What Is Wrong Is Wrong, No Matter Who Said It: A Separation (2011)

I was a bit worried about including A Separation within this month, because aside from the few very captivating images I had seen during its Oscar win last year, I knew very little about it and was uncertain as to how heavily women would play into the narrative, a confusion that was not cleared up in the slightest by the presence of a plot synopsis, yet when my school decided to show its as part of their Middle Eastern Film Festival, I knew that I at the very least should check it out, at worst I would watch it and it would not apply to the blog for the month, yet, much to my elation, the film is very much concerned with women, both in context of contemporary Iranian society, as well as the manner with which they navigate spaces in culture and in film both in their presence and absence.  A Separation is a very deliberate, some would say contemplative film, about the nature of bureaucracy, truth and the foundations of religious identity, all issues seemingly key to Iranian cinema, although I am hesitant to say this with certainty, having really only seen Abbas Kiarostami films as a commentary on Iran.  It would be outright foolish to assume this to be the only image of Iran, much like saying only Kurosawa's vision of Japan is accurate, or to bring it closer to home, only Scorsese's image of America is honest.  An American would be quick to negate the urban landscape within Scorsese's films as a full reflection of The United States.  Of course, this is simply an aside, because much of Iranian cinema is inaccessible or has faded into obscurity, so Western film critics must draw from what is available and, perhaps in the future, more will make its way to a global audience.  With all of this in mind, I must consider A Separation as some degree of a reflection of contemporary, at least urban, Iranian society, after all it, was the film submitted to the Academy of Motion Pictures for Foreign Language Film and managed to win it as well.  I do not claim to understand the intricacies of gender politics as they relate to Iran, but I would be willing hedge a bet on this film representing them with some degree of accuracy, particularly in the materialist feminist consideration of gender/property oppression that emerges within the narrative.  Possessing a decidedly vague ending, A Separation, nonetheless, appears to hold optimism as its central ideology.

A Separation begins with a divorce hearing between separated couple Nader (Payman Maadi) and Simin (Leila Hatami) who are told that they will find themselves incapable of divorcing unless they can agree to terms, one of which centers around the movement of their daughter Termeh (Sarina Farhadi) out of the country, a decision that Nader flat out refused to agree to, and seems to be the main point of divide between the couple.  Simin seems intent on leaving with the family, but Nader refuses any possibility, almost entirely because of his Alzheimer's ridden father's immobility.  Simin, while understanding the tragedy of the situation, nonetheless, extracts herself from the situation, leading to Nader needing to hire an employee to take care of his ailing father while he is at work.  Finding reluctant help in Razieh (Sareh Bayat) Nader continues with his work, yet when Razieh claims that she cannot continue working, due to the religious issues with needing to bath the ailing man, Nader decides to consider her offer of allowing her unemployed husband to do the work instead, however, her husband Hojjat (Shahab Hosseini) has ties to creditors that keep him occupied, leading to Razieh returning as hospice.  This occurs a bit longer, until one day Nader returns home from picking up Termeh to find the house locked.  Frantically navigating the house, he discovers his father to be tied to the bed and passed out on the floor, only moments away from dying.  Furious at Razieh he berates her upon his return and assumes her to also be guilty of stolen money, leading to him forcefully pushing him out of his apartment, in the process Razieh apparently slips down a few slick stairs, leading, Nader later discovers, to a miscarriage.  This act leads to confrontation between Nader and Razieh and her husband Hojjat within the bureaucratically complex Iranian legal system.  At one point Nader is accused of willful murder, while Razieh is blamed for negligence of an elder, leading to a legal battle that turns ugly when hostilities move outside of the court.  Eventually, the group makes financial amends, heavily a result of Simin's intervention, moving things back to some degree of normalcy, although viewers are to assume that a high level of deception as occurred, not to mention that the events only solidify the desire for Simin and Nader to end things, much to the contesting of Termeh who is forced to decide which parent she would like to stay with.

