Categotry Archives: media tool kit

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You Win Some, But You Lose Many, Many Others…

Categories: bitterness, i heart oppression, media tool kit, rape is hy-larious, your rda of misogyny

Double header of media mayhem!

First, the good news:

Roman Polanski lost the first round yesterday in his battle to avoid extradition to the US for having sex with a 13-year-old girl in 1977.

Already locked in a Zurich cell for the last dozen days, Polanski learned that he will remain incarcerated for an extended period after the Swiss Justice Ministry rejected his plea to be released from custody.

Swiss authorities said they feared he might leave the country if released. The director of film classics such as Rosemary’s Baby and Chinatown has been wanted by US authorities since fleeing sentencing 31 years ago.

“We continue to be of the opinion that there is a high risk of flight,” said the ministry spokesman Folco Galli.

He said the threat was too great for the government to accept bail or other security measures in exchange for the release.

Oh, and by the way? If you had any doubt remaining that this guy wasn’t a megadouche? Or that he had somehow made some recompense? Feast your eyes on this:

Roman Polanskiwas to pay at least $500,000 to Samantha Geimer, the victim in his 1977 child-sex case, under a settlement in a civil suit Ms. Geimer later filed against him, The Los Angeles Times reported over the weekend. Mr. Polanski, right, agreed to the settlement in 1993, but as of 1996 had not made the payment, according to court records provided to the news media in response to requests for access to the old case. It remained unclear whether the settlement was ever paid, though Ms. Geimer was still trying to collect as of 1996, by which time accrued interest had pushed the amount to more than $600,000, according to the court records.

Sheesh.

But don’t worry, the news can always get worse…especially when it’s the NY Daily News:

A shocked judge demanded prosecutors explain why they asked him to allow a prominent Manhattan therapist to return to the home where she’s accused of
slashing her husband Tuesday.

“I’m going to send her home to a 79-year-old husband when it’s alleged she stabbed him with knives?” Manhattan Criminal Court Judge Anthony Ferrara asked prosecutors.

“You’re assuring me he’s going to be safe, that this piece of paper is going to protect him from knives?” he said, after granting a “limited” order of protection allowing Joyce Poster-Lederman, 64, to return home.

Funny how people never seem to worry that it’s “just a piece of paper” when it’s a woman who’s being covered by it. Don’t believe me? Check out this site about orders of protection in New York:

You have been arrested because you got into a fight with your girlfriend or wife. Maybe there is a reasonable explanation or your girlfriend does not want to “press charges.” Unfortunately, at this stage it doesn’t matter. You are now before a judge and whether or not you are released, you must completely stay away from the complainant.
[…]
A “full” order of protection or “restraining order” is a an order by the court preventing you from having any contact at all with the complainant or alleged victim of a crime. This could mean that if you live together you may not enter the home. Alternatively, the police will arrange a time for you to enter and get some of your things. You will not be able to call the complainant or talk to the complainant even if she calls you. The burden placed upon you is quite severe.

Yeah. Imagine, not being able to see the woman–please note, it was assumed to be a woman who was the victim–because you beat her up! Oh, the humanity!

Which is kind what the order is trying to protect, ya know?

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Monday Media Watch: Oh NYT, You’ve Done It Again

Categories: media tool kit, monday media watch, privilege stories

Oh, New York Times! You mixed-up kid! When you’re not panting all over the latest Dan Brown novel (for shame, Janet Maslin, for shame) you’re punting muddle-headed essays on gender on us.

Let’s take a look-see…hm, they talk about Caster Semenya–hey, join the club! I used the controversy to talk about gender issues too, seeing as gender and appearances were a major part of my life. What’s Peggy Orenstein got to say?

I had my own reasons to be fascinated by Semenya’s story: I related to it. Not directly — I mean, no one has ever called my biological sex into question. No one, that is, except for me. After my breast-cancer diagnosis at age 35, I was told I almost certainly had a genetic mutation that predisposed me to reproductive cancers. The way I could best reduce my risk would be to surgically remove both of my breasts and my ovaries. In other words, to amputate healthy body parts. But not just any parts: the ones associated in the most primal way with reproduction, sexuality, with my sense of myself as female.

I…see.

No, wait, I don’t.

I mean the whole point of the Caster Semenya story is how people question your gender, right? Now, not to diminish Ms. Orenstein’s pain here. I am well aware of how terrible cancer, breast cancer, and the surgeries proposed are, and how not having breasts or a womb or ovaries can make you question your femininity and your sense of yourself as female, as a woman. (I’m rather intimately acquainted with that, actually.)

