Showing posts with label modernism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label modernism. Show all posts

14/09/2012

The Women of Disney's Renaissance: Not Such a Fairy Tale? Part V.


The aim of this discussion was to assess the representation of women during Disney's renaissance in the late 80s and early 90s, utilising the findings to ascertain the studio's philosophy, and whether this accords with post-feminist debate, or less positive patriarchally defined gender stereotypes.

It became clear from the outset that the corporation's founder, Walt Disney, prided himself on his ability to tell stories via the means of animation, and favoured the fairy tale genre because it stood for the motifs of fun, nostalgia and wish-fulfilment that he wanted to purvey.  It subsequently seemed a logical choice to use the fairy tale as the basis for this project; examining its core themes from an analysis of its origins as an oral tradition, through to its adoption into popular culture, and using the conclusions to advance an understanding of the values of Disney's versions of the same stories.

The reasons for selecting this period as the historical site of interest were twofold; firstly, since the term 'Renaissance' has literal connotations of revival and renewal, evaluating the status of gender in this period allows investigation of whether the studio revitalised their system of beliefs to correspond to a modern outlook.  Secondly, as this renaissance occurred shortly after a shift in feminist debate, it appeared doubly significant to study Disney films from this time, in order to comprehend whether the post-feminist mode that emerged in the 1970s influenced the depictions of Disney heroines.

The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast were chosen as the central texts, owing to their long-standing heritage as well-known fairy tales, and the fact that the films appear to posit girls as the main protagonists.

In Part II, the role of the fairy tale was discussed, with the summation being that it has performed many objectives over its lifespan; from offering a sense of community and motivation, to acting as a form of trade and worship, to becoming today's recognisable symbol of hope and escapism.

While Zipes maintains that the genre was considered harmful to children, due to its covert suggestions of good versus wickedness, and the terrifying consequences of unacceptable behaviour, others including Bettelheim, argue that fairy tales help to progress the minds of young readers, allowing them to overcome anxieties by experiencing them through the safe format of a story.  It was noted that this beneficial aspect of the fairy tale, along with its ability to develop imaginative skills, is what makes Disney animations appealing to young audiences.  By setting a narrative within the colourful Disney realm, it poses no threat to a child's innocence, while retaining enough of a relationship with the real world to allow the corporation to subtly persuade the spectator into applying its values to wider society.  It was proposed that, once Disney takes ownership of a fairy tale, it uses the genre's devices of subtlety and allegory to disguise its own agendas; concealing them within an exterior that viewers have learnt to trust as genuine, and doubling their authority.

This post then detailed the evolution of Beauty and the Beast and the Little Mermaid via their multiple adaptations, from their respective derivations as Greek and Swiss folk tales, to their famous appropriations by de Beaumont and Andersen.  De Beaumont's rendering of the story is of female loyalty and devotion; Beauty does her utmost to obey and care for her father, whose needs she places well before her own.  She encounters Beast in consequence of one of her few wishes, and her relationship with him is one of acceptance; she gradually learns to love him.

De Beaumont's tale acted as a form of instruction for its female readers, telling them to not only respect their fathers, but to abide by all regulations defined by men, in order to be regarded as ideal housewife material.  Beauty's tolerance of Beast connotes that women forced into marrying threatening men needed to remain patient and understanding, so as to reveal their husband's potential for good.

Beauty, as the focal point of the story, typified expectations of young women's domestic destiny during the 18th century, and her submission to the codes of patriarchy proves advantageous to her, for with her marriage came wealth and aristocracy.

The Little Mermaid is more autobiographical, with parallels between the mermaid's life, and that of Andersen.  Both the author and his creation are fascinated by the telling of stories by their elders, and long for access to the world beyond their limited existence.  The pain that the mermaid experiences when changing into a human symbolises the mental suffering that Andersen undoubtedly went through on account of his underlying homosexual emotions, whereas her loss of voice is a metaphor for the writer being forced to repress his feelings.