The film really drives home the idea of truth as a relative term to one's ability to assure their comfort and safety, as well as those around them.  None of the characters are inherently bad, per se, with maybe the exception of Hojjat whose past woes have led to a heavy amount of debts, and little explanation is given to explain what led to these debts, almost certainly suggesting illicit behavior.  The patriarchal figurehead factors in heavily into how persons navigate the film, particularly Nader who finds himself fully aware of the realities of losing his wife if he does not agree to move, yet his obligation to his aging father is tantamount and leads to accepting the loss of his wife.  Yet, while these narratives and ideas are key, the film seems deliberately set on suggesting that many of the issues faced by all involved in the narrative tie to the notion that women can only navigate the bureaucracy and legality of Iran with their male superiors guidance and presence.  The main factor in preventing Simin from leaving is that she must do so with the permission of Nader who refuses to do so out of principle, completely ignoring the very real concerns for Simin's, as well as Termeh's, safety.  Similarly, a viewer can easily argue that Razieh's inability to navigate the job market without the permission of her prideful husband proves problematic, considering that he cannot obtain work and she is legally not allowed to do so without his permission.  It reminds one of notions of Marxist Feminism, which suggest that much of women's oppression finds its ties in private property and in the case of Iran their inability to possess it, even in the cases in which their husbands are detached from logical engagements to correct a financial situation.  Even when Nader hires Razieh with the best of intentions, the fact that it is technically illegal suggests that if anything goes wrong, it will invariably the fault of the woman.  The narrative, also seems to be in favor of this idea at first glance, but the reminder that it is male privilege and public sphere presence which has led to all the problems only rejects such a reading.  A Separation is purposefully critical of gender politics in the film, yet, in a very clear statement Asghar Faradi seems to remind viewers that future generations of Iranians will be far less oppressive and the two young girls who navigate the filmic space as well certainly affirm that.

Key Scene:  There are a ton of great monologues and interactions, yet a single brief shot of Nader and Simin on an elevator facing perpendicular to one another seems to really undermine these ideals.

This movie is phenomenal, I watched it on DVD, but plan to obtain the bluray and I suggest you do the same.

Now That's An Oogie Mess: Misery (1990)

I am really having a lot of fun exploring where the category of "women in film" has taken me and I am only six days into this marathon, hopefully, this time around I can have a sort of reflection on the last day, something I had hoped to do with the Halloween month, but failed to do when caught up with some school priorities.  The next stop on my unplanned list brought me to a Stephen King adaptation, something I have blogged about before with the surprisingly watchable The Mist.  However, The Mist was a film I heard about within film critic circles and from various film based podcasts, as opposed to Misery which had a reputation that more than preceded itself, due almost entirely to a scene involving James Caan's ankles and a sledgehammer.  I say it has a reputation for this alone, and it is somewhat of a shame, because Kathy Bates is a revelation in this film, it is one thing to play a crazy woman who entraps an author in her house to write texts, however, to add layers of delusion and religious based madness, is a whole other thing.  I do not believe that I have seen any of the other Oscar nominated performances from that year, and, to be honest, it really does not matter, since it clearly deserved to go to Bates.  I was glad to catch up with this role, because Kathy Bates has come to the point in her career, that she is essentially playing roles predicated upon her being Kathy Bates, her recent cameos on The Office come to mind immediately.  Yet, in 1990 when this film was initially released she was still establishing herself as a well-known and respected actor and was still years away from her empowering role in the overtly problematic, but, nonetheless, cinematic Titanic.  It is one thing to act along side Richard Farnsworth and James Caan, but is even more a feat when you act circles around them in the process.  Of course, considering that it is being reviewed now within the framework of women in film, the problems the narrative creates relating to a rhetoric of hysteria and women's outlets of desire must be acknowledged, not to mention the very self-engratiating manner with which Stephen King demands his readers, in this case viewers, comprehend the woes of writing creatively.

Misery focuses on well-established author Paul Sheldon (James Caan) who has recently finished a text in his prolific Misery series, focusing on a woman and her experience in 19th century America.  Concerned with being pigeon-holed by this particular sort of text, Sheldon decides to write a book focusing on the experiences of his childhood in New York, a far cry from his previous work.  Although his subject has changed, his methodology has not, taking up shelter in a remote lodge in Colorado until he completes his text, enjoying one cigarette and one glass of Don Perignon after.  Unfortunately, he complete his task in the dead of winter and must travel in a heavy snow storm to return home.  On his trip he crashes on a snow bank, presumably left for dead to the elements.  Sheldon, however, is rescued by Annie Wilkes (Kathy Bates) a local nurse, with excellent hospice care, who openly admits to being Sheldon's "number one fan" a statement she validates by quoting passages directly and debating the most minor of details with Sheldon.  It appears as though Annie has the best of intentions, yet when she reads Sheldon's new work she is disgusted by its foul language and lack of dignity in relation to the Misery series, only to be pushed over the edge when she purchases the final installment of the Misery series to discover that the protagonist she has invested much time into has been killed off by Sheldon.  At this point, Sheldon realizes that Annie has been quite deceptive about her contact with the community and their being made aware of his forced inhabitation in her home, even leading to a concern by the local sheriff Buster (Richard Farnsworth).  Annie, however, in her deep web of delusion manages to plan far ahead of any escape Sheldon could hope to make, going so far as to infamously "hobble" him into staying.  Yet, Sheldon realizes that he can dangle the final chapters of his "revised" Misery book, in order, to play at Annie's affections, a methodology that allows him to attack her and eventually kill her.  He returns to New York, now crippled, and finds his texts receiving critical praise, although he is completely dismissive of the possibility of recounting his experiences of entrapment, especially since he finds himself still paranoid about seeing Annie even in high-scale dining establishments.

