So let’s talk about the new film directed by Tim Burton, Alice in Wonderland. I saw it last weekend, and the Alice character surprised me in her multi-dimensionality and courageousness. It’s rare to see female characters portrayed so evenly. Herein I make my case.
You can read a synopsis of the film elsewhere, but here are my top 6 reasons why Alice (played by Mia Wasikowska) is a very good role model for girls and women.
Reason #1: Girlfriend is scared to death, but overcomes her fear and kills the Jabberwocky anyway. It may be written that she’s fated to kill the Jabberwocky on the Frabjous day (calooh callay!), but she can’t believe it (“I don’t slay,” she says). After the delightful, caring White Queen (Anne Hathaway is hilarious as a floaty girly-girl) asks her to be her “champion”, Alice puts on her armor and picks up the sword. Though she’s shaking in her boots, she reminds herself of what her father used to say: “I believe six impossible things before breakfast.” She names off six impossible things (“There is a place called Wonderland…”) as she goes to face the Jabberwocky. And you’d better believe she is victorious.
How refreshing is it that she feels the fear and does it anyway? We really don’t hear much about great women feeling scared to go for what they want, but most gutsy women know that it’s part of their apparent courage. We may appear fearless, but we work very hard to overcome the fear first, and we sure do give ourselves little pep talks in the process. Little and big girls would do well to take note.
Reason #2: Alice has a mind for business. The dull guy may be asking Alice’s hand in marriage in front of 100 or more guests at the garden party, but when Alice returns from Underland, she (nicely) turns him down and tells his father — who owns her dead father’s business — that they “have business to discuss”. She goes off propose a brilliant strategy and becomes a business partner. Score one for the ladies! — or smart people who happen to be ladies.
Yep, she's about to fall right down that hole.
Reason #3: She doesn’t have to be pretty. Being a “beautiful heroine” is not part of Alice’s character, and it’s not her main job in this film. Instead, she has sallow skin and dark circles around her eyes, and a mostly flat chest. This Alice is plain, and it’s her strengths that shine through.
But I’m a little bit irritated by the review of this film in the New York Times. Manohla Dargis wrote: “Alice… every inch a Tim Burton Goth Girl, from her corpselike pallor to her enervated presence, presents a more convincing vision of death than of sex.” Clearly Alice was supposed to be hot, and that would only expected of a female character. Sexism alert!
Reason #4: Alice fights to keep her spirit intact. The Mad Hatter accuses 19-year-old Alice of losing her “muchness” since she was last in Wonderland at age 6, and Alice spends quite a bit of energy proving that she has not lost her muchness.
This speaks to an actual phenomenon a lot of us go through as young women. We ask ourselves, “Am I as confident or strong as I was when I was a little girl, or am I losing that? How can I get it back?” And it acknowledges the well-documented decline of girls’ self-esteem around age 12.
Reason #5: This girl is no one’s pawn. Alice states multiple times in the film that her purpose is to be herself — not to marry someone she doesn’t love or even to slay the Jabberwocky. And she seems to have a pretty clear sense of who “herself” really is. She stands up for herself so she doesn’t end up in a loveless, stifling marriage, and she refuses to wear a corset in Victorian England. What more could a woman’s studies major want?
So many costume changes, such a short movie!
Reason #6: She’s kind, too. In all her strength, Alice doesn’t need to act “like a boy” or be self-absorbed — not by a long shot. The Mad Hatter (Johnny Depp) is absolutely insane, completely not useful at all to Alice’s future goals. But he helped her escape the Red Queen’s henchmen and the Bandersnatch early on, so she is loyal to this guileless man. When he’s taken by the Red Queen, she courageously goes to her castle to save him, nearly sacrificing herself in the process.
But given these reasons, should we call this character “feminist”, as John Boot of Pajama Media did? Should we call Alice in Wonderland a “feminist movie”? I think not. Much has been written about whether “feminism” is the next f-word and whether young women even identify with that word anymore. Not everything a girl does that’s strong or courageous makes her a feminist. I would like us to think, collectively, as a culture, “It just happens that the hero of this film is a woman.”
