“You Asked Me Why I Wasn’t Mad At Him”: Sexual Violence, Rape and Love in Watchmen

If it wasn’t apparent from the title, this post contains description and discussion about rape within a film. If this would upset or trigger you, please do not read further.

Zack Snyder’s film adaptation of Alan Moore’s graphic novel Watchmen is unforgettable (and underrated) in a myriad of ways, but one of the most talked about aspects of the film is the sexual violence committed by Edward Blake (The Comedian). He brutally assaults Sally Jupiter (Silk Spectre) in an attempted rape, but is stopped by the other Minutemen. Throughout the movie Sally and Eddie’s relationship is a strong undertow of the larger events, and it carries the audience unknowingly with it. The big question is: Why did Sally forgive Eddie for beating the shit out of her, and is this okay?

This particular plot line challenges notions of rape and victim-hood in an uncomfortably head-on way. As always, we end up with more questions than answers, but despite attempted rape and violence between them, it is established that Sally and Eddie had an intimate relationship that shaped both of them as characters.

The most and yet least obvious aspect to the portrayal of these characters is that almost all of their relationship is subtext – it is hidden from the audience and only espoused via the characters themselves. The only part of their complex love affair we are shown is presumably the most violent: when Eddie attempts to rape Sally. And since this is the most public part of their affair (for both the audience and the other Minutemen, who walk in and stop Eddie short of rape), it is the focal point of their entire relationship. It becomes one of the Comedian’s most notorious wrongdoings – all else in the film pales in comparison to the graphic beating he issues Sally. And Snyder got it right – it is horrifying and painful to watch.

Sally Jupiter is a highly sexual woman who takes pride in being known for her beauty and allure. She is delighted by her sexualized image, and even shows her daughter, Laurie, a small pornographic comic featuring the Silk Spectre (called a “Tijuana Bible”). Laurie reacts with disgust at the grotesquely sexual images, but Sally snatches the comic back and tells Laurie that she “thinks it’s kind of flattering.”

Like Sally, Eddie also collects nostalgia – but almost all of it is images of the Silk Spectre. In the opening scene where Eddie is murdered, we see a large, pin-up style drawing of Sally on his wall. Later on, when he burns Ozymandias’s map at the Watchmen meeting, his lighter is also adorned with the Silk Spectre’s image. Both characters long for one another in a complex way, and collect bits of the past to attempt to be close to one another despite the tumultuous and violent relationship they had. Sally also keeps the portrait of the Minutemen, taken only moments before Eddie assaults her, next to her chair in her living room, and she is seen affectionately touching the portrait as she reminisces about the past. Both characters are steeped in nostalgia of each other, and never truly escape what has bound them together in the past – not only their relationship, but the outcome of that relationship: their daughter, Laurie, who takes up the costume of the Silk Spectre when she becomes part of the Watchmen.

After being nearly raped, and later consensually having sex with the Comedian, Sally is pushed into a realm of shame and guilt. Not because she was beaten and almost sexually assaulted, but because she didn’t necessarily resent or hate Eddie like she was expected to in the aftermath of trauma. This is problematic because there is an expectation that victims of rape harbor ill feelings and even full-blown hatred towards their aggressor, and harboring those feelings is acceptable and understood. Yet, when someone does not fully resent and fight back against the event, they are ostracized, ridiculed and, as in Sally’s case, forced to bear a burden of shame and guilt. We see both Sally’s daughter, Laurie, wonder in an accusing way at how Sally could forgive Eddie. We also see Sally’s ex-husband demean her for having sex with Eddie – he says: “a guy tries to rape you and years later you let him finish the job? Were you drunk or just lonely?” Sally asks, in tears, if she will ever be able to live this down. Her consensual relationship with Eddie becomes a soft spot which Sally is demeaned for, rather than a point of triumph over sexual trauma. She is trapped in her own guilt for pursuing some form of happiness.

But Sally puts up a fight to justify her choice to pursue a relationship with Eddie after he assaults her. In response to Laurie’s horrified reaction at her mother’s sentimentality for the Comedian, Sally says:

“Laurie, you’re still young. You don’t know. Things … change. What happened happened 40 years ago. I’m 67 years old. Every day the future looks a little bit darker. But the past? Even the grimy parts keep on getting brighter.”

She further defends Eddie himself and his questionable actions by telling Laurie:

“Things were tough all over, cupcake. It rains on the just and unjust alike. The Comedian was a bit of both. And he always thought he’d get the last laugh.”

The Comedian is, of course, the crux of the entire film. His character is incredibly morally ambiguous, and we see few moments of emotion from him. One is when he encounters his daughter (Laurie). Another is after he shoots a Vietnamese girl presumably pregnant with his child, and Manhattan does nothing to stop the death. The most obvious, of course, is in a flashback before his murder when he breaks down in tears after finding out information about Veidt industries and Adrien’s plan to “save the world.”

The Comedian also serves as a nihilistic voice throughout the film. Although he is morally ambiguous, he also has an intense grasp on the finality and potential destruction human beings have brought upon themselves. He says at one point that the Watchmen are society’s only protection – from themselves. It is not a popular view in the wake of “peaceful protests” and political movements and activism so widely accepted today – but in the end, there is a disturbing amount of truth in what he says. The Comedian rattles the audience and their expectations because what he says is never bullshit – there is always something to it. He calls Manhattan out on his shit when John refuses to save the pregnant girl Eddie shoots – even though he saw it coming and could have done something to stop it. Eddie accuses John of not giving a shit about humanity, and asks that god help us all.*

It’s never fully clear whether or not his attempted rape of Sally weighs on his conscience more than other morally bankrupt things that the Comedian has done, but it would seem his desire for Sally and, apparently, his affection makes him regret something about the encounter. Eddie does, however, understand the gravity of he and Sally’s relationship, and the importance of the outcome. He does make a small effort to connect with his daughter, Laurie, but steps down in the wake of Sally’s disapproval. Some part of Eddie, to be sure, wants to know his daughter and reconcile with Sally, but he does not attempt to do more than the minimum required to be accepted as a father figure in Laurie’s life.