But like they say over here, quoi?

So I began to fret: without breasts or hormone-producing ovaries, what would the difference be, say, between myself and a pre-op female-to-male transsexual? Other than that my situation was involuntary? That seemed an awfully thin straw on which to base my entire sense of womanhood. What, precisely, made me a girl anyway? Who got to decide? How much did it matter?

Um…the difference would be that you thought of yourself as a woman? Ya think? And waitaminute–involuntary? Are you kidding me?

I guess you can say that starting treatment to transition is voluntary–I mean, you have to decide to do it; nobody makes you. But the being trans part isn’t.

Oh, goodness, ducks, there’s a lot to pick apart in the essay–like when she says biology is destiny! Sorta! But it totes shouldn’t mean anything to women’s rights or stuff (which seems pretty baffling.) She does inch close to something important though:

According to Sheri Berenbaum, a professor of psychology and pediatrics at Penn State who studies children with disorders of sex development, even people with ambiguous biology tend to identify as male or female, though what motivates that decision remains unclear. “People’s hormones matter,” she said, “but something about their rearing matters too. What about it, though, no one really knows.”

There is something mysterious at work, then, that makes us who we are, something internally driven. Maybe it’s about our innate need to categorize the world around us. Maybe it arises from — or gives rise to — languages that don’t allow for neutrality. My guess, however, is that it’s deeper than that, something that transcends objectivity, defies explanation.

Now, that I can agree with. I mean, that’s the story of my life, right? Except that in my case, my sense of gender was at odds with my body. I didn’t choose a middle way or androgyny or something like that (though people do and that’s just as valid as my own gender), but instead was impelled to think of myself as female. Why? And why is it so hard for some people to accept that about me–why do people cling to narrowly construed models of gender? What is it in human culture or the human brain that does that? These are good questions! Ms. Orenstein, maybe you’ll leave me on a good note!

I know that my sex could never really be changed by any surgeon’s scalpel.

Thunk. Boy it’s a good thing my desk is 5,000 miles away.

I mean, I know what she means, and it actually follows the same course as my own thinking: my gender was female before, during, and after my surgery. But sheesh, lady, for TS and intersex people, surgery can be Kind. Of. Important.

And that’s just it. She wants to talk about gender, she even brings in the example of a famous person who is intersex (or presumed to be, thanks to the leaks of evil, evil people), but does she engage with any intersex or transsexual people, who sure as hell know a lot about intrinsic gender identity?

Fuck no.

People get all in an uproar, it seems lately, about the word cis as opposed to trans. (Right now on a message board I still read we’re having our latest battle about it, a three-way fight between cis folks who don’t want the word applied to them, trans folks who want it applied in the neutral and descriptive way, and other trans folks who oppose its use and want to be nice in hope of getting a cookie from the cis folks.) But an article like this shows exactly why we need to have a word like this: because the privilege of not only never wondering about your gender identity, but never needing to know anything about people who have, is astonishing and smothering. So many of the questions Ms. Orenstein ponders have been batted around for years. There’s research, books, testimonials, diatribes, and even blogs.

There were answers. But privilege deafened her to them.

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Monday Media Watch

Categories: douchebaggery, media tool kit, monday media watch

Greetings, ducks! This week here at TSA we’re going to try something new and different–recurring theme columns! Today will be the inaugural Monday Media Watch.

Over the weekend, in between writing SQL specifications, I managed to actually watch some TV (other than Buffy DVDs, that is.) In fact, I caught Mike Judge’s 2006 internet cult fave Idiocracy.

I’m mostly confused by Mike Judge–I was in college when Beavis and Butthead first came out and was never really impressed by watching a couple of barely-articulate slackers make fun of music videos. (I mean, I wasn’t even a fan of that in real life.) But after that came King of the Hill which might as well be a modern-day Leave it to Beaver–Hank Hill’s solidly middle-of-the-road conservative values always win out in the end. In some ways it’s similar to Parker and Stone’s “common sense” values on South Park, although without that show’s audacitous offensiveness and sometimes spot-on satire. But both are similar in the way that the “common sense” approach that always manages to win out looks suspciously like the point-of-view of middle class white privilege.

(With some caveats: I liked Judge’s Office Space for its gleeful and accurate satire of the mindlessness of modern corporate existence, and the South Park movie’s general gleeful destruction.)