The film is excellent and certainly is a thrill to watch and it is impossible to deny the horrific nature of a delusional woman entrapping an author as a result of a devilish cocktail of delusion and fandom.  However, it cannot be overlooked that the film problematizes the image of the single woman living alone, something which is often depicted problematically in an urban setting, and only worsened by the secluded rural setting.  While one could certainly glean moments of sympathy from this film which are directed towards Annie, it is clear that she is a villain and somewhat less clear, but, nonetheless, suggested that it is a result of her feminine instability.  Her fandom, within the context of the film, is clearly rooted in her loss of a husband, assumedly to infidelity.  It is not necessarily her adoration of Sheldon, so much as her love of the figure and idea of Misery, an independent and successful, all be it fictional, woman.  The film appears far too concerned with noticing how particularly "feminine" her madness is, constantly tying her break downs and mental issues to the domestic space, even though her large, domineering nature visually contradicts the demure assumptions about domesticity and femininity.  One also cannot help but consider this film as a text about the problem of acknowledging non-physical disability, especially since viewers are provided with Sheldon's character as an example of physical disability, therefore, deserved of outright pity.  To borrow from feminist disability theorist Susan Wendell, Annie also suffers from a disability, but because it is mental and not clearly quantitative, aside from her violent outbursts, society, or in the case of this film viewers, is unwilling to accept it as a serious problem or issue to acknowledge within a social conversation.  Annie is certainly a demented character and is to be reprimanded for trapping a person against his will, yet the film fails to really consider the emotional distresses faced by her years before that may have been overlooked because of their decidedly non-physical elements.

Key Scene: As hyped as it is and well known, there is no denying the cinematic intensity of the "hobbling" scene.

This is a solid film that I own on DVD, however, it is more than acceptable to check out on Neflix, where it is currently Watch Instantly.

I Want My First Time To Be With Someone I Don't Love: Fat Girl (2001)

I was fully aware that by focusing on women in film for the entire month of March that not every single film I encountered would exist within the realm of the uplifting narrative, in fact, I will be admittedly more surprised to find films that are outright positive when handling such subject matter, especially considering the very nature of oppression and othering that exists within cinema concerning women and/or the female body.  However, Fat Girl takes intensity to another level.  I had been warned by a friend years ago about Fat Girl being a "brutal" film, much in the same way that say, Steve McQueen's Hunger is a brutal film, or Michael Haneke's...well pretty much anything is brutal.  That is to say that these works exist not to allow a viewer any sort of relational comfort or cinematic tradition to cling onto throughout the narrative.  Fat Girl, like the other films noted, exists to provoke, enrage and question all who view it, right down to the very nature with which one expects actions to occur within cinema, but, perhaps most importantly, to relate and manage the assumptions about what bodies are appropriate for occupying the spaces of film.  Fat Girl makes no apologies about its context and commentaries, absolutely, demanding viewers to accept that nothing shown is meant to be heartfelt or endearing, but instead blatantly terrible and factually unfortunate.  Clocking in at just over 80 minutes, to call this film a slow burn would be to overlook the very precise provocative scenes within the film, each intended to deconstruct romantic traditionalism, particularly one scene which shot with a stagnant camera comprises roughly a fourth of the considerably brief film.  It is as though the moment is a purposeful homage to Godard's Breathless, in which, gender politics unfold over a similarly lengthy bedroom scene, yet, in the hands of shock director Catherine Breillat, the scene does not possess even an ounce of the possible gender subversion of the French New Wave classic, instead it affirms all the truths and tragedies that manage to prove the completely illogical ideology of some theorists that society exists in a world where feminist discourse and politics are redundant and irrelevant, as Fat Girl shows, this is decidedly and absolutely not the case.