Throughout most of the film, Laurie doesn’t realize Eddie is her father, despite it being rather obvious to the audience. Eventually, Manhattan shows her the truth of her lineage, and she breaks down at the revelation, saying her whole life is “one big joke.” She is horrified to learn the Comedian is her father, because it confirms that her mother had a consensual relationship with a man who once beat her badly and attempted to force sex on her. But Manhattan sees it differently – he claims Laurie is a “miracle” because she is the culmination of lineage and an event that, against astronomical odds, happened. Laurie is the product of the love between a woman and man that woman had every reason to hate. Laurie is the outcome of something rare. Thus the relationship between the Comedian and the Silk Spectre prompts Manhattan to see reason and return to earth in order to help solve and impending crisis. Of course this doesn’t go as planned, but Laurie is the reason Manhattan remains connected to humanity; by proxy, the sexual union of the Comedian and Silk Spectre is the event that links everything together.

In the end of the film, Laurie confronts her mother about her and Eddie’s relationship. Laurie tells Sally she knows Edward Blake is her father – and at this Sally breaks down crying, and apologizes for never telling her because she felt “ashamed and stupid.” Laurie forgives her mother and offers understanding: “It doesn’t matter. People’s lives take them strange places. I just want you to know, you never did anything wrong by me.”

Sally tells Laurie: “You asked me why I wasn’t mad at him. Because he gave me you.”

Sally finally gets the validation she desperately wanted for seeking out Eddie and having an intimate relationship with him despite past wrongs. It is a difficult thing for most to understand – but it also makes an unconventional statement about rape, and victims of rape.

In short, nobody has the right to tell a rape victim how they should feel about what happened to them. In fact, nobody should be reduced to “a rape victim.” People and relationships are more complex than that, and Sally has every right to own her experience, and do what she chooses with it. She has every right to confront Eddie, she has every right to snub him, and yes – she has every right to fall in love and sleep with him, and she should not be judged for doing so, because judging is one more confinement that a victim of a sex crime has to live with. Sally was imprisoned by her shame and guilt for her choice to have a (presumably) positive relationship with Eddie after her assault, and it weighed on her nearly her entire life. It is important that we never see their shared moments aside from the rape scene, because it truly is none of our business, and furthermore shouldn’t factor into judgment. We don’t know what goes on behind closed doors between them. What it exposes is the assumptions and judgments of the audience, rather than the weakness or victim-hood or oppression of Sally Jupiter. The message is simply that we must allow victims to seek their own methods of recovery, even if we don’t agree with them. Sally remained a strong character despite what happened to her, and despite the failed relationship between her and Eddie Blake. Indeed, it is not a fairy-tale romance, but it is still a complex intimacy that can’t possibly be clear cut and black and white. Sexuality, violence, and love are complex things and can’t simply be reduced to understandable components.

*If anything, the Comedian (along with Manhattan, Rorschach and Ozymandias) proves a certain thesis about humanity: in order to do any vast good for our species, one must carry a certain amount of resentment and disregard for morality and ethical actions. All these characters succeed in doing something useful (ultimately, Ozymandias destroys a city and murders thousands, but the outcome is incredibly positive for humanity as a whole, and all other characters recognize this – even Rorschach who, faced with a moral dilemma too great, allows himself to be killed by Manhattan – yes, his journal does get out in the end, but I think it is a safe assumption that Rorschach does see the good in what was done and his pain comes from his inability to waver from his moral ground to allow the good to function) because they are morally ambiguous or corrupt. This is perhaps the most disturbing statement of Watchmen: those who take the most needed action to help humankind are those who hate and resent humankind the most. It is a cynical and wildly unpopular view of what it takes to be a “hero”.

Every Single Moment of Your Stupid Little Life: The Trauma of Dissolving Fantasy in American Beauty

Firstly: this entry is disjointed and probably not incredibly clear, but I’m posting it anyway. Sorry if it is shitty beyond comprehension, guys.

Can we not recognize in this paradox the very nature of the psychoanalytical notion of drive, or more properly the Lacanian distinction between its aim and its goal? The goal is the final destination, while the aim is what we intend to do, i.e., the way itself. Lacan’s point is that the real purpose of the drive is not its goal (full satisfaction) but its aim: the drive’s ultimate aim is simply to reproduce itself as drive, to return to its circular path, to continue its path to and from the goal. The real source of enjoyment is the repetitive movement of the closed circuit.

- Slavoj Žižek, Looking Awry: An Introduction to Jaques Lacan through Popular Culture. 1991.

1999 was evidently a good year for movies. Fight Club and American Beauty both hit theaters – the latter taking 5 Oscars. There is a lot in common with the two films – Edward Norton’s character in Fight Club bears striking resemblance to Kevin Spacey’s portrayal of Lester Burnham in American Beauty. Both are men around middle-age attempting to break out of a stagnant life that capitalism and the “American Dream” has trapped them in. Both characters end up with a bullet to their head. Both characters end up destroyed by an idealized version of masculinity that ultimately consumes itself. Both men endure the trauma of a dissolved fantasy that leaves the only true reality we have minimal access to intact: death.

American Beauty manages to portray and subvert every major North American archetype in one film. And subtly, too. A Lolita, a hyper-masculine, ex-military father figure, a sensitive, artistic male, a domineering, career-driven woman, the insecure teenage girl saving up for a boob job, the nostalgic middle-aged man bound to crisis, and the insane, submissive housewife. Among several others. It is worth mentioning now that each of these characters is extremely dysfunctional, and ends up in dissatisfying romantic relationships that are all wrong for them.

Except the gay couple who live on the street – although they are only minor characters, their relationship seems happy, comfortable and healthy. Which, I think, is a pretty hilarious and subversive undercurrent to the rest of the fucked up shit taking place on screen. They are like background noise – present, and even play a role in bringing out Ricky’s father’s homophobia and closeted homosexuality. Perhaps their healthy relationship is due to their being “outside” the confines of the crushing expectations of the American dream, at least in terms of their sexuality.

If there is one singular theme present throughout the film, it is the disillusion of fantasy. Ricky Fitts remarks early in the film that the power of denial is amazing (in regards to his father accepting that Ricky is no longer dealing drugs, despite his owning expensive film equipment), and throughout the film it is true. Every character is steeped in denial of some kind, and struggling to break free into some kind of happiness.