Idiocracy probably had visions of being a satire, and its vision hits some easy but satisfying targets: a Costco the size of a city, every conceivable surface–clothing, furniture, even the flag–covered with advertising slogans, cable TV hitting the lowest possible common denominator (the Violence channel has a show called “Ow! My Balls!” consisting of an hour of a guy getting hit in the crotch.) Much of this is chuckle-inducing, greatly enhanced byLuke Wilson in another of his startled shlub turns.

Other jokes, however, have a cringe factor. Judge ferociously attacks the pornification of American advertising by showing us a world of franchise sex: Starbucks gives hand jobs, H & R Block offers “gentleman’s tax planning” and there’s even fried chicken with “full release.” All of which might have gone off better had not the other main character (played by Maya Rudolph) been–a prostitute.

And that leads us into some other troubling matters. The English language, we are told, now resembles a mix of “hillbilly and Valley Girl slang,” but there seem to be a preponderence of hispanic names and “accents” around to demonstrate how much stupider America is in the 26th century. And yes, there’s a black president–but one who comes off as just another bunch of 21st century stereotypes: he’s a former wrestler and porn star. (In fact, the three main African-American characters are: a porn star, a prostitute, and a pimp.)

Not surprisingly, the movie ends up validating a white male slacker as the only reasonable character–and hey, given that Mike Judge is a white male slacker who made very good, I guess I can’t blame him. But Idiocracy has developed some kind of hip-cult status on the Internets, and I have news for you guys: it ain’t as transgressive as you think.

While I was watching Idiocracy, I got treated to the usual series of ads catering to the doucheoisie that Comedy Central routinely runs. (It’s much worse on both CC and Adult Swim late at night, when the ads for the local stripper clubs run.) One of those included the newest Burger King Late Night series, in which their “King” character plays a prank on a sleeping person–in the spirit of this:

Except this one apparently was set in a woman’s dorm (or at least a house with female roomates.) Sadly, the video isn’t up yet, but what happens is that they do the old “shaving cream on the hand, tickle the face” gag–the woman wakes up and slaps her face to brush away the “bug,” only to smear shaving cream all over her self.

But here’s the part that makes this ad even douchier than normal–she wakes up and sees a strange man wearing a bizarre mask on his face. And screams. Well, no shit! I mean, this is the start of a slasher/rape nightmare, and I’d scream too. And I know that makes me a Humorless FeministTM, but give me a break–it’s bad enough that this forms the plot of every cop show on TV, do we really need it to sell burgers?

There was, however, one ad I did like:

I can’t say I’m a huge fan of the Progressive ads–I don’t own a car, so I’m largely indifferent to them–but I love how she totally rocked this guy back on his stereotypes. Rock on, Flo!

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Fruitless

Categories: media tool kit, rhetorical devices

Welcome back, ducks. You know, when you’re in the blog business, one of the things you do when casting around for a post is to comment on another blog. It’s all part of the content-creation racket.

Yesterday I found out that even famous columnists like David Brooks do that:

Every day, I check a blog called Marginal Revolution, which is famous for its erudite authors, Tyler Cowen and Alex Tabarrok, and its intelligent contributors. Last week, one of those contributors asked a question that is fantastical but thought-provoking: What would happen if a freak solar event sterilized the people on the half of the earth that happened to be facing the sun?

Wow. OK, I’ve read science fiction, some of the post-apocalyptic variety, and that’s a familiar enough scenario. An interesting space of speculation. Let’s see what Mr. Brooks comes up with:

If you take an individualistic view of the world, not much would happen immediately. […] People would still have an incentive to go to work, pay off their bills and educate the children who were already with us. For 20 years, there would still be workers flowing into the labor force. Immigrants from the other side of the earth could eventually surge into the areas losing population. If anything, the mass-sterilization might reduce the environmental strain on the planet. People might focus on living for the moment, valuing the here and now.

Hey, that makes sense! After all, plenty of people don’t want kids anyway, so I’m sure that…oh, wait, there’s more:

But, of course, we don’t lead individualistic lives.

I sense a sermon coming on…

Material conditions do not drive history.

Unless you’re a Marxist! Or, you know, poor.

People live in a compact between the dead, the living and the unborn, and the value of the thought experiment is that it reminds us of the power posterity holds over our lives. If, say, the Western Hemisphere were sterilized, there would soon be a cataclysmic spiritual crisis. Both Judaism and Christianity are promise-centered faiths. They are based on narratives that lead from Genesis through progressive revelation to a glorious culmination.

Of course, both those religions believe in a culmination where people won’t have kids anymore, but that seems to be besides the point! The point is, uh…crypto-racism?