Andersen's mermaid was read as being in a similarly oppressed situation to Beauty, as both girls conform to the rules of a male-dominated environment; although the mermaid has a grandmother, it is her father that dictates her regime.  The mermaid appears more autonomous than Beauty, as she takes it upon herself to find a way out of this oppression, by sacrificing her voice for liberation.  Yet, the fact she has to give up her ability to communicate means that she still can not find an equal place within society and, like Beauty, her desires cause her suffering.

Part III looked at the process of adaptation, and employed the relevant theories to a comparative investigation between Andersen and de Beaumont's texts, and Disney's films.

From engagement with the work of Hutcheon on adaptation, these posts have concluded that Disney's The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast should not be expected to retain complete fidelity to their descendants, because of the nature of adaptation to evolve to fit with the needs of its culture, and reflect the differing ideologies of its interpreters. 

In accordance with Zipes' writings, it was noted that film, as a collaborative method, will denote the general stance of those involved in its creation. This means that a series of possibly conflicting opinions would have to be combined to form one message, which would be founded on the ideologies of that time.  To this end, and as Warner concurs, when a fairy tale is cinematically adapted, the end product can be used to instruct the audience on how to respond to social issues, with the metaphorical disposition of fairy tales allowing film-makers to interweave socially-driven connotations into the seemingly safe and honest realm of film.
With this in mind, Disney's ethos becomes less innocent than it maintains, for it appears that the studio decided to take on the fairy tale genre because, as an already popular medium, it would guarantee a spectatorship that was willing and eager to absorb the underlying implications of these films.  Additionally, both Disney and the fairy tale assure comfort and wish-fulfilment and, due to the corporation's commercial influence on children in particular, through their dissemination of products, and franchised 'experiences' like the theme parks, young viewers might find it difficult to avoid Disney's version of a 'utopian kingdom', and are made to forget the morals of the adapted texts, in favour of the studio's agenda.

Propp's concept of the function of fairy tales was then utilised to conduct a close examination of the literary and cinematic renditions of The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast, and returned the following findings.

Firstly, Disney's mermaid is motivated by selfish and materialistic desires, in comparison to Andersen's character, who is portrayed as a victim of her curiosity, fuelled by the stories of those around her.  Andersen's mermaid wants to belong to the human world because it offers hope of living and dying as an individual that will be loved, whereas Ariel is looking to escape her oppressive father.  Ordinarily, Disney's figure appears the more positively illustrated character, as she is responsible for her decisions, and inclined to see the world with her own eyes, rather than relying on the tales of others. 

Yet Ariel comes across as a rebellious teenager, intent on the acquisition of beauty and success, and the fact that she does not die at the end of Disney's tale means that her egotistical longings are rewarded.  This indicates the importance that the corporation places on capitalism and fetishisation; where Ariel, as the ideal consumer, makes a small sacrifice to gain her innermost yearnings.

Beauty and the Beast was subjected to the same study, which found that, in opposition to the majority of literary versions of this tale, it is Beast that is positioned as the film's protagonist, not Beauty/Belle. 
The film begins with the Prince, whose violation of an interdiction causes his transformation, and it is this that the narrative focuses on throughout.  Belle is simply the answer to Beast's problems; the donor, whose own needs are inferior.  Belle and Beauty are similar in their loyalty and care towards their fathers, and it is this obedience that leads them to meet Beast.  However, whereas de Beaumont's tale follows Beauty, and her acceptance of Beast; which stands as an allegory for her as the perfect housewife in training, Disney places Beast at the centre of its narrative, casting him as the victim of female intolerance and cruelty.

Part III deduced that the changes Disney made to Andersen and de Beaumont's stories had a largely negative attitude toward the portrayal of femininity, with Beauty and the Beast in particular citing women as the perpetrators of society's errors.  Belle and Ariel are not free to make their own decisions, as initially presumed in consequence of the post-feminist culture in which the films were produced; rather, they depend on those around them to achieve mobility, and are constructs of patriarchal and consumerist belief systems.

