Sexism and the American Movies - Movie Review Example

Sexism and the Movies While watching a DVD of Ridley Scott's Alien with friends, an event occurred which may say more about the increasingly crass behavior of my friends than about the film but, upon reflection, I am not so certain. When Ripley, played by Sigourney Weaver, had supposedly vanquished the alien terror and was bedding her cat down, she bent over. The camera was on her backside. She wore a t-shirt and panties. As she settled her cat into its cradle with motherly care, one of the guys in our group exclaimed in tones of gleeful appreciation, "Look at the crack in that ass!" The volume of the erupting laughter told me that pretty much everyone in the room agreed with this ever-so-witty observation. Thinking about this, I wondered if Mr. Scott had chosen that camera position to feature Ms Weaver's derriere because, after all, Ripley had been throughout much of the movie its protagonist and most resourceful character - assuming in the story a role usually portrayed by a man - and the director's (or editor's) selection of this 'take' was intended to reveal a softer, more feminine aspect of her. If that were so, however, it's valid to ask why and how showing the 'crack in that ass' above the panty-line would feminize Ripley. Or were Mr. Scott and his producers thinking that maybe their action thriller needed at least a dollop of sex, a glimpse - however brief - of feminine derriere The point of that admitted vulgarity is that it puts the lie to a common assumption: with the advent of Sexual Liberation, women's roles in films became more complex and less 'sexist' than in the Hollywood movies of the 1930s and 40s. What has happened, in fact, is much the opposite. In films such as Taxi Driver, Pulp Fiction and Sex, Lies and Videotape, contemporary Hollywood depicts women in ways more stereotypic, less independent and unique, than it did in that so-called Classic era of American movies. In the Good Old Summertime "There's always a girl 'in the picture;' haven't you ever been to the movies" - Sullivan's Travels. Released by Paramount in 1941, Sullivan's Travels defies neat categorization. With its mixture of drama, sentiment and comedy, it could be considered 'black humor,' a trademark of its writer/director, Preston Sturges. One of the film's more remarkable aspects is its depiction of 'The Girl' played by Veronica Lake. Though she is given no name, The Girl is attractive and sexual, but she is more than the sum of those attributes. While Lake's trademark blond tresses frame her face alluringly, she is never an object of stereotypic sexuality. Her character has validity in the sense that she is herself; though an out of work actress, she does not play the sex card with the well-known director, Sullivan. To the contrary, throughout the story she contradicts and bullies him while also sharing his 'travels' as an equal. When they first meet in the diner and Sullivan has no money on him, The Girl, though out of work and her apartment, offers to buy him breakfast. Sullivan refuses and Lake says, "Don't be a sucker. (to the counterman) Give him some ham and eggs." After she and the director jump from a moving train and she lands on top of him, The Girl asks, "Did I hurt ya any" But it is more taunt than clichd, submissive concern (Sullivan's response is worth quoting: "Well, you didn't do me any good."). Sullivan may be a successful director but it is The Girl who is more tenacious of life and the stronger character. She dominates their scenes together the way Rosalind Russell as Hildy Parks did Cary Grant in His Girl Friday, or as Kate Hepburn and Bette Davis dominated - or were equal to - their co-stars in just about any film they made. Even Mae West (sex incarnate) portrayed gutsy, self-secure and unique women; indeed, she gloried in her over-ripe sexuality with relentless and less-than-subtle double entendres. It is well-known that Olivia deHavilland groused about her insipid roles opposite Errol Flynn for Warner Bros., but she proved a powerhouse in The Snake Pit. The 'sex' of many of these films is the relationship between a man and a woman, which assumes sex, of course, but the directors and their scripts focus not upon sex as much as sexuality and its potential. The Girl is a companion to Sullivan, not an object. She is not manipulated by the script or the men in it but is intrinsic to the story - an equal of Sullivan, if you will. However, one may ask: is Sturges guilty of sexism by not giving the character a name Is merely calling her The Girl sexist, a form of stereotyping Yes. And no. It is difficult to deny Sturges' ambiguous approach to the character (and, by implication, women) in not naming her, even if referring to her as The Girl is obviously a thematic choice: the movie is about the movies, after all, and she, as an actress, is a necessary component of the story. The writer Raymond Chandler may have been quoted as calling Ms. Lake Moronica Lake (she was in The Blue Dahlia, scripted by Chandler), but her character in Sullivan's Travels is hardly the stuff of Golden Era sexism. Like many other actresses (see above), she is self-possessed, unmanipulated and unmanipulating, confident in her person and still attractive and sexy. She cannot be categorized or stereotyped, nor is she an object merely of sex. She is "The Girl" and, as Sturges makes clear, every movie's gotta have one. Goddess or Whore "You should see what a .44 magnum can do to a woman's pussy." - Taxi Driver. Despite Sherry Lansing's brief tenure as head of Paramount, men continue to dominate the film industry. This has always been true and should not be terribly alarming. What is alarming, however, is that female characters in the movies have become increasingly tangential. If Preston Sturges revealed his ambiguous approach to a woman by neglecting to give her character a name, he at least portrayed a woman who was unique and multi-faceted. Such respect for character - or for femininity - has altered in contemporary films, and it is puzzling that once a generation of women became sexually 'liberated' they ceased to be valid human beings in the movies: they became stereotypes. A generalization, to be sure, but one supported by examples from many films. In Taxi Driver, Pulp Fiction and Sex, Lies and Videotape, for example, the male directors and writers have created females who are either Goddesses or Whores. Travis Bickle, the title character played by Robert DeNiro in Taxi Driver, has become as iconic as Ratso Rizzo, Jake Gittes and even Charles Foster Kane. Which of us is unfamiliar with "Are you talkin' to me 'Cause there's no one else here." His descent into hell is vivid, painful to watch - and not just because of the violence it leads to. But his approach to women, and screenwriter Paul Schrader's female creations, exemplifies more than just Travis' psychotic nature: it reveals deep disrespect for females. Though Betsy, played by Cybil Shepherd, is a career woman, her willingness to date Travis is puzzling, to put it mildly, and she comes off consequently as more plot device than valid human being. Shepherd's almost glacial 'prettiness' is used to reveal Travis more than her: she is his unattainable dream, his Goddess. Likewise, his concern for Iris, the whore played by Jody Foster, may be seen as altruism but could also be considered an extension of his obvious psychosis. If the former, we would be able to perceive a respect for the girl but, if the latter, she becomes nothing more than another female plot device to justify the final carnage. The writer reveals in his creation of both females a disrespect for them as human beings that is disturbing, even cynical. Equally disturbing are other attitudes toward women expressed by others in the film: the conversation among the cabbies at the Belmore Cafeteria (Peter Boyle extolling his sexual prowess in the back seat of his cab) and the downright creepy monologue of director Scorcese in Travis' cab (see quote above). The point here is not some Pollyanna-like wish that men should not talk this way about themselves and women but that the filmmakers choose to make films about them doing so. The film's denouement of Betsy shimmering Goddess-like in the mirror of Travis' cab would be a hoot if one didn't suspect Scorcese and Schraeder expect us to take it seriously. Apparently Travis' unattainable dream, the virgin-like Betsy, validates his psychotic behavior. From Quentin Tarantino's Pulp Fiction one might get the impression that a woman's role in life is to wait around for a man to return. Uma Thurman's Mia is a kind of woman as 'other.' She is given no occupation, is handed around to be entertained by her husband's underling criminals and, when her life is in serious jeopardy, receives less concern about her person from Vince (John Travolta) than he for his, i.e. what will her husband do to him if she dies(). Bruce (Butch) Willis' girlfriend, Fabienne, an enchantingly waif-like Maria de Medeiros, is also another stay-at-home like Mia. She is also a blatant plot device employed to get Butch back to his apartment so he can blow John Travolta away. But Fabienne, unlike Mia, clearly dotes on her beau Butch, which suggests she has a saintly nature. The only woman in the film given an occupation is Esmeralda and, in a marvelous irony, she drives a taxi! The device of a psychiatry session should be employed solely in a comedy or as a comedic scene in a drama. The device is as hackneyed as character revelations beginning, "I had the weirdest dream." Consequently, the opening of Steven Soderberghs Sex, Lies and Videotape is not very promising. Unfortunately, once writer/director Soderbergh begins revealing his perception of women, whatever promise the film had evaporates completely. Consider this exchange between the two sisters, Ann (Andie McDowell) and Cindy (Laura SanGiacomo), in which Cindy reveals she allowed Graham to make a video of her talking about sex: Ann: Why did you do that Cindy: Because I wanted to. Ann: Why Cindy: Because I wanted him to see me. To see her as what A sexual object or a human being It's difficult not to laugh or boo at this non sequitur. But Soderbergh appears to be serious. Or consider this from husband John (Peter Gallagher) to the videoman Graham (James Spader) about his wife's sister with whom he is having an affair: "She's no saint. She was good in bed. She could keep a secret. That's about all I can say about her." As in the previous contemporary films, we're stuck with the Goddess and the Whore: at the climax of Ann's and Graham's scene when she 'touches' him, the soundtrack fills with angelic voices (no doubt confirming Ann's Goddess status), while Cindy, though not literally a whore, is a step from whoredom: an adulteress. Carry Me Back to Old Virginity One cannot deny that Mae Clarke took a grapefruit in the face from James Cagney or that molls, hookers, girlfriends, etc. were male accessories in classic Hollywood films, but that is not at issue here. While commonly held notions of sexism in those films are not invalid, contemporary films treat women far more callously by using them as mere plot devices which deny them validity as human beings. One man's rejected wife is a Goddess while her regularly fucked sister is a Whore. A man cannot establish a meaningful relationship with a Goddess so he champions extreme violence to save a Whore. A crime lord's wife ODs on smack but her life is less significant than the boss's retribution should she die. Let's be honest: most stories, not just movies, are about sex; it is a potent motivating force with humans. But if women do not exist beyond their sexuality we'll continue to suffer at the movies. Written and filmed by men, the above three stories reveal the sad reality of contemporary treatment of women in the movies. Unlike the strong women in those Golden Years of Hollywood, these women are used to service men and advance the plot - used for the "crack in that ass." Read More