Month: November 2018

The Agency of the Teenage Girl: Laurel Dallas and Betty Friedan

In many ways, Stella Dallas seems like a film that respects and realizes the full complexities of womanhood in an aggressively patriarchal society. Our primary protagonist, Stella, is ambitious and independent from the beginning. She is young and poor with few opportunities, but she brings herself up through the social hierarchy via marriage to a wealthy man. She desires the same for her daughter, Laurel, and dedicates herself to making sure Laurel always exemplifies everything that a woman should be. In spite of her careful tailoring of Laurel’s future, the film continually emphasizes how much Stella loves her daughter, and Laurel loves her mother.

Stella never truly fits into her role as a bourgeois woman. She never completely looks the part, and she comes to the conclusion that the last thing holding Laurel back from recognizing the future Stella wants for her is Stella herself. Once Stella divorces Laurel’s father, she sends Laurel to live with him, much to Laurel’s disappointment. When Laurel learns she won’t be returning to her mother, she runs back, intent on staying with her mother. Stella, in turn, lies to Laurel and concocts the cruelest of manipulations-that she is marrying the predatory, drunken Ed Munn, she doesn’t want Laurel anymore and she is moving far away-to force Laurel into the restrictive societal role of her father’s and new stepmother’s sphere.

In one way, it is a demonstration of Stella’s agency and sacrifice. She believes she is doing what is best for Laurel, and the ending, featuring Stella’s observing Laurel’s fancy wedding through a window, is supposed to make the audience agree that Stella did the right thing. Here Laurel is, living her best life, all thanks to Stella’s sacrifice.

Consequently, though, the film consistently steamrolls Laurel’s agency as a teenage girl. She consistently, explicitly states what she wants and why she wants it. She tells us how Munn makes her uncomfortable long before he shows up drunk and toting a bird carcass at Christmas. She knows exactly how Stella is different from the other women in their class, but she chooses her anyway. There is little about the situations presented by the film that Laurel doesn’t understand. Only at the end, when Stella explicitly lies to her, does Laurel not make a fully informed decision. She is supposedly a silly child in a way that the film’s men, of any age, are not.

All Stella’s desires for Laurel, even though they are expressed as the desires of a woman for the success of another, are created and fueled by the patriarchy. This phenomenon is dissected in “The Problem That Has No Name” from Betty Friedan’s 1963 The Feminine Mystique. Friedan describes the archetypical woman who “made the beds, shopped for groceries, matched slipcover material, ate peanut butter sandwiches with her children, chauffeured Cub Scouts and Brownies, [and] lay beside her husband at night”. Laurel’s dissatisfaction with the prospect of that life in exchange for her mother is completely dismissed as the fancies of a silly little girl. Stella truly knows what’s best for her, the film tells us, and it’s her sacrificing her daughter that is the worthwhile tragedy. Laurel is simply a pawn-one Stella cares about, to be sure-in a long game to satisfy the patriarchy. Throughout the film, no one listens to Laurel.

Though it was released twenty-five years prior to the publishing of The Feminine Mystique, Stella Dallas answers directly to the observations Friedan makes about the lost period between suffrage and the symbolic end of first-wave feminism, and this new text itself and the symbolic beginning to second-wave feminism.

Betty Friedan asks, “‘Is this all?’” Stella herself answers, yes, it is.

From the perspectives we can take from Audre Lorde’s The Uses of the Erotic, we can view these two pieces, The Woman’s Film and  Four Women as two opposing ways to express the erotic.

The Woman’s Film builds up an air of revolution and revolutionary speech, in a direct implementation of the ideas of Lorde, slowly progressing the film into the use of more and more revolutionary speech, relating to Lorde’s thesis in the form of gradually releasing “the erotic” from the interviewees of the film, a statement on the nature of revolution and/or revolutionary speech: that it must be done gradually. In The Woman’s Film, less revolutionary, more commonly articulated thoughts fade into and blend with more revolutionary speech (even blatantly advocating violent revolution in response to the violence against women and minorities). In this way, The Woman’s Film presents a vision against the spontaneity of eroticism, for the sake of avoiding alienation of audiences. However, this does not mean that The Woman’s Film avoids the heaviest parts of revolutionary speech from women altogether. It still presents a narrative of radical speech that is still representative of the full expression of radical thought by oppressed women; eroticism to the fullest extent of radicalism.