Lester is the main protagonist and narrator of the film, and we meet him at a point where his life has become meaningless, monotonous, and he is ripe for a midlife crisis. The trigger is, almost too obviously, seeing a young cheerleader when he goes to see his daughter cheer at a basketball game. Steeped in American paraphernalia (the high school experience, sports, cheerleading, bleachers), Lester ‘wakes up’ when he sees Mena Suvari’s Angela Hayes. Angela is the perfect Lolita – blonde, petite, pretty, ignorant in a bitchy way that high school girls are supposed to be. She wants to be a model. Immediately, Lester projects onto her all his fantasies – we see the gymnasium go dark, and suddenly Angela is putting on a kinky show just for him. These fantasies persist throughout the film, and Lester ends up working out so he can look attractive to a teen girl. A teen girl who acts sexually mature, and sexually promiscuous. She embodies the virgin/whore dichotomy in every way, so Lester imagines he will ultimately get the best of both worlds.

After having a conscious wet-dream about Angela, Lester becomes nostalgic for his teen years, when all he did was “party and get laid.” He quits his job, uses corporate blackmail to ensure a year of salary, and gets a job flipping burgers to bring himself closer to the past; closer to youth. He stands up to his domineering wife, buys the car he has always wanted (another symbol of the American Dream), and goes after the one thing he thinks he wants most: Angela Hayes.

Ricky Fitts is the pot-dealing son of Colonel Fitts, a hyper-masculine ex-military man. Ricky is also, for me, the most interesting and delightful character in the film. He is compelling in that he acts as a proxy for an audience: he compulsively films nearly everything, creating a voyeuristic feel to the movie. Ricky is our window into the Burnhams. He provides commentary, intimacy (he deals pot to Lester, he sleeps with Jane) and insight into the realm of the film. It is through his lens we see the rough edges of the Burnham family (“welcome to America’s weirdest home videos”), and he even speaks about other films (Reanimator). Ricky is also the character who acts as a Virgil through the world of American Beauty. He explains existential themes to us and expresses them, but he is also a very benevolent voice in the film. Although Jane harshly condemns her parents, and says if she were in Ricky’s position, she’d hate his dad, Ricky maintains that his dad  is “not a bad person.” Ricky also sees beauty in the most morbid and mundane things. This makes his character appear odd to other characters within the movie, and possibly ridiculous to the audience (the famous ‘plastic bag’ scene is forever etched into pop culture, and often parodied – which I think is a transparent manifestation of a cultural discomfort with the profound appearing in the mundane). Although Ricky does not embody the hyper-masculine ideals that his father does (violence, aggressiveness), he is somewhat of a Tyler Durden to Lester Burnham. When Ricky and Lester first smoke pot together outside of the real estate event that Carolyn is attending and Ricky is catering, Ricky quits his job on the spot and Lester declares that Ricky is his “personal hero”. This inspires Lester to threaten a sexual harassment suit against his boss if he is not given a year of salary with benefits. Almost exactly what Norton did in Fight Club, although a little less extreme.

Ricky is also our window into the ultimate reality of the characters in the film. He sees their most intimate moments, but because coming too close to reality means trauma, he distances himself by using a camera. This is also commentary on cinema itself: we distance ourselves from reality yet wish to experience it via fiction. Us viewing the movie, and Ricky within the movie viewing the characters creates a complex frame narrative that unites the film, yet creates dissonance within it. Ricky manages to disrupt all the character’s lives in some way when he moves next store, and teases out and exposes their flaws and accomplishments.

Ricky’s benevolence and understanding towards others in the film is perhaps a bit odd, but given his almost omnipotent view of the other characters, it is in line with a new testament “benevolent” God – although Ricky himself is not a god, he is, at least psychologically, inhabiting a completely different world than the other characters. With characters like Jane and Angela, there seems to be a rift and disdain for the older generation – a common theme that has become especially potent and venomous recently, with blame falling heavily on the baby boomers for essentially destroying everything our generation could have had, not to mention the generations following. So what we have now is a zeitgeist of cynicism that is incredibly overpowering, and a feeling of hopelessness under great financial, environmental and a myriad of other burdens heaved upon our shoulders by our parents and grandparents. This is reflected often in film and with Jane and Angela, it is no exception. Ricky, however, is almost too forgiving. Despite his character’s intelligence and should-be jadedness, Ricky is merciful in his judgments of everyone – even his father who put him in military school and then rehab, and presumably has a history of being physically violent towards Ricky. Via Ricky, we get a very kind and understanding view towards a generation generally condemned as the source of global troubles. Even in the end, Ricky escapes his father by playing on his father’s own fears and remaining passive despite his father’s violence. He overcomes by not fighting back, which is an intriguing alternative to cynicism and anger towards parents.

That being said, Colonel Fitts is, as Ricky says, a “sad, old man.” He clings desperately to his masculinity – his glory days in the army, his gun collection, his abrupt and aggressive homophobia. All his signs of strength are weaknesses. The only reason for a person to collect the adornments of a hyper-masculine culture and keep them under glass it to reassure themselves that they do, in fact, embody this notion of an ideal. However, the accouterments of that ideology are not the ideology itself, but “fillers” and masks. His collection of military paraphernalia, including his Nazi plate (official state china of the Third Reich), are mere objects. Although they all constitute phalluses, he keeps them in a case. Arguments have been made that Colonel Fitts is a closeted homosexual, and although there is no hard evidence for this (aside from the fact that he kisses Lester after believing Lester paid Ricky for a blowjob). Colonel Fitts’s fantasy begins to dissolve at this point – when he kisses Lester and Lester immediately tells Fitts he “has the wrong idea.” It is unclear what the Colonel realizes (perhaps that he himself is gay), but something pushes him to get one of his many guns and shoot Lester in the head. The gunshot is the point in the film that is not only the climax, but the sudden tear in the delicate fabric of fantasy that produces the great trauma of the movie, and the greatest beauty of the film.

Before Lester is shot, his fantasy unravels swiftly. He begins to seduce Angela, and is close to achieving connecting with the nostalgia for his teen years when Angela confesses to him that she is a virgin. Suddenly, Lester realizes his expectations were false, and with Angela reduced to a teen girl rather than sexually charged Lolita, Lester retreats. He re-inhabits the father role, and makes Angela a sandwich, talking to her as if she were his own daughter. Although they did not have sex, the scene after is probably filled with more intimacy than a sex scene could ever have carried. Angela becomes a completely different character – with the revelation of her sexual inexperience, she becomes a three-dimensional being. She is suddenly vulnerable; a child. Before this scene we never really get to see Lester in a successful father role. His attempts at connecting with Jane are rebuked. But Angela tells him Jane thinks she is in love, and with the thought of his daughter having some happiness, Lester is reminded of the happiness he once shared with his wife and daughter. He looks at a photo of them from long ago, and Colonel Fitts shoots him in the back of the head.

