52 Films By Women: Growing Up Milwaukee (2020)

growing up milwaukee onm.jpg

By Andrea Thompson

Full disclosure: I not only resided in Milwaukee for many years, Tyshun Wardlaw, the director of “Growing Up Milwaukee,” was also a 2020 Film Girl Film Festival juror. I don’t exactly promise to be objective in these columns, seeing how objectivity has been dead for years, but this one is going to be more personal than most.

When you’re making a film about a city with a zip code that has the highest incarceration rates for Black men in the country, the first task is to not only get behind the numbers, but beyond them. Do so and various factoids are so unnecessary as to become meaningless. Sure, there’s all the scientific data that tells of the biological toll of repeated exposure to violence, but such dry details are only necessary for those who’ve not only never seen anyone get shot, but could feasibly go years without seeing a gun that’s not on some sort of screen.

Milwaukee is that kind of city, and Tyshun Wardlaw wastes little time exploring just what Marquell, Tiana, and Brandon are up against in her documentary “Growing Up Milwaukee.” They may not meet on-screen, but three teenagers have a lot in common, having grown up in areas that routinely see the worst of what Milwaukee has to offer. 

The various community leaders don’t mince words either, whether they’re speaking directly to the camera or the kids they’re trying to help, laying out their options clearly enough. In the clip below, one makes his case while holding a funeral program in one hand and the Malcolm X’s autobiography in the other in a pretty stark message about what awaits his young listeners if they don’t rewrite the narrative that’s been laid out for them, both from the neighborhood itself or the outside forces that routinely depict them as misguided criminals at best, savages at worst.

But as “Growing Up Milwaukee” knows, simple choices aren’t always so simple. Wardlaw, a longtime Milwaukee resident herself, has clearly been doing the work for a long time. It shows in the ease with which she quietly records talks where participants grapple with abandonment, rape, and suicide as they struggle to navigate lives that seem to constantly lead them towards a fatal, predetermined end point. 

Perhaps that’s why “Growing Up Milwaukee” almost seems like a kind of guide for finding the way back from trauma, with discussions about building trust back with family and friends at times feeling like detours with a somewhat lack of follow through. You always respect the goal though, which is to humanize her subjects rather than transform them into objects of pity or disdain. 

And we feel for them each time Marquell, Tiana, and Brandon fail to follow through on who they want to be so spectacularly. Progress is there, and more often found in the people around them who’ve arrived at a place of peace and stability, but Wardlaw isn’t interested in giving her audiences an easy uplift, as anyone familiar with her work or previous short film “Hummingbird: A Sister's Courage” can attest. But anyone uninitiated might be shocked at just how tenuous any real gain feels. It’s clear that the young people she follows have greatness in them, but just whether they’ll get the chance to fulfill that greatness is a constant question.

In other words? Just as there are no easy uplifting moments, there are no easy answers. But the conversation is necessary, and often overlooked due to Milwaukee’s proximity to Chicago, which is (rightly) called out for its racism and high murder rate far more often. But as a longtime resident of Milwaukee who now resides in Chicago, the very real segregation in the former tends to dwarf the latter, at least in my experience. It’s not that the system is any less racist in Chicago, it’s that Milwaukee lacks key elements of Chicago’s more redeeming features, such as a reliable and widespread public transportation system and a tradition of Democratic leadership. 

The result is that much of the worst elements of what America has to offer is magnified in a smaller environment that carefully insulates the privileged from their role in the suffering of those outside of the very deliberately, carefully constructed communities which are segregated not just by race, but class. If the city of Milwaukee hasn’t been held accountable as it should be, then a documentary like “Growing Up Milwaukee,” which not only explores the problem but is widely available on a major streaming service, is hopefully a sign of better things to come.

Growing Up Milwaukee is currently streaming on HBO Max.

52 Films By Women: Compensation (1999)

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Screenshot

By Andrea Thompson

“Compensation” is the kind of boldly independent experimental film that makes me rage and moan at the long and productive career of an artist that wasn’t. You’d think I would somehow find better ways at coping with this, but one of the most bittersweet experiences I have as a writer is to watch and appreciate a beautiful film like this...and to know that the director wasn’t given much opportunity afterwards.

It’s not that director Zeinabu irene Davis hasn’t done other things, both before and since. But they’ve been few and far between, and she has not been granted the creative opportunities she clearly earned. Seriously, how many more times must I mourn? 

