Best of the Fest is "Pray The Devil Back to Hell", a documentary directed by Gini Riticker, 72 mins., about the women who took over the seat of government in Liberia.
It will be shown at the Hooker Dunham on Saturday, March 28th at 7:00,followed by Best in Fest runner-up, "Who Does She Think She Is?", at about 8:15, a film about women artists struggling to be both artists and raise their children.
And don't forget final bidding on art in the Visions show happens between 5:30 and 7:00, same place, while enjoying WFF's catered refreshments.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
Final WFF Event!
The 18th Women’s Film Festival Closing Party and Visions Silent Auction final bidding on March 28th
Visions, a non-juried show and silent auction of painting, sculpture, and fine crafts by women from the Brattleboro area will receive final bids between 5:30 to 7:00 at the 2009 Women’s Film Festival Best-in-Fest Closing Party on Saturday, March 28th., at the Hooker-Dunham Theater & Gallery.
Diverse and multigenerational in nature, professional and amateur artists alike, the Visions art show exhibits a true kaleidoscope of women’s creative spirits. Proceeds from the auction will benefit the Women’s Crisis Center.
A wonderful array of refreshments will be served.
Following final bidding, at 7:00, there will be a screening of the film that wins the viewer choice award. Check the website:
Check back here Thursday for the winning film!
Visions, a non-juried show and silent auction of painting, sculpture, and fine crafts by women from the Brattleboro area will receive final bids between 5:30 to 7:00 at the 2009 Women’s Film Festival Best-in-Fest Closing Party on Saturday, March 28th., at the Hooker-Dunham Theater & Gallery.
Diverse and multigenerational in nature, professional and amateur artists alike, the Visions art show exhibits a true kaleidoscope of women’s creative spirits. Proceeds from the auction will benefit the Women’s Crisis Center.
A wonderful array of refreshments will be served.
Following final bidding, at 7:00, there will be a screening of the film that wins the viewer choice award. Check the website:
Check back here Thursday for the winning film!
Some Audience Responses to the WFF
An experiment taping audience responses on Sunday, March 22, 2009 at the WFF using a low tech flip video camera. Sound and picture quality a bit poor but as you continue to watch, the conversation picks up some momentum and shows audience engagement with the films. Thank you ladies for sharing your candid thoughts and feelings!
Posted by Jacqueline Gens
MORNING AFTER, March 23, 2009 by Joyce Marcel
The films have been shown. The cards have been filled out. With slightly blurry vision and yet elevated consciousness, we await word on which movie will be chosen "Best of The Fest."
Remember, there's a closing party and a final screening of your top choice, along with the closing of the "Visions" silent art auction, at the Hooker-Dunham on Saturday, March 28 at 5:30 p.m.
Here's my personal summary:
Number of films seen: 15 out of 27. I thought I had seen almost all of them, so this final count surprises me.
Personal choice for "Best of the Fest": "La Corona." I've been thinking about why I loved this film, and I've decided that part of it is because, for the time being, victimization is over for the women in the film. There are few men in their lives. There is little violence. We get to see them moving on, even if it's in a desperate pit of a place like a maximum security female prison in Bogota, Colombia. We see their joy and their striving for something better, even if it's only a crown in a prison beauty pageant. The film really centers on the women's personalities, and some of them are unforgettable.
Second choice: "Rain," just because it was so beautifully shot, so wonderfully acted, so honest, and because it tells us something we may not have wanted to know about the underbelly of life in the Bahamas.
Third choice: "Pray the Devil Back to Hell." Even though we have to endure war, rape, theft, brutal dictators and all the rest in the first half of this film, it has a happy ending. So far.
Heroines I had never known about but whom I now adore: Patsy Mink, who brought us Title IX, and the women of "Pray the Devil Back to Hell."
Most unforgettable film: "20 Seconds of Joy." Just because of the amazing footage of Karina Hollekim flying off of one cliff after another. No matter what I might think of adrenaline junkies, the footage makes me feel like I'm flying, and that's thrilling. I'll never understand Hollekim and her friends, but I'll never forget them, either. And I'll probably never stop screaming whenever she jumps off a cliff.
Best historical story: "Passion & Power: The Technology of Orgasm." This film, with its strange camera angles and unfortunate reenactments, is not a good film. But I love the story. Here's to the female orgasm, whenever and wherever you find it. (Hint: usually somewhere around the clitoris.)
Film genre I appreciated the most: The documentaries about artists. Alice Neel, Kay Ryan, Patti Smith, the creative women of "Who Does She Think She Is" -- It was important for me, as a writer, to watch other artists and their struggles.
Film I wish I had been strong enough to see: "The Greatest Silence: Rape in the Congo." It wasn't just me. I was in the New England Youth Theater on Wednesday, and after "To See If I'm Smiling," which is brutal enough, almost the entire audience walked out before this film. It's just too much pain, I think. Does that make me a coward? Yes.
Film I enjoyed least: "'Bama Girl." Who cares who becomes homecoming queen at the University of Alabama? Not worth 75 minutes of my time.
Ripped from the headlines: "To See If I'm Smiling," the film about female Israeli soldiers coming to terms with their own inhumanity, anger and cruelty. I saw it just days before the men of the Israeli army publicly did the same thing.
And that's it. It's time to thank the Women's Film Festival once again for giving me the chance to write this blog, to thank Jacqueline Gens for her complete excellence in running the site, to thank you all for reading, and a special thanks to those of you who commented.
Say goodbye, Joyce.
Goodbye, Joyce.
Remember, there's a closing party and a final screening of your top choice, along with the closing of the "Visions" silent art auction, at the Hooker-Dunham on Saturday, March 28 at 5:30 p.m.
Here's my personal summary:
Number of films seen: 15 out of 27. I thought I had seen almost all of them, so this final count surprises me.
Personal choice for "Best of the Fest": "La Corona." I've been thinking about why I loved this film, and I've decided that part of it is because, for the time being, victimization is over for the women in the film. There are few men in their lives. There is little violence. We get to see them moving on, even if it's in a desperate pit of a place like a maximum security female prison in Bogota, Colombia. We see their joy and their striving for something better, even if it's only a crown in a prison beauty pageant. The film really centers on the women's personalities, and some of them are unforgettable.
Second choice: "Rain," just because it was so beautifully shot, so wonderfully acted, so honest, and because it tells us something we may not have wanted to know about the underbelly of life in the Bahamas.
Third choice: "Pray the Devil Back to Hell." Even though we have to endure war, rape, theft, brutal dictators and all the rest in the first half of this film, it has a happy ending. So far.
Heroines I had never known about but whom I now adore: Patsy Mink, who brought us Title IX, and the women of "Pray the Devil Back to Hell."
Most unforgettable film: "20 Seconds of Joy." Just because of the amazing footage of Karina Hollekim flying off of one cliff after another. No matter what I might think of adrenaline junkies, the footage makes me feel like I'm flying, and that's thrilling. I'll never understand Hollekim and her friends, but I'll never forget them, either. And I'll probably never stop screaming whenever she jumps off a cliff.
Best historical story: "Passion & Power: The Technology of Orgasm." This film, with its strange camera angles and unfortunate reenactments, is not a good film. But I love the story. Here's to the female orgasm, whenever and wherever you find it. (Hint: usually somewhere around the clitoris.)
Film genre I appreciated the most: The documentaries about artists. Alice Neel, Kay Ryan, Patti Smith, the creative women of "Who Does She Think She Is" -- It was important for me, as a writer, to watch other artists and their struggles.
Film I wish I had been strong enough to see: "The Greatest Silence: Rape in the Congo." It wasn't just me. I was in the New England Youth Theater on Wednesday, and after "To See If I'm Smiling," which is brutal enough, almost the entire audience walked out before this film. It's just too much pain, I think. Does that make me a coward? Yes.
Film I enjoyed least: "'Bama Girl." Who cares who becomes homecoming queen at the University of Alabama? Not worth 75 minutes of my time.
Ripped from the headlines: "To See If I'm Smiling," the film about female Israeli soldiers coming to terms with their own inhumanity, anger and cruelty. I saw it just days before the men of the Israeli army publicly did the same thing.
And that's it. It's time to thank the Women's Film Festival once again for giving me the chance to write this blog, to thank Jacqueline Gens for her complete excellence in running the site, to thank you all for reading, and a special thanks to those of you who commented.
Say goodbye, Joyce.
Goodbye, Joyce.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
SUNDAY March 22, 2009 by Joyce Marcel
My pick for "Best of Fest" is "La Corona," a film that unexpectedly swept me away. Don't really have a reason; with films, it's all intuitive, isn't it? You're watching something and at some point you realize you're feeling, "Wow! This is great!"
So I'm happy to report that "La Corona" will be shown an extra time today, along with "La Americana," at the 6:30 p.m. program at the Hooker-Dunham Theater.
RAIN by Maria Govan
Other than "A Sense of Wonder," in which Kaiulani Lee writes and then performs the words of Rachel Carson in two of Carson's own homes, "Rain" is the only fictional film I've encountered at the festival. And I loved it.
With documentaries, the discovery (or the lack of - see my comments on "Bama Girl" on Saturday) of the story and the deep truth of it depend on realism.