And the truth is, women who identify as feminists want and expect female characters to be given the same full, brave roles as male characters. In Alice, we finally have a character who is equal to male protagonists, and then some. Thank you, Tim Burton.
I recently saw Alien at a local cinema. I hadn’t seen it since I was a little girl (and I’m not sure why my parents let me watch Alien when I was a little girl). Anyway, I had forgotten about Ellen Ripley. Ellen Ripley seems impossible: a female lead in a sci-fi film with a mullet, loose-fitting clothes and no noticeable makeup. A human being! A strong, rational (yet also feeling), ass-kicking woman who we follow in awe not for her body, but because she is the hero of our movie. As Zoe Saldana put it at a recent Comic-Con conference, “Ellen Ripley could have been a man. … Objectives would have been the same. … but [she] happened to be a woman, thank God.”
Sigourney Weaver as Ellen Ripley in "Alien"
Much has been written about the importance of Ellen Ripley to female characters in sci-fi. As John Scalzi put it on the AMC SciFi-Scanner blog, “In a nutshell—Before Ripley: Barbarella. After Ripley: Sarah Connor.” As Scalzi also notes, Ripley only gets better in Aliens (although I disagree wih his view that Ripley is “unsympathetic and unlikeable” in Alien and doesn’t actually become that “pivotal, iconic” character until Aliens). Point is, in James Cameron’s 1986 sequel, Ripley is extremely competent, kicks even more alien ass, and isn’t sexualized at all (in the first film, there is a gratuitous nude scene).
So, Ripley made Sarah Connor possible. And Sarah Connor, at least in Terminator 2, would have made Ripley proud. But after that? Let’s take a look at where we are today. We’ve maintained the tradition of interesting, strong and intelligent female sci-fi leads. However, in the majority of cases, the character’s body is equally or more important than her strength, skills and intelligence combined.
Linda Hamilton as Sarah Connor in "Terminator 2"
Think about it. Aeon Flux: Charlize Theron in tight leather. Underworld: Kate Beckinsale in tight latex. Catwoman: Halle Berry in tight leather.Ultraviolet: Milla Jovovich in midriffless tops. The Fifth Element: Milla Jovovich in strips of white cloth. Star Trek: Zoe Saldana in a tight skirt and knee-high boots. Watchmen: Malin Akerman in lingerie-esque latex. And on and on. Plus, some of these films don’t even have actual female leads. Leads yes, but THE lead, no. But the lack of sci-fi films with a female character as THE driving force is an issue for another day. Natalie Portman’s character in V for Vendetta is the only example of a female lead that is not overly sexualized that I came across in my research. Can you think of others?
Is it tempting to say “Who cares”? During a discussion at Comic-Con about why Hollywood has failed to create female archetypes that were “as varied and distinct as the ones created for men” in sci-fi, Zoe Saldana said she didn’t see it as a battle worth fighting anymore: why convince a room full of men that “I should wear pants to do an action scene, when they think I can do it in a skirt and hoochie boots?”
Why indeed? Well, because of Ripley. Ripley reminded me of how exhilarating it is to watch a woman simply be a hero. How it is to believe—even if only for two hours in a dark cinema—that our bodies are not the most important and most powerful aspect of ourselves. It’s so easy to forget that. It’s so easy to forget that the constant focus on our bodies in the media is not just a celebration of our sexual power (and in the media, women are almost always body first and human being second), but harmful exploitation.
Aeon Flux poster
And because it is a world of archetypes—of extremes—I believe sci-fi has a revolutionary capacity to change that equation. In a real-world context, it might be more difficult to believe in a Sarah Connor or Ellen Ripley, but in sci-fi, anything’s possible. Real-world rules are forgotten and the hero is the hero.