Part IV was concerned with how questions of female identity, representation and consumerism could be found in the Disney adaptations.  It was acknowledged by Warner that folk tales have traditionally depicted women as submissive childbearers and that, once they have passed the age of reproduction, they are seen as deviant; hence the emergence of the evil, older villainess. 

Ursula, and to a lesser extent Beauty and the Beast's beggar/sorcerers, epitomise this idea via physical horror and manipulative mannerisms, while their younger counterparts retain their beauty, but have little control over their lives, and none whatsoever over the lives of others.

The sea witch proved especially intriguing, and was inferred as adopting the characteristics of a drag queen to comment on society's constructed notion of the ideal woman; performer, consumer, sex object.  She also took on the role of substitute mother to Ariel, a relationship that is not normally found in Disney films, for it contains many complexities and contradictions.  Far from being a positive change, Ursula's matriarchy is criticised by Worthington as being detrimental to the film's young viewers, since it may cause them to see their own mothers as threatening to their happiness and independence.  To this end, patriarchy's disturbing influence is pushed aside to allow for a harmful view of women as bitter, jealous rivals, prepared to go to any lengths to achieve prosperity. 

Ariel's loss of voice is deemed of little significance by Disney, who insinuates that as she has her looks, she will retain her attractiveness to the opposite sex, which will result in her achieving access to the male-dominated, capitalist realm.  It is suggested that a woman's silence is key to her appeal and contentment, and this coincided with McRobbie's argument that modern women are unlikely to complain about inequalities that may arise during their lifetime, since society has taught them to be appreciative of the liberations they have been awarded.

The subject of consumerism was then discussed, with Belle and Ariel displaying connotations of young women that want more from their lives.  Belle sings of wanting to see the world outside of her small provincial town, and her love of books suggests her desire to escape, whilst implying that she is trying to improve her education as a means of propelling herself to emancipation.  Indeed, McRobbie writes that women see qualifications as a way of attaining an independent role within society's economy, which leads to them being recompensed by their positions as powerful consumers.

Conversely, it was noted that Belle only seems to read fairy tales, suggesting her unrealistic worldviews and, with such stories as Sleeping Beauty providing the foundations for her knowledge, it was likely she would end up in the same position as her fictitious heroines; sacrificing her freedom to marry the man of her dreams.  Of course, this is how the film ends, with Belle's aspirations of seeing the world instantly forgotten, or sacrificed, when she chooses to live as a princess within the confines of Beast/Prince's castle.

Ariel too wants more from life, and her role as a consumer is illustrated by her vast collection of human artefacts.  Most notably is the mermaid's desire for legs, which is understood as representing sexuality, independence, and an appropriation of the beauty and fashion industry.  Ariel's transformation is like a metaphorical makeover, which Tasker claims is a consequence of the pressure on women to make the most of their appearance so as to appeal to the patriarchal modes of ideal femininity, and ensure a high-ranking social status.  The mermaid's painless conversion naturalises this process, while the fact that she retains this form and retrieves her voice at the film's conclusion suggests that women can have everything they desire, as long as they work hard, and comply with the rules of patriarchy.

Finally, Disney's marketing of the 'Princess' brand was considered, stemming from Ariel's remarkable resemblance of a fashion doll.  It was argued that, by making such characters as Belle and Ariel beautiful and, apparently, fortunate, they promote a certain lifestyle to young girls that, in order to achieve the same 'happy endings' as their heroines, they must model themselves on their physicality. 

By playing with plastic representations of these women, children are encouraged to create their own stories, based on what they have seen on screen.  Disney's fairy tales become the originals in the minds of these spectators, and their imaginations are enhanced by playing with the film-inspired dolls.  In reality, from a young age, audiences are coached by Disney to be the perfect consumers, and ideal images of female sexuality; with the dolls' beauty and infinite number of accessories denoting the liberating and enjoyable effect of consumption, and its promise of satisfaction and access.