In a fictional narrative, the director is free to set up the shots. So "Rain" is beautiful frame by frame and shot by shot. Govan uses the colors of the Bahamas to stunning effect, so that her characters are often seen solo against large and luscious swaths of color - the turquoise of the Caribbean, the crumbling yellow wall of a church, the white of the sand.
"Rain" is the story of a lithe young girl named Rain who grows up - painfully innocent - on small, bucolic Ragged Island in the Bahamas, and comes to the big city - in this case Nassau Town - in search of her mother after the loving grandmother who has raised her dies.
The mother, Glory, turns out to be a crack whore living in a world of numbers running, dice-playing, AIDS and drugs. The neighborhood is called "The Graveyard," because no one ever leaves.
Yes, it's a different Bahamas than the one you see from the bloated white cruise ships in the harbor, which seem more like large wormy maggots than pleasure boats in this film.
In fact, in one scene, a preacher warns his congregation - big-hatted black women and besuited men - that dreaded homosexuality comes to the Bahamas on these boats. My instinct was to shake him by the collar of his shiny suit and yell, "You've got people smoking crack in your own community, you dork. You've got AIDS. Wake up to the real dangers here!"
Glory herself is almost completely sunk into a world of hurt. She does not know or care about herself. Her eyes are vacant. Her mouth is open and bewildered. She's lost.
Then this young girl arrives and finally awakens her maternal and self-protective instincts.
Glory is played by a wonderful actress, Nicki Micheaux, who is giving the performance of a lifetime here. When she describes how she gave birth to Rain, squatting alone in a pouring rain, it's absolutely thrilling.
Rain can run, and she finally finds some comfort and nurturing from her track coach, CCH Pounder, a fine actress who shows up often on American television. And speaking of good performances, the grandmother is the richly warm Irma P. Hall. Even the great Bahamanian-American actor Calvin Lockhart has a part - his last before he died.
In fact, newcomer Renel Brown, who plays Rain, is the only one whose emotions appear impenetrable. But that may be because she is a young girl playing a young girl who is being bombarded with negative impressions and is trying to absorb and process them.
In fact, all the acting is remarkable here. You're even impressed by the evil crazy guy who tries to rape Rain - but doesn't succeed.
This is the first feature film from Govan, who was born in the Bahamas and has done several documentaries.
She "examines how different generations of women both support and destroy each other, and reveals how an oppressed community can still find something to hold sacred," writes Jane Schoettle at the Toronto Film Festival Site (http://tiff08.ca/filmsandschedules/films/rain.) "At the same time, she explores the emotional life of a young black girl who must find inner direction and strength while drifting in a world hostile to her.
"With a strong visual aesthetic and an even stronger cast, Rain shakes off our postcard perceptions of Bahamian life to show us the beauty and dark complexity that lies between Ragged Island and the Nassau few tourists see. That it does this with depth, delicacy and nuance makes for a rewarding audience experience, and marks Govan as a talent to watch."
Video interviews with some of the cast can be found at http://www.movingpicturesmagazine.com.
This was a beautiful film, as well as an emotional roller-coaster ride. In fact, I was so overtaken by this one that I made it the only film I saw on Saturday.
So I'm happy to report that "La Corona" will be shown an extra time today, along with "La Americana," at the 6:30 p.m. program at the Hooker-Dunham Theater.
RAIN by Maria Govan
Other than "A Sense of Wonder," in which Kaiulani Lee writes and then performs the words of Rachel Carson in two of Carson's own homes, "Rain" is the only fictional film I've encountered at the festival. And I loved it.
With documentaries, the discovery (or the lack of - see my comments on "Bama Girl" on Saturday) of the story and the deep truth of it depend on realism.
In a fictional narrative, the director is free to set up the shots. So "Rain" is beautiful frame by frame and shot by shot. Govan uses the colors of the Bahamas to stunning effect, so that her characters are often seen solo against large and luscious swaths of color - the turquoise of the Caribbean, the crumbling yellow wall of a church, the white of the sand.
"Rain" is the story of a lithe young girl named Rain who grows up - painfully innocent - on small, bucolic Ragged Island in the Bahamas, and comes to the big city - in this case Nassau Town - in search of her mother after the loving grandmother who has raised her dies.
The mother, Glory, turns out to be a crack whore living in a world of numbers running, dice-playing, AIDS and drugs. The neighborhood is called "The Graveyard," because no one ever leaves.
Yes, it's a different Bahamas than the one you see from the bloated white cruise ships in the harbor, which seem more like large wormy maggots than pleasure boats in this film.
In fact, in one scene, a preacher warns his congregation - big-hatted black women and besuited men - that dreaded homosexuality comes to the Bahamas on these boats. My instinct was to shake him by the collar of his shiny suit and yell, "You've got people smoking crack in your own community, you dork. You've got AIDS. Wake up to the real dangers here!"
Glory herself is almost completely sunk into a world of hurt. She does not know or care about herself. Her eyes are vacant. Her mouth is open and bewildered. She's lost.
Then this young girl arrives and finally awakens her maternal and self-protective instincts.
Glory is played by a wonderful actress, Nicki Micheaux, who is giving the performance of a lifetime here. When she describes how she gave birth to Rain, squatting alone in a pouring rain, it's absolutely thrilling.
Rain can run, and she finally finds some comfort and nurturing from her track coach, CCH Pounder, a fine actress who shows up often on American television. And speaking of good performances, the grandmother is the richly warm Irma P. Hall. Even the great Bahamanian-American actor Calvin Lockhart has a part - his last before he died.
In fact, newcomer Renel Brown, who plays Rain, is the only one whose emotions appear impenetrable. But that may be because she is a young girl playing a young girl who is being bombarded with negative impressions and is trying to absorb and process them.
In fact, all the acting is remarkable here. You're even impressed by the evil crazy guy who tries to rape Rain - but doesn't succeed.
This is the first feature film from Govan, who was born in the Bahamas and has done several documentaries.
She "examines how different generations of women both support and destroy each other, and reveals how an oppressed community can still find something to hold sacred," writes Jane Schoettle at the Toronto Film Festival Site (http://tiff08.ca/filmsandschedules/films/rain.) "At the same time, she explores the emotional life of a young black girl who must find inner direction and strength while drifting in a world hostile to her.
"With a strong visual aesthetic and an even stronger cast, Rain shakes off our postcard perceptions of Bahamian life to show us the beauty and dark complexity that lies between Ragged Island and the Nassau few tourists see. That it does this with depth, delicacy and nuance makes for a rewarding audience experience, and marks Govan as a talent to watch."
Video interviews with some of the cast can be found at http://www.movingpicturesmagazine.com.
This was a beautiful film, as well as an emotional roller-coaster ride. In fact, I was so overtaken by this one that I made it the only film I saw on Saturday.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
SATURDAY March 21, 2009 by Joyce Marcel
Well, it's finally happened!
Every year, some film comes along that makes me fall in love. I never know which one it's going to be. It's certainly never the ones I preview at home. For some reason, it's always one of the ones I've never heard of, or which don't sound too promising, or I have to force myself to see. And then boom! I'm swept away.
Last year it was "Time to Die." Last night it happened with "La Corona."
I also have a film I'd like to name as "shuck of the season," but I'll get to that in a minute.
As a note, the Hooker-Dunham (did anyone else go to the New England Youth Theater first, like I did?) was packed for the 6:30 films. The volunteers had to put out extra chairs. The audience seemed to be split between men and woman, which is a great thing. And there was a line out the door for the 8:30 vibrator movie, "The Passion and Power."
It's more fun when a lot of people show up.
LA CORONA ("The Crown") by Amanda Micheli and Isabel Vega
This film, subtitled, about a two-day beauty pageant in a maximum security prison in Bogota, Colombia, was nominated for a 2007 Academy Award in the best short documentary category. For more about it, go to: http://www.hbo.com/docs/programs/lacorona/synopsis.html
El Buen Pastor (The Good Shepherd) prison is a pit. But once a year, with the misgivings of its tough-as-nails female warden, each cell block nominates a candidate for "reina," or queen. Then the six nominated convicts - a hired killer and a few armed robbers among them - prepare and then compete as if it was a regular beauty pageant.
"It gives them a glimmer of hope," says Laisa, a Colombian soap opera star and pageant judge. "For a moment they feel like they are free."
Two women stand out. Maira is the hired killer. "I have killed, many times," she says. She's serving eight years. The most conventional beauty, she lost the crown last year and is very determined.
Angela has darker skin and is more lively than the others. Her husband was murdered with "five bullets in his head." She's in for robbery and assault, mostly grocery stores, and is finishing up a three-year sentence. Her life may have been hard, but there's a light inside her that is missing in the others. "You have to have a lot of balls to do this," she says.
The filmmakers struggled with access, but you would never know it. We see and feel life as it is lived in the prison - shared cells with rickety televisions, dreadful food, lots of bars and locked doors.
We watch as the contestants practice. We see the cellblock residents become cheering squads for their chosen representatives. We watch as the warden gets involved and loves every minute of it. (She also seems to love Maira.)
There's a casual and elegant acceptance of lesbian relationships in prison and also in the film. "God said to love one another; He never said who," Angela says.
There's a talent contest - the six contestants do national dances, some of them with male prison guards.
The costumes and dresses are loaned. The makeup and hair people are professionals brought in for the event. The judges are minor league celebrities. The Colombia media covers the two-day pageant.