Some people might try to perpetuate their society by recruiting people from the fertile half of the earth. But that wouldn’t work. Immigration is the painful process of leaving behind one culture and way of living so that your children and children’s children can enjoy a different future. No one would be willing to undertake that traumatic process in order to move from a society that was reproducing to a society that was fading. There wouldn’t be the generations required to assimilate immigrants. A sterile culture could not thrive and, thus, could not inspire assimilation.

This makes sense because…because…because America isn’t a nation founded on immigration! No, wait. Because there wouldn’t be any bountiful and fertile white people around to assimilate people! Or something. I have no idea; I thought the beauty of America was that it was supposed to be an idea each generation reinvents for itself–that the ideals of the American republic were supposed to be available for all humankind. But maybe it’s like baseball, you can’t really get it unless you were born here.

Or Taiwan.

Now, the thing is, I know something about posterity and sterilization. Because, you see, I’ll never reproduce.

I didn’t say, I’ll never have children, because I don’t know that; maybe someday I might adopt, or become a parent in one of the many ways that don’t involve my own DNA. But the traditional way is closed to me, as part of my GRS.

Some trans women freeze their sperm before they have the surgery, but I wasn’t one of them. Even when I was married, I was extremely ambivalent about having children, and since I’m primarily attracted to men these days, it didn’t seem all that important to have my own genetic material lying around. So I didn’t bother, and it mostly doesn’t bother me now.

There was a point, not long after I got back from Thailand, when I did feel a twinge of regret over not being able to let my genes carry on after me; I like my genes, I think they’re a good mix, and it did seem a bit of a shame to not be able to do so. But that passed, and I’ve not felt that twinge since.

And you know what? I carry on just fine, even knowing that no part of me (except this blog, of course) will carry on after I’m gone. I still plan for the future, still make my plans, still am excited and engaged by life. And while yes, I have a niece who is related to me, I think I’d feel the same whether or not she existed or whether or not she was adopted; if I have a compact with the future, it is with the future of humanity as a whole, not my own personal bloodline.

Maybe that makes me odd. I don’t know; but of my four closest female friends, only one of them wants children, and I’ve met a bunch of other people who are childless by choice in my travels. And somehow they go on living life just fine.

Maybe mass sterilization would change how I and the others feel; I don’t really know, though it’s interesting to speculate about it. But somehow I don’t think it would mean the end of the world or even the end of America, given the number of people I’ve met who’ve adopted children from other parts of the world.

Within weeks, in other words, everything would break down and society would be unrecognizable. The scenario is unrelievedly grim. An individual who does not have children still contributes fully to the future of society. But when a society doesn’t reproduce there is nothing left to contribute to.

Except, you know, the future. Even if it doesn’t look exactly like you.

ETA: The comments on the Times’ site are fascinating. Some folks seem to feel that Brooks is writing about the declining white birthrate in the U.S.; others call him out for not seeing (or purposely ignoring) the displacement of the American First Nations by the European invaders; others call him out on his weird take on Christianity; and many just think he’s being ludicrous.

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O Brave New World, That Has Such….No Men In It

Categories: media tool kit, vive le feminisme, world without (g)end(er)

Greetings, Ducks! As many of you may have guessed by now, this is a blog about gender. (Well, and privilege. Primarily privilege. In fact, when I renamed it, I should have just gone with “Privilege Privilege Privilege…blah blah blah, Privilege!”–but that would have been an even worse url.) As it turns out, however, soon I may need to stop writing here–because my work will have been done!

That’s right, ducks–it seems that scientists have created synthetic sperm! And that can mean just one thing:

Synthetic sperm’ from stem cells raises hope for male infertility

Wait, no, that’s not it! (Though wow, I’d never guess that the first take on this would be how it could benefit men.) No, what everyone is talking about is this:

Synthetic sperm brings mad feminist dream a step closer

The idiotic internet blather following the creation of artificial human sperm evokes the writings of mad feminists who dreamed of a world without men.

Now, let us leave for the moment that there are plenty of women and feminists (and even a lot of people who are both) who like men, just not how so many men behave. (Because of, you know, the oppression.) Actually, don’t leave that, because that’s the whole fucking point: it’s not exactly a mainline feminist viewpoint to advocate for the genocide of one half the human species, except in the mind of Neil Lyndon. (Hint: Maureen Dowd–Maureen Dowd–isn’t exactly an unimpeachable source for your “feminists hate men and want to get rid of them” argument.)