And this one feels more personal than most. The 1999 black and white film “Compensation” isn’t just a love letter to love, it’s an ode to Chicago, the city I reside in and one Davis clearly has a great affection for. It’s not just that the entire plot takes place there, it occurs during two different time periods, at the beginning and end of the twentieth century.

Both are seen through the eyes of two very different couples, and primarily follow two Black Deaf women, Malindy Brown and Malaika Brown, who find love with a hearing man, Arthur Jones and Nico Jones, respectively. Played by the same set of actors, Michelle A. Banks and John Earl Jelks, both find their romances in danger thanks to the diseases of the day, tuberculosis and AIDS.

For this unique love story, Davis doesn’t just make fun, creative considerations for the Deaf community with her use of Silent Era title cards and vintage photos, both of ordinary people and activists, she portrays her non-hearing characters with a sensitivity rarely seen. We see this community through the eyes of the people within it, not by how they’re perceived by those who can hear, which, as “Compensation” reminds us, isn’t always positive. If we may dislike that some of Malaika’s friends disapprove of her dating a hearing person, we mostly understand why they do, even as Nico treats her with loving kindness and respect.

There’s less understanding and time spent in the past, which fills a bit like filler as time goes on, since the objections more revolve around Arthur, a recent arrival from the South as part of the Great Migration, being beneath the more educated Malindy. So it’s hardly surprising that Malaika and Nico steal the show while giving us a fun view of Chicago and Black culture with humor and a great sense of the city’s rhythms, while also flipping the switch on a whole lot of romantic tropes.

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Screenshot

Contrary to the usual way of suffering, saintly women catching TB, it’s the hardworking Arthur in the past who catches the very non-romanticized disease, while, unlike the most cinematic portrayals of AIDS, it’s Malaika who is HIV positive. It’s rare enough to see films address women living with HIV, but it’s even rarer to see a Black woman do so, let alone a Black Deaf woman who is seen as a complex character rather than a suffering one-dimensional caricature who’s in need of saving. 

That these women can’t always surmount the obstacles to their love is heartbreaking, but the most remarkable thing about “Compensation” is how love is always worth the risk, even if it may include a devastating fallout. 

Compensation is streaming on The Criterion Channel.

Film Girl Film's Top 10 Films Directed By Women In 2020

By Andrea Thompson

It’s been a very odd year, and we didn’t get nearly as many films directed by women as we should have. But we still got enough for 2020 to be an embarrassment of riches, with the expected comic book action movie to a father-daughter love story (hey there was more than one of those), as well as a mother-daughter one, a feminist crime drama, and plenty of ruminations on the evasiveness of the American Dream and whether it ever existed in the first place. Here’s our our list of the 10 best films directed by women in 2020.

10. Birds of Prey

Warner Bros. Entertainment

Warner Bros. Entertainment

Hell hath no fury like a Harley scorned in this fantastic film. Margot Robbie is clearly having a blast as Harley Quinn, who literally fights her way to empowerment after she parts ways with the Joker and finds herself unprotected and with a target on her back as a whole lot of people come gunning for revenge. But the biggest threat turns out to be the crime lord Roman (Ewan McGregor, hamming it up and also loving it), a toxic, psychotic man child who enjoys peeling off the faces of his enemies. Things only get better when Harley decides to protect Cassandra (Ella Jay Basco), the kid she’s tasked with delivering to Roman, and teams up with three other, equally deadly women: Huntress (Mary Elizabeth Winstead), Black Canary (Jurnee Smollett), and Renee Montoya (Rosie Perez). And the costumes are as fabulous as they are practical. Hair ties included.

9. Crip Camp

Sundance.org

Sundance.org

Cheating a bit with this one, since it’s just co-directed by a woman, but “Crip Camp” more than earns its place on this list, not just for its almost unbelievably uplifting depiction of how hard and how long people with disabilities had to fight for the considerations we now take for granted, but just how much this documentary manages to encompass. Beginning with the camp of the title, an unorthodox summer camp for disabled teenagers which transformed the lives of everyone who attended, “Crip Camp” follows the attendees for years after as many became activists and fought for their rights. When it was first screened at Sundance, many had tears in their eyes by the end, and every drop was earned.