The contestants have to answer difficult questions. Maira stumbles over "If you were president of the country for a day, what would you do for the children." Who wouldn't stumble over that one?
A delighted Angela wins the crown. For a moment, Maira looks like she would kill again. Then she breaks down in tears. "Don't worry," says the warden, embracing her. "You're the prettiest. Don't forget, you're the prettiest."
The residents of the losing cellblocks adjust to the loss. "The judges are corrupt," say some. "They chose the black girl," say the racists. "It was fixed," say others.
One month later, Angela's time in prison is over. The cameras return to watch her embrace her tearful lover and go through the heavy metal gates. We see her walking alone down a dark, empty street, pulling her suitcase with the crown and the scepter behind her. No one meets her. She is fragile and absolutely alone. It breaks your heart.
The film ends on a simple note (spoiler alert): "In memory of Angela, who was murdered in the streets of Bogota soon after her release."
This film moved me. It offers so much life and energy, so many interesting characters, so many things to think about.
It's been shown on HBO. It can't be rented from Netflix. But you should find a way to see this film.
Think and Discuss: Beauty pageants? Really?
'BAMA GIRL by Rachel Goslins
For me, this was the most disappointing film of the festival (so far - we have two days to go). At 75 minutes, it was way too long. The McGuffin (see Hitchock) was not worth pursuing - who cares who's going to be homecoming queen at the University of Alabama?
But worse, the film did not deliver on its promise - a racial breakthrough, a black girl as homecoming queen for the first time in decades.
This is how the film is pitched: "A charismatic black woman at the University of Alabama runs for Homecoming Queen, going up against a century of privilege, tradition, segregation, and a secret association of all-white fraternities. Despite all this, Jessica Thomas is determined to win the crown."
This is what it was: "Say yes to Jess" mounts a determined campaign to be homecoming queen. "My face is different from the rest," she says. She's certainly a confident woman, very motivated and very smart. She doesn't win, but she's one of the "court" - the four runner-ups. Also in the court: a girl of Indian descent, another African-American, and an independent (not a sorority girl). So it's not really about race, is it?
This film is an advertisement for Jess's future career in broadcasting, nothing more.
Even though the film is set up within a racial context - we see the traditional snarling dogs, the headlines about the four little girls who were blown up in the church, Rev. Martin Luther King leading a march, even a (staged?) shot of Rosa Parks on a bus - this late in the game, white exclusivity is a ship that has passed.
Jess belongs to one of several African-American sororities. Indian and Asian students abound. OK, one white fraternity sponsors an "Old South" weekend with Confederate uniforms and hoop skirts. But this is Alabama; what do we expect? Raised consciousness? Really?
The only real subtext this film finds, and it finds it too late, is "the machine." This is a secret 50-year tradition of white male (and later female) domination that supposedly controls the school. Born long ago - and still thriving in the white fraternities and sororities - the members of the machine decide who will win each school election, whether it is for homecoming queen or for student government. Their candidates win because they have the power of organized voting blocks.
What makes this in any way noteworthy is that these machine members go on to run the government of Alabama and influence the government of the United States. Lawyers, judges, congressmen, senators and mayors are among them. But you will find this kind of thing at almost every school harboring a wealthy and entitled majority. A far more interesting documentary would focus on it, alone.
Or on Skull & Bones at Yale, for example. That secret society produced the worst president ever.
Back to the film. After 75 minutes of endless campaigning, and after 4,600 people vote, the homecoming queen turns out to be the only bland sorority blonde with too-white teeth in the contest.
OK, point made. But really, why should we care?
Let's call this one the "shuck of the season" and leave the thinking and discussing for another day.
Every year, some film comes along that makes me fall in love. I never know which one it's going to be. It's certainly never the ones I preview at home. For some reason, it's always one of the ones I've never heard of, or which don't sound too promising, or I have to force myself to see. And then boom! I'm swept away.
Last year it was "Time to Die." Last night it happened with "La Corona."
I also have a film I'd like to name as "shuck of the season," but I'll get to that in a minute.
As a note, the Hooker-Dunham (did anyone else go to the New England Youth Theater first, like I did?) was packed for the 6:30 films. The volunteers had to put out extra chairs. The audience seemed to be split between men and woman, which is a great thing. And there was a line out the door for the 8:30 vibrator movie, "The Passion and Power."
It's more fun when a lot of people show up.
LA CORONA ("The Crown") by Amanda Micheli and Isabel Vega
This film, subtitled, about a two-day beauty pageant in a maximum security prison in Bogota, Colombia, was nominated for a 2007 Academy Award in the best short documentary category. For more about it, go to: http://www.hbo.com/docs/programs/lacorona/synopsis.html
El Buen Pastor (The Good Shepherd) prison is a pit. But once a year, with the misgivings of its tough-as-nails female warden, each cell block nominates a candidate for "reina," or queen. Then the six nominated convicts - a hired killer and a few armed robbers among them - prepare and then compete as if it was a regular beauty pageant.
"It gives them a glimmer of hope," says Laisa, a Colombian soap opera star and pageant judge. "For a moment they feel like they are free."
Two women stand out. Maira is the hired killer. "I have killed, many times," she says. She's serving eight years. The most conventional beauty, she lost the crown last year and is very determined.
Angela has darker skin and is more lively than the others. Her husband was murdered with "five bullets in his head." She's in for robbery and assault, mostly grocery stores, and is finishing up a three-year sentence. Her life may have been hard, but there's a light inside her that is missing in the others. "You have to have a lot of balls to do this," she says.
The filmmakers struggled with access, but you would never know it. We see and feel life as it is lived in the prison - shared cells with rickety televisions, dreadful food, lots of bars and locked doors.
We watch as the contestants practice. We see the cellblock residents become cheering squads for their chosen representatives. We watch as the warden gets involved and loves every minute of it. (She also seems to love Maira.)
There's a casual and elegant acceptance of lesbian relationships in prison and also in the film. "God said to love one another; He never said who," Angela says.
There's a talent contest - the six contestants do national dances, some of them with male prison guards.
The costumes and dresses are loaned. The makeup and hair people are professionals brought in for the event. The judges are minor league celebrities. The Colombia media covers the two-day pageant.
The contestants have to answer difficult questions. Maira stumbles over "If you were president of the country for a day, what would you do for the children." Who wouldn't stumble over that one?
A delighted Angela wins the crown. For a moment, Maira looks like she would kill again. Then she breaks down in tears. "Don't worry," says the warden, embracing her. "You're the prettiest. Don't forget, you're the prettiest."
The residents of the losing cellblocks adjust to the loss. "The judges are corrupt," say some. "They chose the black girl," say the racists. "It was fixed," say others.
One month later, Angela's time in prison is over. The cameras return to watch her embrace her tearful lover and go through the heavy metal gates. We see her walking alone down a dark, empty street, pulling her suitcase with the crown and the scepter behind her. No one meets her. She is fragile and absolutely alone. It breaks your heart.
The film ends on a simple note (spoiler alert): "In memory of Angela, who was murdered in the streets of Bogota soon after her release."
This film moved me. It offers so much life and energy, so many interesting characters, so many things to think about.
It's been shown on HBO. It can't be rented from Netflix. But you should find a way to see this film.
Think and Discuss: Beauty pageants? Really?
'BAMA GIRL by Rachel Goslins
For me, this was the most disappointing film of the festival (so far - we have two days to go). At 75 minutes, it was way too long. The McGuffin (see Hitchock) was not worth pursuing - who cares who's going to be homecoming queen at the University of Alabama?
But worse, the film did not deliver on its promise - a racial breakthrough, a black girl as homecoming queen for the first time in decades.
This is how the film is pitched: "A charismatic black woman at the University of Alabama runs for Homecoming Queen, going up against a century of privilege, tradition, segregation, and a secret association of all-white fraternities. Despite all this, Jessica Thomas is determined to win the crown."
This is what it was: "Say yes to Jess" mounts a determined campaign to be homecoming queen. "My face is different from the rest," she says. She's certainly a confident woman, very motivated and very smart. She doesn't win, but she's one of the "court" - the four runner-ups. Also in the court: a girl of Indian descent, another African-American, and an independent (not a sorority girl). So it's not really about race, is it?
This film is an advertisement for Jess's future career in broadcasting, nothing more.
Even though the film is set up within a racial context - we see the traditional snarling dogs, the headlines about the four little girls who were blown up in the church, Rev. Martin Luther King leading a march, even a (staged?) shot of Rosa Parks on a bus - this late in the game, white exclusivity is a ship that has passed.
Jess belongs to one of several African-American sororities. Indian and Asian students abound. OK, one white fraternity sponsors an "Old South" weekend with Confederate uniforms and hoop skirts. But this is Alabama; what do we expect? Raised consciousness? Really?
The only real subtext this film finds, and it finds it too late, is "the machine." This is a secret 50-year tradition of white male (and later female) domination that supposedly controls the school. Born long ago - and still thriving in the white fraternities and sororities - the members of the machine decide who will win each school election, whether it is for homecoming queen or for student government. Their candidates win because they have the power of organized voting blocks.
