All Dressed Up And Nothing To Do?

This article was making the rounds for a while on Facebook: We’re losing all our Strong Female Characters to Trinity Syndrome.  Several people I respect shared it, so I read it, and it seemed like a reasonable critique of contemporary film-making and the subtle evolution of sexism.  It’s probably worth reading, if you haven’t already, before going on.

In many respects, I took the argument at face value.  I believe that sexism is still prevalent in mainstream media; I believe that as we correct some of the more explicit and overt forms of discrimination (whether gender, race, sexual orientation, or other) that cultural force mutates, changing shape but still maintaining that energy; I get that Trinity is cool and strong and interesting in some ways, but then morphs into a supporting, traditional girlfriend.  The concept that strong, female characters still get pushed into the background behind the male protagonists rings true to me at a gut level.

The problem is, I actually saw How To Train Your Dragon 2 and The Lego Movie this weekend, and having done that, this critique seems misplaced.  It may be true in general, or in some cases, but the ways this article characterizes those movies is heavily distorted, consciously or unconsciously.  If you haven’t seen those movies, thar be spoilers below.

Starting with the character of Valka, to claim that the movie includes her as a token strong, female character is to miss the entire arc of the story.  Hiccup is missing at the beginning of the movie because he’s searching for something, his own identity and place in the world; at the end of the movie, he has arrived at both, as the chief and the standard-bearer for peace and cooperation.  What Valka represents, in this figure, is not just half of who he is; it’s the dominant half.  Yes, the competition of alpha-male supremacy is still at the heart of the film, but instead of the resolution being a chest-thumping triumph of masculine energy, what Hiccup achieves in the end is a synthesis of the masculine and the feminine – traditional leadership, true, but leadership that not only embraces  traditionally feminine values but elevates them above the traditionally masculine ones.  The conflict between war-mongering masculinity and empathic relationship-building is decisively won by the latter.

Valka is the pivotal figure in this journey.  The film signals in various ways that it is her influence that leads to Hiccup’s ability to bond with his dragon – a relationship of companionship rather than utility.  Rather than her knowledge of dragons being incidental to the battle, she is the one who unlocks Toothless’ ability to maneuver, and possibly his emergence as a higher version of himself (if Toothless is even a he, something I’m not sure is ever established), saving Hiccup, the battle, and the day.  When she was married, she did not feel bound to that institution, just as she rebelled against the common knowledge of the islanders, and when her husband appears, she does not automatically fall back into the role of wife.  Even once they are reconciled, Stoick turns to her for the deciding moment before engaging in battle.  She is neither useless nor peripheral, and reading her that way requires erasing both the specific events of the film and its larger treatment of traditional gender identity.

Granted, Hiccup is still the hero.  While Astrid breaks various gender conventions on her own, she is still secondary to him, able to lead the group only in his absence.  Valka does not become chief.  There are still plenty of conventional structures and positions used throughout the film, but the dominant theme of the film is about a shift from an older, traditional generation of leadership as masculine power to a new, younger generation of enlightened synthesis of the masculine and the feminine, with the feminine value system being the dominant one.  It’s not Andrea Dworkin, but it’s far from the “rote” depictions that Robinson accuses the film of using.

Similarly, Wildstyle/Lucy in The Lego Movie plays a much more significant role than Robinson gives her credit for.  “Her only post-introduction story purpose is to be rescued, repeatedly, and to eventually confer the cool-girl approval that seals Emmet’s transformation from loser to winner.”  When Emmet sacrifices himself by jumping out of the think tank, Wildstyle takes control of the entire group of master-builders, organizing them around a plan of her own devising; then, she does the same for the population in general, seizing control of the means of production of media to put out a counter-message of individuality and resistance to top-down, hierarchical social control.  While one could argue that the adherence to serial monogamy is repressive at some level, Lucy breaking up with Batman before starting an official relationship with Emmet is hardly “turn[ing] to her current boyfriend for permission to dump him“.  She neither needs nor asks for permission.  She’s telling Batman how it’s going to be; he interrupts in order to protect his own, fragile ego.  Reading this moment as anything less than Wildstyle determining her own fate and destiny rewrites the event.

Again, while The Lego Movie is traditional in its heteronormativity, it disrupts the notion of heroism as masculinity in any number of ways.  The prophecy is made up; Emmet is no more destined to become the king because of his privileged male-ness than any other character is; instead, the film repeatedly emphasizes that everyone is the Special.  The feminine characters are just as capable of kicking butt as their masculine counterparts, if not more so; in fact, when Unikitty stops repressing her own feelings and embraces them, she kicks all kinds of butt, and it doesn’t take much of a stretch to map that repression into cultural expectations of girls and women to be polite, conventional, etc.  And just as HTTYD2 represents a generational shift in gendered values around power and identity, The Lego Movie ultimately shows the dissolving of an older (white, male) model of power and opening up to a more diverse one.