Four Women, on the other hand, expresses eroticism as radical expression in the form of a much more artistic vision, which is often more linked to the vector of erotic expression as sexuality, especially in the form of dance. Four Women combines many forms of expression deeply linked to the erotic: powerfully vocally-based soul music, solo dance, solo dance, artistically deliberate use of color in cinematography, and even the intrinsic nature of the lyrics themselves. The vocals of Nina Simone are deeply powerful (as expected of a powerful singer of her calibre) and express power from the strong voice that is put behind each note and verse, plunging the audience into the depths of the singer’s most intimate feelings, a form of intimacy that breaks through layers upon layers of repression of deeper expression as articulated by Lorde. The solo dance is especially expressive of deeper emotions, as the dancer is sharing their expression directly with the audience an expression similar to The Woman’s Film‘s form of interview; a solitary act of defiance and expression. The use of color in Four Women visually brings the audience deep into the intimate setting as well, as the film is s

et on a deep red background, accentuating the silhouettes of the dancer to intentionally focus on the flowing, morphing form of the dancer. The lyrics further express the intrinsic, erotically expressive film, as they tell of the most readily perceived and readily caricatured features of women as they are compartmentalized into their race, yet are still individuals, as Simone’s lyrics focus on the features of the women (“My skin is black/My arms are long/My hair is woolly[…]My skin is yellow/My hair is long[…]My skin is tan/My hair is fine”), but gives the women names, or at least names that they are perceived as (“My name is Aunt Sarah/My name is Saffronia/My name is Sweet Thing/My name is Peaches”). Julie Dash expressed the lyrics through the choreography and performance of L. Martina Young, as four different women, expressing radical, erotic, intimate dances that each persona represents. Though the dancer is just one woman, she expresses the deepest, most radical, yet intuitive thoughts of many women. Lorde would respond to this as an attempt to capture—through Simone’s Four Women—the subverted experiences of many women in the form of an explosively erotic performance (a method of releasing the suppressed erotic singularity that Lorde describes as cathartic and even necessary).

Ultimately, Four Women and The Woman’s Film both attempt to express that which is erotic, the subverted, the repressed, but the very radical of many women at once; the former through the artistic expression of a group of women, and the latter through the narrative/verbal expression of a group of women. Both of which express ideas to be representative of many, but one gradually and the other explosively.

After a few weeks of thinking about the films and texts we have read and watched so far this semester, it is clear how some of the readings connect with the films, but some of the connections are more complicated. One of these seemingly simple connections that we have seen this semester is between the reading of Pamela Robertson Wojcik, “‘We Like Our Apartment’: The Playboy Indoors” and Laurie Ouellette, “Inventing the Cosmo Girl” and watching Pillow Talk. It was interesting to read the Playboy article and understand the importance of a person’s space and how this represented their personhood, or their ideal personhood, especially for men. This was evident in the film through the focus on Brad’s apartment; while Jan had an equally impressive, if not more impressive home, the emphasis and transformation was viewed through Brad’s Playboy-esque apartment. However, I thought the combination of the Playboy article and the Cosmo girl article was what was truly interesting in the screening of Pillow Talk.

These two articles, in the context of their time and in the context of the film, seemed to highlight the difference in how men and women represented themselves. I am not sure if “represented” is the exactly correct term, but it seems that these two articles look into how men and women differed in projecting themselves to society. For men, as the Playboy article suggests and as Brad corroborated in Pillow Talk, the emphasis lies in their dwellings and where and how they live. It was these assets they used to impress their company, male but especially female. Through this way of projecting themselves, they can indicate their style, interests, and most importantly, their salary. While this seems obvious, it is interesting that the same emphasis is not put on the woman’s home. This film and the Cosmo Girl article suggest that their representation of themselves is confined to their own bodies. As we know, unfortunately, so much a woman’s value is dependent on her appearance, and it is interesting to see this come into play with the contrast between males’ representation and females’. The significance of a woman’s appearance is not a new discovery, but it is interesting that it does not seem that women during this time period were enabled to use other means to represent themselves. It as though they don’t have the agency or empowerment to exist outside their own bodies; whereas males and male characters during this time projected themselves onto every surface they own.

