparatively squeaky clean sitcom Happy Days (ABC 1974-1984; which also starred Barry Zuckerkorn actor Henry Winkler as the Fonz), which doesn’t really help rejuvenate the storyline. Every returning character has clearly hit rock bottom, and one cannot help but see the bitter irony in this now. While this is an admittedly brief breakdown of Season 5, it demonstrates just how worn out the show appears to the critical viewer aware of the important behind-the-scenes context. Michael, played by Jason “mansplainer” Bateman, tries to maintain a relationship with his son George Michael but often fails because of poor communication. He lies, avoids the true problem, puts words in his son’s mouth and, worst of all, ignores both their feelings (oh, the irony that Michael Bluth behaves like an ass!). George Michael (Michael Cera) tries to do the right thing but unfortunately goes to his cousin Maeby for advice (it’s always terrible). Maeby (Alia Shawkat), technically not related to the Bluths because her mother Lindsay (Portia de Rossi) is adopted, still schemes her way through life because her parents failed her. Tobias, Maeby’s “actor” “father” (the quotes on both words is intentional), pathetically clings to his wife’s family despite their pending divorce so desperately because where else can he go? He spends more time with his newfound son Murphy Brown this season than with Maeby in the previous four. Lucille (Jessica Walter), meaner than ever, has stooped to (court-ordered) “therapy” sessions with Tobias. The youngest Bluth sibling Buster (Tony Hale), once Lucille’s constant companion and admirer, winds up in jail and she could care less. GOB (Will Arnett), once the ladies’ man, pines away for fellow (real) magician Tony Wonder (played by Ben Stiller) and even lets it slip to Kitty (Judy Greer) in Episode 6 that he’s “got a lot on my mind right now with work / am I gay? / my brother Buster’s in jail” and even wants to undergo “conversion therapy” but literally winds up in a “closet conversion” store (in typical GOB fashion, he didn’t do his research). In perhaps the most ironic twist of all, George Sr., played by Jeffrey Tambor himself, cries a lot, shies away from conflict, has no libido and cannot perform for his wife, Lucille (Jessica Walter). Their relationship is, needless to say, on the rocks. As you can see, the characters’ not-so-funny nastiness and the many cringe-worthy, awkward moments they create hit so close to home in real life that you can’t help but wonder how, or if, the show can redeem itself in its second half by shedding some of the emotional Bluth baggage and recapturing the family’s wild and wacky wit with which we fell in love. Viewing Arrested Development critically allows us to reassess the show and the messages it is sending. More importantly perhaps, by seeing the show’s weaknesses in relation to the actors’ real-life behavior, we continue the discourse of respect and accountability begun by the Time’s Up and #metoo movements. If we, the consumers of images, voice our opinions, we can unleash the power to shape the images we consume. My far from glowing review should not deter you from watching, but stay informed about what you view on screen and off, share your opinions and you will have an empowering viewing experience. If you have watched Season 5, you might be thinking what I’m thinking: WHERE THE HELL IS LUCILLE 2? Share your theories in the comments! Lissy, our resident TV expert will also weigh in on Arrested Development soon! From left, Buster Bluth (Tony Hale), Maeby Fünke (Alia Shawkat), George Michael Bluth (Michael Cera), Lucille Bluth (Jessica Walter), Michael Bluth (Jason Bateman), George Bluth (Jeffrey Tambor), Lindsay Bluth (Portia de Rossi), Tobias Fünke (David Cross), GOB Bluth (Will Arnett) (photo: Flickr, Methodshop.com) By Marina Brafa Black Panther is one of the hottest movie tickets around. But let’s be honest. Black Panther is a fairly conventional superhero film in the Marvel Universe. The plot mixes a bit of everything to please the crowds: romance, action, politics and moral lessons. However, in contrast to other Marvel movies, Black Panther puts stronger emphasis on political and social issues than its predecessors. Sure, there is still the hint of a love story and exciting car chases through the streets of Seoul, but these scenes are the weaker ones in a generally good film. They seem to be relics of a time when superhero movies still had to stick to strict patterns with regards to content and aesthetics. The movie opens with visually stunning views of the East African nation of “Wakanda,” a high-tech society still connected to its ancient tribal roots and folkloric culture. One of the characters calls it “El Dorado,” alluding to the hidden kingdom sought out for its gold reserves