Colonel Fitts’ fantasy is violently torn apart, and as a man who is emotionally unable to cope with the trauma of the potential of his son being gay, and his own visceral reaction to it – not to mention the potential that Colonel Fitts himself may be gay, he resorts to shooting Lester. He places all his trauma onto Lester – he believes Lester is the focal point of this rupture, to blame of the unraveling of a carefully constructed illusion. He uses the age-old phallic symbol to blow another man’s head off. For supposedly not being gay, that’s some pretty gay imagery. Violent, but with strong homoerotic overtones, considering he first put his mouth to Lester’s mouth, and then a gun to the back of his head.

In the panning scene where we see everyone’s reactions to the gunshot interspersed with Lester’s nostalgia and memories as he is dying, we literally see everyone shocked into reality. Ricky and Jane, about to sneak out and run to New York after Ricky’s dad beats him and kicks him out of the house are stalled by it. Carolyn, angry and presumably ready to shoot Lester herself, is walking through the rain in an emotional haze after her affair with the “Real Estate King” has been discovered by Lester. Angela is looking in the bathroom mirror applying makeup, we see the back of her head and her face reflected – this distances her character from us, but also embodies the sudden self-reflective moment she experienced. She looks up and away from her reflection (coming away from her selfish core and back to reality) when she hears the shot. With the Colonel, all we see is him entering his home with a blood-spattered shirt, and a shot of his gun collection – a single one missing.

Because the trauma of losing one’s coordinates of reality is so great, and reality itself is too terrifying to handle, the only possible release from this existential crisis is death. Lester, being our protagonist and narrator, is the one to bear the burden. Everyone’s unraveling fantasies cannot be sustained without sacrifice – and Lester’s death will determine the new coordinates of reality.

Ricky, of course, is the first to see Lester’s body. Lester’s eyes are open, and he is smiling slightly. Ricky meets the dead man’s gaze with a gentle, fascinated, benevolent look. He shows no great swell of emotion, but a resigned interest. It is curious, and strange to see Ricky viewing an event of such magnitude without his camera. Even Ricky is forced to look reality straight in the face without distance – but he seems to greet it with a kind of pleasure.

American Beauty gives a stunning and potent narrative about the trauma of reality, and the necessity of the fantasies and fictions we create for ourselves in order to avoid trauma. Suburbia and the American Dream are just such things – however, they are fragile and unravel at the slightest disturbance. Once fantasy can no longer be sustained, the trauma of facing reality – the great nothingness, the truth that we are all simply made up of fantasy and taught how and what to desire – the only way out is death. Lester Burnham fulfills the cathartic role of sacrificial lamb so that the “symbolic order” can re-integrate itself into the lives of the other characters. It is a strange tale, and sticks with us because it brings us so close to the trauma of the real, yet maintains the perfect distance so as to not disturb us too thoroughly – so that we can commence, after the film, coming back to the single moments of our stupid little lives.

Patron Saints of Vengeance: Lisbeth Salander & The Girl Who Played With Fire

SPOILERS

I have to say I was both impressed and completely unimpressed by the second installment of the film adaptations of Steig Larsson’s crime fiction trilogy. Impressed because once again Lisbeth Salander proves to be a complex and interesting character with much depth and archetypal value, but unimpressed because there were so many kitschy moments and James Bond ripoffs (see: Lisbeth’s surprise brother who has a rare disorder preventing him from ever feeling pain. Also he is incredibly large and stupid) present in this film. Which is actually great and I really appreciate on many levels, but also strange given the intensity and lack of kitsch the first film had.

Stylistic and plot elements aside, Lisbeth Salander continues adhere to her status as the Patron Saint of abused/sexually assaulted women.

One of the questions I received when I wrote about The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo was why I thought the books and films were so popular – especially with women – given their intensely violent and misogynistic content?

I think the answer is simple in a sense. Yes – the books and films contain graphic rape, sexual objectification, violence towards women, victimization and misogyny. But they also contain Lisbeth. There are many people who do not realize there could be, and even is, an alternative to a culture that is violent towards women, or a culture where rape is normalized and perpetuated. And the books and films don’t offer an alternative world, but they do offer Lisbeth Salander.

Lisbeth a Tyler Durden for many women. She is a violent, underdog hero and fights against popular stereotypes of not only women but victimized women. She is intelligent, independent, strong both physically and emotionally, and extracts vengeance on those who harm her and other women. She owns her sexuality and sleeps with both men and women. But she, like so many women off-screen, has been the victim of sexual assault and violence at the hands of men. She is small – one of the investigators places her at 5′ tall and 80 lbs. Yet, despite her physical disadvantage, she handles herself well (she is a boxer), and knows how to handle weapons (which means she can handle power, as most weapons serve as phallic symbols – symbols where masculine dominance is vested).

Lisbeth also enacts violence and revenge on oppressive and violent men.

Lisbeth is independent but in exchange for her independence society never has her back. She is accused of crimes she didn’t commit and constantly under pressure from institutional forces (her lawyer guardian from the first film, the police in this film). Perhaps it is because her dominance is threatening – she leaves her mark everywhere she goes.

She first leaves her fingerprints on the gun she finds in Bjurman’s desk, a gun that is used to set her up for murder. She suffers consequences for, literally and figuratively, breaking and entering into a “man’s world” and fighting back. Because she leaves evidence of herself behind on a phallic symbol of power, she becomes a threat and must be stopped. She left her mark on Bjurman himself in the first film – tattooing I am a Sadist, Rapist Pig across his chest. After his death, her mark once again lands her in trouble as it is construed as motive in the triple murder case Lisbeth is falsely accused of. The marks she leaves behind are threatening because they are reminders of her strength and her willingness to pursue her concept of  justice to the bittersweet, revenge-filled end.

