During our discussion on Deleuze and his evocation of the time-image, a curious example came into my mind:  the 2004 thriller The Clearing starring Robert Redford and Helen Mirren and directed by Pieter Jan Brugge.  At first glance this film is the epitome of the movement-image Hollywood genre film.  However, there are very interesting things going on with time here that challenge that initial impression.  The film is loosely based on a true story and centers on the kidnapping of a wealthy businessman (Redford) by one of his former employees (Willem Dafoe).  The film documents both Redford’s abduction as well as the rescue effort headed by his wife (Mirren).  Very familiar territory here.  However, at the end of the film, there is a twist and devastating reveal – we discover that Redford’s character had been killed before Mirren even knew of his abduction.

I am sure there were many savvy movie watchers who spotted this right away as the shots involving Redford and Dafoe all take place in a single day while Mirren’s scenes spanned weeks.  However, for my affective experience (apologies to Eugenia Brinkema) this was not the case.  As a result, the ending caused a jolt or “shock” that sent me into a contemplative frame of mind.  Did I really not realize that these two experiences were occurring in varying temporalities?  Am I really that easily duped by clever film editing to alter my perception of time?  Are those scenes involving Redford and Dafoe reliable at all?  These types of shock endings also call up the virtual past/future because of the need to grapple with one’s own loss of the sense of “real” time and go back and recall moments in the film that may have offered clues to this revelation.  Also all ideas of logical causality associated with the movement-image are thrown out the window because anything that occurs between Dafoe and Redford that we thought were caused by circumstances in Mirren’s rescue efforts is proven false. The idea of moments in time comparing to pearls on a string is no longer truthfully representative. Therefore, within the confines of a very traditional Hollywood narrative with many of the tropes we see time and time again in suspense thrillers, this film still manages to veer at least slightly toward that vertical axis (especially in utilizing a flashback that never appears as such until the very end of the film).

Though certainly not the type of film Deleuze had in mind, I think it still offers an interesting variation of the traditional movement-image construct of mainstream Hollywood films.

The lack of queer  theorization within the Doane and Mulvey pieces this week was disappointing. I realize they were already stepping in uncharted territory by looking closely at how women watch films, so diving into ideas of queer readings was not on their radar. But in their examinations of how women can alter the viewing practices that were so prevalent in the classic Hollywood era, for members of the queer female audience, lining up subjectivity in unexpected places is a stimulating alternative. One of my favorite films from the Hollywood studio era is Stage Door (1937). Directed by Gregory La Cava and starring an almost exclusive female cast including Katharine Hepburn, Ginger Rogers, Lucille Ball and Eve Arden among many others, this film for me is one of those exceptions to the rule of looking when it comes to the women within the film as well as those watching. The story revolves around aspiring actresses in New York who live together in a theatrical boarding house. The blue-blooded Hepburn enters into the scene and shakes things up with her upper class aura, and has a particular effect on the brassy Ginger Rogers. For me, their narrative resembles the boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl back scenario that we’ve seen time and time again but this time enacted between two young women. They clash immensely in the beginning of the film but soon develop an affection for one another, largely because they are roommates in the house. And the penultimate scene which acts as a sort of climax, is the two of them embracing in a medium close-up, a very familiar sight.

There is little to no talk of men, and the only real prominent male character is a theater producer who seduces young actresses by promising them roles. In fact, when Hepburn deals with him she plays his game right along with him (masquerading one might say) in order to get the part. Her dabbling into heteronormative behavior is simply a tactic to get ahead, there is absolutely no emotional attachment involved.

The first meeting between Rogers and Hepburn is telling in the way that it is framed. La Cava uses the standard shot-reverse-shot in this scene, but instead of looks exchanged by a man and a woman, two women are given ample opportunity to look each other up and down, in the privacy of their own room to boot. Below is that clip, beginning at 1:55. Their witty banter as well as Rogers’ appearance in her bathrobe bring to mind many of the “meet-cute” moments that occur in numerous romantic comedies of the time. So, right off the bat there is a connection that the diagesis creates for these two women using techniques that usually connect a man and a woman.

http://www.tcm.com/mediaroom/video/304385/Stage-Door-Movie-Clip-Miss-Randall-s-Baggage.html

There are many fascinating aspects of Stage Door that feed into a queer reading of the film including Hepburn herself as a lesbian icon, the homosocial environment of the all-female boarding house, the lack of any genuine heterosexual narrative which was extremely rare at that time, as well as intimate moments between women when they share clothes or help one another get undressed after a long night out. But one of the most memorable examples involves Hepburn’s performance of heteronormativity. She comes from a very well off family and has decided to buck the trend of marrying a successful businessman in favor of moving into a very crowded house with a bunch of women. She does land a lead role in a Broadway play, though at the expense of one of the other housemates who had been vying for that same part. The housemate in question, Kay, eventually commits suicide because of the hopelessness she feels in her current situation. This role was to be her big break, and it was taken away from her. When we first see Hepburn at rehearsal attempting to feel a connection to the play, she is flat, lifeless and stiff. In the play’s scene, she is supposed to be mourning the loss of her male lover, but she is failing miserably. However, on opening night, the same night that Kay takes her own life, Hepburn performs flawlessly. Her performance is raw and heartfelt and affects everyone watching (including Rogers.) Importantly however her mind is not on this fictional male lover, but on the female friend whom she has just lost. Additionally, Rogers confronted her in her dressing room prior to the curtain going up and accused her of causing Kay’s death. So in Hepburn’s mind and emotions, she experiences the loss of her friend Kay as well as Rogers, her “special” friend. Below is the result of those feelings, a touching performance with her beloved friend Rogers looking on intently.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WNtz0r5pmXo

Following this scene, Rogers rushes back into the dressing room and runs into Hepburn’s arms, signifying a truce and a reunification.