Overall, the past few posts have established that, contrary to the connotations of the term 'Renaissance', Disney has not provided a completely positive representation of women within the two films that have been analysed.  Belle and Ariel are marketed as feisty, brave, strong heroines; fighting male dominance to achieve happiness.  Yet, on closer inspection, these girls are submissive, objectified constructs of patriarchal hegemony and, rather than standing as symbols of female emancipation, they are marked as indicators of compliance, commodification and fetishisation.

While Disney maintains a male bias, which is most clearly visible in Beast's apparently unfair curse, it should not be claimed that this is an unrealistic or atypical perspective.  Undeniably, post-feminist critique directly remarks on such viewpoints, which provide the very foundations of this theory.  Women, according to post-feminism, are encouraged to consume, oblige, improve, learn, and so on in order to gain what they can from a society dominated by male ideals.  Post-feminists recognise that inequalities remain, but point out the positive changes that have occurred, and concentrate on supporting women to make further improvements, by being independent, and effectively bowing to male authority.

It could be claimed that Disney is only revealing society’s contemporary philosophy on gender and that, rather than being deciphered as negative, these films are indicators of current cultural norms.  Certainly, issues of gender stereotyping and the effect that the media has on children are predominant in today's culture, and so Disney's The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast could be seen as attempts to comment on such debates, and bring them to the fore in an effort to produce change.

The basis of this examination was to assess Disney's depiction of femininity in relation to its traditionally patriarchal attitude, and it appears to have successfully demonstrated that, while not completely unrealistic, Disney is neither favourable nor hopeful in its portrayal of women, and their role within society.  

21/11/2010

Avant-garde, or just plain bizarre?

Had to do a presentation this Monday gone all about avant-garde cinema which, I shall openly admit, has never appealed to me in the slightest, on account of it's sheer weirdness.  However, as one quarter of Group A (for awesome, duhhh), I thought that we should really make an effort on this one.  I mean, our last attempt was pretty shite, and it was for South's module.  I think he was suitably impressed - mainly by me, natch - so here's hoping you, dear readers, are equally mesmorised by my thoughts.  Feel free to comment on the contrary, I can take it.

What is 'Avant-garde'?

The term avant-garde is said to have originated in the late 15th century to mean 'vanguard' or 'advance guard', and was adopted by the arts at the beginning of the 1800s to signify innovation and experimentation.  The French Socialist thinker, Henri de Saint-Simon, was credited with first using the expression in this way (quelle surprise, it's always the French), as he believed that artists, along with industrialists and scientists, had the social power to lead society:


It is we, artists, who will serve you as avant garde: the power of the arts is in fact most immediate and most rapid: when we wish to spread new ideas among men, we inscribe them on marble or on canvas;... and in that way above all we exert an electric and victorious influence. (Saint-Simon, qtd. in Hobbs, 1997:4)
I'm now going to take a gigantic, TARDIS-like leap forward through time and space to the 1990s; when Spice Girls ruled the world, Furbies and Tamagotchis were IN (I never owned either), and a little chap called Michael O'Pray was writing about the British when Spice Girls ruled the world, Furbies and Tamagotchis were IN (I never owned either), and a little chap called Michael O'Pray was writing about the British avant-garde film in, funnily enough, The British Avant-Garde Film 1926 to 1995.  Now, O'Pray has done a little summary of all the decades, from the 1920s and 30s, to the 1980s, when the film, A Zed and Two Noughts (Greenaway, 1985); the focus of this 'ere blog post, was made.  For the purposes of this blog, the patience of its readers, and the willpower of its writer, I'm only gonna concentrate on the 1980s, but if you wish to know more, please cast your gaze over the reference list below. 

Ok, so O'Pray suggests that avant-garde cinema has always been used as a means of capturing and safeguarding snippets of everyday life, particularly by such 'minority' groups as: scientists, politicians, pornographers (minority?  Really?), and advertisers.  Thus, films belonging to the avant-garde movement are regularly influenced by the above marginal sections of society and, although censorship prevents unnaceptable material leaking into and affecting the flow of money that mainstream cinema accrues, this restraint has never been total.  Indeed, avant-garde films are generally made in opposition to the popular, and are often screened in churches, clubs and galleries; basically anywhere that isn't a cinema, so their, at times, contraversial content seems to duck below the radar. 
The link between avant-garde cinema and the other arts continues further, as many of its film-makers, such as Greenaway, Jarman and Brakhage, began their careers as art students, at a time when modernism was the dogs' danglies, and their films regularly addressed issues raised in painting.

