Currently into: February, 2017


One of the things I was most excited about when I finished my thesis last year was being able to read absolutely anything I wanted to, guilt free – my reading list no longer dictated by my studies. I forgot about the pleasure of reading fiction! I’m on my third book for 2017 already, which is Elfriede Jelinek’s The Piano Teacher (I’m a few chapters in so it’s too soon to say much, though I’m well acquainted with Haneke’s take for screen). I recently finished The Notebook Trilogy by Ágota Kristóf, which is a cold knife of a novel –  Kristóf’s language is stripped back but the sentiments weigh a tonne.  It’s hard to recommend it to people because it’s such a cruel book, but I will anyway (even if only for the cover art!)

Listening to
Life Without Buildings – Any Other City
A really good friend of mine pointed in me in the direction of this album about 11 years ago when I first moved to Melbourne, and every few years I go through a phase where it’s all I want to listen to. This is one of those phases.

It’s sad to say, but I haven’t watched a film in its entirety for months. I think I’m still recovering from the last few months of last year when I’d watch whatever was available to me in a quest to take procrastination to a terrifying new level. That said, my partner has been on a mission to find things that might interest me on Netflix (the Australian offering is seriously lacking) and came up with  the documentary mini-series Shadow of Truth, knowing full well that a good true crime doco will always scratch a satisfying itch in me (and everyone, and their mothers). The documentary deals with the 2006 murder of a 13yo girl in a quiet town in Israel. The production qualities are a little shoddy but it doesn’t matter in the slightest when the story is as bizarre as this one.


Already I feel as though I haven’t been reading as much as I’d like this year, but Maddy lent me two Leonora Carrington books, Down Below and The Hearing Trumpet, which I love.  Carrington’s physicality and transference of the intellectual or emotional into the body is moving and relatable, and the calmness of her tone, despite describing surrealistically traumatic events, is so soothing and beautiful.

Listening to
I alternate between a couple sad songs:
Pain in My Heart – Otis Redding
Hurt – Johnny Cash
No One Will Ever Love You – The Magnetic Fields
La Vie en Rose – Grace Jones

I watch an unhealthy amount of films right now, like at least three a day.  I will watch anything, since it’s more like gluttony than anything else.  But what I’m really into right now is 1940’s-1950’s technicolor Hollywood films, and anything with Gene Kelly involved.  One of the best films I watched recently was Invitation to the Dance (1956) directed by and starring Kelly, which is a perfect use of colour, dance, and spectacle.  Also Goodbye, Again (Anatole Litvak, 1961), which has immediately become one of my favourite sad melodramas.


I’ve been in a book-accumulating fervor in the past month, buying somewhere in the realm of 30ish new volumes which I just had to possess (and hopefully will read this year.) My instagram account documents all these book hauls of late. Recently finished Barbara Comyns’s The Vet’s Daughter for book club, which was haunting and eerily familiar,  like a half-remembered fever dream. After reading it, I added the remainder of her work to my collection, having only read Our Spoons Came from Woolworth’s previously; most excited about The Skin Chairs! Currently I’m just dipping into Han Kang’s The Vegetarian, for which I have high hopes.

Listening to
I joined an as-yet-unnamed musical project/band this past fall, and we’re currently recording our first album. I’m singing & shakily learning the bass, and it’s kind of overwhelming but fun. Any band name suggestions are generously welcome, since we can’t come to a consensus yet. I think we sound kind of like NZ’s The 3Ds, but not really? Otherwise, I’ve weirdly been listening to very little music as of late. At work, I tend to listen to hours of podcasts all day; lately bingeing You Must Remember This, as I’m super excited to catch up to the newest series, “Dead Blondes.”

I’ve been a pretty terrible film-watcher lately. The Wailing (Na Hong-Jin, 2016) was the latest new film seen, and its intensity and heartfelt horror hit me rather hard. I have a giant watchlist gathering dust, but find time to watch the Charles Bronson vehicle Kinjite (1989) with my s.o. on VHS. Actually, I recommend watching it as a true oddity, and it’s available on youtube! I rewatched all of Hannibal around the new year, and it’s still the loveliest. & I’m excited that my local film society is hosting a free half-day screening of Evolution (Lucile Hadzihalilovic, 2015), The Love Witch (Anna Biller, 2016), and XX (2017) next Saturday.