8. The Half Of It

Netflix

Netflix

To watch “The Half of It” is to be awed by the sheer creativity Alice Wu had stored up since her last film, the groundbreaking 2004 lesbian romcom “Saving Face.” When the teenage Ellie Chu (Leah Lewis) agrees to write a love letter on behalf of jock Paul Munsky (Daniel Diemer) to his crush Aster Flores (Alexxis Lemire), she doesn’t expect to become Paul’s friend or fall in love with Aster in a meeting of two passionately creative minds, with references to everything from “The Philadelphia Story” to “The Remains of the Day.” As “The Half of It” warns, this may not be a story where anyone gets what they want, but this unconventional love triangle proves more nourishing than most, even as the film warns of love’s potential to bring out the worst as well as the best in us.

7. Nomadland

Searchlight Pictures

Searchlight Pictures

Chloé Zhao explored and dissected the myth of the American cowboy in her 2017 film “The Rider,” and she once again digs deep in “Nomadland” to subvert the idea of the pioneer through the modern nomad community. When Fern (Frances McDormand) loses everything in the Great Recession, even her zip code, she takes to the road in search of her next paycheck, braving the elements and connecting with others who share her wanderlust. Far from a dour, depressing portrait of victimized people, “Nomadland” is a compassionate and insightful exploration of an America and a culture where basic security is proving more and more evasive, with characters who shatter our expectations and occasionally break our hearts.

6. I’m Your Woman

Amazon Studios

Amazon Studios

It’s still a radical prospect to build an entire film about a character who would normally spend it quivering in fear in the most ineffective way possible, and that’s if she was fortunate enough to avoid tragically dying so the male hero could begin his journey. But in “I’m Your Woman,” director Julia Hartmakes Jean (Rachel Brosnahan) the hero(ine) of her own story and this one. In a classic feminist premise, Jean is a homemaker who remains willfully ignorant of her husband’s activities, which in this case are very illegal. But her stability is shattered when he betrays his partners and she’s forced to go on the run with her infant son. On her own for the first time, Jean becomes a force to be reckoned with, and Hart handily avoids cheesy soapbox moments and romanticizing her new circumstances as Jean fights to save her family and reclaim her life in a drama where the term desperate housewife takes on new meaning.

5. Dick Johnson Is Dead

Sundance Institute

Sundance Institute

Creativity surely runs Kirsten Johnson’s family, since she and her father Dick Johnson took a very unusual, compelling route to facing death. As the omens of her father’s impending demise become more apparent, Kirsten and Richard decided to make a film where she regularly staged and filmed some very strange, mostly fatal accidents befalling Richard. Richard is bafflingly game as he cheerfully indulges his daughter’s dark humor, and they both discuss their various approaches to life, death, and knowingly prepare for the final event which will ultimately part one of the most lovable on-screen father-daughter duos of all time.

4. The Assistant

Bleecker Street Media

Bleecker Street Media

The eye of the storm can often seem like a calm, peaceful place, one where the waters raging outside have little to do with us. But over the course of a single day, as Jane (Julia Garner) performs a series of mostly demeaning tasks for an unseen, powerful executive, she sees too many signs for her to ignore. The parallels to Weinstein are obvious, but director Kitty Green would rather center those caught up in a system that willingly enables toxicity and a supply of fresh victims to powerful predators.

3. Cuties

Sundance

Sundance

Few would wish the kind of press that “Cuties” garnered upon its release, which managed to almost completely obscure the fact that it’s a beautiful film about a girl trying to find her way in a world of extremes. 11-year-old Amy (Fathia Youssouf) and her mother are awaiting their father’s return from Senegal...and his new wife, who will marry him in their home. Witnessing her mother’s pain and grappling with her own impending womanhood, Amy is drawn to a dance group of girls her own age, and is soon leading them in performing increasingly provocative routines. A complex portrait of girlhood under pressure from various forces, Amy’s rebellion is less about finding a community than finding a home where she can be herself in a world that is attempting to objectify her at every turn.

2. Miss Juneteenth

Sundance Institute

Sundance Institute

There’s a history that hums in Channing Godfrey Peoples’s film, one which speaks of the legacy of racism, slavery, how Black women occupy spaces in their communities while often functioning as unconventional leaders. But the real core of the film is the mother-daughter love story, which endures despite the differences between single mother Turquoise (Nicole Beharie), a former winner of the titular pageant, and her teenage daughter Kai (Alexis Chikaeze), who is competing to be the next Miss Juneteenth at her mother’s insistence despite her clear reluctance. If the story is familiar, Peoples makes all the difference as she brings an entire community to life from a perspective that’s clearly that of an insider.

