The Filmcake

Sarah guest posts with her thoughts:

So I’m involved in a “film club” of sorts with a few friends, in part styled after the Filmspotting marathons. We take turns choosing a theme (could be a particular genre, director, actor, or simply “Movies I Loved As A Kid”), and then everyone chooses films within that theme – hopefully with an eye towards presenting a fairly comprehensive overview (well, maybe not so much with “Movies I Loved As A Kid.”). After each film, we discuss.

Our current theme is Westerns – one that I approached with nearly virgin eyes, having never really seen a Western aside from the Coen brothers’  True Grit remake. The genre has never been terribly appealing to me. But one of the things I like about our film club is that it forces one to try new things. And there have been a few surprises. For instance, I found that I really, really like The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance.

However, the last two films (The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly and The Wild Bunch) have been a validation of my avoidance of this genre. Although I recognize and appreciate the stylistic flourishes and breakthroughs in filmmaking Leone and Peckinpah gave to the world, both films ultimately left me feeling bored and alienated. I’ve been trying to figure out why, since both are widely regarded as classics and are beloved by many.

The Wild Bunch, the most recent film in our marathon, made me feel like I was watching a foreign-language movie, without the benefit of subtitles. I could make out bits and pieces of what was going on, but any nuance or clarity that would be obvious to a native speaker, was lost on me. While I recognize the themes (adherence to a code of honor, betrayal, trying to adapt to a changing world) I guess I’m just not fluent in the language of this genre. Also, I realize how strange and kind of stupid it sounds, but there’s just something about these faces I’m not terribly familiar with, these actors of an earlier era, all with similar clothes, hats and facial hair, that make it really hard for me to tell them apart.

For another thing, despite the fact that there was probably a higher quantity of violence and action than in any of the previous films we’ve seen, it all became rather monotonous after awhile, and I was actually weirdly bored. (Oh, look – another shootout! Oh, look – more male bonding with booze and whores!)

Which brings me to my next point – the overwhelming absence of women in these films. I don’t want to reduce my disconnect from the Western genre to something as arbitrary as onscreen gender representation, but I do have a little bit harder time with a movie in which women are onscreen for approximately 10-20 minutes in a 2 1/2 –hour movie, and those roles are limited to old biddies marching for temperance, or whores to fuck and/or shoot. (And rarely did any of these women even get to speak.)

The reason I hesitate to wander too far off into this territory is that it’s not long before you then start dividing films into “men’s movies” and “women’s movies” and arguing that only men are interested in war and violence, and only women are interested in relationships. It also implies that women need women on screen in order to become invested in the story (and conversely, that men will only see movies about men). That’s completely bullshit, in 100 different ways. Personally, I adore a little of the ol’ ultraviolence, and there are plenty of movies with all (or mostly) male casts I enjoy. And I know several men who laughed their asses off during Bridesmaids. A compelling film is a compelling film, regardless of whether the protagonist has XX or XY chromosomes.

Since the True Grit remake was the only Western I’d seen prior to this round of Film Club (and I’d enjoyed it immensely), I next wondered if perhaps the age of the film might have something to do with it. Maybe contemporary films are still somehow easier to grab on to, even if they’re in a genre you’re not as familiar with, and even if they’re set in an earlier period. At least you’re more likely to recognize the actors’ faces. But by that logic, how could I explain my love for Hitchcock?

Even after some soul-searching, I’m at a loss to explain my lack of love with Westerns. I probably should seek out more films in this genre, since the five we watched, while perhaps a good introduction, could hardly be representative. Maybe someday I’ll get around to checking out a few more.

Sarah guest posts with her thoughts:

For me, the challenge in developing a semi-thoughtful opinion about Terrence Malick’s latest work, The Tree of Life, is this: how do you fairly evaluate a film that is so clearly sensory and subjective? How do you render a judgment on a film that is so intertwined with an individual’s experience and perception of the world if you yourself cannot entirely relate to that experience, and are even, in some ways, put off a bit by it?

There is so much that I love about The Tree of Life. This film is not prose, but poetry. I’d have been content to spend much longer than the film’s 2 ½-hour running time simply letting Malick and cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki’s images wash over me. These are truly stunning images, whether they’re of the creation of the universe, or of a long summer afternoon in the backyard. I can smell the cut grass of those long summer afternoons. I can feel the sun on my shoulders, and the soothing coolness of the river as I dip in a toe. I can share the bewildering, frightening confusion as you overhear bits and pieces of your parents’ argument, as you begin to realize the significance of very grown-up things like death and sex. On a sensory level, I can love a lot of The Tree of Life.

It’s when I start thinking about it, however, that I hit a wall. Maybe you’re not supposed to think about a movie like this – maybe you’re supposed to feel it –but senses have their limits, especially when you have a different perception of the world than the protagonist. Despite originating from the same primordial ooze as Jack, my experience and perception of the world is very different. Instead of a man who grew up in 1950s Texas, I’m a feminist, non-religious woman  who came of age in the very different world of the late 80s and early 90s.

From the very beginning, I disagreed with Jack’s heteronormative, simplified, almost hackneyed binary concept of humanity – tumultuous, unyielding, forceful Nature (as embodied by Jack’s father) vs. kind, gentle, beautiful Grace (as embodied by his mother). I find it impossible to separate this idea from its gender implications. Men and women as opposite sides of the coin. Contrasting,but complementary. The Masculine and the Feminine. The Yin and the Yang. While there is, admittedly, a certain poetry to this line of thought, I simply don’t see human nature (or gender) as so fixed, so black and white. I think all of us have those stereotypical “masculine” and “feminine” traits, to varying degrees.

