Inglourious Basterds: nigh time for a Jewish revenge fantasy

My name is Shoshanna Dreyfus… and you’ve seen the face of Jewish vengeance. – Shoshanna Dreyfus

Chris Rock, a politically incorrect comedian with little regards for niceties, once defended the use of a derogatory term for its function of striking the perpetrator where it would hurt the most. I don’t condone violent means of communication, and I don’t think there’s justice in vengeance. I do, however, believe that the desire for justice by violent means is a natural, human, deep seated emotional reaction to a great perceived injury. We are as much the communal rats as we are the killer hawks – our aggression may be channeled through less murderous venues, but it is not a disease to be cured. The high road can only carry us so far before we become completely removed from one of the most impassioned, naked, and organic parts of ourselves. Obviously we can’t have people going around wreaking vengeance however they see fit; eye for an eye makes the world blind, right? We count on our justice system and sometimes karma to give us some closures, but the business of come-uppance isn’t satisfaction-guaranteed. However, what we may not be able to get through non-fiction, we may still be able to get through our fiction, in this case, cinema. That’s where Inglourious Basterds (Tarantino, 2009) came in: delivering the Jewish anger upon those who were most responsible for the great injury. Quentin Tarantino made sure that everyone knew it was a gift born of love for cinema and desire for a good story, and in his good story, come-uppance came with a bloody satisfaction-guaranteed seal.

Although the basterds carried the title of the film, it was equally (if not more) the story of Shoshanna Dreyfus as the Jew survivor cum theatre owner and film lover. After a very intense and thoroughly terrifying opener (uncharacteristically of a serious nature), Tarantino’s latest mash up began its twisted journey with the scene of Shoshanna running for her life, scared, hurt, but determined. The Jews from then on escaped victimhood and proudly proclaimed their stake in a deathly tango with the Nazis. The picture glided along by conversations as much as actions, though discussions of cinematic details may interest only the handful of film enthusiasts in the audience taking delights in seeing recreations of famous spaghetti cinema bits (e.g. The Searchers door). Nevertheless, with Brad Pitt leading the pack of charming cast, Basterds should have no trouble entertaining its mass audience – I should know, having seen it separately with a North American and a French audience, and seeing it equally embraced by both.

As far as vengeance and spaghetti escape films go, the film was unusually weighty, even with its exaggerated effects and humour. The sensitivity surrounding the subject may deter the production of a Jewish revenge fantasy, despite it being such a great premise for a revenge film (great real world injustice with clear baddies and no satisfying resolution or absolution is as ripe as it gets). Perhaps such a story may have needed a removed but interested storyteller, who would treat it with equal giddiness and respect, brusque and sophistication, and a clear grasp on the power of stories to create and recreate. Tarantino, the filmmaker known for synthesis and meta-reference, may just have been the director of choice for such a feat, and he delivered Basterds with much aplomb. Its status as his masterpiece (as he referred to it twice in the film) may be debatable, but the brilliant ending of Basterds had to be one of the most insane, layered and perfectly appropriate sequences committed to film.

Basterds was not for the squeamish or the bleeding heart – there was a scene involving the Bear Jew and a Nazi sergeant that was reminiscent of the gang beating in A Clockwork Orange. Coming from a director who loves women, as indicated by his previous films, it was also a bit surprising to see what happened to the women in this film. Yet, the objectives were clearly far from invoking the most outrage from the audience. I can just imagine Tarantino explaining his film in his usual nerdy excited manner: “it’s a film about hate, alright? But there’s love too, alright? My great, great love, cinema, is used to redress a great act of hate that had no street justice ending. But it’s not going to be nice; it’s going to be thrilling and fun, but also dirty and over the top and emotionally honest. You’re going to enjoy it.” And there are plenty of things to enjoy, unless, of course, you are squeamish or in possession of a serious bleeding heart. Everyone involved on screen seemed to relish the opportunity to flesh out their at once cartoonish and memorable character. If even Diane Kruger could seem interested in her role as the double agent Bridget von Hammersmark, you know this id-driven avenger could not be denied.

Brüno: Putting sex in homosexuals

Sasha Baron Cohen as Bruno, learning to fight off homosexuals

Poor Ron Paul. The esteemed doctor cum 2008 presidential candidate with a dedicate following thought he was being interviewed on the issue of Austrian economics (who knew he was so keen on it?). What awaited him instead when a light suddenly ‘broke’ mid-interview was a flaming homosexual entrapment. Brüno dropped his pants in a seductive dance, and Dr. Paul stormed out of the interview, but not before declaring Brüno to be a queer. Le duh, Ron Paul! Suddenly it was not all theoretical and academic now, was it? The queer guy was in your space, ‘imposing’ his sexuality in what must be the imagined worse case scenario for those who fear the gay epidemic. Where was the politeness, or decency, for straight’s sake?