Even as a child, Lisbeth’s unwavering tendency to fight back against oppressive forces is met only with punishment:

For burning her abusive father with a Molotov cocktail at a young age, she is incarcerated in a mental institution. For filming the rape she suffers in order to gain power over Bjurman, her friends are kidnapped and physically beaten and tortured. For attempting to kill her criminal father, she is shot three times and buried alive.

At the end of the film, when Lisbeth has finally (potentially) mortally wounded her father, Blomkvist arrives to help her after the most horrifying part of facing her father has occurred.

Lisbeth attempted once before to kill her father by use of fire, but he survived to continue to abuse and violate women, and perpetuate acts of violence. For her trouble, Lisbeth was put in a mental institution where she was further abused. Now, her father wants revenge.

Much like Harriet in the first film, Lisbeth is confronted with the chance of killing her own father, and like Harriet, Lisbeth intends to do just that. But Lisbeth’s father instead has Lisbeth’s half-brother dig a grave for her and takes her out back to shoot her like a dog. This parallel hearkens back to the first film and mirrors Harriet’s father and brother’s violence, and the indoctrination of sons into a realm of violence and abuse via their fathers. Lisbeth tries to flee to save her life, but she is shot three times and, presumed dead, buried.

Lisbeth, however, is not dead. She claws her way out of her own grave – a rebirth for a girl now lacking a mother (her mother passes away at the beginning of the film) – and fights her father one last time. This time, she wins and takes his gun (the phallus) in order to attempt to kill her brother. Before she can succeed in killing them both, Blomkvist arrives and summons medical aid and the news that Lisbeth is no longer suspected of three murders.

Lisbeth’s triumph over her father can be seen as a physical fulfillment of Freud’s Penis Envy. Freud theorizes that once a young girl realizes she lacks a penis, she wants one and therefore desires her father’s. Lisbeth literally takes her father’s phallus from him and kills him (the phallus, it should be obvious, is his gun). She also takes up her father’s legacy in the wake of his death – she comes from a violent and abusive upbringing but from a young age sought to subvert and change her circumstances. For many, seeing Lisbeth rise to apparently overcome the vicious blows dealt to her by her father and society at large, is inspiring and cathartic. In this sense, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and Lisbeth Salander can be read as feminist in the sense that they tout the idea that a woman can fight back. But – not truly escape. This is problematic as once again the film does not offer solutions; however, simply having a strong female lead infiltrate pop culture on a level where both women and men of varying ages are engaging with the character is fantastic.

(This view can be seen as lenient as there are several feminists who would vehemently disagree with my assessment – however I stand by it. Maybe I’m just as indoctrinated as everyone else into a patriarchal society where violence is the only way to fight violence, but I see Salander as a positive female lead – flaws, mistakes, moral ambiguity and all.)

Although Lisbeth’s relationship with Blomkvist is on the back burner in this installment of the trilogy, it is still a present element. Although Blomkvist appears to be set up as her ‘saviour’ (he is the only character in the film who is strongly behind Lisbeth no matter what – he also respects her independence and knows her strength but is not threatened by it), the film manages to subvert the typical male-protagonist-to-the-rescue scenario. But this is both positive and negative. Although Lisbeth doesn’t rely on Blomkvist to ‘save’ her, he nonetheless attempts to assist her and usually fails, arriving just in time to be too late.

Lisbeth is a martyr in a sense – she is always fighting against society that oppresses, victimizes and wants her to be a certain way. When she adopts masculine “dominance” qualities, she is threatening and the entire system of society moves to “put her in her place”. She is capable of so much, and is constantly over-estimated or under-estimated, but never taken as she is. This could be advantageous in dealing with oppressive forces, as being over- or under-estimated often gives one an advantage because the opponent will be surprised. But she also never truly gets the upper hand. Every time she deals a blow, one is dealt back to her.

And, of course, there is the problem of the violence Lisbeth utilizes. Violence is how the masculine realm perpetuates dominance. We have seen this cycle in The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and of course other films such as Fight Club. Lisbeth uses this to her advantage, but it is a struggle to harness this kind of volatile dominance, and even more of a struggle to keep it. The title of the film can be read in relation to this concept as well: Fire is an unpredictable force that can easily overtake and get out of hand. It is deadly, scarring and painful. The title trivializes Lisbeth in a sense – “girl” and “played” both imply a child-like clumsiness and lack of understanding of the magnitude of life in general – and Lisbeth is quite the opposite. She doesn’t so much play with fire as she harnesses it’s power. And she is not simply a girl, she is a mature adult who knows very well what she is doing and how to handle herself. The title reflects, rather, how other male characters view her. Once again, she is grossly underestimated in her ability.

Despite the kitschy moments, The Girl who Played with Fire was a pleasure to watch in that it hit all the right notes of a crime thriller and all the satisfying, cathartic moments that are promised in the genre.

Men who Hate Women

PLEASE BE ADVISED this post contains reference to and graphic discussion about rape within a film. If this would be upsetting to you, please do not read it.

SPOILERS.

Of all the movies I have seen this year, I have to say that The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo was the most disturbing and difficult to watch. Like the few other Swedish films that have gained popularity in North America (ie Let the Right One In), this is scheduled for a Hollywood re-make. Which is a huge mistake. As it usually is. Let’s just say the big filmmakers in Hollywood don’t give much of a shit for nuance, and they all have a stick up their ass about sex, and graphic sex, and have a talent for turning on-screen intimacy into ludicrous, kitschy b-grade porn. Which would be the greatest, and most disrespectful and disgusting tragedy a re-make could suffer.

The original title, in Swedish, is translated as “Men who Hate Women.” And it is entirely a movie about violence towards women. It fits into a genre populated with classic titles like Se7en and Silence of the Lambs, but never has a more honest and disturbing discourse about sexual violence towards women been shown to a popular audience. I once heard someone say that the history of serial killers is all about violence towards women. I’ve yet to hear a compelling argument to counter this statement.

Perhaps the most upsetting part of the film is the violence and sexual assaults of strong women. Women who refuse to be victims despite being continually victimized. These women aren’t “rape victims” in that they challenge our cultural assumptions about what a rape victim looks like: weak. Obviously this is not true, a victim of rape could be anybody, even a man. The movie, in many ways, shatters stereotypes about the kind of women who suffer at the hands of sexual abuse. Yet it sheds light on the troubling reinforced stereotypes of rape victims as well.