Hollywood, of course, isn’t going to give us another Ripley if we don’t demand one. And it is too risky to wait for another Cameron or Scott to offer us one. In fact, Cameron seems to have temporarily abandoned his Ripleys. In Avatar, his Na’vi princess doesn’t save the day in the end, and there’s a very strong emphasis on her traditional female sexuality (Cameron even admitted in a Playboy interview that although it wasn’t anatomically correct for female Na’vi to have breasts, he just felt of his lead: “she’s got to have tits.”)
Neytiri in Avatar
But how to demand better female sci-fi leads? It’s a tricky question.
Our best bet would probably be to support, as much as possible, smart movies created, written, or directed by women. The more influential female players there are in Hollywood, and the more power they have, the more freedom they will have with their content, and the more possibilities to create admirable female characters.
And when a Ripley does show up in cinemas, for god’s sake, go see her. Go see her twice.
A few months ago, comedian Chris Rock released a documentary that investigates the fanatical preoccupation with “good hair” in the black community. It’s a film that takes the viewers from neighborhood salons in Atlanta to rural villages of India, investigating the multibillion-dollar haircare industry. I’m a big fan of any documentary that examines the media and its influence on young women, and “Good Hair” was insightful, provocative and entertaining.
Just as Darryl Roberts’ documentary “America the Beautiful” comically tackled America’s obsession with bodily perfection, Chris Rock’s “Good Hair” comically tackles the black community’s obsession with impeccable locks. Rock talks to a wide variety of people, from celebrities like Raven Symone and Maya Angelou to everyday men, women, and high schoolers—none of whom think twice about getting a thousand-dollar weave or using relaxer in their hair. According to the documentary, worrying incessantly to make your ‘do “less black” is not just common in contemporary African-American culture—it’s expected.
The film focuses its attention on relaxer, the chemical used to make curly hair flawlessly straight. Celebs, like rap duo Salt ‘n Pepa and even the Reverend Al Sharpton, openly admit to using it. Relaxer has so much sodium hydroxide in it that it could potentially burn through one’s scalp, yet people continue to use it to achieve stick-straight hair. The documentary also explores the industry of weaves—wigs made of real hair that cost upwards of several thousands of dollars. These hair pieces, as the film points out, overwhelmingly come from Indian women who sacrifice their hair for religious purposes. The women who admit to wearing weaves show no shame around spending a month’s paycheck (or more) on a vanity item.
What causes this concern for perfect hair, the subjects say, is the desire to “look white.” Comedian Paul Mooney declares in an interview, “When your hair is relaxed, white people are relaxed. If your hair is nappy, they’re not happy.” While seemingly outrageous, this claim is, sadly, probably true.
While I thought “Good Hair” was a fascinating and hilarious look at one aspect of black culture, I wish Rock had more carefully examined this insecurity of looking white. Is it bad? Dangerous? What causes it and how can we stop it? Even toddlers, yearning to have straight hair, get swept up in this physically and emotionally damaging cycle—one girl in the film, just four years old, was getting her hair relaxed. The movie ended up being a comedy that simply rolled its eyes at the issue. The message seemed to be “this is just how it is; you can’t change it.”
When I voiced this concern to an African-American former professor of mine (who rocks the natural ‘do), she told me matter-of-factly that “hair is to black women what weight is to white women.” That analogy is dead on, I thought. Obviously you can’t draw a line strictly down the middle, but just as black celebrities spend thousands on weaves and extensions, white celebrities grace the covers of tabloids after spending thousands on personal trainers and state-of-the-art diets. Both ideas of unachievable perfection trickle down to average women, women who believe this perfection must be the norm.
Have you seen “Good Hair?” What did you think? Are you a black woman, and do you feel an unstoppable necessity to make your hair look like something it’s not? Do you think the comparison between black women and hair and white woman and weight is a legitimate one? Why do black women seemingly desire to have “white” hair? Leave your thoughts in the comments.