Fat Girl, titled A ma souer!, or To My Sister! in its original French translation, focuses on the experiences of two young, relatively well-to-do children on vacation to the French seaside.  Anaïs Pingot (Anaïs Reboux) is a obese young girl of twelve who is clearly the proverbial black sheep within her family, compared to her ethereal and sprite-like sister of fifteen Elena (Roxane Mesquida).  Realizing that Anaïs rather flippant attitude and less fortunate looks will cause individuals to take pause when approaching Elena, the parents demand that they always spend time together, mostly as a ruse to assure that Elena, whose promiscuity is openly acknowledged, avoids any engagements that might tarnish their family name.  Elena, of course, takes this assumption and runs with it, simply ignoring the presence of Anaïs when possible, even going so far as to push her out of the way when she is approached by an Italian tourist named Fernando (Libero De Rienzo), instead; swooping in to become the object of his affection.  A scene the displays Anaïs moving back and forth between the swimming pool pretending two polls are different lovers that she is entangled with in a fiery affair.  This unusual scene is followed by Elena and Anaïs getting ready for bed, where Elena explains that no matter what happens that night, she must ignore it and be quiet so much so, that when Fernando shows up attempting to have intercourse with Elena, only succeeding in anal sex, Anaïs is forced to deal with the very loud aftermath of the acts, condemning them both the following morning.  Yet, given the guidelines of their parents, the two must hangout together, this time with the presence of Fernando who is still attempting to win over Elena.  While Anaïs lays on the beach defeated, Fernando proposes to Elena, which, in turn, causes her to agree to having intercourse with him, an act that is shot from an angle to display Anaïs crying the entire time. Fernando's mother then comes to the Pingot beach house demanding that Elena return a valuable ring, which leads to a revelation about what has occurred between her and Fernando.  Frustrated the girls mother demands that they return home, even if it means a non-stop drive on a deathly busy and occupied French highway.  Exhausted their mother decides to pull into a rest stop, leading to the, extremely intense, closing sequence of the film, that defies logic, but, ultimately, undermines the larger filmic metaphor.

I was surprised to find out that a heavy amount of male support has been directed towards this film, particularly from a sect of French male filmmakers known in the past for their misogyny.  A heavy amount of the disdain is a result of issues with the manner in which Anaïs affirms an event the ends the film, a rape to be specific and spoil the ending, some suggest it results in a degree of victim blaming, yet I cannot help but think that it speaks to the larger issue of character ignoring narratively.  The title Fat Girl, as Breillat suggests in an essay that came along with the Criterion release, was her original choice and only changed it, in order, to help actress Anaïs Reboux be at ease with exactly why she was cast in her role.  The fact that Anaïs speaks out at the end seems heavily a call to attention and her denial is a larger metaphor for the denial that is very much placed of non-traditional bodies within media.  It is simple to assume that nothing happened to her, because society says she does not fit the traditional norms of beauty, therefore, is not the normal victim within the context of such a rhetoric, one would be quicker to assume that such actions would happen to Elena than to Anaïs.  Of course, since the final moment is necessarily and inextricably tied to sex, viewers are left to take Anaïs word on the entire event, as the way in which acts are shot, we are only shown faces.  It is possible that given the lies she heard earlier spouted by the sex-craving Fernando that she may not have indeed believed herself to be a victim of certain sexual violence.  Since she only knows sex as defined by films and by the lies spouted by sex crazed teens she may have been raped in a non-vaginal manner, still rape, but not within the limited vocabulary of Anaïs young mind.  It is audacious to think that a misogynistic group would embrace such a film, because it is very much about the very real woes and problems of male based oppression emotionally, mentally and especially physically.  Like the small family car weaving through the unrelenting trucks on the highway, Anaïs, and to some degree Elena, find themselves navigating a treacherous, unyielding world of larger, dangerously oppressive objects.

Key Scene:  While the film is all visually intense, the car ride is so heightened in tension that when it ends you assume the worst to be over, however, it is far from the case.

This is a visually audacious film that cannot really be explained verbally, what I can say, however, is that it is deserved of a bluray purchase without hesitation.

The Ending Sucks. Gotta Change It: My Sassy Girl (2001)

It should, as always, be no surprise that a Korean film will make it into my viewing rotation, especially considering that women are to factor specifically into the films I focus on for this month.  My Sassy Girl was one of those films I had been seeking out for sometime once I began to do heavy research within South Korean cinema, and thanks to its eventual discovery via a Taiwanese distributor on Amazon I have my copy.  I will admit that it is not a film, despite its title, that absolutely and always concerns itself with the a woman, as the title might suggest, with that being said, it will not be the farthest stretch I make regarding the films I plan to incorporate this month.  I will say though, despite it being a film that focuses more heavily on its male protagonist, the manner with which the character the title refers to within the space of the narrative certainly argues for its inclusion on my list of films for this month.  Like so many South Korean films made since the mid-to-late nineties, it is both simple to define My Sassy Girl as a romantic comedy, yet the refusal to adhere to genre normalcy and linear narration, means that it is also obvious that the film makes sure to avert and revert viewers narrative expectations, even managing to simultaneously create homage to an satire other genres prevalent within the traditional South Korean filmic history.  Furthermore, for being a decidedly comedic film, My Sassy Girl, manages to have enough twists and plot redirections to make Chan-wook Park proud.  Divided into two halves and an overtime segment, I will admit that I was quite uncertain as to how the film would unfold, yet when the pacing picks up in the second half I found myself decidedly enamored with the film and even being forced to pause moments before the heartfelt closing, I found myself welling up a bit at is rewardingly romantic reveal.  I was never quite certain as to how such a decidedly comedic film kept finding itself on the list of greatest South Korean films of all-time, yet after a much desired viewing of this masterpiece by Jae-young Kwak makes me want to revisit it soon, not to mention check out a handful of his other works.