1. First Cow

A24

A24

The American Dream has taken something of a beating lately, but seldom have its dark undercurrents been explored with such unflinching insight and compassion than in Kelly Reichardt’s “First Cow.” The barely settled 1820s Northwest seems like fertile ground for two friends eager to make their fortune, only to discover how little remains for them. What unfolds becomes a twisted inversion of a rags to riches story, but Reichardt always centers the genuine, caring bond between the two men, which always shines brighter than the cruelty around them.










2020 Film Girl Film Festival Winners Announced

The winners of the 2020 Film Girl Film Festival have been announced. They are as follows…

Jury Award for Best Feature: The Dilemma of Desire

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Jury Award for Best Short Film: Sundays at the Triple Nickel

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Best Milwaukee Feature: Ringolevio

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Best Milwaukee Short: A Period Piece

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Thank you so much to everyone who participated, and congratulations to all the winners!

52 Films By Women: D.E.B.S. (2004)

SYFY Wire

SYFY Wire

By Andrea Thompson

The 2004 film “D.E.B.S.” is one of those deeply silly gems that was unfairly panned, both critically and commercially, but was subsequently rewarded with cult status once the dust settled. 

In a sense, it’s easy to see why so many were disappointed. The movie’s trailer and marketing teased a comedic, action-packed espionage adventure with girls in short skirts that poked fun both at itself and the action genre. And it’s not that “D.E.B.S.” doesn’t deliver the laughs and even the action, but at its heart, “D.E.B.S.” is a love story dressed up in action movie tropes.

The premise is that girls known as D.E.B.S. are trained in espionage at a paramilitary academy. They’re recruited via a hidden test in the SATs, which measures someone’s aptitude for the spy life. And what qualities, according to the movie, makes someone an ideal candidate? The ability to “lie, cheat, fight, and kill.” Such a cynical view of what is essentially government work is rather bold for a time when mindless patriotism was at an all-time high, even if the organization seems to have the usual goal of beating bad guys bent on destruction. Or in this case, bad girl, Lucy Diamond (Jordana Brewster).

With such a premise, it’s surprising that the action and the espionage itself falls rather short, and it’s not just due to budgetary constraints. The early 2000s was not a good time for film, given that a conservative brand of sleaze reigned supreme and CGI was just starting to really come into its own, giving studios shortcuts they hadn’t had access to previously, often at the detriment to things like storytelling and character. And the effects in D.E.B.S. haven’t aged especially well, even if they remain fun, and include components such as a plaid force field to shield their school/training facility.

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But the action sequences tend to lack urgency and suspense, and they’re actually rather boring. The love story is the interesting part, and it’s both a product of its time and ahead of it. Sure, sexual tension between a hero and their antagonist isn’t new by any stretch, but it is rare for both of them to be women. 

In true spy fashion, the two meet on a stakeout, where Amy (Sara Foster) is a top recruit, and actually the only one at the academy to get a perfect score, while Lucy is the villain who inherited a crime empire from her family, and has recently reappeared with plans to meet up with a Russian assassin. The logical next step is a dastardly plan, but as Amy discovers when she’s separated from her team and encounters Lucy, the meeting was actually a blind date. It went terrible, but sparks immediately fly between Lucy and Amy, and Lucy is soon abducting Amy at gunpoint to go on a date, and robbing a bank so she has another excuse to meet up with her. Such is their connection that Amy actually ends up running off with Lucy for a week, kicking off a montage of cute relationship moments, with the rest of the organization assuming Amy’s been captured.

The fallout is bound to come, and it’s brutal even before the rest of the D.E.B.S. find Amy and Lucy in bed together. Writer-director Angela Robinson, who is gay herself and typically includes LGBTQ themes in her films, makes it clear that much of her friends’ disgust with her isn’t just due to Amy falling for a villain, but falling for a female one. That someone who previously identified as straight and dated men in the past would suddenly fall for someone of the same gender is incomprehensible. Even if most eventually come around, and one even keeps her secret for as long as she can, Amy is also called a gay slut and a whore, and she insists she’s not gay, even as her attraction to Lucy grows. 