I mean, this is so Old School, so “bra-burning feminist hippies” stuff–I’d almost expect to see a Gloria Steinem reference.

…et voila:

Q: What do you think 21st-century feminism looks like?

It looks like you. It looks like each self-respecting women in the 21st century. It’s not for me to define; the message of feminism is that each of us, as female human beings, define ourselves. There are some generalities that you can see. It’s much more international, I’m happy to say. I think clearly most of the country now understands that women can do what men can do; the problem is that they don’t understand that men can do what women can do, which as I was saying, is the reason why women still suffer from having two jobs

Now, I’ve been reading bell hooks a lot lately, so I’m not such a huge fan of Steinem and some of the other more prominent Second Wave leaders who focused their attention almost completely on the issues of white, middle-class women. Still, the comments section is painful:

Can we have dismissiveness?

A broad with a narrow mind…
Shouldn’t they call themselves “masculinists“? Seems more appropriate.

Mrs. Steinem, please exit stage left…
Thanks.

If you really want to have an honest, cerebral look into a ‘real feminist’s’ mind you should google…Melinda Jelliby
(warning: don’t)

Howabout sexist fauxgressiveness?

You poor saps just can’t take the thought of a woman being smarter than you. I would think you would be used to it, judging from your comments I would say just about everyone above the age of three is smarter than you. Its one thing to be stupid, its another to revel in your stupidity. This guy thinks Gloria is a complete dish and always has been.

Just plain sexism?

woof!

Gloria Stinem is some kind of gal }:>

Aaah, Gloria! You’re still hot but you’re no Sarah Palin. Now that’s a “self-respecting” woman!

Bonus round: a Jane Fonda reference?

I won’t take any gratuitous personal attacks on this woman even though she is nothing more than a mouthpiece for flowery quips and idioms from some 60’s hippie manifesto (which started decades prior to the 60’s actually).

I honestly look at Gloria Steinem, Jane Fonda and their contemporaries (sp?) today as ironically exploited and in no way empowered whatsoever.

BINGO! What’d I win?

You know, after all that, maybe I’m changing my mind, and we really should look into this world without men thing–I wonder what it would be like:

And why would any of us want a world with no men anyway? Who would carry our heavy luggage up the stairs after getting home from a vacation? After the jump, 15 things we’d miss about men if they ever became extinct.

  1. Their 5 o’clock shadow.
  2. Intercourse and outercourse.
  3. How cute and vulnerable they look first thing in the morning.
  4. The way they reassure us we’re nothing like our mothers.
  5. Their ability to reach the high shelves at the grocery store.
  6. Taking it like a man when we have a PMS outburst.
  7. Their cute little nicknames for us.
  8. Reassuring us we’re nothing like the bitches their friends date.
  9. How well they lie about the size of our ass in our skinny jeans.
  10. How they always know where all the wires go.
  11. The way they look in a suit.
  12. How good they are at killing the bugs.
  13. And installing the AC window unit.
  14. The sound of their voice in the dark wishing us “good night.”
  15. The way they look holding a baby.

Ah, fuckit. Let’s just skip to the whole life after men and women thing then; the planet will thank us.

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Baron Cohen: Glorious Privileges For Amusement Of Elites

Categories: (un)popular entertainment, hipster irony must die, media tool kit, Outrage

I can’t say that I’m a Sacha Baron Cohen fan. (Now, Simon Baron-Cohen, I can totes get behind.) My niece liked his song in Madagascar, I’ve probably seen Ali G a few times, and other than that I’ve been pretty much indifferent to him.

But that hasn’t been much of an option of late, thanks to this:

A lot of people–led by Liss over at Shakesville–have talked about the, oh, FAIL risk inherent about using homophobic humor to expose…homophobia. Hell, even the New York Times–not my usual stop for cutting-edge progressivism–says as much in a well-balanced review by A.O. Scott:

The film demonstrates, at a fairly high level of conceptual sophistication, that lampooning homophobia has become an acceptable, almost unavoidable form of homophobic humor, or at least a way of licensing gags that would otherwise be out of bounds. An early sequence that graphically shows Brüno and his lover exerting themselves in various positions and with the assistance of, among other things, a Champagne bottle, a fire extinguisher and a specially modified exercise machine, derives its humor less from the extremity of their practices than from the assumption that sex between men is inherently weird, gross and comical. The same sequence with a man and a woman — or for that matter, two women — would play, most likely on the Internet rather than in the multiplex, as inventive, moderately kinky pornography rather than as icky, gasp-inducing farce.

Exactly.