My Sassy Girl centers on Gyun-woo (Chae Tae-hyun) a somewhat reclusive man who admits to his parents being a bit dismissive of him since they had actually hoped to have a girl child instead, despite having a decent job, he moves through life a bit haphazardly, until he finds himself saving a drunken girl from falling in front of the oncoming subway, leading to his being forced to take care of her as she vomits on passengers, only to pass out of the floor of the subway train.  The Girl (Jun Ji-hyun) is never given a proper name, but, instead; formulates into an object of affection for Gyun-woo who sees his life beginning to become greatly affected by the presence of this new, decidedly, unruly girl, who fancies herself a romantic and a playwright, constantly forcing Gyun-woo to read her scripts, despite his rather flippant attitude towards their existence.  It is not until a rather unusual run-in with a AWOL soldier that Gyun-woo comes to realize the how much he actually cares for The Girl, leading to him pouring out his  every action in a hope to attain her affections, however, it is made quite clear that The Girl has her own past, and, as such, expects Gyun-woo to navigate through a series of tests before assuring their unity, ranging from expecting him to bring her a rose during class, in one of the films sweeter moments, to wearing her high heels when her feet become sore.  When Gyun-woo attempts to make friendly with The Girls father, he is repeatedly shot down, not due to his refusal, but the fact that the father passes out drunk far before any conversation can occur.  After a decided break-up at the train station where they met, the two decide to plant a time capsule, under a tree, and agree to meet up in two years.  Gyun-woo holds true to his promise, although when he arrives, The Girl is nowhere to be found.  Yet when he opens the capsule he discovers a frog, which is somewhat inexplicable, as well as a letter explaining that The Girl had lost her boyfriend the day before they met and had still been learning to live without his presence, even when they dated.  Defeated, but understanding, Gyun-woo leaves the tree and the narrative then focuses on The Girl as she talks to an old man at what she assumes to be the tree, only to be told that it is, in fact, a similar tree that had replaced the old one that died after being struck by lightning.  This causes The Girl to realize that she could find happiness with Gyun-woo, although at this point in the narrative fate serves as the final decider in their unity.

I know I am including this film within a month dedicated to women and, ideally, it should focus on the element in some way, but I cannot help but ignore the sweet philosophic poetics present within the film.  I will say, however, that the film makes it expressly clear that gender is a thing of fluidity.  In fact, both characters seem expressly focused on noting how against the gender norm they are making their entire relationship a disregarding of any established gender norms based on sexual identity.  In this way, the film does engage within issues of womanhood, thus allowing it to be a perfect narrative within this month of women oriented films.  With that being acknowledged, I really want to talk about the clear Buddhist, all is one, mentality existing within the film, particularly as it relates to human interaction.  The narrative suggests that those who are intended to be together will interact, even if it is initially under the worst of circumstances, as is the case in My Sassy Girl, when Gyun-woo meets The Girl while she is drunk and in the throes of despair, yet he cannot shake off his preoccupation with her.  It is essentially a film about discovering one's soulmate, and longing for that connection, although it is set up in a non-Western terminology so it is not necessarily two souls meeting, but a moment of interconnectedness realized on a human level, although in regards to the philosophy of Buddhism this direct relationship that is always existing, is, in fact, simply something one must awaken to with time and learning.  It is then no coincidence that the other individuals they run into also seem to inexplicably tie to their forming relationship, whether it be a distraught soldier or a security guard who is particularly hungry for some radishes.  The most brilliant moment comes, however, when the narrative reminds viewers that a persons connections are often a lot closer than they had ever possibly imagined.

Key Scene:  As much as I want to go for the closing moments, I was a sucker for the rose and piano scene in all its sentimental simplicity.

I would say buy this film, but it is hard to come by and not necessarily region free depending on the device you view it with, until then just repeatedly search it on Amazon, until distribution companies take notice.

