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Dear Friends, Family, Readers, Etc.:
Here’s to sending out 2009 with a bang!
Cheers from Progress on the Prairie! And BE CAREFUL!!!
Pandagonians, I need your collective wisdom. Here is a photograph of a dog:
And the question for you is: Photoshop? Or real dog? What’s your take on this burning question?
2009 has provided a lot of opportunities for female filmmakers and has brought some breakout female performances in unlikely places. A variety of films addressed women’s issues with depth, clarity, and honesty this year. After watching marathons of movies, both poignant and compelling, a compilation of the best was born.
Director: Guillermo Arriaga
Sylvia (Charlize Theron) is a successful Portland restaurant owner, plagued by trauma from her past and suicidal thoughts. She abandoned her daughter, until a reunion is thrust upon them years later. Gina (Kim Basinger), was a mother of four who betrayed her family in an affair with another married man, before they both were killed in a fire. Both stories are deeply connected, gradually pieced together through the film’s non-linear style. These women, flawed as they may be, nevertheless show depth, intelligence, and vulnerability. The story addresses the profound repercussions of adultery or promiscuity as a means of escape, and the complex bond that mothers and daughters share.
“She’s a kid. I wouldn’t know what to do with her. I can barely look her in the eyes. … I can’t run away anymore.” – Sylvia, to the father of her child, when forced to face her daughter after years of absence.
Director: Kathryn Bigelow
One of the biggest strengths of The Hurt Locker is the fact that it’s a film by a woman about men at war. Bigelow tells the unexaggerated story of soldiers doing one of the most dangerous jobs in combat: defusing explosive devices. She not only tackles adrenaline junkies who spar with testosterone-fueled roughhousing, she also delves into the fears and pressures of fatherhood, and the complexity of a person who falls in love with near-death experiences. Many Hollywood-funded war films exploit the institution, pumping as much horsepower as they can into a two-hour time frame. Bigelow instead opts for restraint and honesty, exposing her characters not as bad ass men with guns, but as people just struggling to survive. The film is pertinent to men and women alike, because it touches the core of our commonalities as human beings.
“The rush of battle is a potent and often lethal addiction, for war is a drug.” - Journalist Chris Hedges, the opening quote of the film
Director: Drew Barrymore
In spite of it’s occasionally cheesy overtones, Whip It is an otherwise warm story about a small-town pageant dropout, trying to figure out where she fits in. Bliss Cavendar (Ellen Page) is inspired by the rowdy women’s roller derby team, The Hurl Scouts. She defies her family and spends as much time as she can with them, hoping to one day join the team. The sport not only offers her camaraderie and acceptance, it also teaches her how to be straightforward and aggressive – traits that would really benefit her in other areas of her life. It’s a film about sisterhood, stamina, and developing self worth.
“Well, put some skates on and be your own hero.” – Maggie Mayhem, to Bliss, after she tells the Hurl Scouts they are her new heroes.
Director: Anthony Fabian
This is the true story of Sandra Laing, born to two white Afrikaaners during apartheid in South Africa. As a result of unknown African ancestry, Sandra appears black. Even before the government classifies her as “coloured”, the white community persecutes and abuses her. Sandra’s father fights to legally define her as white, and wins. When she falls in love with a black man, however, the fight begins to redefine her as coloured – even if it means losing everything, including her family. Sandra maintains strength and dignity, despite her meek demeanor, and perseveres through abusive situations. Her story has also been told in the book When She Was White: The True Story of a Family Divided by Race and in the short documentary Sandra Laing: A Spiritual Journey.