While these movies may well trigger concerns about gender identity and the way it’s being presented in popular media (especially to children), and that experience of anxiety around these films may be entirely justifiable, to characterize these particular texts as lacking in meaningful roles for their strong, female characters requires a significant distortion of the texts themselves.  Yes, these are both movies about masculine heroes – and there are any number of bases to criticize Hollywood for its lack of opportunity and range for feminine leads – but they also both embrace diversity, self-definition, and the importance of historically feminine values.  Both of these movies are celebrating the opportunity to leave behind archaic, hierarchical power systems and doing so with characters that disrupt traditional gender identity in various ways, not just feminine characters embracing masculine roles and values, but the reverse as well.

We still have a long way to go, but to criticize these movies for not being progressive enough requires erasing the progress that has been made, and I fail to see how that helps move us forward.  If you have greater insight than I do, feel free to educate me in the comments.

 

The Hobbit II: Electric Boogaloo

I was fine when Peter Jackson announced that he was doing The Hobbit as a two movie series.  After all, converting a book to a movie often requires some additional room.  When it was announced that it had become a trilogy, I was skeptical.  To me, that read more like a financial decision than a creative one.  Obviously, I am not privy to the reality.  The first movie felt a little thin, but still mostly true to the book.  I was (and still am) happy to contribute some small piece of my time on earth to supporting this kind of grand, inspired storytelling.  Yes, there were a lot of action sequences; that’s fine.  I like a good blockbuster movie as much as the next person.  Pirates of the Caribbean wasn’t high art, but it was a rollicking good time.  An adaptation that doesn’t pay attention to the specific rhythms of the new medium isn’t really an adaptation, just as a transliteration is not a translation.  In general, I’m withholding judgment on the series until the third movie is complete.  After all, he said it was going to be a trilogy, and it should be judged as such.  However, one key dynamic has emerged that troubles me.

In Tolkien’s work (both The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit), the world of Middle Earth is filled with situated protector-figures.  Obviously, Gandalf is a key protector-figure, but he is rootless, a wanderer.  Outside of the (mostly) safe realm of the Shire, there are all sorts of dangerous lands, but most of them also have some kind of local protector.  Tom Bombadil watches over the wilds between the Shire and Bree; Treebeard watches over Fangorn Forest; Elrond, Galadriel, Faramir all “own” their particular areas, knowing the paths, guarding the unwary, policing the line between accident and malicious evil.  The inverse figures also exist: the tentacled guardian in the water outside Moria, the Balrog, Saruman (who should be a protector but is not), even Sauron himself.  Each of them is situated, local, particular to a landscape, intimately familiar with it, reflected in it (as the desolation around Orthanc symbolizes Saruman’s own decay and rot).

The primary quest of The Hobbit is to flip one of these locations: the lonely mountain.  When the story begins, it is like Moria: lost to evil, home to a powerful threat (Smaug), a blight on the landscape.  The re-establishment of the dwarven kingdom should turn it back into a haven, like Rivendell, with Thorin ruling in peace and justice, protecting the weak, and securing this piece of land against outside threats.  I would argue that this Feudal iconography is central to the storytelling in The Hobbit.  The decay and cruelty of Mirkwood is related not only to the necromancer’s growing power but also to the decay and heartlessness of Thranduil, the elven king; the goblin king makes all of the Misty Mountains dangerous, not just his own home; the king of the eagles protects those who make it to the other side.

What troubles me is that Jackson seems to have developed a habit of erasing, minimizing, or dimishining these figures in his movies.  In The Hobbit, specifically, Beorn gets short shrift.  Instead of the benevolent, if idiosyncratic, protector of the lands east of the Misty Mountains, a lover of life who protects and lives with the animals, he is a vengeful, barely controlled figure of rage.  Similarly, Bard and the Master of Laketown are bitter, bickering, antagonists.  This echoes the portrayal of Treebeard as an isolationist in The Two Towers movie, whereas in the book he is a protector of the forest; instead of deciding to go to war to protect the land, he is tricked into reacting out of anger.  Tom Bombadil was erased completely, and while I didn’t make much of it at the time (after all, cuts need to be made when translating epic works to the screen), it now seems like part of a larger pattern.

Certainly, the world we live in today is not nearly as local as England was in Tolkien’s time.  The Feudal model of local control, and the concomitant duty to shepherd and protect, is outmoded in a world where we are distrustful of our own governments, cynical about their functions, and paranoid about both those who wield power and how they win and exercise it.  But, myths are abstractions.  By definition, they portray the world not as it is, but as a model of how it does or should work.  The changes that Jackson is making with these protector-figures may make the movies more relatable, more modern, but they also lose part of the beauty and wonder of a world where there are powerful forces for good around every corner.  The triumph of the everyman hobbit is itself an inversion of the Feudal model in some ways, but it plays against that backdrop, showing that the greatest protectors are not necessarily the largest, loudest, or even most skilled.  In Jackson’s version of Middle Earth, the heroes are still heroic, but the land itself is less full of good and virtue.  It may be a reflection of our more individual-focused times, but it also reinforces that dynamic, in what I personally feel is a negative way.

The jury remains out, as I said above, pending the last movie.  But, with five full-length movies to work from as an opus, one can discern patterns, and this one is particularly troubling.