Lars Von Trier and his sacrificial lambs

About a year ago, I put up this post about Dogville and Dancer in the Dark and how I struggled through my viewings of those films. I'm not quite sure why I thought I'd be in for something different with Von Trier's 1996 film, Breaking the Waves, but I was lured by the blurb: "A paralyzed man asks his wife to satisfy his sexual desires by seeking out other men." I mean, there is potential here for an alternative love/sexuality story that exceeds norms and leads to some sort of liberation for all involved. But, alas, Emily Watson's female lead, Bess, is another of Von Trier's cherubic, innocent women who allows herself to be destroyed because she has so little agency of her own.

Where this movie is different, however, is that, as Bess becomes more debauched and ruined, she becomes the vehicle of redemption and recovery for her husband. When Jan (the husband) becomes paralyzed, she begins to bargain with God, giving herself over to all sorts of behavior that makes her feel degraded, in exchange for Jan's recovery. And with every so-called sin of the wife, the husband does, indeed, recover a little bit. And in her ultimate death, he walks again. Blockbuster Online blurbs the film, saying, "With Breaking the Waves, director Lars Von Trier fashions an often disturbing tale of the singular power of love." Again, it's no wonder I was misled, because, I would argue here that the real subject of this movie is not Bess' overarching love for Jan, but Jan's vampiric, though not entirely conscious, abuse of Bess. And that's why this is a Von Trier film.

In last October's post, I talked a lot about the sick thrill an audience of one of these films receives as we watch the ruination of yet another image of female innocence (and interestingly, female stupidity) progress. Again, I have two problems with this filmic conceit. The first being that there is no representation female goodness without rendering the character as a simpleton, as is the case with Kidman's character in Dogville, Bjork's character in Dancer in the Dark, and again here with Bess.

And then, the second is that a conventional ideal of moral virtue is equated with victimhood. Now I don't really know if Von Trier's second contention here is true or not. In some ways, I think it is, but there are also plenty of examples of innocent ignorance being an active, rather than passive, destructive force-- like in Genesis, maybe? Also coming to mind is a curious little novel I read when I was in high school called Photographing Fairies, in which supposedly innocent little girls went around picking off male fairies as they attempt to fuck female fairies, because the girls are "innocent children" and therefore do not understand the generative quality of the act. But, I'm getting derailed. Von Trier posits that female goodness is a liability. And then he takes great joy in proving this notion, through an extended degradation of one such innocent. And again, I'm troubled by the fact that my role as audience member makes me feel complicit in his thrill. It seems I haven't really moved past this problem in the year since I saw Dancer in the Dark.

So, now, this brings me to a fascinating paper I just read about representations of sexuality of Kubrick's much critically maligned film, Eyes Wide Shut. Now, I could go on and on about how I think there's good stuff happening in that movie, even though the critics pretty universally panned it, but that's not really why I'm bringing it up now. The paper discusses at some length this notion that, in modern western culture, there has been a "sexualization of love" --i.e., a conflation of sexual desire with relationship and affection--and how this has been a heretofore unknown concept (because it's been only recently that people starting pairing off for reasons relating to affection and/or desire-- throughout history, it's been about money, property, family and/or bloodlines, right? ) But then, Deleyto makes a very interesting point that I think is relevant to Von Trier's overriding perspective:
"Torben Grodal [a film critic] has recently challenged this perception [that until recently, sex has not been a culturally available solution for women in the throes of marital discord], taking issue, from the perspective of evolutionary psychology, with the contemporary tendency to reduce all types of emotions, particularly, love and desire, to a single origin, namely sex. For him, love and desire are clearly differentiated emotions that have different historical origins and that may interact with each other in historically specific manners but must be kept apart in cultural analysis. Film genres reinforce this division, with romantic films being about 'personalised bonding' and pornographic films about 'anonymous desire.' That is, for him not only are the two emotions different in theory and in people's real experience but cultural discourses such as films also keep them separate, in spite of the insistence of ideological critics who tend to either collapse the two or categorise them according to fixed ideological apriorisms: that love is repressive (for women) and desire is liberating, or, in other words, that the only liberating way of conceiving love is by equating it with desire. In his view, the fashionable link of love with patriarchy and desire with emancipation, fluid gender roles, and the body does not stand up to historical investigation."(Emboldening is mine.)
So, if I'm understanding correctly, Deleyto is saying that Grodal is taking issue with the popular "academic" notion that love is stultifying for the female, but sex is not. And I suppose, I had never considered the idea that this was a fashionable, though flawed, concept-- but now that I do, I see some truth to the labeling it as such. On a side note, I would argue that Grodal is missing something however, in that he does not address how, in many popular discourses (let's just toss Black Snake Moan back into the pot for a moment, shall we?), female sexual liberation is seen not as liberation at all, but as acting out and/or trying to solder over some psychic wound-- that a woman cannot be sexual for the sake of sex unless she's damaged in some way. But again, I'm digressing.