“Look at me. I’m not white. Those boys want a white girl to marry!” -Sandra, to her father, after a series of painful dates with white men
Director: Daniel Barnz
Phoebe Lichten (Elle Fanning) is witty and outspoken, just like every woman in her family. She wants to be a child prodigy, and longs to live in a world “where everything isn’t so fixed.” She also has apparent obsessive compulsive disorder, maybe even Tourettes syndrome. She acts out at school, and only feels at home living in her own personal Wonderland – a dream that gets realized when she wins the part of Alice in her school’s production of Alice in Wonderland. Her parents (Bill Pullman & Felicity Huffman) struggle to understand their daughter’s bizarre tics, and try to refrain from labeling Phoebe or medicating her. It’s a story about childhood imagination, and the social constructs that progressively destroy it. It’s also about a mother raising her daughters, doing the best she can to help them openly express themselves, without putting them in harm’s way.
“I have angst. … Mozart was 6 when he wrote his first opera. I’m 7! You don’t understand.” – Phoebe, to her parents, during a dinner party
Director: Tim Disney
A single mother of four is the victim of racial profiling in a small Texas town. This is the true story of Dee Roberts (Nicole Beharie), who was falsely accused of drug dealing in 2000. She’s given two options: to plead guilty to a felony for a more lenient sentence, or go to trial and risk 16-25 years in jail. The ACLU suspects racism at the root of this indictment, and helps Dee sue the county, the District Attorney, and the Drug Task Force that arrested her. During the lawsuit, she undergoes a custody battle with the father of two of her children. The custody battle is moderated by the very D.A. she’s suing. Dee’s story is one of a persistent mother who endures a lot of stress, fear and intimidation, in a county where discrimination is secretly institutionalized. She holds her ground, hoping to keep this from happening to anyone else.
“If you want to hurt me because I’m suing you, go ahead. … I am not an unfit mother.” – Dee, to the D.A., at her custody hearings
Director: Claudia Llosa
This Peruvian film, whose title translates to The Milk of Sorrow, takes place in a war-torn region of Peru in the 1980’s. The militant group called the Sendero Luminoso were known for employing mass rapes as a war strategy. Many women suffered, raped by as many as 30 men at a time. Women who were raped were thought to pass their trauma down to their children, through the milk of their breasts, the Milk of Sorrow. The film follows Fausta (Magaly Solier), who lives in constant fear that she will be victimized. Upon the sudden death of her mother, she works hard to ensure she doesn’t suffer the same fate. It’s not only a socially educational film, it’s a profoundly emotional film that confronts the aftermath of sexual abuse.
“Anyone born that way [is] without a soul, because it hid underground out of fear.” – Tío Lúcido explaining The Milk of Sorrow
Director: Lee Daniels
Claireece Precious Jones (Gabourey Sidibe) is an overweight, illiterate, depressed teen girl in Harlem. She’s abused by her mother (Mo’Nique) and raped by her father. During the most painful times, she escapes into a fantasy of being rich and famous, with a handsome and loving boyfriend. After being expelled from public school, she gets a chance to go to an alternative school, a chance to finally stop feeling invisible. Powerful performances by Mo’Nique and Gaborey Sidibe bring us to the depths of despair in Precious’ life, as we try to overcome these traumatic situations with her. It’s a beautiful and brilliant film about a girl who keeps trudging forward, come what may.
“I wanna be in one of them BET videos. Mama said I can’t dance. Plus she said who’d wanna see my big ass dancin’ anyhow?” – Precious, thinking to herself as she walks to class
Director: Lone Scherfig
Jenny (Carey Mulligan) is a witty high school student growing up in 1960’s London. She’s a bilingual cellist, prepping for Oxford. Then, an unlikely relationship with a man 20 years her senior (Peter Sarsgaard) leaves her wondering if she should invest time and money into an education of her own, when he can clearly provide everything she needs. Avoiding college seemed especially practical in the ’60s, since even women with a degree had limited career opportunities. Her family supports this decision as well, but her school teachers and administrators balk. Jenny soon realizes the gravity of sacrificing personal growth for spontaneous pleasure, and the terrible position a woman can put herself in when she chooses a life of dependence.