However, here at The Second Awakening, we don’t just do analysis: we do analysis of privilege! (It says so somewhere in the mission statement, which I think The Grey Mouser is using as a pillow right now.) So what can we say about the privilege used, abused, hidden, and sickeningly visible in Baron Cohen’s work? And is that the reason why no matter what, you always feel vaguely icky watching it?

To answer the last first: Yes. Yes it is.

The thing is, both Borat and Bruno1 are humor for privileged people. They let you, the privileged person, laugh at other people who aren’t as privileged as you. To make it funny, of course, we use multiple axes of privilege: so Borat spent a lot of time lampooning white people of different educational or cultural backgrounds. (Most egregiously, the Romanian villagers who provided the backdrop for the movie’s early scenes.)

The way that both these movies mitigate any privilege guilt you might have about laughing at other people (please, please tell me you have privilege guilt for laughing–not everybody does) is by selling you the ultimate privilege: you’re in on it. Unlike the hapless buffoons of the movie’s universe, you get the joke. You know all along that Borat isn’t really a Kazakh journalist, that Bruno isn’t really a gay fashionista–that Baron Cohen is using these guises to draw people out of their shell and show their true colors. Which are inevitably ugly or laughable. As A.O. Scott says,

They — Americans just like you but of course nothing like you — were exposed as bigots either for being outraged at the things Borat did or for politely agreeing with his misogynistic, anti-Semitic or otherwise objectionable statements. Any twinge of guilt you might have felt on behalf of the actual glorious nation of Kazakhstan was quickly soothed by the spectacle of American intolerance and idiocy that “Borat” purported to expose.

That’s not to say that this isn’t a time honored technique (Jonathan Swift, for example, used it to great effect.) But I have to feel that there’s a fundamental difference in, say, attacking the powerful by pointing out they were essentially eating the children of the Irish by oppressing them into starvation, and getting a laugh out of a few ordinary citizens who aren’t hip that they’re being lampooned.

I mean, it’s not like racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia (my personal fave) or anti-religious bigotry needs much encouragement to come out; nor is it likely that using a horrid charicature of gayness to draw people into overt homophobia is going to do much to alleviate homophobia. Instead, it’s more oppression masquerading as liberation; a joke for those “good” enough to be in on it, a joke on everyone else.

‘Cause not having privilege is hysterical. For them who have it.

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1. I refuse to use the idiotic umlauts; that’s not how you spell the name in German. And you don’t spell “Borat” that way in Cyrillic, which is odd given that the DVD box actually spelled out the English title in Cyrillic characters. Yes, I am a hopeless pedant; you knew that already.

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The Balcony Is Closed

Categories: media tool kit, the male ogle, your rda of misogyny

You probably think your humble blogeuse never does anything but write proposals and gather outrage for her next post. On the contrary! Like many denizens of A Great American Metropolis, I occasionally venture out of the apartment to do–stuff. Like eat Chinese food! Or go to movies!

On Friday I went out to see a festival of independent short films. (For independent read student.) Normally, an evening screening films is a pleasure to me–why, I’ve even sat through Robert Altman double-features and left feeling elated. (Confused and strangely unconfined by narrative, but elated.) But last night set my teeth on edge, because I saw a strong thread running through all the films, none of which, I should mention, were directed by women. What could that thread be? Read on to find out! (But, as Sady would say, Hint: THE MISOGYNY.)

Yes, I’m afraid that most of these films were either lady absent or lady silencing or, everybody’s favorite, lady objectifying. Not all the films–for example, there was a cute little Canadian Star Trek parody that was not only funny, but had a woman in it–a woman with actual lines! (This lovely young woman, incidentally, was the only woman in the entire evening’s show that had a direct line of dialogue.) There was a disturbing yet amusing time travel movie that definitely broke new ground in the genre. And there was an amusingly dark animated short about the perils of the workplace.

The rest though, primed me to gun up the outrage engines. There were two films that were montages of film clips that were cleverly edited but didn’t seem to have a real point of view. “The Control Master” was definitely a technical feat–the animation was taken from clip art advertising from the ’50s–but began with the villain stalking the heroine and turning her into a dog. Lovely. The last film before the intermission was a mash-up of video games and afternoon cartoon shows like “She-Ra” that had one good sight gag–the invaders from space were, well, Space Invaders–but mostly seemed to be an excuse to film a heroine in her panties, from behind. Oh, and the reason she and the villain are fighting is because she messed around on him (even if he is a giant cube.)