The other day my friend and I were flipping through a recent Cosmopolitan magazine, and I was shocked by the comments coming out of my mouth:
“She’s so skinny!”
“Ew, what is she wearing?!”
“Her eyes look weird!”
With these exclamations,I was actually morphing into the person I despise–the person I imagine beauty magazines make you become: she who judges other women.
Magazines seem to always pit woman against woman, or at least encourage it. “Who Wore it Best?” articles in some publications call on readers to vote on which woman celebrity looks better in identical outfits.
Other magazines regularly ask readers to vote thumbs up or down on a celeb’s look—like, “Are these stripes flattering on Kim?” and “Does Eva Look Hot or Boring?”.
Around Oscar season, some magazines completely dedicate issues to Best and Worst Dressed lists, where we scrutinize the dresses and accessories famous women have worn.
It doesn’t stop with magazines. Reality shows, soap operas, romantic comedies–even kids’ movies (think the Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen franchise)–often idealize competition between women, usually over men.
In shows like The Bachelor, Gossip Girl, and The Hills, there always seems to be an immediate enemy inherent in any other woman–often over a prospective boyfriend.
The Bachelor popularized reality shows in which many women compete against each other for one man's attention
But as my friend and I were scrutinizing the obviously-airbrushed Cosmo cover model, I was appalled by the other comments coming out of my mouth: hateful comments about the actress herself.
What was first a critique of the model’s impossibly clear under-eye area and unnatural waistline (thank you, Photoshop) became critiques of her eyebrows, her hair, and even what she said in her interview.
We should not only strive to resist becoming influenced by media messages, but resist becoming the women who judge one another, who compete with one another, who rip on one another’s hairstyles and career choices, and who compete for the opposite sex.
And sure, maybe certain actresses themselves share different values than we, and perhaps the women on The Bachelor DO need to chill out with all the competition over one guy.
But that still doesn’t permit us to pass nasty judgment about anybody. Because what starts as a simple vote on who looks better can easily translate into real life. And who wants to become that woman?
As one of the few successful female writers, directors, and producers in Hollywood, Nancy Meyers has been making movies for over 30 years. Her movies include many romantic comedies featuring middle-aged couples, such as Father of the Bride, Something’s Gotta Give, and the recent release, It’s Complicated.
I’d always just thought of these movies as fun holiday diversions, but a recent piece in the New York Times by Daphne Merkin, called “Can Anybody Make a Movie for Women?”, made me think perhaps more was at stake.
Merkin argues:
“[Meyers] rushed in where angels fear to tread to rescue the middle-aged and manless woman from her lonely plight. She has taken this sorry creature, who is bombarded with reminders of her vanished youthfulness everywhere she turns, and placed her in an alternate universe, where she is…desirable just the way she is.”
Even though I know how much women are pressured to look and act youthful, I was disheartened to read this belief. Merkin seems to think there’s an age between 30 and 40 where women reach their best before dates and instantly become saggy, wrinkly, undesirable hags.
If that idea is out there, then Meyers’ movies might play a more important role than I thought. Her movies tell older women it’s okay to be happy and competent, while also subtly telling younger women not to worry so much, because love can happen later.
Nancy Meyers at work
In It’s Complicated, Meryl Streep plays Jane, a divorced mother of three who runs a bakery in Santa Barbara. One drunken night, she begins an affair with her ex-husband, Jake (Alec Baldwin), who is remarried to a much younger woman. Meanwhile, Jane is also pursued by her architect (Steve Martin).
During the movie, I noticed Jane’s relative security. While she worries about a sagging eyelid, you get the impression that she’s been getting along fine with her work, girlfriends, and kids.
Seeing her happy despite her single status, we get a different message from the traditional one that older women without men are pitiful “spinsters”. Instead, we see an example of how older women don’t need to rely on having men to be happy.
There were things that irked me, though, like how Jane and her friends demonize Jake’s wife and other younger women for “stealing” their men, and I didn’t notice a single important non-white character. Also, the characters’ happiness seemed partly due to their immense wealth.