Where I think Grodal and Deleyto are onto something, though-- and where it applies to Breaking the Waves-- is that I think, perhaps, Von Trier espouses this "fashionable" idea that love is repressive of the female (OK, OK, if I'm really being honest, I must concede that sometimes I espouse the self-same thought. Juries still out on whether or not I actually believe it.). Here, I'll point out that Deleyto pretty consistently uses the word "love" as a synonym for "relationship," rather than as a synonym for "affection"-- big frickin' difference, eh? The character of Bess destroys herself because of her love (read: relationship) for her husband-- and for her god. Because she has a pre-existing condition of being in love, any sexual experiments outside of her marital relationship are not freeing, but horrific and they happen ONLY because she is enslaved by her relationship with her husband-- and by her relationship with her god. And so, her only moments of happiness occur when her emotions of love are conflated with her feelings of sexual desire as directed towards her husband.

Deleyto goes on to say that Grodal's arguments eventually fall apart on one level: "While no doubt encouraging and inspirational for people whose alternative sexual habits have previously been socially denigrated, the insistence of much of film theory on equating heterosexuality and/or romance with conservativeness and patriarchal oppression runs the risk of becoming just as oppressive and inhibiting for many other people." And I guess I think this is where Von Trier's perspective falls apart for me, too. If I'm feeling generous and assume that Von Trier is after more than getting his kicks from telling gratuitously salacious stories about ways in which sweet, simple girls are abused-- and that he's really after proving how our culture treats what is commonly perceived as a feminine predilection toward romance in a consummately predatory fashion, well, then, I can't help but feel that there IS something oppressive going on there, too. Perhaps I feel this way because Von Trier writes a story in which activities that have the potential to be liberating for Bess wind up being used in service to her deference to her husband. So, if all of her motivations stem from her need to maintain romantic connection with a man who, though seemingly kind and affectionate, does not have her best interests at heart, Bess becomes a victim of the, uh, what shall I call it? The Patriarchality of Love? An to this end, it is not the love that's so important, but rather, Bess' victimhood. And therefore, Von Trier is necessarily complicit in her subjugation. And I, as voyeuristic audience, am as well. That, in a nutshell, is my problem with Von Trier-- he offers no way out in which people can be both sexual and be in love. More to the point, he offers no way out at all, especially if you are good-hearted and a woman.

And this brings me right back to the idea that, in the cultural discourse, being a good woman is perceived as a) not possessing a faculty and/or desire for sex for the sake of sex itself (i.e., un-entangled with the desire for love/relationship) and b) as being necessarily disempowered. Fuck! This is so blasted frustrating! My blogging is taking on the characteristic of something vicious and cyclical. I just can't get away from harping on this one point, time and time again, now, can I?

This is why I need to go to grad school again, write this damn book that's in my head, and hope I can make some peace with my little demon-in-the-discourse. So, OK, critical film studies programs-- you're on notice. I'm coming. Sooner or later, I'm coming!