What makes this in any way noteworthy is that these machine members go on to run the government of Alabama and influence the government of the United States. Lawyers, judges, congressmen, senators and mayors are among them. But you will find this kind of thing at almost every school harboring a wealthy and entitled majority. A far more interesting documentary would focus on it, alone.
Or on Skull & Bones at Yale, for example. That secret society produced the worst president ever.
Back to the film. After 75 minutes of endless campaigning, and after 4,600 people vote, the homecoming queen turns out to be the only bland sorority blonde with too-white teeth in the contest.
OK, point made. But really, why should we care?
Let's call this one the "shuck of the season" and leave the thinking and discussing for another day.
Friday, March 20, 2009
FRIDAY, March 20, 2009 by Joyce Marcel
This is a time of sadness for filmmakers and film fanatics both, because of the untimely and unnecessary death of the gifted actress Natasha Richardson.
Many have commented on her wonderful performances, but I'm haunted now by a film in which she didn't appear.
In "Love Actually," one of the best chickflix of all times, Liam Neeson, Richardson's husband, plays a man whose wife has just died, leaving behind a small boy for him to raise alone. We see the two at the funeral, and we watch as the they try to carry on with their lives. We even get to watch both of them fall in love.
Neeson's performance is so moving, his pain is so real, his heartbreak so convincing, that it's hard not to imagine the kind of pain he's feeling now. We've already experienced something like that with him.
Our hearts go out to the Redgrave, Richardson and Neeson families.
On a happier note, I'm delighted to report that credit for the one-minute, all-female, high-energy, thoroughly enjoyable opener at each screening of the festival belongs to our own Merry Elder. Great job!
TO SEE IF I'M SMILING by Tamar Yarom
If you want some additional insight into the American women at Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq, see this heartbreaking Israeli film.
I saw it on Wednesday evening. On Thursday morning, the news broke that several Israeli soldiers were claiming to the newspapers that "Palestinian civilians were killed and Palestinian property intentionally destroyed" during the recent offensive in the Gaza Strip. (http://www.cnn.com/2009/WORLD/meast/03/19/israel.gaza.idf)
According to reports I heard on the BBC, the complaints were made to the Israeli Defense Forces two weeks ago. But the IDF only opened its investigation a few hours after the papers hit the street on Thursday.
"Israeli Defense minister Ehud Barak told Army Radio Thursday that 'Israel has the most moral army in the world' and that the testimonies will be checked carefully," according to CNN.
Ehud Barak needs to see this movie.
Made in 2007, the documentary features the stories of six young women who served in the IDF - a two-year rotation is mandatory for all 18-year-old Israeli youth, male and female.
Yarom has included a lot of footage of the IDF at the West Bank and Gaza. The borders are like your worst images of high-security prisons - tall walls, turrets, guns, barbed wire, bright lights, barriers.
Some Israelis say of their country, "A good country in a bad neighborhood," but clearly, Israel has not been a very good neighbor.
And if you believe the propaganda that Israel is only doing what it has to do to defend itself, note that the IDF has guns, rockets, armor and tanks and seem to be fighting a people armed mostly with rocks and soda cans.
The women in the film are haunted by their personal experiences with power, rage and cruelty - experiences which, as women, are new to them.
One woman, a border policewoman named Libi, talks about her anger when a friend of hers was killed, and how she took it out by tormenting, for hours, a group of 70 or 80 innocent Arabs who were unlucky enough to be crossing a border when she was in charge.
"I stood them in a line and decided that they would stay with me for the whole 12- to 14-hour shift, in the sun, in the heat," she says. "I made them stand there with me and had them do all kinds of exercises."
A few years later, we see her playing with her small child. She seems to be happy; so does the infant. But then she turns to the camera and confesses that every now and then, even when she is with her baby, she is consumed by a rage so powerful that she cannot control it. And she talks about "the unbearable lightness of death."
But the deepest scars and the most depressing story come from Meytal, a woman whose face is so young and fresh that it makes you think of strawberries.
She chose to be a medic to save lives and be where the action is.
Yet in one of her tales, she is assigned to wash a decaying corpse so that the Palestinians, when they get it back, will not be able to tell that it bled to death.
But the worst comes later. She can hardly believe it herself as she talks. One day she encounters an Arab corpse with an erection. She is amused. She squats next to it and asks a colleague to take her picture.
Then she tries to erase what she did from her mind. Thanks to Yarom, who must have tracked down the friend, a few years later Meytal, "To see if I'm smiling," confronts - on camera - the photo.
And, of course, she cries.
I am a firm supporter of Israel and it's right to exist and thrive. But I hate what it has become. The borders haunt me.
Think and Discuss: When we, as Jews, said "Never again," didn't we mean that genocide would never happen again? Or is it only genocide against us?
Many have commented on her wonderful performances, but I'm haunted now by a film in which she didn't appear.
In "Love Actually," one of the best chickflix of all times, Liam Neeson, Richardson's husband, plays a man whose wife has just died, leaving behind a small boy for him to raise alone. We see the two at the funeral, and we watch as the they try to carry on with their lives. We even get to watch both of them fall in love.
Neeson's performance is so moving, his pain is so real, his heartbreak so convincing, that it's hard not to imagine the kind of pain he's feeling now. We've already experienced something like that with him.
Our hearts go out to the Redgrave, Richardson and Neeson families.
On a happier note, I'm delighted to report that credit for the one-minute, all-female, high-energy, thoroughly enjoyable opener at each screening of the festival belongs to our own Merry Elder. Great job!
TO SEE IF I'M SMILING by Tamar Yarom
If you want some additional insight into the American women at Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq, see this heartbreaking Israeli film.
I saw it on Wednesday evening. On Thursday morning, the news broke that several Israeli soldiers were claiming to the newspapers that "Palestinian civilians were killed and Palestinian property intentionally destroyed" during the recent offensive in the Gaza Strip. (http://www.cnn.com/2009/WORLD/meast/03/19/israel.gaza.idf)
According to reports I heard on the BBC, the complaints were made to the Israeli Defense Forces two weeks ago. But the IDF only opened its investigation a few hours after the papers hit the street on Thursday.
"Israeli Defense minister Ehud Barak told Army Radio Thursday that 'Israel has the most moral army in the world' and that the testimonies will be checked carefully," according to CNN.
Ehud Barak needs to see this movie.
Made in 2007, the documentary features the stories of six young women who served in the IDF - a two-year rotation is mandatory for all 18-year-old Israeli youth, male and female.
Yarom has included a lot of footage of the IDF at the West Bank and Gaza. The borders are like your worst images of high-security prisons - tall walls, turrets, guns, barbed wire, bright lights, barriers.
Some Israelis say of their country, "A good country in a bad neighborhood," but clearly, Israel has not been a very good neighbor.
And if you believe the propaganda that Israel is only doing what it has to do to defend itself, note that the IDF has guns, rockets, armor and tanks and seem to be fighting a people armed mostly with rocks and soda cans.
The women in the film are haunted by their personal experiences with power, rage and cruelty - experiences which, as women, are new to them.
One woman, a border policewoman named Libi, talks about her anger when a friend of hers was killed, and how she took it out by tormenting, for hours, a group of 70 or 80 innocent Arabs who were unlucky enough to be crossing a border when she was in charge.
"I stood them in a line and decided that they would stay with me for the whole 12- to 14-hour shift, in the sun, in the heat," she says. "I made them stand there with me and had them do all kinds of exercises."
A few years later, we see her playing with her small child. She seems to be happy; so does the infant. But then she turns to the camera and confesses that every now and then, even when she is with her baby, she is consumed by a rage so powerful that she cannot control it. And she talks about "the unbearable lightness of death."
But the deepest scars and the most depressing story come from Meytal, a woman whose face is so young and fresh that it makes you think of strawberries.
She chose to be a medic to save lives and be where the action is.
Yet in one of her tales, she is assigned to wash a decaying corpse so that the Palestinians, when they get it back, will not be able to tell that it bled to death.
But the worst comes later. She can hardly believe it herself as she talks. One day she encounters an Arab corpse with an erection. She is amused. She squats next to it and asks a colleague to take her picture.
Then she tries to erase what she did from her mind. Thanks to Yarom, who must have tracked down the friend, a few years later Meytal, "To see if I'm smiling," confronts - on camera - the photo.
And, of course, she cries.
I am a firm supporter of Israel and it's right to exist and thrive. But I hate what it has become. The borders haunt me.
Think and Discuss: When we, as Jews, said "Never again," didn't we mean that genocide would never happen again? Or is it only genocide against us?
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Some Pictures from WFF Opening Reception
Kamana Adhikiry hangs the Visions art show at Hooker-Dunham Theater & Gallery
Kris Alden, festival organizer, and Sue Lederer, Women’s Cris Center board and WFF organizer, on opening night
Ami Maglin, WFF Volunteer coordinator chair, and ticket sellers, opening night
THURSDAY March 19, 2009 by Joyce Marcel
PRAY THE DEVIL BACK TO HELL
A Film by Gini Reticker
Now begins the outrage films. I have to admit, I've been avoiding them. But this one, God bless it, is both outrage and joy.
Last year we loved "Iron Ladies of Liberia," which told the story of the rise to power of the first elected female president of an African county.
"Pray the Devil Back to Hell" is the back story. President Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf is only seen at the end.