One could argue that anyone in his situation would have done the same; after all, who wouldn’t be creeped out by a fit man dropping his pants while waiting to go on with the rest of an interview on economics? And following such an incident, one would totally be entitled to fume away in anger and label such a man as a ‘queer.’ That was what was wrong with the whole deal, obviously – that and the fact that he dropped his pants made it all too frighteningly real. Furthermore, it must be taken into account that Dr. Paul was an old man who had never heard of Borat, and the last films he watched were Gone with the Wind and uh, The Sound of Music, both of which were never gay in their (his) time (but are totally flaming now – try admitting that to your friends). Did Sasha Baron Cohen aim too far out in desperation? Was this an instance of unnecessary mean-ness for shock value? What was the point of putting the poor doctor through such a seemingly no-win situation?

On the surface, Brüno was a shockingly vulgar and serious (!) picture intended to poke fun at homophobia. However, Cohen was not satisfied with this singular purpose (one which he nevertheless used to dress the overall veneer of the picture). Simmering just underneath was a commentary at the extent that people would go through to achieve fame in America, whether by latching on to a charity cause or by accessorizing with babies. Few things could be as desperately sad and shockingly appalling as the sequence in which stage parents consented to having their children put through anything for money and fame, even if it meant to have their children being near ‘antiquated machinery’ or dressing up as Nazis in a burn-the-Jews scenario. The irony was that there was a baby in the film – somebody must have consented to have this baby appeared in the same movie as a talking penis! How was that food for thought, Mr. Cohen? And what of banking on one’s flaming sexuality for fame, as Brüno surely now achieves the fame by doing just that? Is Perez Hilton taking notes? Perhaps this was the most astute observation from the film, one that Brüno the film itself was relying on for success – anyone can be a celebrity for any reason, and it really helps to be willful and exhibit no shame about giving what is asked for (in this case, homosexuality, topic du jour).

There may be very good reasons one could cite for not liking this picture without having to admit to being uncomfortable with homosexuality. If it was not the sexual vulgarity then it was the comedy, and both have been used in criticisms regarding the film. Though the outrageous humour remained intact, Brüno was no Borat: lighthearted silliness was almost absent from the film. In place this time around was an absolutely fearless kind of guerrilla comedy, one that was serious, bold, and dangerous (I thought to myself that Mr. Cohen must have had a death wish at several points in the film). There were lots more intended shocks and less emphasis on instantaneous, laugh-o-meter comedy. Not all comedy needed to be so obvious, but different strokes for different folks – one should not feel obligated to laugh out of shock. As for the sexual vulgarity, I would argue that Cohen did the right thing and went all out with all the possible cliche and feared imagined scenarios one could possibly cram in a film. I mean, could one really talk about homosexuality without the sex?

Some people may like to think sexual orientation in ideas, rather than anything to do with sex. When Brüno decided that it may help his celebrity quest if he was straight, he enlisted gay converters to show him the way. One second-stage gay converter started to rattle on about putting up with women’s irritating presence so they could be near women, because it was good for them men, presumably morally and perhaps sexually. Brüno looked genuinely confused – he may be gay but that had nothing to do with being anti-women. It was the sex, stupid, he responded incredulously (okay not in so many words, but you get the gist).  As if that was not clear enough, Brüno struck up a conversation about vaginas with his fellow hunters in his attempt to become straight; what else could they bond over that was ’straight’? In a sequence that surely was staged for effect, Brüno was literally whipped into sexual submission by a caricature of a woman, one that many straight men would masturbate to, judging on the prevalence of such image in the sex industry. Nowhere in the film was there a genuine, sexually desirable woman – but of course, there was no place for her in a film that had nothing to do with her desirability and everything to do with fear of the gays, despite what homophobics may want the public to believe.

One may claim Brüno to have failed, on a personal level, as a comedy. It happens – I laughed a lot, because I’m crude and such. But to the extent that it outraged on sexual vulgarity or made fools of its targets, it had much to applaud for. Sure Dr. Ron Paul, as some people have pointed out, did not object to same sex ‘association,’ but that may have less to do with concerns for equality or acceptance and more to do with his stance regarding the federal government’s role in citizens’ private life. Did he personally think homosexuality was wrong? Who really knows? Does it really matter? Cohen aimed to make it matter, obviously. Empathize with Dr. Paul, if you must, just as you might empathize with other unsuspecting individuals who may have been left a little too exposed for their entitled belief. But satire has never been all that kind. And since homophobics fear sexual relations between same gendered people, it made sense for Brüno to tackle it from an exaggerated sexual frame. If such fear was not the flaming centerpiece, what would be the point of the satire otherwise?