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Screenshot

While the D.E.B.S. demand that Amy hide her relationship with Lucy out of fear of their organization becoming a laughing stock, it’s Lucy and her supportive sidekick Scud (Jimmi Simpson) who come off as downright enlightened, especially when Lucy decides to get Amy back. Even if Lucy’s first instinct is an evil scheme, she eventually decides to become a better person, returning much of what she stole and sending Amy adorable presents. It’s far, far, easier to get behind the two of them then the so-called good guys who demand silence and conformity.

When Amy and Lucy finally do decide to commit to each other, Robinson is also sadly aware of what the limits of a happy ending are. Amy’s friends might come around, but the agency does not, with the two secretly departing together with implications of traveling to Barcelona so Amy can follow her dream of going to art school. They drive off not into a beautiful new day, but under the cover of night, with just a hint of sunset offering a glimpse of a better, happier, and more enlightened future.

52 Films By Women: Bright Star (2009)

Bright Star

Bright Star

By Andrea Thompson

Jane Campion’s “Bright Star” manages to accomplish quite a bit, not the least of which is a love story where the lovers not only rarely get any time alone together, but fall in love in front of the whole family. It can make passion difficult to find, but “Bright Star” does find it so beautifully. But I much prefer Campion’s criminally underrated 2003 film “In The Cut,” which is a far darker take on not just love, but our concept of it.

Not so with “Bright Star,” which goes all in on the passionate love story between Fanny Brawne (Abbie Cornish) and the poet John Keats (Ben Whishaw). It kicks off in 1818, during the Regency Era, which gave us one of the most prominent artists of all time in Jane Austen, was about 20 years from giving way to the more romantic, evangelical Victorian Era.

“Bright Star” is certainly reminiscent of Austen in how it keeps the sexual tension at high levels without its heroine engaging in sex. Campion brings on the undertones from the opening, with the most sexual sewing closeup I’ve ever seen, as the camera lingers longingly on the needle as it burst through the thread, with the thread seeming to have a life of its own as its follows, spilling over the fabric like sperm. Am I reading into things? Let’s just say that anyone who thinks I’m exaggerating either clearly hasn’t seen the film or wasn’t paying attention.

Unfilled longing is the cornerstone of many a love story, but in “Bright Star,” a romance that would forever remain unfulfilled, makes pining its beating heart. Even Martin Scorsese had an easier time of it when he proved in “The Age of Innocence” that he knew his way around a bodice-ripper in spite of each and every bodice remaining neatly and exquisitely in place. But his ill-fated romance took place in the heart of a New York high society fully embedded in repressed romanticism.

Bright Star

Bright Star

Not so with Campion’s “Bright Star,” as the romance blooms and dies with nature itself. As Fanny and Keats fall in love, Campion lavishes them with luminous sunlight as Fanny’s body is practically ravaged by the wind and curtains flowing towards her. She even welcomes butterflies into the room, much to the annoyance of her mother. When Keats must depart for London to Fanny’s deep despair, the butterflies perish in the cold that will likewise bring on the tuberculosis that will kill him.

Their love is also somewhat unconventional, even if it contains a multitude of conventions. Like many a daunted lover, Keats is poor; his success and fame came posthumously. It makes him reluctant to become attached to Fanny when he cannot afford to provide the support a husband is supposed to give, so Fanny, who has already developed an interest in him by the time “Bright Star” begins, is the one who pursues him. She makes a point to go out of her way to strike up conversations with him, and even tries to learn about the poetry that is the work of his short life, but which she feels is beyond her grasp. She’s even willing to put up with his friend, fellow poet, and in many ways, his wealthy benefactor, Charles Brown (Paul Schneider in full smarm mode).

Brown is also the far more common type of love interest, with whom Fanny shares the type of charged banter often reveals a sensitive soul underneath. But sometimes a jerk is just a jerk, and in “Bright Star” Brown is the kind of entitled, pretentious jackass who constantly demeans Fanny for her interest in fashion, and her growing connection with Keats, which he believes will ruin him and his chances. His selfishness prevents him from perceiving that love can be a source of strength, even when Fanny inspires Keats to write what would become his most beloved poems, including the sonnet the movie takes its title from. 

Bright Star

Bright Star

Fanny pushes back at Brown’s attempts to demean her in a powerful contrast to the quietly powerful connection she shares with Keats, which is based on mutual respect, and their gradual, serene acceptance that they are unable to live without each other. In a sense, Fanny is both realized and not in “Bright Star.” She is wholly herself without proudly disdaining traditional femininity and the interests that typically accompany it, defending and embracing her passion for designing and making her own clothes. But once she becomes Keats’s muse, Campion allows the love story to overwhelm all other facets of Fanny’s life, which was rich and full.