Lisbeth Salander is the movie’s female protagonist. She is striking and edgy, androgynous and a brilliant computer hacker with a violent (and mysterious) past. One of the first scenes we see her in she is reporting to a new “guardian” figure as is required since she was institutionalized in the past and now must adhere to rules governing her freedom.

Immediately it is obvious the guy is an insane pervert. He abuses his authority and asks her personal and graphic questions about sex, and demands she co-operate. He immediately revokes her freedom and autonomy by taking control of her finances, despite the fact she is financially independent and makes her own money. He is slimy and disgusting and revolting. He is a misogynist fucking pig to the most extreme level. But he’s not a caricature. He is very real. People like this do exist and do get to prey on those who don’t hold positions of authority. It is terrifying.

Lisbeth’s second meeting with him she asks for money to purchase a new computer, as hers was broken by a gang of thugs who spilled beer on her (she gets away by threatening them with a broken glass bottle, and manages to scare the shit out of an entire group of ‘badass’ guys). But her guardian won’t give her the money, and forces her to give him a blowjob in exchange. The scene is excruciating to watch. It is disgusting. Lisbeth is a smart, strong woman who should not be forced to submit to this degradation, especially since her capacity to defend herself was just amply demonstrated in the subway. But she submits, because he is in the position of power. The dynamics of power and the culling of Lisbeth’s strength and degradation of Lisbeth herself is painful.

Afterward, we watch as she washes her mouth out with antibacterial soap. She is rewarded with a cheque less than the amount she requested. Another power-play and slap in the face. Her guardian is putting a value to Lisbeth, and reducing her to a sexual object.

As an audience member, I found myself, after asking myself the question how is it that fuckers like this – perverted and disgusting people – can rise to the top and be allowed to take sexual privilege with those who must bend to their power (and Lisbeth in this situation is not in a credible position to make claims against her guardian – her past has somehow stripped her of her credibility, which is monumentally unjust and yet another daily occurrence in the world), but why Lisbeth, given her amazing skills at hacking into even the most locked down computers and systems, never tried to do so to her guardian upon their first meeting? Doubtless this man would have something incriminating in his files. Child pornography comes to mind.

My asking why Lisbeth didn’t do so is not me asking “why didn’t she prevent her own sexual assault” (don’t make me go into victim blaming) – let’s make that clear. My question is why did the writers choose to take the sexual assault to a disturbing and violent conclusion that they, in keeping true to Lisbeth’s strengths and skills, could have prevented?

Gratuitous sexual violence? Rape-revenge? Catharsis? Apparent Justice?

I’m not entirely certain. And I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it. Does it add a certain dimension to the film? Yes and no.

The scene I am talking about, of course, is the culmination of the sexual abuse Lisbeth endures at the hands of her guardian into full-fledged, fucked up, violent rape.

Lisbeth arrives at his house to ask for more money. He brings her to the bedroom and immediately punches her so hard in the face she falls, unconscious, onto the bed, which he then handcuffs her to and ties her legs down. He proceeds to beat and rape her (anally, it is later implied) for two fucking hours. Of course, we only get to see an agonizing five or so minutes of this.

I have seen a lot of rape scenes in cinema. This was the most difficult to watch. It was profoundly upsetting and horrifying. This kind of violence shouldn’t be happening.

If one good thing can be said about this scene (other than the disturbingly great acting), is that it was hopefully jarring enough to some audience members to wake them the fuck up. This happens. This is a reality. This is something that needs to be addressed.

After her guardian has had enough of raping her, he lets Lisbeth go. Without her money.

But it turns out, Lisbeth had a camera in her back (which does make sense – she works for a security company and thus has extensive knowledge about and access to such equipment) and got more than she bargained for.

Perhaps the reason the writers (of both film and movie) decided to have this act happen is to allow for the cathartic, though morally blurry, rape revenge. Which, I have to admit, is disgustingly psychologically satisfying to watch. There is something, probably, wrong with that.

Lisbeth returns to the surprised house of her guardian armed with a taser, her camera, duct tape, and a tattoo gun.

She tases her guardian in his neck.

She ties him up and gags him with the duct tape.

She rapes him in the ass with a dildo until he cries, and kicks him viciously in the kidneys several times.

She puts on the video she got when he raped her, and forces him to watch the entire two hours of it, and afterward sets her terms: she controls her finances, he never contacts her, after one year he recommends her autonomy. Or the tape gets exposed.

Once he agrees, she tattoos onto his chest in large writing:

I AM A RAPIST, SADIST PIG

Which is perhaps the best part.

But what is unnerving is the the only way the film offers to meet and overcome the power and violence of rapists is to use that same power and violence against them. Yes, he was deserving of every minute of it. But it remains morally ambiguous. Additionally, it is implied that Lisbeth cannot go the police or any kind of institution that professes to protect and administer justice because a) they wouldn’t take her seriously and b) they would not do enough. The system is broken and does not help victims of this kind of violence. Lisbeth works outside of it, and she is already an outcast from society because she is still held accountable for former violence.

Harriet Vanger, the film’s “missing girl,” is also a strong woman who is subject to horrifying abuse that is not illuminated until the end of the film. Her disappearance decades before is connected with the ritualistic and religiously-driven, anti-Semitic murders of other women. Here the themes continue to be psychologically disturbing, as Nazi experimentation and abuses are harnessed as a vehicle for the motivation behind the killings. Harriet, it seems, knew something.

Harriet, it is also revealed at the end of the film, was a survivor. Her father and elder brother were the ones killing women – and (surprise), her elder brother was still at it after their father’s death, keeping women in his sterile basement to torture, rape, and kill them. He kept meticulous photographic records of each woman he killed. And, he expresses a well-worn sentiment about his victims: they were nobodies, immigrants and prostitutes. Nobody misses them. A sad and fucked-up truth that allows countless serial killers to get away with committing multiple, sick crimes.

But both Harriet’s brother, Martin, and their father sexually abused Harriet. Violently and together. It was their father who initiated Martin into the world of strangling women to death (there is profound commentary here about indoctrination into violence and the violence of acceptable masculine culture, and the acceptability of violence as a way to assert power. Although it is not in the context of this film, see my Fight Club post if you’re interested). But one day, Harriet has had enough, and runs towards the lake bordering their family property in hopes of escaping using the boat. Her father chases her down and brags, drunkenly, about the women he’s killed. Harriet hits him over the head with an oar, and then holds him under the water until he drowns – pushing the boat out to the lake to make it look like an accident.