Madeleine W

Despite trying very hard to maintain good sleep hygiene, lately I’ve been looking at my phone for an hour before bed reading reddit relationships. Though I’d say overall I’m satisfied with my personal life, I still love drama, and this sub thread gives me everything I want with the added guise of offering advice and council. People’s lives are crazy and they make terrible, selfish decisions! At it’s best it feels like communal therapy, at it’s worst I get to look at a bunch of people tear someone terrible apart.

I am not, by any means, a TV person. The idea of watching 6 seasons of 20 episodes of 40 minute show just seems like an unbearable amount of time to commit to anything. I’m also impatient, so I’ll inevitably google what happens and with my curiosity satisfied, give up. I was two episodes in to Twin Peaks when I looked up who killed Laura Palmer. However, maybe because things have been hard and frightening lately, I have gone through three seasons of Pretty Little Liars, averaging about one a week. And despite constantly looking up spoilers, and already knowing who A is (well, one of them) before starting the show, I’m still watching. Maybe it’s the melodrama, or the absurd stakes, or a scene where a Lana Del Rey song plays when two lovers are united, I just really like it. It also knows when to up the ante, ie someone falls down an elevator shaft and survives, every few episodes so I don’t lose interest. There’s also a ton of film references, which satiates any desire I have to feel smart.



My favourite thing about my maternity leave (other than, you know, getting to know this amazing human I made) has been reading. I’ve been exploring all the incredible librairies in my city, and reading all kinds of books, fiction and non-fiction, unrelated to my work. Less newspapers, more fiction. What a joy. I just finished Zadie Smith’s Swing Time, which I enjoyed. I feel even luckier to have also gotten my hands on new books that feel as though they were written for me, as a new mother. I find myself slowing down, stopping myself from finishing them because I never want them to end. Erin Wunker’s brilliant Notes From a Feminist Killjoy punched me in the gut, pushing me to devour the first hundred or so pages in one fevered go. I have stopped and re-read those passages, but I can’t bring myself to go further, knowing that it will end.

Also, my long-time Internet Friend Anaïs has started a tinyletter, which I have been devouring and recommending.

Listening To

This winter has gotten me down, mainly because of violence and white supremacy in my own city and in the world at large. Sometimes I find the best comfort for me is listening to music that will make me cry, so I can get out some of that sadness. And damn, Phil Elverum’s new record is the definition of heartbreaking. I pre-ordered the record, but the first two songs he has released – Ravens and Real Death – brought me to tears instantly.


Since having a baby, I’ve been very particular about what kind of films I watch – mainly due to the running times and depending on baby’s mood. I hate being interrupted, or having the tension of a scene fall flat because I’m distracted by my baby, but not watching anything isn’t an option. This past month I’ve settled on old movies! I recently signed up for MUBI in an attempt to add more variety to what films I watch and it has been pretty successful. I loved watching a young Bette Davis in Of Human Bondage (1935) and an older, even more brilliant Bette Davis in Another Man’s Poison (1951). I also just finished reading Swing Time by Zadie Smith and a friend lent me her box set of Fred & Ginger movies which has been just lovely.

Men are simple, darling

Queen of Outer Space is a work of pure hatred, and a bundle of contradictions. The film follows four astronauts crashed on Venus, who are there sentenced to death by the masked, man-hating Queen Yllana. They are aided in their escape by Talleah (Zsa Zsa Gabor) who looks to overthrow Yllana and reintroduce men to the now all-female planet. They succeed, and the men remain on Venus (until their rescue ship comes from Earth within a year). The film is stereotypically sexist. The astronauts call their armed captors “doll” and “baby,” they try to overthrow Yllana with “romance” (she is a woman, after all), and jokes are made about women being bad drivers. But this narrative is so poorly constructed that it cracks – it cannot be a strong image of how bad women are, because it is too dumb. Women in the film need to be made a threat, but to give them power undermines the sexism and the notion that women really are nothing but stupid objects who want love. This begs the question: what is wrong with men? Are they ok? Do they understand what they’re doing?