Then there was the public perception of Fanny, which has greatly shifted over the years, and her friendship with Keats’s sister, also named Fanny, and which is completely absent. It’s not exactly surprising that Campion would want to keep us in thrall to one of the great unfulfilled loves of history, but Fanny also eventually built a life outside of it, and I wish we’d caught a sense of that. I suppose not every movie can be “Wild Nights With Emily,” but some films seem to raise your standards, which, much like a tragic love story, can be both a blessing and a curse.

52 Films By Women: Point Break (1991)

Twentieth Century Fox

Twentieth Century Fox

By Andrea Thompson

For all the bluster and male machismo on display in Kathryn Bigelow’s 1991 cult masterpiece “Point Break,” there’s a subtlety to it. Yes, behind the abs, the beaches, the surfing, the action sequences that include pit bulls being thrown around, airplane jumps, and robberies...there are some deep undercurrents.

The movie actually spent quite a few years in development, with various directors, casts, and titles attached and discarded by the time Bigelow came into the picture while she was still married to James Cameron, who is one of the producers. Both of them also apparently did quite a bit of rewriting on the script, even if they never received credit for it, and the result was a film that contains some of the best characters and action cinema has ever seen.

This rebirth of sorts accounts for much of the movie’s tone, which could be called outright ridiculous at times, even if it’s always enjoyable. “Point Break” is for all intents and purposes an 80s movie, and it has nearly all the staples of the decade’s cop dramas. There’s the loose cannon cop, the boss who takes every chance to eviscerate him, the ridiculous plot that includes surfers who rob banks to fund their totally awesome lifestyles, blustery banter, and its apparent embrace of all things machismo. Even our lead rookie cop Johnny Utah (oh, what a name), played by Keanu Reeves, is a former Rose Bowl-winning football quarterback.

Dig a little deeper though, and there’s much of the more progressive vibes that would come to define the 90s. Take the love interest, Tyler (Lori Petty). A name like that practically screams androgynous, and sure enough, Tyler is no unflappable blonde beach goddess in a bikini framed in a holo of light as she soaks up the California sun. When Utah first meets her, she’s dressed in a wetsuit, barely even framed as she scrambles in the chaos of the ocean to save Johnny from drowning after his disastrous attempt to learn how to surf. When he tells her his name, she shouts back, “Who cares!”

With her brunette pixie haircut and deeply 90s wardrobe, Tyler is feminine but not objectified. Her and Utah’s relationship, which eventually does become romantic, is far more equal than in most action movies. Tyler is the one who teaches Utah to surf, and her presence and framing itself is a commentary on the sexism of the genre. Bigelow literally films Tyler and Utah on the same level, rather than lingering lasciviously on Petty’s body, and Tyler constantly pushes back against the toxicity she encounters. When she is eventually, inevitably held hostage, that is when her wardrobe becomes far more traditionally feminine, with Bigelow dressing Tyler in a short white nightie.

Tyler is also the one to warn Utah about Bodhi (Patrick Swayze, RIP) one of the most iconically charismatic villains the movies have ever produced. From the start, Bodhi and Utah’s relationship has a deep undercurrent of homoeroticsm, with the kind of intense, love at first sight moments that’s typically framed as romantic, as Utah admires Bodhi’s surfing prowess as he is indeed framed and surrounded by the sunlit waves.

The late Swayze threw everything into this role, and it shows. He is entirely believable as a leader of a group of surfers so completely under his sway that they remain true believers even as they’re bleeding to death, a result of Bodhi chasing greater and greater highs.

Twentieth Century Fox

Twentieth Century Fox

That is indeed what makes this, or rather his, group unique. They aren’t exactly robbing banks for the money, which they use to fund their surfing adventures. They justify it by a kind of spiritual philosophy, which Bodhi neatly sums up when he tells them, “We are here to show those guys that are inching their way on the freeways in their metal coffins that the human spirit is still alive.” It’s a grand statement, but then, junkies are pretty good at rationalizing their behavior. These guys risk their lives surfing the biggest waves, and their crime spree is little more than an extension of that same sickness. 