However, I recognize that our memories are often exaggerated or embellished representations of what may have actually happened. An interesting point was made to me that we sometimes have a tendency to remember our past (especially our childhood) in extremes. We remember the very best and the very worst. There is often little room for nuance in the narrative of our personal history.

But again, while I recognize this is Jack’s story, my own differing perceptions keep me at arm’s length. I’m nagged by questions like, why is Mr. O’Brien allowed more complexity than Mrs. O’Brien? While we see his roughness and strictness, we also see a tender side emerge from time to time. We find out that he has unfulfilled dreams of becoming a musician, and indeed, has considerable musical talent. We see him at work in the world, away from hearth and home. Mrs. O’Brien is not allowed this degree of depth.

To be fair, this was pre-The Feminine Mystique, 1950s America. Generally speaking, a woman wasn’t allowed to harbor many dreams outside of becoming a wife and mother. She wouldn’t have corresponding scenes away from the home, without the children, because this was the limited world she lived in. She would exist pretty much only in relation to her husband and her children.

But even despite the acceptance of this fact, we still never see much nuance in Mrs. O”Brien’s personality. We really know nothing about this woman except that she is the embodiment of “grace” (which apparently involves such stereotypically feminine traits as warmth, nurturing, playfulness, and the ability to walk at all times like a dancer). Unlike Mr. O’Brien, who exists at times on his own, Mrs. O’Brien exists solely in relation to Jack. She is never anything but a good mother. She is saintly almost to the point of martyrdom. If this is how Jack remembers his mother, then I have to say that I feel sorry for his wife, who surely must find herself struggling against an impossible standard.

Read through the lens of this being one man’s remembrance of his childhood, and that childhood taking place in a culturally different time, it’s hard to criticize any of these things. I can’t say the movie is sexist, although mainstream Americain the 1950s certainly was. And to some extent, I can’t say its view of human nature is too simplistic, because it’s simply portraying one man’s interpretation. However, these are the very things that keep me feeling distanced from it. So perhaps the answer to my question of “how do you evaluate a film like this?” is that as a compelling, utterly believable portrayal of one man’s coming to terms with his childhood, his family and his place in the universe, it succeeds beautifully. But since this man’s experience and point of view is so different from my own, it lacks a lot of the emotional resonance for me that it seems to have had for others.

Sarah rejoins The Filmcake with a guest post pondering sexism at the multiplex:

Anyone who knows me at all knows that I’m a card-carrying, not-ashamed-to-admit-it Feminist. I also love movies. While I could likely go on for hours about how women are portrayed in film, the relative dearth of female filmmakers, etc., this particular Filmcake takeover is going to focus specifically on the idea of the “date movie.”

A couple of weeks ago, I read this Forbes.com post pointing at a double standard that seems to exist between movies aimed at men and movies aimed at women:

The two big movies opening this weekend are The Expendables (a testosterone laden action flick) and Eat Pray Love (its hormonal opposite). According to a survey of 1200 Fandango ticket buyers, 95% of the people who say they want to see Eat Pray Love are women. Only 5% are men.

But 42% of the people who say they want to see The Expendables are women (58% are men). And therein lies the problem. Women are fine going to see male-oriented movies. Women go to the movies all the time. It’s men who are the problem because they refuse to go see chick flicks.

Ignoring for a moment the actual quality of both of the above-referenced movies (I’m pretty sure neither are likely to be on anyone’s end-of-year Top 10 lists), this captures a sentiment I’ve heard countless times. Assuming that many of the people going to see one of these films are going with a date or significant other, it seems to be much more acceptable for a woman to go to a “dude movie” than it is for a man to go to a “chick flick.” For example, one of the biggest problems I have with my otherwise beloved Filmspotting hosts Adam and Matty is that in the few times they even acknowledge that women watch movies, it’s usually in the context of poor, single Matty being dragged to some dreadful romcom on a first date. In fact, “date movie” really almost becomes synonymous with “chick flick.”

The implication is that the man has to begrudgingly put aside his masculinity and suffer through a (probably legitimately bad) romcom in the hopes of maybe getting a little ass later. However, consider the reverse: a woman goes to the latest guns-and-explosions extravaganza, and is in all likelihood, going to be considered a “cool chick.” If she genuinely likes traditionally male genres (war movies, Westerns, comic book movies, etc.) she’s probably going to be someone’s Ultimate Dream Woman. Whereas, if a man sincerely loves romantic comedies, I’d be willing to wager that his sexual orientation is probably going to be called into question sooner or later. Sad, but true.

My first thought about all this is that, well, “women’s movies” generally suck. While it’s true that yes, most certainly do – so do most “men’s movies.” Both types are pretty dependent on familiar tropes and formulas, and don’t always boast the best writing, editing, acting, cinematography, etc. That’s not to say that there aren’t some wonderful romantic comedies and really great action flicks, because there absolutely are, but face it – most tend to be crap that plays to the lowest common denominator.

I think the real problem is that, blind to the actual quality of the movie in question, one genre seems to be considered  automatically better than the other. Once again, the implication is the “masculine” is acceptable, whereas the “feminine” is inferior, and something to be avoided. It’s okay, even desirable, for the woman to embrace the masculine, but that doesn’t always extend in the other direction. Or, as Molly Haskell puts it in the introduction to Holding My Own in No Man’s Land, perhaps “the fact is, we are all, in some measure, more comfortable with maleness than with femaleness.”