This is an even more interesting scenario when put in context with the fact that women are so closely associated with or confined to the home. I found this concept rather confusing or complicated, but as I thought about it more thoroughly, it (almost) made sense. During this time period, men had majority ownership and empowerment over almost all aspects of social and financial life, but as an archetype for single women, Jan represents how these women are valued and viewed by society. Of course, this is a relatively idealistic viewing of single women during this time, given that she is beautiful and gainfully self-employed. However, it is still evident that her value is still so much confined to her body by how the emphasis is put on her body and how she dresses; while the male is allowed to project himself onto everywhere he goes. But when the woman is married and becomes a part of a family, her identity is projected within the home because that is where she is expected to be, and that is where her societal role is. It is as if there is a role reversal upon marriage, where the woman takes over the space of the home and is now responsible for the appearance of that space while the man’s appearance outside the home and how he presents himself to the rest of the world outside his family.

Carmen Miranda: A Subject of Dissection

In Week 1, we read James Mandrell’s “Carmen Miranda Betwixt and Between, Or, Neither Here Nor There” followed by a screening of The Gang’s All Here. In his article, Mandrell argues that Miranda’s character is part of a “general queerness in US culture during the decades following World War II, when this persona achieves a camp apotheosis with the diffusion of television in the 1950’s”. Additionally, he suggests that Miranda eventually becomes a political object used to bridge cultures and identity. This is the point I would like to emphasize and analyze about Miranda.

Carmen Miranda is interesting because she became so welcomed in US households given her reputation in movies and television. She became a household name and bridged entry into a world exclusively white and predominantly male. She became part of a system whose very essence excludes her culture and identity. How did she do it? Rather, why did audiences receive her so well?

I have trouble answering this question because I find a very peculiar hypocrisy in viewership relating to latin characters like Miranda. As a Brazilian and a latina, Miranda’s character is accepted and applauded. Her accent is marveled and she is fetishized in a way white women are not as well as being a product of a male-oriented viewership. This is contrasted by a growing resentment of latinx people in the US during the same time period. While Miranda’s character is laughed at and entertaining viewership inside, the Zoot Suit riots are occurring outside.

Rather than a straight hypocrisy in perception of latinxs, it is more of a selectivity. Viewers are selecting the parts of latin identity that they want to accept as well as the parts of Miranda’s femininity. It takes on notes like these: “ I like Miranda’s accent because she is a character I see on TV and I have a semi-ownership of her I don’t like the accents of Mexican Americans living in this country because they are “otherly” and foreign.”

It becomes a dissection. Viewers are dissecting characters and real-life versions of those identities and genders to cater to their view. It is rooted in a power dynamic of oppressed and oppressor. On the side of oppressor is white male (and partly female) viewership who taken upon a pseudo-ownership of characters through their allowance and existence in their screens. Carmen Miranda is given a pass despite her identity to be on screen, so long as she can amuse and remind viewers of their dominance over other countries (in this case, Brasil). Miranda’s representation of the Good Neighbor Policy and her humorous nature allows for U.S viewers to feel some form of safety regarding U.S. –  Brazil relations. Though there was never a conflicting nature to these two countries, Miranda alleviates the “otherly” view of Brazil that U.S. viewership exhibits. However, in doing so, caricatures of latinx people and latin women/women in general are created.

This viewership takes the parts they like and chastise the parts they don’t. Usually these parts are related to similarity. If the character for some reason assimilates to US culture they get a thumbs up but the opposite is true when they character is strongly another culture. We see this in characters like Sofia Vergara welcomed in Modern Family for her very Miranda-like character. The opposite can be seen by just turning on the news.

In terms of gender, viewers are selecting the part of Miranda’s femininity that they like and making fun of the ones that they don’t, or is socially acceptable. Miranda’s promiscuous flirtation is emphasized and gawked at both on screen and on stage in the film.  This can be seen by the contrast with Mrs. Peyton, who has a show-biz past but is now a loving wife. It is as if the film is suggesting that sexuality does not align with traditional family values and ideals.

What strikes me too is that everything I’m typing right now is not exclusively related to Miranda. She is followed by decades of latin stereotypes and tropes perpetuated in media. Miranda’s character extends beyond itself and reveals a still present selectivity in identities, cultures, and genders that we see on screen. They too now are also used in some grander political context. The society we live in is reflected on screen. Our perceptions and ideas of other cultures, both the good and the bad, are reflected on screen. It is a world primarily aligned with male viewership and comes at the expense of accurate representation. It is a world both reflected and contrasted by the real world. There is power in portrayal and an equal power in viewership.