But at the end of the day, as someone who’s feeling societal pressure to settle down and have kids at age 24, I felt like the movie gave me some license to relax and live my own life without worrying about hitting an arbitrary age where I will be doomed to live a lonely, miserable, single life. As far as fantasies go, I can definitely buy into one where I get to be myself and pursue my career goals, and when I’m pushing 60 maybe have a fling with a paunchy yet charming lawyer.
Do you think the focus on middle-aged women in movies like It’s Complicated is refreshing, or do you think these movies still tell women they’re incomplete without men? What do you think young women take home from watching these movies? Do you think the fact that the characters are usually really rich increases the pressure on women for financial and career success as well as romantic success?
I wouldn’t describe my feelings for the Twilight saga as “love” or even “like,” but more along the lines of “obsessed.” When I read the four books in the Twilight series, along with millions of teenage girls, I was engrossed in a world where one could go to school with vampires and be best friends with a werewolf.
However, another feeling rivaled my fanatic obsession while reading the Twilight saga; extreme aggravation.
One of the reasons why I was interested in reading the Twilight series is that I love books with a strong female lead character. My hopes for Bella Swan as the strong main character started to crumble when I delved a little deeper into the folds of the Twilight world.
Bella has a lot of potential, with her passion, wit, and stubbornness. At times the reader is tricked into thinking Bella is the strong female lead we wish we had more of because we can see her obstinate thoughts and read her bold inner monologue.
But all of that is undermined by the fact that she is constantly seen as the damsel in distress. Stephenie Meyer, the author, chose to put Bella in situations where she was completely dependent on the supernaturally strong men in her life.
Bella (Kristen Stewart) is saved yet again by her supernatural friend Jacob (Taylor Lautner) in New Moon
It isn’t until the of the last book, Breaking Dawn, that Bella actually has an opportunity to showcase her abilities, but even then, Bella undermines her own impact. Edward, her vampire lover, tells Bella her talents saved the family, but we never see Bella own that fact herself.
Millions of young (and not so young) readers have read the Twilight series and are going to flock to the second movie, New Moon, in theaters November 2009. I know there are stories out there that are just as interesting as Twilight AND show girl characters as powerful actors in their own worlds.
Ella Enchanted by Gail Carson Levine
So, where are the compelling stories with strong girls leading the charge? One of my favorite young adult novels with a fantastic main character is Ella Enchanted. Ella is smart, funny, and determined on saving herself in this fairytale with a twist.
What other books out there should girls be reading? Add your ideas to the comments section. Don’t forget to recommend books with action-oriented girl main characters to ALL young readers. It is just as important for boys to see examples of strong females as it is for girls.
While trying to figure out how to top my costume from last year (I dressed up as M.I.A., and yes, I did look pretty fly), I’m reminded of Halloween’s uniform for young women: the “slut”. The 2004 movie Mean Girls said it best:
Mean Girls describes, but doesn’t explain, this Halloween phenomenon. Why do girls care so much about looking sexy? What do they hope to achieve by dressing provocatively? And why do they feel the need to conform to such a narrow model of expressing their sexuality? After doing some critical research and cultural analysis, I decided to attempt to explain just why girls are so gung-ho on dressing up like “hos” on Halloween.
Our culture simultaneously shames and rewards female sexuality, so it makes sense that girls grow up having very conflicted feelings and ideas. Nothing is inherently wrong with a young woman wanting to feel sexy. However, looking like a Playboy Bunny is only one of an infinite number of ways to achieve that feeling. We can dress up as anything on Halloween (or any other day) to express our unique talents, interests, personalities, senses of humor, strengths, etc.—so why do so many of us just choose to be “sexy” for Halloween?
Typical army costumes for women, teens, and girls. I'm pretty sure none of these was designed for combat.