The women villains in this film must be given power if they are going to be a threat, but by nature of their femininity, they must be weak. As a result the threat, and anger towards it, is unconvincing. While in captivity, the astronauts query how Venusian technology could have become so powerful if it is made by women. Talleah then explains that Yllana was able to take power as no one took her seriously because of her gender. From this point we see a confusion: we know that the main threat, a woman who lead a revolution and became queen of a planet, was not taken seriously. She is obviously capable, for if she was not, could she have achieved this? This is almost immediately backtracked – she’s still a woman, and can be defeated with romance. A smarter film might have worked with this. A powerful woman never taken seriously is once again reduced, only to reveal her power and strength. This film is not smart, however, and we find that, truly, all Yllana wants is “love,” and her frustrations over this are conflated with her crazed political power.  Her hatred of men stems from their violence, with war resulting in radiation burns scarring her face, hence her ever present mask. She still wants love, but she’s ugly, too ugly to be loved. The astronaut meant to seduce her cannot bear to kiss her for her ugliness, and is sent back to the prison room. Could it be a comment on men’s hatred, then? Men caused real damage, they caused wars, they harmed living beings, leaving permanent scars. Yllana’s anger towards men, and war, is by all means justified. And her trauma is met with a man who rejects her for her ugliness, something which is repeated humiliatingly throughout the film – when the astronauts return after their escape attempt, they rip her mask from her, exposing her face as she desperately tries to hide herself. She and her allies briefly regain power and she attempts to kiss the lead astronaut, only to have him recoil in repulsion. We are given a history of men concerned with only violence and conquest, and are given a present reality of men concerned with only a woman’s beauty, treating the non-beautiful with abhorrence. They should then be the villains.


This potential subversion of the film’s misogyny is furthered by a love-scene during the escape, where the reversal of gender roles is played for light humour. One woman calls an astronaut pretty, and he calls her handsome. Another woman is blocked to be in a dominant position to the man she kisses, framed to be bigger, taller, and taking charge. Talleah affirms compliments and expresses what she wants: she knows she’s beautiful – perhaps she doesn’t need someone to tell her so?


The confusion of this film is that the scenes undermining male dominance are then re-undermined to re-assert male dominance. Though Yllana’s ugliness, cause by men, is met by cruel rejection, she is maintained as irrational, violent, and incapable, fighting back till the very end despite being met with failure upon failure, concluding in her being roasted to a crisp in a final attempt to destroy Earth and kill all men.  As Earth spectators, and we must see ourselves as essentially good, peaceful people, and her anti-war attitude is nothing but emotional, foreign illogic.  While the romantic escape showcases untraditional sexual roles where the women can take control, this is met with excitement over the women’s honesty and willingness, which is so unlike Earth girls who connive to catch their men. You’re not like other girls, you’re a cool girl. But then again, these are undermined. The film opens with one of the astronauts bidding farewell to a woman before he departs for space: she clearly states that she is concerned for his safety (said breathily, “Spaceships are dangerous!”) and wouldn’t be able to go on without him. He tells her he must leave. On Venus he meets a new woman, who he is more than happy to stay with while they await their Earth rescue ship. She expresses that he had said that he loved her, which he does not necessarily confirm. In fact, when he joins his fellow astronauts he says “I was just being polite to her.” Then to the Earth message stating “I know you’re anxious to get home,” he responds, “Are you kidding?!” and goes back to aggressively kissing his Venusian girl: he is unwilling to give her what she wants (emotional connection) but will skirt the issue to get what he wants (sex). This character is the typical playboy, and it is his entire being, which makes sense within a film that does not look deeply at individual psychology. But at the same time, we are presented with the only person who actually does lie about his emotions to get what he wants, manipulating others and disregarding their feelings. And there is no afterthought for the Earth woman who’s left behind, who said she couldn’t go on without him.