The film that really set me off, though, was “Funny Guy.” The premise began amusingly enough–a guy telling horribly bad jokes to his bathroom mirror–and our realization that he is a very disturbed young man is–disturbing. So, a good start, if not exactly the most original place to go.

It’s where director Frank Rinaldi takes this that provoked my strong reaction. It turns out that our disturbed young man wants to talk to a prostitute who hangs out across a highway from him, but is too shy. (This is the only woman in the entire film–a prostitute with no lines. Sigh.) He later chases the girl down to confront her, tracks down one of her johns and gets into a confrontation with him, and then later ambushes the john and takes him back to his bathroom. The filmaking in this sequence is tense–we sense imminent violence, especially when our abductor reveals the hideous black fungus (a metaphor for his own disease?) growing on the shower stall walls–with a human ear embedded in it.

Yet this scene deflates, and we next see abductor and abductee share a moment sniffing paint thinner. The john agrees to try and get the woman to talk to his abductor, but when he shyly hides from them the john takes off with her.

The film is disturbing all right, but what disturbed me was that it was ultimately another piece of stalker porn; that once again I had to watch a misunderstood guy who goes nuts and finds the only way to connect to women is to hunt them down. His rage over her “rejection” of him–that seems to be the way he interprets her going off with the other john–echoes nothing but the normal sense of entitlement to women’s bodies that most men feel.

The movie isn’t bad, per se–technically, it’s an accomplished student film. I’m just annoyed that these techniques are put in the service of yet another story where women are stalked, fought over, shared between men, and ultimately purely adjuncts to the plot–a motivating factor, a force of nature, incapable of speaking or acting in their own defence (it’s telling that she’s a prostitute, and thus not even allowed to choose her own sexual partners.) I spoke to the director after the movie–it turns out, ducks, that he was sitting right in front of me–and talked to him about my concerns. (No blood was shed.)

I expect a little misogyny when I go to the movies, because I expect a little misogyny when I step out of my apartment, turn on the tv, or read the newspaper. There are even great films which are profoundly misogynistic–for example, “Taxi Driver.” Scocese’s misanthropic and misogynistic gem from 1976–made at a time when he was battling a cocaine addiction, going through a horrific divorce, and basically “hated women”–remains a tough film to watch. Yet the women in that film–idealized, paternalized, and ultimately hated by DeNiro’s Travis Bickle–retain their own agency–they are people, and make choices. “Taxi Driver’s” awful force of misogyny is only part of its awful force, period–although it is women who inspire Travis’ acts of violence, it’s also clear that these actions are only possible because of a deeper instability in his character.

It might be a lot to ask a student director to approach the skill of a Scorsese; but on the other hand, it’s thirty-three years later, and not exactly difficult to learn about how women feel about, well, anything. That it remains true that the easiest way to give a disturbed character motivation is to have him rejected by a woman is yet another depressing indication of the institutionalized misogyny of your liberal media.

And it’s sad that in a city as liberal and progressive as A Great American Metropolis that the only way to ensure that you will see an independent film directed by a woman is to go to a woman’s film festival.

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Annie Get Your…

Categories: let's hear it for the ladies, media tool kit

Randy Cohen, who writes the “Ethicist” column for the NY Times, has a modest proposal: keep men from openly carrying guns as we do today (in most places, ducks, in most places) but require women to carry them. It’s mostly facetious, but he does touch on the usual statistics: 90% of all gun violence is committed by men, and strangely (but rightly) hits on Susan Faludi’s observation (without referencing her, though) that occupations once considered high-status when dominated by men (secretary, frex) become low-status when dominated by women. (Ah, that’s the answer to the American epidemic of gun violence: sexism! The cause of, and solution to, all of life’s problems!)

The comments are more interesting. The old canard (ahem) about guns solving the problems of 2,00,000 violent crimes. (Really? Think it’s that easy to shoot someone? See, for example, this, as well as S.L.A Marshall’s contention that only 25% of soldiers fired their weapons during WWII.) A surprising number of women write about their experiences owning weapons. One woman hopes that this will lead to guns in designer colors. Then there’s this charming passage:

Before you recommend to arm all womyn and unleash them on mankind please remember the import of the following two words:

Premenstrual Syndrome (PMS).