But Martin sees this happen. So, fearing her life, Harriet fled. Lisbeth and Mikael Blomkvist (the main character & male protagonist) find Harriet and, of course, bring her home to her elated uncle.

Lisbeth chases a fleeing Martin down the freeway, and Martin ends up crashing his car and burning alive with Lisbeth watches and does nothing.

Mikael later asks Lisbeth why she did not help Martin.

Because, Lisbeth explains, he was a man who hated women, who was sick and disgusting. Do not victimize him, he made his choice – he chose what to be despite what his father may or may not have done to him.

And this is the crux of the film: what is justice to crimes that are so disgustingly and outrageously unjust (rape, murder, torture, being a Nazi, crimes committed against an entire group of people, genocide, incest, sexually abusing one’s child, sexually abusing ANY child)? Is it really just about equalizing – an eye for an eye? About women being violent to violent men in order to level the playing field? Perhaps, but more likely not. There is no real answer given to the question, just an uncomfortable stance on both the main character’s parts.

Lisbeth was, it appears, morally fine with watching Martin burn to death. He deserved it.

Mikael claims he would have tried to help Martin, and that his violence and insanity was mostly due to a troubled childhood.

Somewhere in between these two realms might lie an answer. Until then, the film poses a reality: women are sexually abused, tortured, and raped by authority figures including their own families (perhaps especially their own families) on a regular basis. Authority figures meant to help them more often than not don’t, or can’t, because their hands are tied by flawed systems built and maintained by a culture of masculine violence. The only way these women can escape is often through their death, or meeting force with force, because there is no real institution to truly help them escape. That, and sexual torment shreds sanity and psychological stability.

If anything, the film shouldn’t be taken as merely another crime-thriller, but as a discourse on the pervasive sexual violence against women in culture, and should raise difficult but hard-hitting questions about how this can be prevented, and how sexual offenders should be dealt with. Is justice a possibility?

There shouldn’t be a need for justice in these cases. Simply, it shouldn’t fucking happen. We should not be continuing to live in and support a culture where this is the norm.

And that, I think, is the main point of the film. To bear witness and know, acutely, this isn’t entertaining, this is upsetting, and it should not be allowed to continue.

(I’m slowly catching up on all the things I have been meaning to write about for the past two months. There will be more to come.)

“Show’s over, mutherfuckers”: Hit Girl is the New Lolita, and She’s Not Taking Shit

Spoilers Ahead

From the previews, you’d think Kick Ass is going to be a goofy teen-movie with some sex jokes and embarrassing coming-of-age experiences. You know, basically a Seth Rogan movie. McLovin is in it, right?

Although the 18A rating is well deserved (and here in Canada we rate our movies higher if there is more violence, unlike the States where a dick trumps horrifying violence and spawns outrage).

As a friend put it, “Kick Ass is exactly what you would expect in real life if a teenager tried to be a superhero. He gets his ass kicked.”

Through the title alone and through marketing of the film, we’re led to believe that Kick Ass himself is the focal point and the protagonist of the story. But he’s simple – an over-ambitious character who actually would fit right into American Pie, but with an extra dose of idiocy and a death-wish. Which is where Hit Girl comes in, and where the movie adopts a dark underside that is, despite the surrounding plot lines, the focal point of the film.

Hit Girl is the product of an ex-cop father who, after being framed and put in jail and holding a grudge against the city’s most violent leading mob don, trains his child to become a ruthless killer. Hit Girl is a bit of a paradox. She’s at that age that people get really, really uncomfortable dealing with – she’s 11 or 12, on the verge of puberty, and very clearly ignorant of her budding sexual appeal, but nonetheless oozing it. One character remarks he is “in love” with her, and his friend responds with semi-disgust since she is a kid, and he claims he will “save himself” for her. There is no mistaking that this barely-pubescent girl has been endowed with a sexual and violent power and prowess that is meant to make an audience uncomfortable. She uses highly adult language, swearing with the confidence of an arrogant twenty-something, and at one point calls her attackers “cunts.” And you’d think abusing children would remain taboo in the popular American cinema world (unless it’s an independent film, off-screen/implied, or supposed to be ‘deep’), but Hit Girl gets shit kicked by an adult man who holds a fucking gun to her head, ready to pull the trigger.

So Hit Girl is this empowered yet enslaved by-product of at once her father’s vigor for trained violence and her own mature self-awareness.

I don’t think we need to go into the phallic symbols of guns too much – suffice it to say the near-final scene with the mob don holding his gun to hit-girl’s head is, at best, blatantly a metaphor for rape and the violent silencing of children’s sexuality, identity and voice.

Hit Girl’s sexuality is rampant. She still retains a vestige of childhood, but it is clear she is much more grown up than her body suggests. She’s a bit of an unexpected Lolita – she isn’t naive or vulnerable (nor does she chose to act naive or vulnerable unless it is a gateway to slaughter), and she doesn’t put up the front. She’s dangerous, and even though she’s a bit of a wet-dream for younger men and pedophiles, she is terrifying and will fuck you up. So there’s something going on here about allowing young women to explore and own their sexuality, but giving them a very real power and confidence to protect themselves. Essentially, Hit Girl’s father gave her an awareness that other girls her age would not be privy to, which has allowed her to bloom without gender restrictions or the guilt of giving a shit what society at large thinks about your sexual appeal.

Hit Girl donning the boner inducing “school girl” look, complete with Britney Spears circa 1990′s pigtails

The relationship Hit Girl has with her father is unconventional, precisely because he is not a protective parent in the sense that he wants to shield her from the ills of the world. Our first introduction to both these characters and the first impression of their relationship is Hit Girl being shot in the chest while wearing a bullet-proof vest by her father so she “knows what it feels like” if some crackhead ever pulls a gun on her and tries to gun her down. Her father isn’t the type of “I’ll tell you when you’re older” dad. He has a straight-up, open dialogue with his daughter and treats her as an equal while still retaining a fatherly role. Not to say their relationship isn’t dysfunctional. But on a metaphorical level, there is a commentary about parenting and the empowering of your child. And Kick Ass chose an uncomfortable and unconventional way of showing this. This isn’t your average Are You There God, It’s Me Margret shit. This isn’t Dad awkwardly telling you about periods and telling you to be wary of boys in an awkward, bumbling way because he can’t say the word “vagina” to his own daughter without feeling like a pervert and wanting to cry. This is a relationship of mutual openness, and a relationship that nurtures mutual protection and respect. Hit Girl doesn’t have a vampire stalker watching her while she sleeps and emotionally abusing her. She is independent, clever, and capable.