It’s hard to tell definitely how much of the men’s behaviour in Queen of Outer Space is meant to come off as rage-inducingly sexist, or average for the time. A contemporary review from Variety describes the film as “a good-natured attempt to put some honest sex into science-fiction,” which leads me to think it is the latter. Scenes of men referring to their captors as “dames,” discussing the bodies of women in power, legitimately thinking that women are simple-minded, seem to be nothing but straightforward: there is no irony, there is no subversion. Which is what is confusing about this film.  A film that is so intent on tearing down women repeatedly, degrading the ones who are wrong and reducing the ones who are acceptable, functions as a capsule of masculine hatred and stupidity. Despite the intent to show the threat of female power, it does a better job at showing just what men appreciate in women (submission, beauty), and just what they hate (ugliness, power), but not in a coherent way in the least. To look back on this film it is impossible to see it as anything other than the work of angry boys who don’t know how to hate properly without infecting their discourse with their own unavoidable violence, disgust, and ability to harm. For it is impossible to forget men’s cruelty and dismissal within this film, even when the focus is on how horrible women are, how they must be objects not agents, how their attempts to be agents will fail because they are not smart enough to be anything more than “woman.” The reduction of women in this way is in itself hateful and stupid, and this stupidity is enhanced by the inability to make men worthy heroes.


The exploitation of men’s stupidity in this manner would become key to Zsa Zsa Gabor’s star persona. Known for her multiple marriages, she become more famous for one-liners about men and sex than her acting. This is exemplified in her workout tape It’s Simple, Darling (1993). Flanked by two absolutely enormous men, Gabor performs easy exercises while making non-sequitors about love, sex, and marriage. Advice to always give back the ring after breaking an engagement, but never the stone, or to keep your body trim to drive a man wild while undressing litter the video. She frequently discusses her past husbands. “Girls really dress for men…” [cut to a straight close up of Gabor] “…when they’re undressing!” The video seems less like a real workout than a showcase for Gabor and her persona. Doing standing push-ups (“my type of push-up”) off the backs of her “gorgeous guys,” this is obvious. Not really a push-up at all, it’s an excuse for her to touch men while discussing the other men you could touch: a husband, ex-husband, gardner, pool boy, lawyer, etc. “I like it!” she moans. This is not about exercise, but Gabor’s notorious relation to men. And this is where stupidity plays in again. The whole tape works off of the premise that it is very easy to seduce, and so manipulate, men through your body and appearance. The refrain of “it’s simple, darling” reflects this: not only is it simple to workout, but it’s simple to get a man. Then get his jewels, his house, his money. Then get another man, perhaps one like the “gorgeous” bodybuilders in the tape.

To argue that men’s inability to properly hate women, or that women needing to resort to using their bodies to get things, is empowering, is tenuous at best. But what is clear is that Gabor’s trajectory from the sexist Queen of Outer Space to her expression of sexual power in It’s Simple, Darling describes a specific problem of stupidity in the relation men have to women. Unable to view women as real people and reducing them to objects in incoherent ways, Gabor demonstrates a way to very easily manipulate this hatred and reduction (if you possess beauty, of course), getting what she wants in terms of sexual gain, financial gain, or general success. Gabor laughs in the face of fragile masculinity and stupidity, reflecting the line she spoke in Queen of Outer Space: “They didn’t take her seriously. After all, she was only a woman.” Not taken seriously and reduced to a ditzy glamour girl, Gabor gained her success and her men, culminating in her workout tape, a distillation of her persona. It is a necessity of survival when men cannot come to terms with women as people not in service of them to exploit this perceived servitude for personal gain.  And it speaks to the state of our society that women must navigate structures of oppression without outright destroying them in order to have anything.

The Gendered Representation of Electroconvulsive Therapy

cw: for images of the depiction of medical torture


Mental illness is rarely depicted in a sensitive way in film, and I can think of few examples of films that are both accurate and ethical, especially in terms of gender.  As a broad category, it is treated poorly in cinema.  A more specific sub-genre or -trope of mental illness in film is the depiction of electroconvulsive therapy (ECT).  Supposedly it is so misrepresented in cinema that it necessitates articles such as About To Have ECT? Fine, but Don’t Watch It in the Movies: The Sorry Portrayal of ECT in Film.  Though it seems unanimous that the process is represented as a barbaric, violent, and ineffective one, the way this plays out can be categorized differently often by gender.  After viewing a large number of films which depict ECT, here are the basic tropes which seem to occur.