In defense of hot chicks

It's no secret my job makes me crazy. Even if my supervisor hadn't recently enacted a de facto prohibition on taking advantage of the best benefit ever (paid time off), I would find my job demoralizing. Daily, I spend 9+ hours contributing to the bastard baby of the American educational system--testing. Teachers hate us for crippling their creative impulse within the classroom. Parents hate us because, sometimes, their kids wind up on the downside of that age-old parabola known as the bell curve. Kids hate us because we wield both the whips and the chains of the 9-month school year. And President Bush loves us because he thinks what we do actually measures something-- and that something is actually something possible to measure in the first place.

So, I'm beginning to entertain the idea of pursuing yet another degree-that-will-not-ever-ever-lead-to-gainful-employment. It's really such a shame that my motivations so rarely stem from the desire to support myself. I've got two books already half-written in my head-- one would require an anthropology doctorate and would result in a cookbook that might resemble the creative lovechild of culinary anthropologist/English professor Jessica B. Harris (author of my beloved Beyond Gumbo: Creole Fusion Food from the Atlantic Rim) and Al Gore in his documentarian incarnation. And the other? Well? I think I might have to invent my own inter-disciplinary field so that I can learn all the critical tricks of the trade so as to formally discuss softcore porn films and the joys of being a sexpotty-mouth (ahem, I meant third-wave feminist) in a scholarly fashion. Critical film studies? Gender studies? Sociology? Creative non-fiction? Regardless, neither of these books would grant me the cache it takes to procure a more satisfying J-O-B than my current one. I may, eventually, have to resort to teaching after all. Man, I hope my advisory committee doesn't make me give up swearing when I write my dissertation. Fuck, no! I won't do it!

Beyond my usual working-girl malaise, I've recently become bombarded with little tidbits of media that make me feel as though we sexpotty-mouths need some pretty serious defending in a greater social context. But firstly, I must delineate my argument. Last week, I found this article. And I found it kinda ridiculous. The idea that the American Pin-up is the poster girl of female empowerment and sexual liberation? Come on, now! She's an apple-cheeked farm girl or a bubble-headed Farrah Fawcett. She's cute and I don't mind looking at her, but Rosie the Riveter is certainly the exception to the rule in her pedigree. She's entirely sexualized and her sexuality is necessarily associated with selling stuff, rather than being for her own pleasure. While she may reflect assorted changing mores about female roles in our cultural landscape, really, what is she beyond the ultimate subject for that old hobgoblin-ish male gaze? Calling her "subversive" and "self-aware" is a stretch, for me, when all she's really doing is riding the fence between wholesomeness and titillation. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but what's representative of the forward motion of the female in that? I mean, looking for the sweet spot on that very fence has been the primary goal of every commercial image since the dawn of capitalism. I just find Buszek's argument to be so far-fetched!

She goes on to amorphously describe the "pin-up's legacy" on third-wave feminists. She says this: "Today, the subject of sexuality is being proposed as reason for and a way toward a thoughtful, plural feminist culture, and at least one generation of young feminists has come of age to internalize and apply this idea as a matter of course, rather than a point of violent debate." And I don't really have too much of a clue as to what that means. As she doesn't offer a working definition of "plural feminism, " the best I can estimate is that she's arguing that the modern-day pin-up represents, as do women of my generation and younger (who steadfastly and promisingly refuse to concede that the word "feminist" has been abused by the Limbaughs of the world to the point that it has come to be synonymous with that vomitious coinage "feminazi"), the idea that any one of many diverse notions of girl-power can lead one to the golden water trough of female empowerment. And this, my friends, is a load of crap. To be clear, I do agree that there are many paths that could potentially lead a girl to take control of her life. You could label any one or all of those paths "feminism," if you please. But this is not the legacy of the pin-up!