Hit Girl’s identity is interesting. She never seems to be, like other super heroes, completely disconnected from her costumed role. Costumes and masks in general operate as phalluses, which basically means signifiers or metaphors for power. In How to Read Lacan, Zizek explains:

“Why is the phallus for Lacan a signifier and not simply the organ of insemination? In the traditional rituals of investiture, the objects that symbolize power also put the subject who acquires them into the position of exercising power – if a king holds the scepter in his hands, and wears the crown, his words will be taken as royal. Such insignia are external, not part of my nature: I don them; I wear them to exercise power. As such, they ‘castrate’ me, by introducing a gap between what I immediately am and the function that I exercise (I am never complete at the level of my function). This is what the infamous ‘symbolic castration’ means: the castration that occurs by the very fact of me being caught in the symbolic order, assuming a symbolic mask or title. Castration is the gap between that I immediately am and the symbolic title that confers on me a certain statues and authority. In this precise sense, far from being the opposite of power, it is synonymous with power; it is what gives power to me. So one has to think of the phallus not as the organ that immediately expresses the vital force of my being, but as a kind of insignia, a mask that I put on in the same way a king or a judge puts on his insignia – phallus is a kind or organ without a body which I put on, which gets attached to my body, but never becomes an organic part, forever sticking out as its incoherent, excessive prosthesis.”

So, according to Zizek on Lacan, Hit Girl should be “castrated” of her power once she leaves her costume behind – most other superheroes are, fundamentally, no longer “above the law” once they return to their regular identities. But Hit Girl essentially remains hit girl the entire time. For many superheroes, the argument can be made that their hero identity is actually their “true” identity whilst their “average dude pretending to be super average” identity is actually their disguise. In a sense this also applies to Hit Girl, but when she ends up at a new school and is bullied for her lunch money, she doesn’t roll over and play the sweet little schoolgirl. She breaks some arms.

In a fundamental Freudian sense, Hit Girl has never experienced “Penis Envy.” Her father gave her power – that is, he gave her a phallus in many symbolic ways, allowing her to divert feelings of inadequacy. Traditionally, the stages of Penis Envy state that the young girl begins to desire a sexual relationship with her father. And this is where Freudian readings get, pardon the disgusting metaphor I am about to use in a terrible context, sticky. But Hit Girl has no mother, thus nobody to blame for her “castration.” She also has nobody to learn to mimic in order to become “a woman.” But her relationship with her father only began after the age of five when he was released from prison, which effectively (and very cleverly) allows her to more or less bypass the desiring-your-dad-and-wanting-to-kill-your-mom stage of growing up, you know guys, that age. There is a shitload of analytical baggage that can be un-packed regarding Hit Girl & Dad, but it’s complicated and I talk about Freud to much, so draw your own conclusions.

So when we empower children (especially young girls), the message isn’t “act this way in public but secretly own your identity.” The message in Kick Ass is stand up for yourself and don’t take shit from bullies and rapists. So actually, the Hit Girl storyline and character, despite the gore and over-the-top violence that seems gratuitous and even disgusting coming from a kid is actually a really badass, positive message to be sending to young girls – especially those who might be persuaded that Miley Cyrus is a good role model, or better yet, the Pussycat Dolls. Even though young ladies in the pop world (with the exception of Lady Gaga, who is fucking amazing and rocks her shit all over the place, and a select other few) use their sexuality as somewhat of an empowerment, their sexuality becomes their only value, and eats up their entire identity – at least on screen. Hit Girl is an embodiment of not only a budding sexuality which could become explosively erotic as she matures, but also of cleverness and a will to protect herself from being exploited. Which are generally the missing components of young girls who wish to embody their sexuality today – objectification still exists because sexuality is pimped in an objectified and commodified way. Add some personal identity and power to that mix and there’s the line between objects with titties and sexy, awesome women. Like Lady Gaga.

The near-final scene of Kick Ass features Hit Girl finally facing off with the mob don who was her father’s nemesis and now her own. She gets beat. She gets physically abused so bad it’s horrifying. And the “final boss” holds a pistol to her head and gets ready to shoot her but, in typical movie fashion, Kick Ass arrives on-scene to save her in the nick of time.

Generally, the “lady needing to be saved” would get a hearty eye-roll from me, but in this case it only strengthens the basic Hit Girl message. By having Kick Ass save her, there is a strong message of communal responsibility. Kick Ass is a member of Hit Girl’s community, in that he is also a “super hero.” Even though he is bumbling and sucks at what he does for the most part, even he is capable of stopping the death of a young child. So there’s the message, PSA-style (that’s shorthand for Public Service Announcement): “Only you can prevent child abuse.”

This opens a dialogue about child abuse – and it’s not your “show me on the doll where he touched you” bullshit, that just reinforces to children that adults are fucking uncomfortable as balls with sexual abuse and not all of them want to hear about it. Kick Ass not only saves her life, but takes her in. Community has a huge responsibility to prevent shitty things from happening, and turning a blind eye is is not acceptable. In the end, this is Kick Ass’s most heroic feat: he opens his eyes and prevents something awful from happening. And if you’re not clear on the metaphor, the don holding a gun to Hit Girl’s face is a very, very clear allegory for rape.

The community message does go both ways, as earlier in the film Hit Girl and her dad save Kick Ass from sure death. Once again, Hit Girl’s power and maturity is reinforced, as she can also be a “hero” rather than relying solely on others to prevent bad things from happening to her. But the responsibility is evenly distributed.  Not your usual superhero message, where one man must have the world on his shoulders and blame himself for everything bad that happens.

The bottom line is although Kick Ass is, in several ways, a pretty typical genre film, it pulls some pretty excellent and well-executed punches in regards to the average plot-line and the “token” female hero trope. I didn’t expect to enjoy this movie at all, but as a friend said, “it took an eleven-year-old girl to make me love superhero movies again.”