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Victim as Oppressed Man

Screen Shot 2016-05-13 at 11.47.45 AM

In these films, the victim of ECT is an intelligent, active man, often transgressive or radical in some way.  This type would be exemplified by Shock Corridor (Samuel Fuller, 1963), Chattahoochee (Mick Johnson, 1989) or One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (Miloš Foreman, 1975).  In these films we have masculine protagonists who could be characterized by their near-hypermasculinity: displaying ambition, initiative, aggression, strong sexual appetite, rebellion, and so forth,  mental illness (if present at all), is associated more with either men other than the protagonist or criminality — in Chattahoochee, for instance, there are numerous comments on how many of the inpatients are overflow from prison.  Care is then feminized: either explicitly (such as in the case of Nurse Ratchet) or through generalization: care is something which is a feminine occupation, distributed by women nurses or by ineffective, relatively impotent men (they are often older, wear glasses, rarely seen doing anything but sitting and hiding behind a desk, with little knowledge of the ‘real’ world or the human/masculine pursuits of the victimized protagonist, and contrast strongly with the hypermasculine protagonist’s vitality), or care is attempted to be distributed by other women (such as the girlfriend in Shock Corridor or sister in Chattahoochee) – in all cases, care is given by a woman or someone without the virility of the victimized man, regardless of if this care is positive or negative.


These films can be read as poisonously feminized institutions targeting a victimized masculinity, a masculinity which is threatened and threatening to encroaching femininity and feminine power.  When care is seen as positive, such as the love of the girlfriend in Shock Corridor, it is softer than that of the more powerful institution, and weaker as well.  Visually, these depictions will often focus on the face during ECT distorted in pain, violence, disdain, and anger, rather than fear.  In these films, the protagonist is almost never sick, it is society that is sick instead.

Victim as Girl/Child


In these films, the ECT victim is either a fragile woman, a child, or a man so ‘emasculated’ that he becomes childlike.  In The Snake Pit (Anatole Litvak, 1948), the protagonist’s neuroses stem from trauma relating to her childhood, which drives her back to a childlike state wherein she cannot accept adult responsibility (namely, married life).  In Return to Oz (Walter Murch, 1986), the protagonist is a literal girl whose continued fantasies are at odds with her coming of age, and return her continuously to a childlike state where fantasy trumps reality and thus must be attacked through a form of ‘electric healing.’  In Shine (Scott Hicks, 1996), the protagonist’s mental illness renders him to be little more than a child in a man’s body, with almost no agency or coherence of his own, save flashes of brilliance which stem from his past, sane life and can only come to fruition under the hand of mother-figures.  His problems are attributed in part to issues with his father (so, childhood, and the already feminized ‘daddy-issues’ are present), and as an adult, post-ECT, he turns to the care of women who take of near-maternal roles, even when they are supposed to be romantic interests.


ECT is used as an entirely ineffective treatment for people who have been rendered childlike through their mental illness, which emasculates them if they are men, or emphasizes girlishness if they are women or nearing womanhood.  The focus is more on the mental illness or perceived mental illness rendering the fragile protagonist a child, rather than the ECT which will never work and is simply a source of terror that cannot stop rampant illness’ mental regression: ECT is only part of the ineffective process which further fractures the broken person, but not necessarily a major focus of the treatment, like in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.  Whether the regression of the ill protagonist is seen as positive or negative (the exploration of the inner child’s fun and whimsy such as in Return to Oz or the emasculation of the adult man who cannot live in adult society without a mother-figure’s help as in Shine), ECT is without fail simply a torturous and misguided attempt to delay the regression, which will not work.  Usually these films will promote a different treatment as both more humane or more effective, treatments which can range from the more ‘scientific’ (such as nurturing and semi-romantic talk therapy in The Snake Pit), to love full-stop (as in Shine).  Depictions often place visual emphasis on the fear in the face or the mechanical apparatus which administers the shock, making the process inhumane in a scientific or mechanical emphasis, rather than focusing on the specifically malicious doctor who administers shocks as near-personal attack.  Additionally, in these films the protagonist is most definitely sick (even Dorothy Gale must learn to forget Oz in Return to Oz) but ECT is never a treatment that will help: the need is for something more nurturing.

Victim as Sexy


The patient in these films will usually have an illness which is based around rebellion, but a feminized one: anti-authoritarianism, alcohol or drug abuse, even political challenge, is added to a rampant sexuality, which is fetishized on screen, and often portrayed by sex-symbol actresses.  In Frances, Frances Farmer (Jessica Lange) endures her first course of ECT after her numerous sexual affairs, nude scenes, and generally inappropriate desires for love and affection, while the depiction of the treatment itself focuses on her shaved, arched legs rather than the face distorted in pain or fear.  The usual distortion of facial features is avoided by the skillful placing of nurses around her body, so that un-beautiful look of pain is hidden, and the fragmented body is the focus.