Not your daddy’s little girl

Julia Keller, of Chicago Tribune, wrote about the current crop of unpunished dragon ladies:

They’re not meek. They’re not mild. They do as they please and they don’t play well with others. They’re misfits with moxie. And unlike the powerful female characters of a previous generation, they’re not depicted as witches, shrews, hags, evil stepmothers or shriveled-up spinsters who eventually get their comeuppance.

[...]

The new breed of brash, audacious woman has pushed into literature as well. Lisbeth Salander, heroine of the best-selling mystery novel “The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo,” by the late Stieg Larsson, published last month in paperback by Vintage, is “prickly and irksome” but somehow still alluring: “She was like a nagging itch, repellent and at the same time tempting,” the narrator notes. With her tattoos and her piercings and her heavy boots, she’s no debutante. Instead, she’s a brilliantly efficient investigator. Ditto for Darlene O’Hara in Peter De Jonge’s “Shadows Still Remain” (2009), a sassy woman who breaks rules and gets results.

To be sure, strong women characters have been around for centuries. Antigone was no slouch, and if you knew what was good for you, you didn’t mess with Lady Macbeth. But what’s new about the current pack of powerful females is that by and large they’re not punished for their bold, pushy ways. They get by with their brassiness. From the singer Pink to Jada Pinkett Smith — who plays a purposeful, principled nurse in the new cable series “Hawthorne” — such women aren’t forced to apologize for forthrightness and verve.

[...]

Nowadays, many female characters are both pugnacious and popular. Even with a smart mouth and comically poor housekeeping skills, Hunter’s character in “Saving Grace” is not exactly hard up for male companionship. She has a rich and varied social life. She’s a party girl, able to knock back a half-dozen Budweisers and fill up a trio of ashtrays in a single night, but somehow she’s on time for work the next morning. McCormack’s character in “In Plain Sight” is notoriously short-tempered and ill-mannered, but if you’re in trouble, you want her in your corner. And she’s dating a handsome pro athlete. In the current film “Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian,” Amy Adams portrays Amelia Earhart as bold, dauntless, daring — and sexually aggressive with Ben Stiller’s character. The self-confident Stephanie (Sandra Oh) in the 2004 film “Sideways” has no problem speaking her mind — or filling her dance card.

Why are such women showing up on our screens, pages and iPods? Tracking down a single tap root for a cultural shift is always tricky, but many of the works featuring powerful, alluring female characters — such as “Nurse Jackie” and “Saving Grace” — are created or produced by women.

Seeing that women are starting to show up in important places, the expectation may have become exceedingly high – you’re going to have to bake your cake and eat it too. Perhaps my expectation regarding the strong modern woman has been set at this level of success that it was particularly startling to see how Christine in Dragged Me To Hell was depicted in the film. It should be noted that these fierce women Keller spoke of already possessed some power to level the playing field within their context. When you have to climb your way up – keeping in mind the need to appear as a good and competent person like Christine did in the film – perhaps bulldozing wouldn’t be the preferred route. Being mindful of others’ feelings and strategic about when to speak up may still be the smart way towards movement, lateral or vertical. However, due to the increased exposure to loud and successful women, perhaps in time people would be more at ease with (rather than frightened by) women taking the bull by the horn. I know that part of my being able to work with strong willed women has to do with my attributing their tenacious manner to their personal characteristic (of a willful individual) rather than ‘taking it personally.’ Doing so may  prevent unnecessary ego injury or the imposing of moral compass, which people tend to fall into when dealing with these women. This is an up side of growing up with a strong willed woman – familiarity breeds content (or just specific competence)? Increased acceptance may eventually make the idea of ‘having it all’ less a fantasy for these women – until then, it may pose as another oppressive ideal that women feel they must live up to, being aggressive and successful, just like ‘that woman on TV.’

A modern woman dragged to hell

Alison Lohman in Drag Me To Hell

Drag Me To Hell (Raimi, 2009) opens this weekend as a counter-programming film to Disney/Pixar’s Up. For a horror film, especially considering the current crop of films in that genre, its PG-13 rating seemed a little suspect. How can a good horror film have anything less than a presumably envelop-pushing R-rating? What of violence and nudity that make up most of the genre? By the time our heroin, Christine Brown (Alison Lohman), engaged in her first battle with the woman who would be placing a curse upon her (Mrs. Ganush, played with ferocity and a sense of fun by Lorna Raver), it was clear that what the film may lack in nudity and gore, it made up for it in humour and over-the-top grossed out goobs.