With that reconnection, like similar embraces in countless romantic movies, the film is able to end.

When I watch this movie, it is a touching story of female love mixed with a lot of wonderful and intelligent humor. Most likely that was not the intention of the filmmakers or the actresses playing these roles, but in my capacity as a female, queer viewer decide to read against the grain in order to derive pleasure from the text, rather than following the strict misogynist rules of spectatorship and subjectivity that dominated at the time.

Christian Metz’s observations on voyeurism and fetishism within cinema were challenging, but fascinating to read. When he talks about theater or burlesque, Metz distinguishes voyeurism as having an inherent agreement on the part of the object or performer to be seen and desired by the spectator since they both exist in the same place at the same time. For film however, that consent is absent because the object or “actor was present when the spectator was not (=shooting), and the spectator is present when the actor is no longer (=projection).” (Metz, 704) The film actor has no opportunity to peer back at the spectators when taking a final bow, like those involved in theater or striptease have. Rarely even does the film actor have the opportunity to look directly into the camera which would create the illusion of peering back at the viewer. Instead, the moviegoer is given the opportunity to look without the threat of being discovered by the object/actor. Additionally, the object/actor, though only a trace or simulacrum of the actor, exists solely in that particular role. There is no final bow that whisks away the illusion of character. The credits roll and the spectator leaves the theater with the experience of peering into the life of a stranger, perhaps thrillingly without their consent. In addition, that important distance between his body and the object he desires onscreen remains intact. On top of that, he can repeat this experience night after night and the performance will never change. The object will satisfy his desire with the same amount of success, contrary to a theatrical performance that can change from night to night or even be recast midway through the show’s run. Because of these assurances, it is no surprise that the fetishization of the cinematic experience can occur. The objects and people on the screen “put a fullness in place of a lack, but in doing so [they] also affirm that lack.” (707)

Delving into Verhoeven’s filmography quickly transformed from feelings of dread to enjoyment. The idea of spending hours with the likes of Schwarzenegger and other men of his ilk as well as the overindulgence in gore and women’s naked bodies was not entirely enticing. However, I quickly fell under his spell. Robocop was the most surprising in its delightful takedown of corporate-owned America through the sympathetic cyborg and his spunky female sidekick. In fact, Verhoeven’s depictions of women are the most fascinating aspects of his films for me in all their frustrations as well as elations. Women always play a key and active role in these films, which is not always common in the action adventure tales. What is so fascinating is the play between exploitation and elevation. On the one hand, the viewer sees the breasts (and often much more) of just about every featured actress in his films. I am not of the mind that nudity should be avoided at all costs, but one could see some Girls Gone Wild comparisons in several of his film sequences, especially those involving a communal shower scene.  On the other hand, these same women are intelligent, witty, strong, brave, inventive and often save the leading man’s life at some point in the proceedings.   This dichotomy is even apparent in an early Dutch film of his that I was able to scour up, Katie Tippell (1975). Surprisingly, there are many echoes of Katie’s story in Nomi’s sordid tale. This is a story of a poor but strong-willed young woman who has just moved to Amsterdam with her parents and siblings who hope to find a better life. Tippell’s story is a depressing one rife with prostitution, rape, familial problems, poverty and ill health. In the end, she inadvertently finds her place with a wealthy young man and lives happily ever after, though Verhoeven gives us no view of that part of her life (this is based on a true story). Katie’s body is continually used, abused and discarded. There is a brutal rape scene (similar to the extraordinarily violent one in Showgirls) where Katie is attacked by her boss. She obviously does not return to that job so she is forced into prostitution by her mother in order to help support the family. An artist spots her and asks her to pose for a painting (happily without any ulterior motive) and it is through him and his friends that she begins to escape her hard life.

So, here in an early film is another example of Verhoeven’s knack for simultaneously exploiting and heralding a young woman. We all saw Nomi clawing her way to the top despite huge hurdles, defending her friend’s honor in beating up her vicious rapist, having some amount of morality in refusing to pimp herself out to an investor, etc. However, in between all these acts of nobility or courage she was naked about 80% of the time exploiting her sexuality for money and proving to be less than intelligent. Similarly, Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct uses her sexuality to manipulate everyone she encounters, male or female. However, she is in complete control of her own exploitation. And on another note, Denise Richards in Starship Troopers is a highly skilled pilot who often saves her fellow “civilians” but she does so with vapidity and iciness. She is a shell of a person. What exactly is Verhoeven’s opinions of these women? It seems there is some attempt to demonstrate the ways that these women and women in general are constantly being taken advantage of in one form or another, as well as constantly being underestimated. However, the only solution Verhoeven seems to offer is for them to sexually exploit themselves or to resort to violence. Perhaps in the end, it’s as simple as sex and violence sells movie tickets, who knows. But there is something very intriguing going on in Verhoeven’s choices when it comes to his leading ladies.

And as a quick aside, Nomi in the form of Elizabeth Berkley is the hardest for me to take because it seems that he was intentionally directing her to act badly – her performance is so consistently frenetic and manic that I cannot imagine it was not intentional on his part. I would love to hear her story on how she and Verhoeven collaborated.