Dressing as stereotypical eye candy has strong cultural implications, and enough young women do so on Halloween that it has become expected. However, when a female chooses to present herself in this stereotypically sexy way, she’s also making an important statement that she might not have considered before going out dressed in what is essentially lingerie: “I am content to be seen as just an object—not a full human being.”
We would like to believe we have achieved sexual liberation and gender equality; we have not. But maybe by focusing on our abilities to dress provocatively, it’s easier to forget the opportunities and rights that we still lack, the violence and discrimination we constantly face.
Ariel Levy discusses this idea, as well as what she refers to as “the rise of raunch culture”, in her book Female Chauvinist Pigs (which I highly recommend). Levy argues:
The proposition that having the most simplistic, plastic stereotypes of female sexuality constantly reiterated throughout our culture somehow proves that we are sexually liberated and personally empowered has been offered to us, and we have accepted it. But if we think about it, we know this just doesn’t make any sense. It’s time to stop nodding and smiling uncomfortably as we ignore the crazy feeling in our heads and admit that the emperor has no clothes. (p197)
Levy also asserts that, these days, women have three options:
1. To act “like a man” (a male chauvinist, in particular)
2. To embody “the most simplistic, plastic stereotypes of female sexuality constantly reiterated throughout our culture” (p197)
3. Do neither 1 nor 2, and be considered a prude or an uptight feminist
None of these options seem too appealing, but only the last one can really get us out of this bind. While the first two options might grant a woman shorter-term, individual success, they also perpetuate sexism and misogyny in our culture (hence the term “Female Chauvinist Pigs”).
Girls learn early that their looks count, often much more than their intelligence, personality, or talents. Cultural messages reinforce the idea that, to be successful, we need to be a particular type of sexy and attractive. I want young women, when they are mature enough, to really own their unique sexualities. But I don’t want our sex appeal to be our sole means of getting attention, status, or money, because ultimately, it doesn’t lead to gaining respect or better rights.
Do what makes you feel happy and confident, but ask yourself who you are being sexy for, why, and if you need to look like a Maxim model to feel that way. And remember that your sexuality is part of you, but it’s not the only part.
If you can dress up any way you want to on this holiday, do you really want to hit the default button and look like just another clone? Or do you want to express yourself (and your sexiness) in a more unique, authentic way?
From Kanye to Serena Williams, it seems like everyone has been apologizing for inappropriate comments recently. But one apology you may have missed was that of Orange County Register columnist Mark Whicker.
Phillip Garrido’s backyard, where Jaycee Dugard was held captive for 18 years.
Whicker wrote a seriously offensive column on September 7th that attempted to use the rescue of Jaycee Dugard as a hook for a story on a series of sports highlights.
Dugard’s rescue earlier this year after being kidnapped at age 11 was big news. She had spent 18 years held captive in her abductor’s backyard, where he repeatedly raped her and forced her to give birth to two children.
Apparently Whicker thought a totally appropriate response would be this:
[Dugard] never saw a highlight. Never got to the ballpark for Beach Towel Night. Probably hasn’t high-fived in a while. She was not allowed to spike a volleyball… Now, that’s deprivation.
By turning her story into an intro for sports trivia, Whicker downplayed the violence Dugard suffered. After a reaction by angry readers, Whicker and the OCR’s Deputy Editor of Sports were forced to apologize. Unfortunately, neither actually seemed to understand why.
The same day as his apology, Whicker defended himself to Michael David Smith of AOL Fanhouse, saying: “I am quite surprised by the angry tone of the reaction. I think the intent of the column was still valid.” After Smith said Whicker shouldn’t have been surprised at the backlash, Whicker responded, “Thanks for ripping me. I’m really happy I devoted part of this very hectic day responding to someone who had as little interest in my viewpoint as the crazies out there.”
Likewise, Whicker’s apology comes across as audience-blaming, implying he’s mostly apologetic that “this column appears to have disconnected that bond with at least part of our readers.”
This video game involves "using poison gas on the victim, sexually assaulting her and using psychological abuse against her in efforts to make her 'love' you."