Another example of this would be Angelina Jolie’s character in Girl, Interrupted: playing the sexy Lisa who is institutionalized for her wildness and lack of restraint, she is given shock treatments off-screen which are the catalyst for her escape with Winona Ryder’s protagonist Susanna: an escape which involves a kiss between the two women as well as a party where each girl has a hook up, thus attaching the mental illness (and punishment by ECT) to both casual sex and queer feminine sexuality.  In From Beyond, an incident with a machine which excites human sexuality leaves an incapacitated Dr. Katharine McMichaels (Barbara Crampton) in the hands of a less sexy woman doctor who threatens her with ECT.  This happens, of course, after the effect of the machine influences her to don bondage gear and red lipstick, and attempt to initiate sex with her co-worker, so the grotesqueness and horror of her treatment is balanced by the previous eroticization of her character, while the emphasis on leather, gag, and straps in the ECT sequence become mirrors of her bondage gear.   In these films additionally, despite an element of rebellion or transgression, the characters are most definitely sick, but again, ECT will not cure them.  In the cases Frances and Girl, Interrupted, this is perhaps because nothing will cure those who receive shocks, while even the insanity-characterized-by-nymphomania in From Beyond is a confirmed insanity which simply could not be changed by ECT as it is derived from an outside source (the villain/monster’s machine): which is to say, that again, her illness would not be curable by medicine.

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When looking into ECT in film, the basic message seems to be that the procedure is presented as a torturous one, which is vastly different from reality.  Doctors don’t distribute it as personalized punishment, muscle relaxants and anesthesia are administered with care to attempt to create the most comfortable experience possible, the treatments are generally done with patient consent, and there are no leather straps or gags jammed into the victim’s mouth.  But a lot of this rhetoric is about saving the image of the doctors and nurses who administer ECT, and the process itself, with little concern to how it involves the patients, especially in terms of gender.  In these examples of ECT in film, one can see that ECT is used to characterize the worst way to treat mental illness, and so can tell us more about mental illness in these films than the ECT itself.  And it tells us that: only white people are really mentally ill.  There might be one or two men of colour present, but they are never the focus, or are much more ‘insane’ than their white counterparts, suggesting a hierarchy where the white man is least deserving of ECT as he is the most sane.  White men who are mentally ill are either castrated children in need of a mother, or just not actually ill, because illness is emasculating, it is stupid, it is weak, and men are not these things.  And women who are mentally ill are also either children, often in need of daddy to save them, or they are nymphomaniacs, with an insanity that leads to sexual inhibition and visual pleasure.  It will not lead to anything truly transgressive, like the non-ill men are capable of, and even sexually it will be strict: interracial relationships never happen, queer relationships are chaste kisses when compared to wilder sex scenes.

The problem with the representation of ECT in film is that it becomes a marker of severity in illness and ‘treatment.’  Rather than focusing on only how this impacts doctors, nurses, and treatments, it is important to look to how these markers are attached to mental illness and that which it attempts to cure, and the gendered ways this manifests itself.  In this manner, ECT films become a microcosm of how mental illness is depicted on-screen, and should be given more attention as such, rather than just for deterring patients from seeking ECT in real life, for this is a basis for general stigma which must be abolished.


Carol’s ghost: Chantal Akerman, Todd Haynes, and the problem of representation

Like so many people, we at Femina Ridens have been grieving the loss of Chantal Akerman since her death at the beginning of October. A conversation that Maddy, Chelsea, and I had this morning  foregrounded how much this loss requires us to grapple not only with Akerman’s incredible body of work, but also with the work that she didn’t do: that is, with the conditions of possibility under which her films were completed or left unfinished. Our conversation was sparked by an interview with Eric de Kuyper, Akerman’s friend and collaborator, which was posted online by the European Journal of Media Studies. Among many other topics, he shares information about some of Akerman’s unrealized projects:

de Kuyper: In a filmography there are always these blind spots: written scenarios which were never shot, projects which never materialised. For instance, after working on La Captive (2000), we wrote a wonderful adaptation of Chéri and La fin de Chéri by Colette. Too late, we discovered that all the rights for the French writer were blocked by Stephan Frears, who made a rather mediocre film on Colette some years later. Our next project was the adaptation of Patricia Highsmith’s The Price of Salt, which was later published under the title Carol. Again, our work had to be interrupted because of film rights. We had learned our lesson. Carol is coming out now, but by Todd Haynes, not by Chantal Akerman.