Before we get to her, we have to go through the usual outrages: children going hungry; the rape of women as a political tool as well as one male entitlement; theft; warlords; child soldiers who haven't a clue what they're really doing; greed (diamonds); power struggles; and the big one - endless war.
There are scenes of children playing with skulls - real ones.
The women of Liberia suffered through all of this for decades. One woman tells us a story that sums it up. She met a woman who had been in her home when the soldiers broke in. They lined up her, her 12- or 13-year-old daughter who had just started menstruating, and her husband, and told the woman to dance, clap and sing a particular song. Then they started raping the daughter. Then they told the woman to look to her side. There she watched other soldiers slowly - repeat, slowly - cutting her husband's throat. The woman who told this story to the camera was crying when she said many months later, when she met the woman, she was still dancing, clapping and singing the same song.
And yes, by the way, the daughter got pregnant.
There's a lot of footage of the soldiers from both sides, of the warlords, of the dictator Charles Taylor. It's hard not to start hating all the men in the world for letting this happen. It's especially hard when one of the warlords, at the peace talks, for God's sake, says that they want to kill all the people in the capital city of Monrovia, then bring in some women and repopulate. Speechless, are you? You should be.
The women of Liberia had had enough. Led by the amazing Leymah Gbowee, they banded together, Christian and Muslim women together, to strike for peace. In the face of great danger, they showed greater courage.
"Armed only with white T-shirts and the courage of their convictions, they demanded a resolution to the country's civil war," says the website: www.praythedevilbacktohell.com. "Their actions were a critical element in bringing about a agreement during the stalled peace talks. A story of sacrifice, unity and transcendence, 'Pray the Devil Back to Hell' honors the strength and perseverance of the women of Liberia. Inspiring, uplifting, and most of all motivating, it is a compelling testimony of how grassroots activism can alter the history of nations."
When the women finally win their peace, their election, and their female president, I had chills running up and down my arms.
But questions remain. Taylor, who was forced into exile, is now being held for trial in the Hague. But what happened to the warlords? Do they still lurk, these evil bastards? And where? And who's watching them?
Think and Discuss: Should we American women have organized in the same way? Should we have printed up some t-shirts and sat in front of the White House day after day until Bush ended the war? Only one woman, Cindy Sheehan, had the courage to do this. Why didn't we all leave our comfortable lives and join her? Did we need the rape and hunger first? Could we have gotten rid of our own warlords, Bush and Cheney? Could we have prevented the disasters of the Bush Administration?
A Film by Gini Reticker
Now begins the outrage films. I have to admit, I've been avoiding them. But this one, God bless it, is both outrage and joy.
Last year we loved "Iron Ladies of Liberia," which told the story of the rise to power of the first elected female president of an African county.
"Pray the Devil Back to Hell" is the back story. President Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf is only seen at the end.
Before we get to her, we have to go through the usual outrages: children going hungry; the rape of women as a political tool as well as one male entitlement; theft; warlords; child soldiers who haven't a clue what they're really doing; greed (diamonds); power struggles; and the big one - endless war.
There are scenes of children playing with skulls - real ones.
The women of Liberia suffered through all of this for decades. One woman tells us a story that sums it up. She met a woman who had been in her home when the soldiers broke in. They lined up her, her 12- or 13-year-old daughter who had just started menstruating, and her husband, and told the woman to dance, clap and sing a particular song. Then they started raping the daughter. Then they told the woman to look to her side. There she watched other soldiers slowly - repeat, slowly - cutting her husband's throat. The woman who told this story to the camera was crying when she said many months later, when she met the woman, she was still dancing, clapping and singing the same song.
And yes, by the way, the daughter got pregnant.
There's a lot of footage of the soldiers from both sides, of the warlords, of the dictator Charles Taylor. It's hard not to start hating all the men in the world for letting this happen. It's especially hard when one of the warlords, at the peace talks, for God's sake, says that they want to kill all the people in the capital city of Monrovia, then bring in some women and repopulate. Speechless, are you? You should be.
The women of Liberia had had enough. Led by the amazing Leymah Gbowee, they banded together, Christian and Muslim women together, to strike for peace. In the face of great danger, they showed greater courage.
"Armed only with white T-shirts and the courage of their convictions, they demanded a resolution to the country's civil war," says the website: www.praythedevilbacktohell.com. "Their actions were a critical element in bringing about a agreement during the stalled peace talks. A story of sacrifice, unity and transcendence, 'Pray the Devil Back to Hell' honors the strength and perseverance of the women of Liberia. Inspiring, uplifting, and most of all motivating, it is a compelling testimony of how grassroots activism can alter the history of nations."
When the women finally win their peace, their election, and their female president, I had chills running up and down my arms.
But questions remain. Taylor, who was forced into exile, is now being held for trial in the Hague. But what happened to the warlords? Do they still lurk, these evil bastards? And where? And who's watching them?
Think and Discuss: Should we American women have organized in the same way? Should we have printed up some t-shirts and sat in front of the White House day after day until Bush ended the war? Only one woman, Cindy Sheehan, had the courage to do this. Why didn't we all leave our comfortable lives and join her? Did we need the rape and hunger first? Could we have gotten rid of our own warlords, Bush and Cheney? Could we have prevented the disasters of the Bush Administration?
WEDNESDAY March 18, 2009 Comments by Joyce Marcel
Before each showing, the Women's Film Festival runs an absolutely kicky and delightful one-minute trailer featuring Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller's "I'm a Woman" (I don't know who is singing it) under a collage of shots taken from the various films. It's a wonderful piece of work, and I'm not sure who to credit it to. Anyone?
Last night, someone told me that she encourages people to read this blog because "Joyce always has strong opinions." I've thought about that, and I guess I feel that everyone has strong opinions. I may be more willing than most to express them, but this blog is not about what I think. It's about what everyone thinks who sees these films and is touched by them.
And if you were in the audience yesterday for "Pray the Devil Back to Hell," how could you be anything but moved? (More on this film tomorrow.)
I'm really just baiting you, the audience, the readers, with my "Think and Discuss" questions. I want to see if we can get a conversation going. Feel free to post comments. Tell me I'm arrogant. Tell me I'm a blithering idiot if you want, that I totally missed some important point or another. Don't leave me all alone out here. How can we see all these films about women and their voices without opening our own to scream, holler, praise and sing a little?
"THIS DUST OF WORDS" by Bill Rose.
This one almost pushed me off the rails.
It's billed as a "the biography of a writer and the town that sheltered her as mental illness closed in." The writer is Elizabeth Wiltsee, a girl with a brilliant mind - she taught herself to read and write Chinese and translated works into English from ancient Greek because she didn't trust translators - who disintegrated into homelessness and what the film calls "madness." She ultimately died what must have been a painful death - of starvation and with a broken leg - by the shores of the San Luis Reservoir in California. Her body wasn't found for days.
She supposedly had an IQ of 200. "This Dust of Words" was the title of her honors thesis at Stanford in 1969.
The "town that sheltered her" didn't really shelter her, and by then it was, anyway, far too late. She ended up sleeping on the steps of a church, and various church ladies left her food and clearly felt very good about themselves for doing so. The town tolerated her, although some admitted that Elizabeth challenged their Christian faith because they were so afraid of her that they ignored her on the street and in church.
Elizabeth was also cursed with a self-involved family full of pompous males who simply ignored her while she was going down the tubes. We meet one of her brothers, the one who is willing to talk to the camera (I believe there was another, who wouldn't). He's middle-class, comfortable and unimaginative, and he believes that he did everything he could for his sister because he occasionally sent her money.
Their father, he says, wonders every day why he didn't do more for her. Well, duh!
From Elizabeth's writings, we learn that she was too damned smart for her own good. She never felt comfortable in the world. She never felt that there was a place for her. She was beautiful, yet hated being called that. So something terrible must have happened to her along those lines, too.
In the end, she wanted only to be free - to sleep outdoors, to read in public libraries, to think. "All I want is to not be interrupted in my thoughts" she wrote when she was 23.
A woman of her period - she would be around my age if she had lived - would have been terribly conflicted about her role in society. She had been raised to be a wife and mother, yet was far more gifted than any of her siblings or fellow students. The world wasn't open to her yet, and it is no wonder that she went slightly, and then completely crazy.
The film left me wondering this - and I'll put it as a "Think and Discuss" question: If she had been a man, wouldn't she had found a place? Perhaps she would have found mentoring and guidance. Perhaps she would have won a Nobel Prize by now. How could a mind like this be allowed to be wasted?
Last night, someone told me that she encourages people to read this blog because "Joyce always has strong opinions." I've thought about that, and I guess I feel that everyone has strong opinions. I may be more willing than most to express them, but this blog is not about what I think. It's about what everyone thinks who sees these films and is touched by them.
And if you were in the audience yesterday for "Pray the Devil Back to Hell," how could you be anything but moved? (More on this film tomorrow.)
I'm really just baiting you, the audience, the readers, with my "Think and Discuss" questions. I want to see if we can get a conversation going. Feel free to post comments. Tell me I'm arrogant. Tell me I'm a blithering idiot if you want, that I totally missed some important point or another. Don't leave me all alone out here. How can we see all these films about women and their voices without opening our own to scream, holler, praise and sing a little?
"THIS DUST OF WORDS" by Bill Rose.