You Are Now A Woman And An Attractive One: Les Bonnes Femmes (1960)

I will fully admit that when I began this planned month of women related films, I did not expect to find myself focusing on anything centered directly within The French New Wave, considering its problematic relationship with women, however, at the same time, I had yet to really engage with the veritable third man of the movement, Claude Chabrol, aside from his various stints as cinematographer for other directors.  I am certainly glad, however, that I decided to pick this film to view, because not only does it possess all of the cinematic elegance and hip charm of a piece of cinema from the era, it also happens to do an excellent job of considering issues of feminine and masculine divides within the Parisian youthful society of the early sixties, not to mention fully reminding viewers of how troublesome male privilege was in their ability to move both vertically and horizontally within an assumedly expanding and progressing social landscape.  It is a film that is seemingly episodic, yet focusing on one character specifically it allows for a narrative to center on the evolving issues for a woman navigating the world in which she is incessantly and problematically objectified, even by those she assumes to be actively aiding her freedom.  I was initially dismissive of a handful of the visual metaphors incorporated within the films as I thought them to be a bit on the nose, yet when I reminded myself that the moments were mostly shot in a improvisation and on the set manner, not to mention the fact that it was created some fifty years ago, made me appreciate their seeming obviousness as absolutely brilliant.  Often with some of the earlier films in the New Wave, one finds a pause for concern when at least one of the elements is lacking, in most cases it was the presence of amateur actors, attempting to deliver deeply introspective and profoundly philosophical statements.  In the case of Les Bonnes Femmes everything merges together brilliantly and the film is impossible to turn away from, proving to be sexy, evocative and evidence of everything one should love and embrace about one of cinema's most important historical movements.

Les Bonnes Femmes, as a title suffers from a problematic series of translations, some suggesting it to be Good Time Girls, while others simply consider it to be Good Girls, neither appropriately grasping the film, which does, at the very least focus on girls who work in a shop, more importantly considering their experiences as they move through the culture of 1960's Paris.  One girl, in particular, Jane (Bernadette LaFont) finds herself particularly tied to the culture, considering that every man she encounters seem completely infatuated with her, whether it be two awkward, yet persistent, old men, or a shop owner whose economic position of power affords him a belief that he can make uncomfortable sexual advances on his employees, particularly Jane, who he believes to be exceptionally good looking.  Jane seems rather capable of navigating between these varied, yet troublesome individuals, however, when she realizes that she is being stalked by a mustached man her senses on the situations changes considerably, moving from shock at its occurrence to a curiosity and eventual desire for his presence.  After several less than stellar engagements with her friends, ending with a mildly violent altercation with some men she met earlier at an indoor pool, Jane's mustached pursuer finally makes his presence known, much to Jane's elation.  The two end up getting food together the following day and Jane completely falls for the charms of the man, particularly his minor magic tricks.  The man is reluctant to confess similar feeling towards Jane and eventually persuades her to take a hike with him on a rural area outside of Paris, during this trip he chokes her to death and leaves in a hurry.  The closing scenes move to what appears to be Jane at a dance hall as she stars vacantly into the glimmering lights of a disco ball, perhaps never experiencing any of the turmoil mentioned in the sentences above, but just imagining it all occurring.

Regardless of whether or not the film was an internalized experience is irrelevant to how I see the film critically, especially since Chabrol seems particularly concerned with depicting the very real oppressions faced by women, particularly young women of this era in France.  Firstly, Les Bonnes Femmes makes it very clear that the masculine problematically objectifies the feminine and is allowed to do so within the public setting, based solely on the assumption that these women chose to expose themselves to such situations, very little is made about the degrading and disrespectful elements to such actions narratively, but, undoubtedly, intentional on the part of Chabrol, who even shows that these women can not avoid being chastised within their work settings, a fact, that is extended even when considering that their jobs are predicated on their attractiveness.  A dismissive viewer might imagine that the events depicted are intended to be a bit of fun and games, however, the unbearably long scene of Jane being pushed underwater by two aging men, reminds viewers that these earnest games can become violently real and turn dark in only seconds, especially since it is made rather clear that were Jane to be dunked underwater one or two more times, without being saved by her admirer, would have likely resulted in her death.  Of course, very little needs to be said about the death of Jane, its violent masculine act is critically somewhat straightforward, only made problematic by the following suggestion that it may have been a dream sequence.  However, the notion that Jane is so disillusioned and troubled by her present situation that she seeks to find a means to end herself in the imaginative speaks to issues that were and would continue to be problems for women in the sixties an onward.

Key Scene:  For being  a shot on location element, the zoo scene is rather exceptional.

This is a Watch Instantly option, but after watching it I think the crispness of a DVD, may well be the better alternative.

There's No Crying In Baseball: A League Of Their Own (1992)