by foreign adventurers. And Wakanda is one hell of a gem: a blend of modernity and unspoiled beauty, tucked away from other parts of the world with a precious horde of “vibranium.” This extremely valuable material, when used for good, can fuel, heal and power practically everything and is therefore of huge interest to others. Here is where the problems start for Wakanda. The country pretends to be poor and “less developed.” However, the obligatory greedy villain of the plot (Andy Serkis) knows about the “vibranium” and tries to get his share of it to use for evil purposes, of course. That’s not the only challenge Wakanda faces. Internal turmoil threatens to tear apart the allied tribes after the death of Wakanda’s king T’Chaka. His son and new king T’Challa (Chadwick Boseman) starts to question his beloved father when he discovers a dark secret T’Chaka has kept for decades. The secret (no spoilers, promise) almost destroys Wakanda and raises questions of morality. What makes a “good king”? Were all decisions made by the old king “good”? It is up to T’Challa to find out the answers. T’Challa’s journey is therefore one of reflection and self-discovery, with the action often taking place elsewhere, making Black Panther different from other action heroes. The impenetrable black suit conceals a sensitive kitten rather than a fierce panther. This is why T’Challa heavily depends on the support of four female characters on his quest: his mother Ramonda (Angela Bassett), his sister Shuri (Letitia Wright), and two women, Okoye (Danai Gurira) and Nakia (Lupita Nyong'o), who fight for him in Wakanda’s special armed forces, the Dorja Milaje. We are well into the review and yet I have not touched upon the one thing everyone has been talking about when it comes to Black Panther: its nearly all-black cast. This is an important element of the movie and the main reason it sparks such enthusiasm worldwide among critics and viewers. Is this Marvel film a story of the Black Panthers, or just one Black Panther? Does it have the ability to empower black communities?
Yes and no. For sure it was a long overdue step to shoot such a big-budget action film in which almost the entire cast consists of actors of color. But Black Panther does more than just star black actors, the film tries to show a diverse range of black communities. However, the representation of these communities - the plural is important here - is more complex than many viewers might want to acknowledge. The movie was shot on locations in the U.S., Argentina and South Korea, the director and screenwriter Ryan Coogler and his co-writer Joe Robert Cole are African-Americans and the lead actors were raised in the U.S., England or Africa. This, in a way, reflects far more diversity of black or African communities than audiences are used to. Yet, paradoxically, Black Panther still focuses on U.S. American Black culture and represents African Black culture from this point of view. Beyond the cast and settings, the plot opens up a binary division between African and African-American cultures. Representing the latter is Erik Killmonger (Michael B. Jordan), a Wakandan by birth who lost ties to his ancestors’ origins and has instead been formed by the place where he grew up: Oakland, California. Logically, he was influenced by Black American culture. The division between the two continents is represented by the characters’ outfits and by the music that accompanies their screen time. The Wakandan characters wear tribal clothes with designs that derive from several African groups (readers, please excuse my lack of knowledge here), Killmonger sports what one might call blipster or hip hop clothing. Wakanda and its characters are supported by a drum-based score, Killmonger is prefigured by a catchy soundtrack curated by none other than Kendrick Lamar. Language equally serves as a dividing cultural marker. Members of the Wakandan tribes speak English with various African accents whereas Killmonger clearly speaks Black American vernacular. A closer look at the female characters in particular reveals another binary in the film world: old-fashioned gender roles. Women appear strong in certain settings, most of them traditionally female-gendered. They are clever and can fight, no doubt. But in the end, their task is to support T’Challa. Nakia and Okoye literally stand next to him to protect him, or behind him in front of the United Nations. T’Challa is surrounded by gifted women all along but still remains the center. Pretty conservative, I would say. Do not get me wrong, Black Panther is a step in the right direction, especially since it introduces questions of race into mainstream cinema. But for now, the panther is still a kitten waiting to grow to its full size (and potential). To be continued for sure. |