This one almost pushed me off the rails.
It's billed as a "the biography of a writer and the town that sheltered her as mental illness closed in." The writer is Elizabeth Wiltsee, a girl with a brilliant mind - she taught herself to read and write Chinese and translated works into English from ancient Greek because she didn't trust translators - who disintegrated into homelessness and what the film calls "madness." She ultimately died what must have been a painful death - of starvation and with a broken leg - by the shores of the San Luis Reservoir in California. Her body wasn't found for days.
She supposedly had an IQ of 200. "This Dust of Words" was the title of her honors thesis at Stanford in 1969.
The "town that sheltered her" didn't really shelter her, and by then it was, anyway, far too late. She ended up sleeping on the steps of a church, and various church ladies left her food and clearly felt very good about themselves for doing so. The town tolerated her, although some admitted that Elizabeth challenged their Christian faith because they were so afraid of her that they ignored her on the street and in church.
Elizabeth was also cursed with a self-involved family full of pompous males who simply ignored her while she was going down the tubes. We meet one of her brothers, the one who is willing to talk to the camera (I believe there was another, who wouldn't). He's middle-class, comfortable and unimaginative, and he believes that he did everything he could for his sister because he occasionally sent her money.
Their father, he says, wonders every day why he didn't do more for her. Well, duh!
From Elizabeth's writings, we learn that she was too damned smart for her own good. She never felt comfortable in the world. She never felt that there was a place for her. She was beautiful, yet hated being called that. So something terrible must have happened to her along those lines, too.
In the end, she wanted only to be free - to sleep outdoors, to read in public libraries, to think. "All I want is to not be interrupted in my thoughts" she wrote when she was 23.
A woman of her period - she would be around my age if she had lived - would have been terribly conflicted about her role in society. She had been raised to be a wife and mother, yet was far more gifted than any of her siblings or fellow students. The world wasn't open to her yet, and it is no wonder that she went slightly, and then completely crazy.
The film left me wondering this - and I'll put it as a "Think and Discuss" question: If she had been a man, wouldn't she had found a place? Perhaps she would have found mentoring and guidance. Perhaps she would have won a Nobel Prize by now. How could a mind like this be allowed to be wasted?
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
TUESDAY March 17, 2009
First Blog Post by Joyce Marcel
If you are a woman and you can't find yourself -- or at least some part of yourself, your deepest self -- reflected on one of the screens of the Women's Film Festival, then I don't really know what to say to you. I find myself in all of them.
And if you're a man, why wouldn't it be the same? Women's stories are above all human stories -- it's almost embarrassing to have to write those words, you'd think everyone would know that by now -- and these stories of extraordinary and quite ordinary women are lessons in being human.
A little housekeeping first. I was out of town this weekend, but I was told that the first showing of "Passion and Power: The Technology of Orgasm," was well attended Saturday evening, and that many men came (heh, heh) as well as women. The film tells a fascinating story, which I covered in my Brattleboro Reformer column "Getting a Buzz," which is posted on this site.
I'm introducing a new feature this year. It's called "Think and Discuss." The first topic is from "Passion and Power."
Discuss: Are there really two different female orgasms, a clitoral one and a vaginal one? Is there really a G spot, or was that idea invented to return heterosexual women to the penis, after they'd discovered vibrators and were spending a lot of money on batteries? Does the movie confuse the masturbatory with the intercoursal, if that's a word? After all, vibrators are great, but they aren't everything. Or are they?
20 SECONDS OF JOY
I still don't know what to make of the film "20 Seconds of Joy" by Jens Hoffman.
The film tells the story of Karina Hollekim, a stunning blue-eyed, pink-cheeked, superbly fit Norwegian blonde who enjoys throwing herself off (very) high cliffs and free-falling -- or flying, really -- until the very last minute before she has to open her parachute.
Every time she throws herself off another cliff I scream.
The sport is called BASE jumping (Building, Antenna, Span or Earth - the four categories of jumping).
Needless to say, the sport is extremely dangerous. And sponsored. Karina's clothing was covered with -- no great surprise here -- Red Bull logos.
Karina knows how dangerous it is.
"It's insane watching your your best buddies die," she says. "You have to ask yourself, is it worth it?"
And her father agrees. "There's a lot of statistics against her."
Yet when you watch her in her flight suit, soaring against the cliffs like a butterfly, it's breaktakingly beautiful. It lifts your spirits and elevates your comprehension of human capability. Isn't it all of our dreams -- and our nightmares -- to fly?
We can' even imagine the rush of adrenaline that shoots through her, the vistas she sees, the emotions she feels.
BASE jumping is Karina's joy, her passion and her obsession. Like jockeys and other thrill-seeking athletes, she's hooked on it. "If I don't do it, I'm not a complete person," she says. "I'm not a happy person."
Of course her friends are terrified for her safety. But Karina isn't concerned. She frankly says that the only thing that would stop her would be becoming a paraplegic or a mother. Odd choices, come to think of it.
But when she crashes into rock at 100 miles an hour and shatters both her legs, you're along for the ride because she's filming the jump.
The result? Twenty-one fractures in one leg. The doctor says she won't ever walk again. After myriad operations, she speaks from a wheelchair, and her biggest concern? "I can do everything right and it still can go wrong."
Then, subdued, she asks, "Is it really important to jump off a cliff for 20 seconds of joy?"
Think and discuss: Is Karina crazy, or does her obsession make sense to you? Or both?
THE POET'S VIEW: KAY RYAN: CHICKENS AND THE FUNNIES
This was just an absolute smashing film. By Mel Stuart, it's part of a wonderful series on the lives and work of both male and female poets. Kay Ryan was absolutely unknown to me -- she's the U.S. Poet Laureate for 2008-2009, which shows you how little I know about poetry -- so it was a special pleasure hearing her read, seeing her home and watching her work.
She write short poems with internal rhymes and wise thoughts that strike you in the heart as truths. In "Theft," for example, she compares the loss of the mind through diseases like Alzheimer's to a fox sucking out the insides of stolen eggs. The poem went by so fast -- my thanks to Stuart for showing us the words as Ryan reads, which makes it infinitely easier to comprehend -- that I can't quote it.
And oddly, since I'm writing this in the library, I can't find any of Ryan's poems on the shelves.
As a writer, though, Ryan's thoughts about work were especially interesting to me. And again, they struck as truths that I would have told myself, had I thought of them. For example, she said that she writes "from my desire to stop doing nothing." Exactly.
And, "A writer needs not seek suffering. Enough suffering will come to her."
And, she said, she writes in longhand on yellow legal pads because "you can't save mistakes in the computer." You never know whether, in an hour or so, something that you erased will be exactly what you need, while what you saved should be erased.
Think and Discuss: This comes from Ryan herself: "Is it worth it to be a poet?"
If you are a woman and you can't find yourself -- or at least some part of yourself, your deepest self -- reflected on one of the screens of the Women's Film Festival, then I don't really know what to say to you. I find myself in all of them.
And if you're a man, why wouldn't it be the same? Women's stories are above all human stories -- it's almost embarrassing to have to write those words, you'd think everyone would know that by now -- and these stories of extraordinary and quite ordinary women are lessons in being human.
A little housekeeping first. I was out of town this weekend, but I was told that the first showing of "Passion and Power: The Technology of Orgasm," was well attended Saturday evening, and that many men came (heh, heh) as well as women. The film tells a fascinating story, which I covered in my Brattleboro Reformer column "Getting a Buzz," which is posted on this site.
I'm introducing a new feature this year. It's called "Think and Discuss." The first topic is from "Passion and Power."
Discuss: Are there really two different female orgasms, a clitoral one and a vaginal one? Is there really a G spot, or was that idea invented to return heterosexual women to the penis, after they'd discovered vibrators and were spending a lot of money on batteries? Does the movie confuse the masturbatory with the intercoursal, if that's a word? After all, vibrators are great, but they aren't everything. Or are they?
20 SECONDS OF JOY
I still don't know what to make of the film "20 Seconds of Joy" by Jens Hoffman.
The film tells the story of Karina Hollekim, a stunning blue-eyed, pink-cheeked, superbly fit Norwegian blonde who enjoys throwing herself off (very) high cliffs and free-falling -- or flying, really -- until the very last minute before she has to open her parachute.
Every time she throws herself off another cliff I scream.
The sport is called BASE jumping (Building, Antenna, Span or Earth - the four categories of jumping).
Needless to say, the sport is extremely dangerous. And sponsored. Karina's clothing was covered with -- no great surprise here -- Red Bull logos.
Karina knows how dangerous it is.
"It's insane watching your your best buddies die," she says. "You have to ask yourself, is it worth it?"
And her father agrees. "There's a lot of statistics against her."
Yet when you watch her in her flight suit, soaring against the cliffs like a butterfly, it's breaktakingly beautiful. It lifts your spirits and elevates your comprehension of human capability. Isn't it all of our dreams -- and our nightmares -- to fly?
We can' even imagine the rush of adrenaline that shoots through her, the vistas she sees, the emotions she feels.
BASE jumping is Karina's joy, her passion and her obsession. Like jockeys and other thrill-seeking athletes, she's hooked on it. "If I don't do it, I'm not a complete person," she says. "I'm not a happy person."