To be sure, there was not much here in term of plot (as expected in the genre): Christine was a loan officer who, in an attempt to prove her worthiness to her boss, made a decision to shelf away compassion (or was it really guilt?) and deny an old gypsy woman of another chance to live out the rest of her life in comfort and dignity. As an act of vengeance against what she saw as a deliberate attempt to shame her, Mrs. Ganush, after an outrageously funny and suspenseful cat fight with Christine, placed a wretched curse upon her. Christine then met with a psychic, Rham Jas (Dileep Rao) who was not only knowledgeable of the curse but also knew of whom she should ask for help from – at a negotiated price of the cold cash variety. Much haunting ensued within the three days that Chrsitine had left to prevent having her soul dragged to hell by an invisible Lamia. Of course, there was also a twist ending (that we could see miles away, but it was deliciously satisfying, nevertheless), and its conclusion underlined a strong moral statement the film seemed to take a vested interest in.

The Raimi brothers knew how to imbue their picture with a sense of humour while remaining true to the traditions of the genre. This difficult balance – winking while running on adrenaline – played itself out not only with the way the picture was filmed (music, gags, cheesy lines and sound effects were in full force, intermittently interrupted by the still scenes and slow tracking shots) but also in our heroin, Christine. Women are one of horror’s favourite subjects – most of the genre could be argued to have been built on the strength of women’s thighs and other close-by regions.  If the central character happened to be of the female variety, she would be expected to have the audience’s sympathy at least by the end of the film. Our horrified heroin is often violated against in some manners, and she would often have the higher moral ground compared to our villain(ess). In Christine, the Raimi brothers threw in their best twist and most biting comment in the film yet.

Christine was very much a picture of a modern woman, a determined social climber who, on sheer will and smarts, had gone from a chubby pork queen of a farm girl to a candidate for an assistant manager at a bank, with a young and devoted professor of psychology as her boyfriend (his name, Clay, suggested a certain boring malleability though – Justin Long was perfectly cast for once). In her first fight with Mrs. Ganush, after locking down her car windows and watching the old woman flail seemingly helplessly against the glass, she yelped victoriously from inside the car: “I BEAT you!” She was eager for self-congratulations throughout the film – she wanted so badly to beat the odds that she would prematurely celebrate any inroads. There was a certain glee in her tenaciousness and willingness to go the necessary distance to survive. No doubt in her mind she was a worthwhile heroin who would overcome and rise above life obstacles. The events that unfolded would show her to not be completely in sync with what she would like to think of herself, however.

Popmatters’ 100 Essential Female Performances

The list here.

Second, I wanted to avoid the usual clichés, the performances that people expect to be on a list of “most important” female film performances—but several of those requisite turns actually are so good that they absolutely warrant a blip on every film lover’s radar. This list, then, can also function as a gentle reminder that there are some films and performances that should not be ignored (hint! hint!), no matter how well-known or popular.

So, while the overwhelming critical consensus might dictate that the buxom figure of Bette Davis’ Margot Channing be affixed to the mast of the “Best Actress” ship for her untouchable work in All About Eve, she is included here, instead, for a claws-out tour-de-force that merits more attention: Regina Giddens in The Little Foxes. My intention in a case such as that one is not to be a contrarian, but to highlight some of the excellent work that too often slips through the cracks; work that is equally important in understanding the role of women in film history. So while Vivien Leigh makes the list for her iconic Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind (and what list of unforgettable female characters can exist without Leigh’s inclusion?), it isn’t out of obligation, its because she deserves to be there for a performance that is so well-put together, it holds up nearly seventy years later.

I love reading lists in which the writer(s) take some time to explain the merit of the inclusion. This list is generally a pleasurable read, so don’t just skim through for recognizable name. There are some sketchy inclusions (Marisa Tomei for The Wrestler, really?), some interesting but head-scratching picks (to me? Margaret Hamilton as the Witch in the Wizard of Oz?), and some unforgivable omissions (Gong Li’s absence is seriously jarring). But what lists wouldn’t have some of those? So forget the complaints, here are a few notable things I love about this particular list:

• No ranking! I like the categories they are organized under, and each actor got  her own due attention. How very laterally thoughtful of them.
• It’s a great reminder that there are so many great female performances that often get swept under the rug in favour of some male acting chops. Really, can you get a much better dramedy performance than Giulietta Masina in Nights of Cabiria?
• They cheated with Wit! It’s technically a television miniseries, innit? Emma Thompson was breathtaking in it though. I don’t know why I love that they cheated with this particular performance? Sneaky, they are.
• Much love for the inclusion of Oksana Akinshina in the little seen Lilya 4-Ever. It’s this kind of small-but-not-forgotten attribute that makes this list a pleasure to go through. And of course, the tribute itself.
• A whole section dedicated to the great Liv Ullman, one of the notable faces intricately tied to Bergman cinema. And there’s also this little gem quoted in the piece: “What I learned from Ingmar is really is if you have a lily, as an actor, you don’t try to make that actor into a rose. You water the lily so it comes to its full bloom.” *heart*

Maybe we can generate a list of our own some time in the near future, when we get our act together. Heh.