We were all stunned by the thought of these never-to-be-made films, and had the following exchange (here edited and expanded) about what knowing this means for us:

Chelsea:  I am so sad we’ll never see Akerman’s Carol.

Maddy: My interest in the film has almost entirely evaporated now that I know this, no offense Haynes.

Chelsea: Same… He can’t even compete with hypothetical, incomplete Akerman.

Emily: The fact that the project was abandoned because they couldn’t get the rights is messing me up.


Emily: I love Haynes but this is so painful. It really shows how women’s stories are taken away from women — in this case, if not by Haynes specifically, then by the system that allows him to have a career and be funded for a film like Carol.

Chelsea: I’m kind of indifferent to Haynes, though I loved Safe… but yeah.

Maddy: What if Akerman had done Safe, though?

Chelsea: You’re killing me!!!

Emily:  (To be clear I fully support blaming Haynes.)

Maddy: Fuck Todd.

Chelsea:  He works in a system that allows him to succeed and put up barriers for Akerman. And she was much more skilled! I feel like if anyone could do this story justice it would be her.

Maddy: Cinema is a history of possibilities taken away from directors who aren’t white men.

Emily: Also, if I’m not mistaken, Haynes dedicated Carol to Akerman at a screening … knowing this that feels so cruel.

Chelsea: Was this before she died?

Emily: It was after. [And I was wrong: he didn’t dedicate the film itself to her, but rather that night’s screening of the film.]

Chelsea: This is gross… The story is like, made for Akerman. We’ll never get films for queer women by queer women.

Emily: This really brings home for me how fucked everything is for women, queer women, and so many other marginalized people in film. Even the amazing representations we cherish were so often made in place of the shadow ghost versions that could have been made by the people they represent.

Maddy: Often I feel like the “female canon” is us making do with what little we’ve been offered. Representation has always been middling, so we have to build from what little there is. Everything could have been better, works should have been done by others. Especially since there are so many filmmakers who are better suited.

Emily: Yes, we’re so hungry for any scraps….

Chelsea: I’m sick of all representation being mediated by white men, then praising these white men for ANY sensitivity.

Emily: I’m thinking again of that Facebook thread where Akerman said, “everyone inspired by me should pay me.”

Maddy: It was Annelise who pointed out that now it’s just heartbreaking:

Annelise: I thought this was funny once, now it breaks my heart. Why didn’t she get the money, or even the respect she deserved?


Chelsea: Everyone wants to cite Akerman as an influence for cred, but no one wants to actually support women artists.

“I think the weight of that loss is still being understood,” Haynes began, revealing he was still reeling from Akerman’s death. He called Jeanne Dielman “so inspiring as a filmmaker and as someone thinking about female subjects and how they’re depicted and what we’ve come to expect is occupied onscreen when we’re dealt the story of women’s lives and what is important and what is not important.” – THR

Emily: It’s upsetting to me that the takeway from Akerman’s work here is “be inspired.” I think her work is inspiring for women and other people who have been largely barred from the opportunity to make films or to see films that represent them.  And it’s not that it can’t be meaningful for someone like Haynes… but it’s different for him to see an Akerman film and then, by using it as an “inspiration,” mine it for his own work (which, because of his social location, is more commercially viable, more widely seen, and more lauded).

Chelsea: And it’s almost absurd that men making films about women must learn that women are people in college. “Not until adulthood did I realize that women are misrepresented!” And then: “Have I done anything to help women artists represent themselves? Ummm… But I gotta work too…”

Maddy: Remember how Spielberg has the rights to Martin Luther King’s speeches, so they couldn’t be used in Selma?

Emily: The systems in place mean that your story isn’t your own anymore, and you are left hoping that it will be sold back to you in a form that you can still recognize.