Ya know, folks, I happen to have pretty first-hand experience in the differences between male and female hormones, even if I don’t and won’t ever cycle. But given the disparity between male and female violent crimes, given how often men come to blows over minor disagreements (I saw two guys nearly get into a fight just yesterday–in the middle of the sidewalk. At 9 AM.), given how the culture of masculinity celebrates testosterone-soaked rage–why is it always women who are supposed to have the hormone problem? Don’t they also say that women are better at social networking? Shouldn’t we be telling guys to stay out of politics because their brains just can’t deal with the complexities of international diplomacy? Shouldn’t we tut-tut men for getting into a fight over who was the better hitter in 1939 by saying that they shouldn’t let their hormones get the better of them?

Yeah, probably we should. If arming women helps to bring that about–well, Mr. Cohen, sign me up.

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Don’t Scream

Categories: (un)popular entertainment, media tool kit, rape is hy-larious

Good morning, ducks! Let me ask you–do you like to see women in stark screaming terror and in fear of imminent death? Or at least simulations of such? Well, the New York Daily News does! Today they put up a gallery of “screaming starlets” from nineteen separate horror movies! It’s one stop shopping for all your terror porn!

As a film buff, I’ve watched my fair share of horror films. The vast majority boil down to either stalker or torture porn, of course, with tons of women in various stages of undress being voyeuristically hunted down. Even if the trend lately is towards making the woman the hero, letting her ultimately triumph (for example, the American remake of The Ring or the original Halloween), you can be sure that she’ll first go through a degradation that no male hero would be forced to undergo. This is true of even the best of the bunch, such as the Scream franchise, which featured a woman hero who was easily the most capable character in all the films, or the solid-B movie The Descent, which at least featured a main cast of women who did things (like whitewater rafting, caving, and fending off cannibalistic subhuman cave dwellers), even if it did find room for the death of a child, a murderous catfight, and the heroine killing a mother and child–your basic smorgasbord of Hollywood misogyny.

I’m really baffled by why the News thought this was a good idea, though of course not surprised. We do live, as Liss McEwan put it yesterday, “in a rape-soaked culture” so I guess putting images of anguished women shrieking in terror on your web site is just giving the public what it wants.

Besides, it’s not like you can have photographs of naked women in your newspaper. I mean, this is America.

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Bromantically Linked

Categories: douchebaggery, media tool kit, oh no not teh menz

Hello ducks! If you are like me, you watch television. (Actually, if you are like me, you watch too much television–stop it! It’s keeping you from doing better things, like read this blog!) And if, like me, you watch too much TV, then you’ve probably seen commercials for the next great man-child movie, The Hangover.

Of course, it may be difficult to pick out this new film from the constant swirl of frattish comedies–after all, it’s Judd Apatow’s world now, we just live in it. Never fear, though, ducks! The New York Times, in its ongoing mission of reminding us that all the news fit to print is by, for, and about men, has an article about The Hangover‘s creator, Todd Phillips.

In fact, the article makes Mr. Phillips out to be some sort of seer to the doucheoisie, a sort of guru of the frat boy picture. (In fact, one of his first movies was called, um, Frat House.) Mr. Phillips, in case you didn’t know, is the auteur behind Old School, Road Trip, and Starsky and Hutch. (Disclosure: I actually enjoyed the last one for the chemistry between Stiller and Wilson. I’m not perfect, ducks.) All in all, he has a portfolio that makes him the Apatow-lite, a secondary purveyor of the immature bromance.

Never fear, though: The Times breathlessly reports:

That doesn’t mean “The Hangover” can’t aspire to be the most grown-up work in Mr. Phillips’s unapologetically immature portfolio.

Well, that’s a relief–not the least because he doesn’t apologize for his movies! No, Todd Phillips is proud of his films! He wants you to squirm while watching–that is, if you are not an immature man-child (or at least aspire to be one.)

But wait! He’s not content for simple metaphysical torture–at least, where his actors are concerned:

Mr. Phillips does not always get his way. For a scene in which a police officer tests his stun gun on the guys, the director wanted his actors to be shot with a live Taser. “He goes, ‘Look at these clips on YouTube,’ ” Mr. Galifianakissaid. “ ‘It doesn’t hurt that much.’ And then the Warner Brothers lawyers stepped in, thank God.”

Well, there’s always next time–and given advances in technology, perhaps within a few years he’ll be able to tase the audience as well! Oh, think of the laughter we’ll have! Between the blackouts, that is.

Let’s give the last word to Todd, before he uses that darn taser again:

…[W]hen he tries to describe the plots of his films concisely, Mr. Phillips said recently, “the one-liners on my movies sound really retarded.” He chuckled briefly at his own analysis. “The movies, ideally, are better than they sound,” he added.

Speak for yourself, Mr. Phillips.

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