As Tyler points out in one of her many warnings to Utah, Bodhi can sense that Utah shares his sickness, and it’s no accident that Bodhi’s true toxicity is revealed via Tyler. He may wax sad about how he despises violence, but he sets up Tyler’s kidnapping so perfectly, Utah has no choice but to go with Bodhi’s demands and help him rob a bank. Bodhi may grieve when things go horribly wrong and the bodies start piling up, but he refuses to stop, even as he loses the rest of his team.

As Utah is pulled into circumstances that take him closer to, and eventually beyond the edge and he suffers his own losses, he in a sense becomes Bodhi’s final victim. He remains under his sway, even after he manages to track Bodhi down, overpower him, and subdue him. Ultimately, Utah can’t bear to see his wild man in a cage, and releases him so Bodhi can die doing what he loves: surfing the once-in-a-lifetime wave that will kill him, while Utah walks away and tosses his badge in the ocean.

Bigelow makes all this fun, tragic, and yes, deeply sexy without lingering too much on the bodies of the various surfers, male or female. It takes a hell of a director to get us to feel so much of the rush her characters feel, whether in the ocean, on a robbery, an iconic foot chase, or free falling through the air. You’d think it would’ve led to far more action films directed by women, but alas, change comes slow...until it doesn’t.

52 Films By Women: Born in Flames (1983)

Kanopy

Kanopy

By Andrea Thompson

Since everyone seems to be in a revolutionary kind of mood, it seemed like a good time to check out “Born in Flames,” which is another of those films that remained unseen despite the enthusiastic reaction from so many in the feminist community. So I finally decided it was time to correct my lack of knowledge, and...wow.

“Born in Flames” is a deeply radical film, and it will remain so for probably the entirety of history. Many films are being rediscovered and lauded for being ahead of their time, but “Born in Flames” doesn’t just acknowledge, or more accurately, tackle head on what we’re only beginning to approach today, but it takes on genuinely radical actions to deal with them. In fact, some would be justified in calling said actions terrorism, and the discomfort around them remains in today’s environment, although some of that is due to to circumstances out of writer-director Lizzie Borden’s (gotta love the name) control. After 2001, there was going to be more discomfort than usual seeing a bomb go off on top of the World Trade Center building, even if it was designed to take out media messaging, not people.

The result isn’t so much indie filmmaking as guerrilla filmmaking, and the only reason this movie was probably allowed to exist in the first place is that it takes place ten years after the United States underwent a peaceful revolution that’s become known as the War of Liberation, and became a socialist democracy. The problem is that the environment seems all too familiar: a society that vaunts the progress it’s made even as it remains in the throes of high unemployment, and institutional as well as everyday sexism, racism, and classism.

The resulting vision of New York City is hard to pin down to a genre, let alone define. Filmed over a period of five years, and depending on which article you read, on a budget of about $40,000 or $70,000, “Born in Flames” seems part documentary since actual protests as well as staged ones were used, as well as futurist, sci-fi, vérité, queer, and of course, deeply feminist.

Nearly all the main characters are women, many are Black, most are lesbians, and its vision of just how one should fight back against a system which aims to dehumanize and demean are deeply complex. Some women have chosen to fight back via two different pirate radio stations as they broadcast various messages of anger against government actions, while one, Adelaide Norris (Jean Satterfield) has chosen more direct action by becoming a leader in the Women’s Army, which confronts everyday instances of sexism such as street harassment by leading groups of women on bicycles to fight back against the men who brutalize women on the street.

Adelaide is also the one pushing for more direct, violent action against a state that is cutting programs for women, holding them responsible for the hostility and outright assaults they experience, and trying to drive them back into the home by prioritizing male needs and creating new programs such as paying women for housework. But the women, which include Kathryn Bigelow as one of a trio of white feminist editors of a socialist newspaper, remain divided in their oppression. What finally does unite them is Adelaide’s arrest and death under suspicious circumstances while in police custody.

Moma.org

Moma.org

What follows is a kind of feminist wish fulfillment, where women who traditionally divided by race, class, and sexuality band together against their oppressors. Sisterhood becomes powerful, as does their anger, which practically leaps from every frame as “Born in Flames” as it gives a rousing call to action for all women to unite. It’s no accident that the film was rediscovered in 2016, just as Trump was elected and women took the streets and to voice their rage once again. It’s a number that’s loomed large in the history of this film, given the station for one of the pirate radio stations is actually 2016.

In the midst of an election that threatens to keep Trump in power, “Born in Flames” might become disturbingly relevant in a way no one could have foreseen. In just a few months, how largely this film will loom in our culture might be revealed even further.