I am an open fan of Penny Marshall almost entirely for her brilliant and constantly underrated film Big, one that deserves its own acknowledgement in this month of women oriented film reflection, particularly because she, undoubtedly, paved the way for women in filmmaking, at least as it relates to American cinema.  A League of Their Own, a film I decided on a whim to add to the list for this month, much to my surprise was a film directed by Marshall, although to be honest, the heavy sentimentality and concern for a traditionalist aesthetic certainly reflects the stylings of one of Hollywood's most iconic behind the scenes women.  A League of Their Own does get caught up in its own concern for cinematic fluidity and a desire to promote normalcy and tradition filmically, reflected in its use of spatially linear composition and highly stylized imagery to reflect historical groundedness.  I say these things not to discredit this film by any means, what Marshall offers with A League of Their Own is nothing short of brilliant and the perfect combination of cult classic and legitimate cinematic classic that this film has obtained is worth noting, not only because the film reflects sound classicist filmmaking, but that it also decidedly places non-patriarchal bodies within the forefront, even going so far as to choose a decidedly relegated group within history and push them to the center of a narrative.  One could spend hours discussing the ways in which A League of Their Own fails miserably in its acknowledgement of intersectionality, yet it is a period piece and to embrace some sort of sound racial unity would be to betray the very unfortunate realities of the era, something a film like The Help seems more than willing to embrace, even if it means betraying the historical realities faced by women of color during the era.  As I navigate through this month of women oriented films I am certain I will be opened up to new venues within filmmaking, notably within the experimental, with that in mind it is great to see a film like A League of Their Own exist as a counterpoint to the traditional filmic narrative, while also perfectly existing within its aspects.

So it is fairly well established that people know what A League of Their Own is about, even if they have never managed to view the film.  It is simple to describe it as a film about women playing baseball, when, in fact, it focus so much more on the gender complexities related to such an occurrence, particularly as it related to the realm of World War II America.  The narrative specifically focuses on two sisters who are hired to play in the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League, the decidedly  attractive slugger and expert catcher Dottie (Geena Davis) and her much more tomboyish, but equally adept sister Kit (Lori Petty).  In fact, it is a direct result of the scouting of Ernie (Jon Lovitz) that the two make it to tryouts, where they meet other equally skilled women, most notably the sultry "All The Way" Mae (Madonna) and the boisterous firecracker of a slugger Doris Murphy (Rosie O'Donnell).  If it were not enough of an expectation to assume that a bunch of women from various parts of the country could merge together to make a solid baseball team, the addition of their manager, former star baseball player turned raging alcoholic Jimmy Dugan (Tom Hanks) certainly problematizes the situation.  As Dottie and Kit's team, the Rockford Peaches begin their career it is clear that they are not initially welcomed by society, in so much as various members of the crowd mock their gendered inability to play sports, yet through the brilliant leadership of Dottie they are able to attain respect and eventually a large fan base.  Yet success for the team does not result in a lessening of the very real existence of war occurring, particularly as it relates to Dottie whose husband has been fighting in the war, making each letter delivered during their season a moment of tension.  In the end, the Rockford Peaches make it to the playoffs, although not before the relocation of Kit to another team, resulting in an intense moment of sibling rivalry and while it is negative at the moment, the closing scenes clearly suggest that over time both would come to realize that they were engaging within a larger cultural revolution.

For the most part, A League of Their Own is an essentially positive consideration of women in film, in fact, one would be hard pressed to find a means by which women are outright degraded within the narrative, as long as class and race are excluded from the discourse.  However, while the film clearly mocks the bodied/sexual element emergent within the All-America Girls Baseball League existing, within in a cinematic sense it does very little to directly undermine it within the abilities of temporal distancing so key to filmmaking.  Where A League of Their Own does go absolutely right is in their depiction of the multiple bodies, particularly those that do not necessarily adhere to ideal beauty norms.  Sure the narrative depicts women like Mae and Dottie as "ideals," yet the other women, whose bodies are decidedly non-normative are able to obtain romantic relationships and become more self-empowered in the process.  A cynical reading of this film could criticize the emphasis on heteronormativity, but that would be a bit ungrounded, firstly in the overlooking of A League of Their Own very much existing as a period piece and second in the problematic association with women is sports and an automatic lesbian identity.  A League of Their Own certainly has moment in which lesbianism can be read into the scene, overall sexuality factors in very minimally, aside from the decided heterosexual relationships pursued by a distinct handful of the group.  Perhaps the most revolutionary moment of gender interactions occurs with the relationship of the girls to Jimmy who begins his role as manager with a heavy degree of patriarchal pride, only to dismiss it when he realizes its negative effects on his team, not to mention its problematic entrenchment within oppression.  By the way, I just returned from a Women's Studies conference, so my preoccupation with these terms is somewhat understandable, but no less important.

Key Scene:  The tryouts really set the stage for the remainder of the film and help to show the magic of a film helmed by Penny Marshall.

Yet again, one benefits from having Netflix Watch Instantly should they want to watch A League of Their Own.  I highly recommend doing so, if, at the very least, for the history lesson.