Of course her friends are terrified for her safety. But Karina isn't concerned. She frankly says that the only thing that would stop her would be becoming a paraplegic or a mother. Odd choices, come to think of it.
But when she crashes into rock at 100 miles an hour and shatters both her legs, you're along for the ride because she's filming the jump.
The result? Twenty-one fractures in one leg. The doctor says she won't ever walk again. After myriad operations, she speaks from a wheelchair, and her biggest concern? "I can do everything right and it still can go wrong."
Then, subdued, she asks, "Is it really important to jump off a cliff for 20 seconds of joy?"
Think and discuss: Is Karina crazy, or does her obsession make sense to you? Or both?
THE POET'S VIEW: KAY RYAN: CHICKENS AND THE FUNNIES
This was just an absolute smashing film. By Mel Stuart, it's part of a wonderful series on the lives and work of both male and female poets. Kay Ryan was absolutely unknown to me -- she's the U.S. Poet Laureate for 2008-2009, which shows you how little I know about poetry -- so it was a special pleasure hearing her read, seeing her home and watching her work.
She write short poems with internal rhymes and wise thoughts that strike you in the heart as truths. In "Theft," for example, she compares the loss of the mind through diseases like Alzheimer's to a fox sucking out the insides of stolen eggs. The poem went by so fast -- my thanks to Stuart for showing us the words as Ryan reads, which makes it infinitely easier to comprehend -- that I can't quote it.
And oddly, since I'm writing this in the library, I can't find any of Ryan's poems on the shelves.
As a writer, though, Ryan's thoughts about work were especially interesting to me. And again, they struck as truths that I would have told myself, had I thought of them. For example, she said that she writes "from my desire to stop doing nothing." Exactly.
And, "A writer needs not seek suffering. Enough suffering will come to her."
And, she said, she writes in longhand on yellow legal pads because "you can't save mistakes in the computer." You never know whether, in an hour or so, something that you erased will be exactly what you need, while what you saved should be erased.
Think and Discuss: This comes from Ryan herself: "Is it worth it to be a poet?"
GETTING A BUZZ by Joyce Marcel
How timely is it that the Women's Film Festival is showing "Passion and Power: The Technology of Orgasm," a 2007 film by Wendy Slick & Emiko Omorias?
Very timely. Vibrators have become big news here in Vermont.
On February 15, the Associated Press burned up the wires with a story that the Vermont Country Store's catalog, "The Voice of the Mountains" -- that repository for everything warm, fuzzy, sassafrassy, rural and old-timey -- is devoting a section to vibrators, creams, penis rings, DVDs and other sex aids.
The outrage was quick and vituperative. Many of the angry letters began with, "I'm not a prude, but..." It seems that people were shocked, shocked, to learn that sexual aids not only exist, but are sold on the open market.
Maybe they were also shocked, shocked, because these aids are being targeted to older folks? And who likes to think of old folks having sex? "Ew!," as the young ones say.
Or maybe they were grabbing at the last cultural taboo? Black people? Oh, one is president of the United States. Gay couples? Oh, Vermont led the way to acceptance with civil unions, and now they can marry in several states. What is left for people with the worst kind of closed minds, the kinds filled with conventional wisdom, to rant and rail against? Well, obviously, it's got to be sex.
And not just sex, but females enjoying sex. We're used to thinking about men enjoying sex -- we don't blink an eyelash anymore at those erectile disfunction commercials on television. It's the female orgasm that is so disturbing.
In the film, we learn some interesting things about the history of vibrators. We learn that in the shape of dildoes, they seem to have to have been known since early antiquity. That in Victorian times, women went to medical doctors for "treatments" that involved orgasms. The disease? It was called "hysteria," and a good treatment seemed to calm a woman down -- at least until the next appointment.
When vibrators -- and rural electrification -- became more easily available, porn movies began to feature women masturbating with them. That ended the doctor's visit for good -- it made vibrators unsavory.
But who needed a doctor for something you could do it in the privacy of your own home?
Then came the 1970s and the feminist movement. Artist and author Betty Dodson -- who is featured in the film -- almost single-handedly brought the vibrator back into women’s lives. She began a crusade to teach women how to have orgasms with vibrators – alone and with partners. Soon women were taking classes in "down there," In groups, they looked at their cervixes in mirrors. A battle raged over whether there actually was a vaginal orgasm, anyway, or if they weren't all clitoral. And if they were all clitoral, then who needed a man?
If I remember correctly, the "G Spot" was discovered around this time in order to even up the playing field once again.
Things calmed down until George W. Bush rallied the right-wing conservative Christians, who still believe that a woman should be barefoot, pregnant, tied to the kitchen and subservient to a man. For a while, things were (pardon) touch and go about whether even sex would survive.
Then, in 2004, former fifth grade teacher Joanne Webb was arrested for selling vibrators (in the South they have sex toy parties, like Tupperware parties) to two undercover cops in a small Texas town. "She had broken a state law that prohibits the sale of devices that stimulate the genitals," says the film's Web site. "Texas and three other states have enacted these laws as a backlash to feminism. In these states, however, it is legal to advertise and sell Viagra. This double standard for women has far-reaching contemporary implications for sexual freedom, civil liberties and the right to privacy."
As documentaries go, this is not a particularly good film. It features uncomfortable camera angles and cheesy historical reenactment. But as a part of women's history, it's riveting.
Getting back to the Vermont Country Store for a minute, owner Lyman Orton defended selling sex toys (it seems to have become a lucrative part of his business) by saying he was trying to defeat "the negative image of older folks held by younger ones and to demonstrate the tremendous mutual benefit to both groups of changing that outlook."
He was also looking for ways, he said, to move away "from the image of narrowing-down life as we age to one of expanding life."
Rip that page out of the catalog if you don’t care to look at it, Orton said.
And I'd add, let your assistant sell that birth control prescription if it goes against your religion. And if you don't like abortions, don't have one.
But, again, it’s not about sex. "It’s about more deeply understanding the changing culture around aging well through a conversation with those who know a thing or two about the subject," Orton said. "If, along the way, we bump into taboo subjects that make some uncomfortable, we will take them on in our characteristic no-nonsense, practical Vermont way."
Very timely. Vibrators have become big news here in Vermont.
On February 15, the Associated Press burned up the wires with a story that the Vermont Country Store's catalog, "The Voice of the Mountains" -- that repository for everything warm, fuzzy, sassafrassy, rural and old-timey -- is devoting a section to vibrators, creams, penis rings, DVDs and other sex aids.
The outrage was quick and vituperative. Many of the angry letters began with, "I'm not a prude, but..." It seems that people were shocked, shocked, to learn that sexual aids not only exist, but are sold on the open market.
Maybe they were also shocked, shocked, because these aids are being targeted to older folks? And who likes to think of old folks having sex? "Ew!," as the young ones say.
Or maybe they were grabbing at the last cultural taboo? Black people? Oh, one is president of the United States. Gay couples? Oh, Vermont led the way to acceptance with civil unions, and now they can marry in several states. What is left for people with the worst kind of closed minds, the kinds filled with conventional wisdom, to rant and rail against? Well, obviously, it's got to be sex.
And not just sex, but females enjoying sex. We're used to thinking about men enjoying sex -- we don't blink an eyelash anymore at those erectile disfunction commercials on television. It's the female orgasm that is so disturbing.
In the film, we learn some interesting things about the history of vibrators. We learn that in the shape of dildoes, they seem to have to have been known since early antiquity. That in Victorian times, women went to medical doctors for "treatments" that involved orgasms. The disease? It was called "hysteria," and a good treatment seemed to calm a woman down -- at least until the next appointment.
When vibrators -- and rural electrification -- became more easily available, porn movies began to feature women masturbating with them. That ended the doctor's visit for good -- it made vibrators unsavory.
But who needed a doctor for something you could do it in the privacy of your own home?
Then came the 1970s and the feminist movement. Artist and author Betty Dodson -- who is featured in the film -- almost single-handedly brought the vibrator back into women’s lives. She began a crusade to teach women how to have orgasms with vibrators – alone and with partners. Soon women were taking classes in "down there," In groups, they looked at their cervixes in mirrors. A battle raged over whether there actually was a vaginal orgasm, anyway, or if they weren't all clitoral. And if they were all clitoral, then who needed a man?
If I remember correctly, the "G Spot" was discovered around this time in order to even up the playing field once again.
Things calmed down until George W. Bush rallied the right-wing conservative Christians, who still believe that a woman should be barefoot, pregnant, tied to the kitchen and subservient to a man. For a while, things were (pardon) touch and go about whether even sex would survive.
Then, in 2004, former fifth grade teacher Joanne Webb was arrested for selling vibrators (in the South they have sex toy parties, like Tupperware parties) to two undercover cops in a small Texas town. "She had broken a state law that prohibits the sale of devices that stimulate the genitals," says the film's Web site. "Texas and three other states have enacted these laws as a backlash to feminism. In these states, however, it is legal to advertise and sell Viagra. This double standard for women has far-reaching contemporary implications for sexual freedom, civil liberties and the right to privacy."
As documentaries go, this is not a particularly good film. It features uncomfortable camera angles and cheesy historical reenactment. But as a part of women's history, it's riveting.