Even the deputy editor’s apology seems to apologize more to Whicker — for “depriv[ing] Mark of what every writer needs: an attentive editor” — than to the audience.
The OCR’s handling of the situation is symptomatic of a society that is so desensitized by the media sensationalizing violence against women that the representation is dissociated from reality.
For example, many commentators argued George Sodini’s shooting of 12 women at a Pennsylvania gym wasn’t motivated by a hatred of women. New York Times columnist Bob Herbert responded to this incident and discussed our perception of violence against women:
“We profess to being shocked at one or another of these outlandish crimes, but the shock wears off quickly in an environment in which the rape, murder and humiliation of females is not only a staple of the news, but an important cornerstone of the nation’s entertainment.”
With rape simulations in video games becoming more common, crime dramas depicting violence against women with increasing explicitness, and mainstream “comedy” movies like Observe and Reporttreating rape as a joke, violence against women is glamorized and packaged for public consumption.
Observe and Report treats date rape as comedy
Whicker isn’t the only one in the media trivializing misogynist acts of violence and ignoring real women’s trauma, but he should definitely own up to his contribution.
–Jarrah
Jarrah Hodge is a freelance writer and blogger from Vancouver, BC. Jarrah has a degree in Women’s Studies and Sociology and her writing takes an anti-racist, feminist look at pop culture, gender in the news, and politics. Currently Jarrah writes a column called Gender Files for the Vancouver Observer, and also runs her own blog at www.jarrahhodge.wordpress.com. When she’s not working or writing, Jarrah can usually be found playing board games.
While our culture is being inundated with stories about romantic, supernatural males, such as vampires sweeping everyday ladies off their feet, we get a story about a supernatural girl literally eating horny high school boys.
Jennifer’s Body is a thinly veiled retelling of the age-old story based on fear of women’s sexuality. What could be scarier for boys than a woman with sexual power?
Jennifer’s Body links a girl’s assertive sexual behavior with the death of male sexuality. This concept takes form when we see Jennifer, played by Megan Fox, seduce boys in her town. Jennifer then quite literally kills their sexuality by eating her victims.
According to azcentral.com, the reason Jennifer is possessed in the first place is because of a botched human sacrifice. Azcentral.com alludes to the idea that the sacrifice goes wrong due to the fact that Jennifer, the human intended to be sacrificed, wasn’t a virgin — as if there weren’t enough slights on female sexuality, Jennifer’s Body throws virginal status in the mix. The obvious result of sexual activity for a woman is demonic possession. (Ahem, that’d be sarcasm.)
Megan Fox plays a demonic teen in Jennifer's Body
Like the movie Teeth, where a young woman goes on a rampage, killing unsuspecting men with her mutant teeth (which are in a sexually strategic place), Jennifer’s Body is helping to spread fear of women’s bodies and sexualities.
We often see sexually powerful men, such as Edward from Twilight, who are not necessarily threatening, but just plain sexy. Can you think of an example in pop culture of a sexually powerful woman who is not seen in some way as a threat to men? I’m drawing a blank.
Teeth is a gory exploration of the mythological "vagina dentata"
Movies like Jennifer’s Body and Teeth are marketed as dark comedies, but this type of label undermines the cultural impact story lines like these can have. Just because something is presented as a joke doesn’t mean it can’t still have a negative effect.
For example, racist jokes might be intended to be funny, but they still carry implications of how the joke-teller sees the world. Can you see how “comedies” like Jennifer’s Body impact the way people view women’s sexuality? Tell us what you think in the comments section for this blog.
I don’t want to tell anyone not to see the movie, but I do think it is important to think about what movies like Jennifer’s Body say about girls’ and women’s sexualities. Next time you see a movie look for the assumptions and the hidden story lines, you might be surprised by what you find.
If you see flaws in the movie and you want to do something about it, you can let Diablo Cody, the film’s writer, know what you think about Jennifer’s Body by sending a message through her myspace page.