That actual legacy of this pin-up, well, we know them well, don't we? Let's just say her name starts with a "P", an "L" or a "B" and ends with an "aris", an "indsay" or a "ritney." These beautiful, decadent trainwreck girls are the product of several generations of the commodification of female sexuality. On one hand, they're brazen and unabashed about the splendor of their bodies (pre-baby-ruination, in poor Britney's case, anyway-- her little bloated face just breaks my heart!) But they seem ill-equipped in terms of real empowerment to deal with the fact, once you submit to the world's ravenous appetite for the pin-up, the world has a hard time shifting gears so as to allow the pin-up her humanity.

As we watch each of these girls fall deeper into her own abyss of drugs, jail time, and demoralization, I find my own sense of camaraderie with them expanding exponentially. I suppose that's a strange thing to say. And I don't mean to imply a there-but-for-the-grace-of-god-go-I sentiment here. But when I look at the real-world consequences of these girls' attempts to own (and, I guess I must concede, make a profit from) their sexiness, I'm wholly disheartened. In actuality, I don't have much of an opinion about how they choose to lead their lives. I think it's unfortunate that their every little folly becomes grist for petty misogynists and camera-happy raptors, but who am I to have any particularly strong conviction about the lifestyle choices of some perfect stranger? I'm no one, that's who.

Still, it rankles (a friend recently made fun of me for using this word in an email. People say "rankle," right?) me a little when I hear someone call Paris, Britney or Lindsay a "slut," for example. I've been called a "slut" plenty. Often, I've had the privilege of being present to defend myself (which these girls, being merely figuratively ubiquitous, usually do not). But even if I weren't, I'm pretty much okay with the moniker-- for one, it implies I'm getting a lot more ass than, in reality, I am, and for another, I find the "monogamy model" of relationships to be a VERY sketchy concept, and so, if sluttery is my only option, I guess I'll own it. But these pretty and famous girls? In the public discourse, they're equated with prostitutes, despite the fact that a very small number of us actually have access to knowledge of their sex-lives. How dare we judge them when we just don't, and can't, actually know anything truly substantive about them? Are we not, in fact, judging them for their public images? The very same images for which we begged them? And paid them?

Does the selling of a pretty picture, alone, now constitute whoring oneself? Okay, for the sake of argument, let's say that it does. If we're paying for that picture, thus providing the demand for the supply (see, Joe, I understand the laws of supply-and-demand just fine!), how're we not implicating ourselves in a warped system that worships and then ravages pretty, young starlets? And how is our purchase of the wares of these so-called "sluts" not all the more repugnant?

And now, let's throw into this particular nausea-inducing little economy the fact that the selling of those images comes at great personal cost to these girls. Yes, they've got all the money in the world--and, one could argue, enough cultural capital to constitute "power"-- but Lindsay Lohan was, what? nine years old? when she started making movies? Now, I think, of the three I've called by name in this post, I think she's both the most talented and the downright sexiest, but there's no doubt this poor child was never given an opportunity to acquire the skills necessary to manage her life, not to mention her effulgent sexuality (some girls just can't help it-- they're born with that with which they are born!). And Britney? You can't seriously tell me you didn't think those big brown eyes were cute as buttons when she was 15. Can we take a moment to mourn the fall of one of greatest fin de siecle sexpots? Are the effects of mundane human weakness and the effects of being eaten alive by the media monster, combined, not wholly tragic? And Paris. Once a girl who was guilty of no more than having celluloid evidence that she enjoys being penetrated (and, well, not having need for gainful employment) is now a blubbering, tearful ex-con. Personally, of the three, I think Paris is most likely to right herself and live out a long, well-photographed, skinny, blond life. But I suppose it's equally plausible that she, too, will slide down rabbit hole of celebrity. And wouldn't we miss her if she did?

So, I guess the real moral of the pin-up's story is that, if you are sexy and refuse to apologize for it, and perhaps even attempt to profit from it, the world will idolize you and then the world will get sick of you and then the world will deride you and eventually, the world will cannibalize you. Gee, that just makes me feel right cheerful! And subversive! And full of third-wave pride! Gimme a break, Ms. Buszek.