Getting back to the Vermont Country Store for a minute, owner Lyman Orton defended selling sex toys (it seems to have become a lucrative part of his business) by saying he was trying to defeat "the negative image of older folks held by younger ones and to demonstrate the tremendous mutual benefit to both groups of changing that outlook."
He was also looking for ways, he said, to move away "from the image of narrowing-down life as we age to one of expanding life."
Rip that page out of the catalog if you don’t care to look at it, Orton said.
And I'd add, let your assistant sell that birth control prescription if it goes against your religion. And if you don't like abortions, don't have one.
But, again, it’s not about sex. "It’s about more deeply understanding the changing culture around aging well through a conversation with those who know a thing or two about the subject," Orton said. "If, along the way, we bump into taboo subjects that make some uncomfortable, we will take them on in our characteristic no-nonsense, practical Vermont way."
Friday, March 13, 2009
Trailer for Who Does She Think She is
For further information about the film and the five artists featured, go to Who Does She Think She Is.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
MEETINGS WITH REMARKABLE WOMEN by Joyce Marcel
DUMMERSTON, Vt. - No woman is ordinary. We all have remarkable stories to tell. But some of us have extraordinary stories. Just wait until you see "20 Seconds of Joy" by Jens Hoffman.
The film is one of 27 being shown at this year's Women's Film Festival, now in its 18th year as a fundraiser for the Women's Crisis Center. The festival will run from from March 13 to March 22.
"20 Seconds" opens with Norwegian Karina Hollekim standing on top of a mountain and looking straight down into a fjord. She's making jokes about the importance of tucking her jacket into her pants. Just as you're wondering what she's talking about, she casually goes to the edge of the cliff and jumps off. (That's the part where I screamed.) She doesn't jump for suicide; she jumps for fun.
The sport is called BASE jumping (Building, Antenna, Span or Earth - the four categories of jumping). And the lovely Karina lives to free-fall and soar through the air. After she opens her chute, she lands with a face full of wide-eyed ecstasy.
Karina sometimes jumps from Alps and skis down. She jumps from towers and bridges. She jumps wearing a suit shaped like a butterfly, which gives her wings. She jumps in Switzerland, the U.S. and Mali.
And when she crashes into rock at 100 miles an hour and shatters both her legs, you're along for the ride because she's filming the jump.
"Yes I am scared, of course I am scared; I am human," she told an interviewer. "The difference is that I like it. I want to have that feeling.... You have to accept the fact that this might kill you. I think I have broken almost every bone in my body. I have lost a lot of friends along the way... But if pleasure is higher than the risk, then go for the jump."
Another remarkable woman on film is the painter Alice Neel. A brilliant portraitist, she spent decades painting in a room in her New York apartment - in obscurity, because abstract expressionists ruled the land. Only late in life did she receive the recognition and acclaim she deserved. The film was made by her grandson, Andrew Neel.
Neel was a free spirit, a bohemian, a piece of work, a terrible mother - both her sons (of different fathers) - tell stories about their abuse at her hands. But they also speak of their love for her.
As you watch Neel paint or see the paintings - often next to the people they represent - it's hard not to see every person as an Alice Neel painting. (If you don't believe me, check out aliceneel.com.) She might not have been mother of the year, or of the decade, and you might want to throttle her for her self-absorption and obsession with painting, but she knew what she wanted and she doggedly kept going, ultimately being recognized as one of the greatest painters of the 20th Century. She died in 1984.
Hawaiian politician Patsy Takemoto Mink (1927-2002) also left something precious behind - Title IX, the bill that opened athletics to women. Mink was a tiny, determined oriental woman - the first "woman of color" in the U.S. Congress - and a dogged fighter for progressive causes. In "Patsy Mink: Ahead of the majority," a 2008 documentary by Kim Bassford, we see her fighting the good fight, sometimes winning and sometimes losing, but always loving the battle.
And in "A Sense of Wonder," a 2008 film by Christopher Monger, the actress Kaiulani Lee performs a one-woman play she wrote about Rachel Carson at the end of her life. "Silent Spring" had been written, and Carson was enjoying the acclaim as well as the fight against the chemical companies. But she was also suffering with the cancer that soon will kill her. Shot at Carson's coastal home in Maine and using much of her own writing as dialog, you are made speechless by her detailed intelligence, her love of nature and her beautiful soul. I spent much of this film wishing that it was Carson herself speaking, that it was a documentary rather than a fiction, but it is enough that we have her words so beautifully portrayed.
There are other remarkable women to be met at the festival. There's a dreadfully arty and disorganized bio of the rocker Patti Smith, for example, which is, come to think of it, just as arty and disorganized as she is. But oh! When she sits down with a guitar, can she ever sing!
There are also films about the great injustices of the day - about rape as politics, about poverty, sweatshops and all the blood-boiling, outrageous rest. All manner of indignity is heaped upon women, and all manner of brave women fight against it.
There's even a film about the history of vibrators, but I'll get to that next week.
Surprise always rules at this festival. There are always films you've never heard of that stay with you for the rest of your life. Now is the time to meet remarkable women. Prepare to fall in love.
Joyce Marcel is a journalist whose first collection of columns, "A Thousand Words or Less," can be ordered from her website, joycemarcel.com. She can be reached at joycemarcel@yahoo.com.
Reprinted from the Brttleboro Reformer, March 4, 2009
The film is one of 27 being shown at this year's Women's Film Festival, now in its 18th year as a fundraiser for the Women's Crisis Center. The festival will run from from March 13 to March 22.
"20 Seconds" opens with Norwegian Karina Hollekim standing on top of a mountain and looking straight down into a fjord. She's making jokes about the importance of tucking her jacket into her pants. Just as you're wondering what she's talking about, she casually goes to the edge of the cliff and jumps off. (That's the part where I screamed.) She doesn't jump for suicide; she jumps for fun.
The sport is called BASE jumping (Building, Antenna, Span or Earth - the four categories of jumping). And the lovely Karina lives to free-fall and soar through the air. After she opens her chute, she lands with a face full of wide-eyed ecstasy.
Karina sometimes jumps from Alps and skis down. She jumps from towers and bridges. She jumps wearing a suit shaped like a butterfly, which gives her wings. She jumps in Switzerland, the U.S. and Mali.
And when she crashes into rock at 100 miles an hour and shatters both her legs, you're along for the ride because she's filming the jump.
"Yes I am scared, of course I am scared; I am human," she told an interviewer. "The difference is that I like it. I want to have that feeling.... You have to accept the fact that this might kill you. I think I have broken almost every bone in my body. I have lost a lot of friends along the way... But if pleasure is higher than the risk, then go for the jump."
Another remarkable woman on film is the painter Alice Neel. A brilliant portraitist, she spent decades painting in a room in her New York apartment - in obscurity, because abstract expressionists ruled the land. Only late in life did she receive the recognition and acclaim she deserved. The film was made by her grandson, Andrew Neel.
Neel was a free spirit, a bohemian, a piece of work, a terrible mother - both her sons (of different fathers) - tell stories about their abuse at her hands. But they also speak of their love for her.
As you watch Neel paint or see the paintings - often next to the people they represent - it's hard not to see every person as an Alice Neel painting. (If you don't believe me, check out aliceneel.com.) She might not have been mother of the year, or of the decade, and you might want to throttle her for her self-absorption and obsession with painting, but she knew what she wanted and she doggedly kept going, ultimately being recognized as one of the greatest painters of the 20th Century. She died in 1984.
Hawaiian politician Patsy Takemoto Mink (1927-2002) also left something precious behind - Title IX, the bill that opened athletics to women. Mink was a tiny, determined oriental woman - the first "woman of color" in the U.S. Congress - and a dogged fighter for progressive causes. In "Patsy Mink: Ahead of the majority," a 2008 documentary by Kim Bassford, we see her fighting the good fight, sometimes winning and sometimes losing, but always loving the battle.
And in "A Sense of Wonder," a 2008 film by Christopher Monger, the actress Kaiulani Lee performs a one-woman play she wrote about Rachel Carson at the end of her life. "Silent Spring" had been written, and Carson was enjoying the acclaim as well as the fight against the chemical companies. But she was also suffering with the cancer that soon will kill her. Shot at Carson's coastal home in Maine and using much of her own writing as dialog, you are made speechless by her detailed intelligence, her love of nature and her beautiful soul. I spent much of this film wishing that it was Carson herself speaking, that it was a documentary rather than a fiction, but it is enough that we have her words so beautifully portrayed.
There are other remarkable women to be met at the festival. There's a dreadfully arty and disorganized bio of the rocker Patti Smith, for example, which is, come to think of it, just as arty and disorganized as she is. But oh! When she sits down with a guitar, can she ever sing!
There are also films about the great injustices of the day - about rape as politics, about poverty, sweatshops and all the blood-boiling, outrageous rest. All manner of indignity is heaped upon women, and all manner of brave women fight against it.
There's even a film about the history of vibrators, but I'll get to that next week.
Surprise always rules at this festival. There are always films you've never heard of that stay with you for the rest of your life. Now is the time to meet remarkable women. Prepare to fall in love.
Joyce Marcel is a journalist whose first collection of columns, "A Thousand Words or Less," can be ordered from her website, joycemarcel.com. She can be reached at joycemarcel@yahoo.com.
Reprinted from the Brttleboro Reformer, March 4, 2009
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