In 2006, when Lauren Greenfield’s documentary Thin came out, I watched the film on my computer in the single dorm room that had become something of a cave for me. I was in the throes of a life-threatening eating disorder, and, needless to say, the film hit home. A few months later, I saw the documentary again, though in a different context: I watched it at an inpatient eating disorder treatment facility where I would spend the bulk of my 22nd year.
Shelly talks about her feeding tube
I agree with Kate’s thoughts (“‘Thin’ Is Thick With Reality”) that the film touches on something very real, although I think there is a subtlety that may not be apparent to all viewers.
The vast majority of films about addiction and mental illness focus on the “rock bottom”: the shocking and devastating turmoil in the addicts’ lives and all those around him/her. Thin appears to explore something deeper: the painfully difficult yet life-changing process of recovery. However, in truth, it is stuck in the same awestruck stare that other media attention has always been — the skeletal images, the double-digit weights, the tubes and medications and blood.
When I listen to the women in Thin tell their stories, I sadly do not hear the voices of these struggling women; I hear the competitive, proud, sick voices of their eating disorders. One may think I cannot truly know what is going on in their heads — and to a certain extent that is always true — but I assure you that I know an eating disorder voice when I hear one because it makes my heart ache with empathy in a way that no other sound can.
When I watched this documentary while I was sick, I was enthralled. I compared my body and my weight to each image and number on the screen or in the book. If I weighed less, I felt like I was winning. If I was more, if their bones protruded where mine did not — I was a failure. I felt undeserving of treatment because I was not as sick as every single one of those girls. This film was incredibly triggering — a term used in the treatment of addiction to refer to images, events, people, etc. that trigger addictive thoughts or behaviors. We would say that we were “triggered” when something made us feel more compelled to engage in self-destructive behaviors or resist treatment.
Though it is confusing for those on the outside to understand, an eating disorder is more like a parasitic being that slowly takes over more and more control than merely a disease of behavior and health. That voice and personification of the eating disorder is not so much metaphorical as it is an incredibly accurate and useful way of conceptualizing a disease that so often becomes difficult to disentangle from one’s true self. A notable percentage of the psychological community has actually proposed that eating disorders be categorized as psychotic disorders due to the extreme level of disconnection with reality.
“It’s totally disgusting, I know, but I had to get it out of me” says Shelly, when speaking of purging through her feeding tube, yet she smiles coquettishly as she says it. I can see behind her eyes that even as she may be embarrassed, her eating disorder is proud and nostalgic. Greenfield gives these women the opportunity to share their most terrible secrets, and though their honesty may seem brave, I know — from my own experience and from the experiences of other women I have known — that eating disorders crave the opportunity to brag, to compete, to shock, to live in the limelight.
One of the reasons it is so hard for many women to give up their eating disorders and embrace the long and arduous process of recovery is that they have grown up or lived much of their lives getting attention, love, and nourishment (in every sense of the word) as a result of being sick. To feed into that (pun intended), to give them yet another stage on which to dwell in the sickness in the form of being the subjects of this film, is neither service to these women nor help for the viewers. It perpetuates the sensationalized image of eating disorders — the gruesome images that, like a car crash one cannot look away from — instead of focusing on recovery, treatment, and prevention. Yes, it is important to know how bad things can get. But to dwell in numbers and behaviors — in short, to dwell in symptoms — is to miss the point and to reduce these women — much like their eating disorders have — to bodies.
I long for an opportunity to tell the story I now know is my more interesting one — not the story of body hatred, of lifelong depression, of self-destruction and of pushing my body and soul to the limits of life. For a long time I thought that was the most interesting thing about me. But it is not. I have also spent the last few years fighting for my life. Not because I was starving myself or throwing up my food but quite the opposite — I have been fighting because I have stopped doing those things.
Having an eating disorder was easy. But recovery gave me a life.
Just as Darryl Roberts’ documentary 