“Oh you’re my father again, are you? Well what were you when you encouraged me to throw my life away?” -Jenny, to her father (Alfred Molina)
Director: Anne Fontaine
From orphan to seamstress to stage performer, Danielle “Coco” Chanel (Audrey Tatou) strategically worked her way up the social ladder. At first, she raised eyebrows by refusing to wear restrictive corsets or garish frills, and often cross-dressed in men’s clothing. As her sister pined away for an unlikely marriage, Coco earned respect among the Parisian elite by establishing a strong point of view and an independent sense of style. That’s not to say she didn’t love, or allow herself to be loved. She wanted marriage and convention too, if only for a fleeting moment. But overwhelming ambition drove her to start a business, which grew into the fashion empire that bears her name. This headstrong woman established herself in an otherwise male profession, creating opportunities for countless female designers who followed.
“I want it tighter.” / “You’d prefer not to breathe?” – A customer’s complaint, and Chanel’s response, refusing to make the garment uncomfortable.
In my grad school thesis, written at 23, you'll find young men coming of age, old men haunted by war, Oedipus complexes galore. If I'd learned nothing else, it was this: If you want to be a great writer, be a man. If you can't be a man, write like one.
No one told me this outright. But I was told to worship Chekhov, Cheever, Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Carver, Marquez, O'Brien. . . . This was the dawn of political correctness. Women were listed as concessions. In the middle of my master's, a female writer took center stage with a Pulitzer Prize and a National Book Award -- E. Annie Proulx. Ah, there was a catch. She was writing about men and therefore like a man.
I ran out of things to say about men, however, and began my career writing about women. When I started as a poet, I was told -- many times -- not to write about motherhood because it would be perceived as weak. I didn't listen.
But when I invented the pen name N.E. Bode for "The Anybodies," a trilogy for younger readers, I had to choose to be a man or a woman. The old indoctrination kicked in. I picked man. The trilogy did well, shortlisted in a People magazine summer pick, alongside Bill Clinton and David Sedaris. I was finally one of the boys.
...
I often hear people exclaiming that they're astonished that a particular book was written by a man. They seem stunned by the notion that a man could write with emotional intelligence and honesty about our human frailties.
Women, on the other hand, are supposed to be experts on emotion. I've never heard anyone remark that they were surprised that a book of psychological depth was written by a woman.
So men get points for simply showing up on the page with a literary effort.
What's interesting, however, in the Publishers Weekly list is that the books are not only written by men but also have male themes, overwhelmingly. In fact, the list flashes like a slide show of the terrain I was trying to cover in my graduate thesis, when I wrote all things manly -- war, boyhood, adventure.
3. The list is right. The things that women write about are neither culturally nor historically significant, and the books that women write are not the best books.
Baggott mentions the deification of Faulkner, Chekhov, Hemingway. I have to ask: In the last decade, what woman would you put up against these giants? Maybe there were moderns that could carry the torch -- Virginia Woolf, Gertrude Stein, or others from the 20th century: Harper Lee, Willa Cather, Alice Walker, Toni Morrison. But now? Where is my Gertrude Stein? Who can stand up against Junot Diaz and Khaled Hosseini and Kazuo Ishiguro? Is it really supposed to be Alice McDermott?
The lesson of the list is that nobody's going to do us any favors. We're not going to get prizes just for showing up and writing our little books. Girl books are great; I like to read them and write them. But if we're writing girl books, we're not getting on "Best of" lists, and that is the reality. Do with it what you will.
Playwright Julia Jordan pointed me toward a recent study about perceptions of male and female playwrights that showed that plays with female protagonists were the most devalued in blind readings. "The exact same play that had a female protagonist was rated far higher when the readers thought it had a male author," Jordan said. "In fact, one of the questions on the blind survey was about the characters 'likability,'and the exact same female character, same lines, same pagination, when written by a man was exceeding likable, when written by a woman was deemed extremely unlikable."
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