It Won't Stop Bleeding!: I Spit On Your Grave (1978)

Considering that it is Women's History month here in the beloved United States I have taken it upon myself to dedicate the blogposts this month to all things related to women in film.  I, of course, realize that this task will shape up much differently than the manner in which my horror film fest did, since the topic is far more obtuse and certainly more problematic.  I will use this time to explain what I mean by women in film, in the cases of some of the films I plan to view, they will be considered for their place in cinema history as "women's films," while others will specifically focus on films directed by women or involving pivotal moments in the history of women in films.  In many other instances I will look at a film for its positive portrayal of women as cinematic subject, and as will be the case with the first film I review, I Spit On Your Grave, I will also consider the problematic moments in the realm of women in film, specifically the rape-revenge film, a genre that lasted far too long in the late seventies and all too unfortunately appears to be making a come back in the past few years.  This is not to say that rape is always problematic in film, considering that it is often used as a political statement, or as a reflection of historical realities, so much so that it is necessary for viewers to be made viscerally aware of its existence.  I picked out I Spit On Your Grave specifically, because it has proven to be a decidedly divisive film within film theory circles, some stating that it is an absolute story of radical feminism destroying the patriarchy, while others are certain that it only exploits female sexuality at the expense of real rape victims, in so much so that the main character is naked for most of the film and seems driven by sexual desire to engage in the violent acts.  I would argue that, while the film is certainly not void of problems, it also manages to tap into a few moments of truly revolutionary cinema intended to vilify, and deservedly so, the act of rape and make clear its context as a means of power politics and not sex.  The X rating slapped on this film is both unfortunate and understandable considering that its graphic nature is absolutely necessary for the subject matter and were it not for the existence of Cannibal Holocaust I would say this is one of the most captivatingly grotesque films ever realized.

I Spit On Your Grave centers on Jennifer Hills (Camille Keaton) an aspiring writer from New York who finds herself a cottage in a reclusive small town with the hopes of churning out her first novel.  However, her arrival as a single and considerably attractive young female sparks the interest of a handful of young men, particularly the mentally troubled, Matthew (Richard Pace) who becomes obsessed with the sexual openness of Jennifer.  Matthews three friends begin to mock him for his clear infatuation with the girl from New York insinuating that he only likes her because she flashed her breasts at him.  Regardless, the group sees this as an opportunity to help the troubled young man get laid and use their motorboat to trap Jennifer while she is canoeing.  What follows is a series of degrading rapes in which the individuals take their turns with Jennifer, allowing her moments to escape only to trap her again and have their way with her, even Matthew partakes in the activities, although he becomes embarrassed by the presence of his friends and becomes impotent in the process.  After the guys lose interest they send Matthew to attempt to kill Jennifer, but, yet again, he fails to do so leaving Jennifer to survive.  At first it appears as though Jennifer will just deal with her drama by internalizing it and putting it into her writing, yet something changes when she discovers a gun, leading her to exact her revenge out upon the various men, beginning with the hanging of Matthew, followed by an intense castration of another in the group and eventually ending by running one of the men over with the motor of the boat.  Jennifer is then shown using the motorboat to ride away from the entire event, likely as a means to escape, but also a means to move beyond and transcend her terrible past.

The statement of this film is considerably hard to navigate, because it is very much about destroying the act of rape by making the individuals engaging in such acts disappear, but as any humanist would argue the answer to acts of violence is not another act of violence, which clearly seems to be the suggestion within I Spit On Your Grave, hell, a solid hour of the film is committed to these violent moments.  Yet, the film also draws attention to the lack of fulfillment Jennifer receives from simply pouring her pain into writing, especially when she is aware that the men, for all intents and purposes, are walking the streets capable of doing the same acts.  It is at this point that one must carefully make a statement about what the metaphor of the film evokes, it is possible that the murders are to reflect a activist stance, in that action is always more viable than words, however, the larger reaching effects of Jennifer's actions are called into question, when one man's wife and children dismiss him, completely unaware of his being castrated only scenes earlier, perhaps it would have been better for Jennifer to simply make his wife aware of his terrible behavior, at the very least, the film offers that venue as a viable alternative.  I am not completely prepared to give this film a pass, because it does have a heavy degree of exploitation within its narrative, the amount of time Jennifer is naked is somewhat unnecessary and aside from a few moments of brilliant cinematography it is uncomfortable, the film fails to provide an equal amount of male nudity as a means to disavow the exploitative element.  Where I do want to focus praise is in the films very real acknowledgement that rape is classless, in so much, that Jennifer is a considerably well-to-do individual and even her class safety does not afford her sexual protection and the domineering, working class men, will use their masculine, phallic privilege as a means to contest her empowerment.  It is one of the few blatantly well-done moments in the film and at the very least deserves mentioning.

Key Scene:  The cleansing scene about midway through the film is both disturbing and masterfully shot and causes a dismissive viewer to pause in their refusal to embrace the controversial narrative.

I Spit On Your Grave is a Netflix watch instantly film and is probably the best means with which to view this film, although be warned, the volume is awful.  Also, I promise some of the future installments for the month will be more in the positive.