In terms of the British avant-garde movement, centred around the London Film-makers' Co-operation (LFMC) the 1980s saw many influences and changes:

  • The impact of the women's, punk and Black independant film-making movements.
  • A new, younger breed of film-makers returning to an 'underground' ideal; the opposition and confrontation of the established ideologies of the older generation, like punk's rejection of mainstream music.
  • The influx of 'Super-8' film-makers - those who chose to shoot in the rather amateurish, low-budget Super-8 filmstock, instead of the conventional and high-quality 16mm.
  • The birth of Channel 4 in 1982, who promised to support innovative work, and was an important source of funding for films of the avant-garde, thanks to commisioning editor, Rod Stoneman.  However, while the channel screened documentaries on such fillm-makers as Jeff Keen, which served to broaden the spectatorship, the restrictions of broadcast TV made some directors sceptical of its value.
A Zed and Two Noughts (Greenaway, 1985)

*SPOILERS*

Moving on then, to the above film, which I suggest you watch before you read the rest of this post; it might make it bit easier to understand.  Might.

I won't bore you with a synopsis; a) because the film has several narratives from which the viewer is supposed to chose from, and far from me to dictate how others should understand it (or not) and b), because I think that, in some cases, the provision of a synopsis suggests that the writer is lazy (it's a good filler), and assumes the reader is fairly dim - surely if you're researching the context of a film, you're gonna know the basic plot, right?  So I'm just gonna get straight to the nitty-gritty.

On the 24th of April, 1997, the director of A Zed and Two Noughts, Peter Greenaway, gave a lecture on his style of film-making, stating that his aim was one of 'maximum ambiguity' (qtd in Petrolle, 2008:159).  Petrolle goes on to say that Greenaway's films interrogate knowledge by their self-consciousness, unremmiting theoreticism, ambiguity, and pluralistic, perverse nature.

In Greenaway's DVD introduction, he suggests that A Zed and Two Noughts, or Z00, should be read as three seperate films: on twin-ship, ecology - the world as a zoo - and cinema as a manipulation of light (nothing ground-breakingly new there then).  He cites Jean-Luc Godard, of the French New Wave strand of film-makers and critics, who said that the 17th century Dutch painter, Johannes Vermeer, was the first cinematographer, as he made 'extraordinary manipulation essentially of the product of light' (DVD intro, 2003).  Greenaway was fascinated by Vermeer, calling him 'invisible', and wanted to create a character for him.  He also resurrects Hannicus Van Meegeren, another Dutch painter, this time from the 20th century, who became famous (infamous?) for his forgery of a number of Vermeer's.  He was arrested about 12 years later, you'll all be relieved to know.

What has all this got to do with Z00?  Well, the film constantly references Vermeer's works, as I hope the following images demonstrate:

The Girl with the Red Hat - 1665-67
Venus de Milo and Van Meegeren in A Zed and Two Noughts - 35:37

The Music Lesson - 1662-65
A Zed and Two Noughts film poster
These allegorical referrals provide the viewer with a means of interpreting and understanding this otherwise super-complex film.  As Greenaway himself said, in a 1991 Cineaste interview:
I would like my movies to work the way Dutch paintings did, on literal and metaphorical levels.  If you've got that as a premise it's no problem at all to find all the information that ought to go in the frame - all the cultural allegorical material. (qtd. in Petrolle, 2008:160).
Allegory, according to Madsen, is all about the focus on interpretation, and how bloody difficult it can be to make sense of things.  With allegory at its heart, Z00 reminds us of the desire to understand, and it places a great importance on the perception and production of meaning.   Understanding paintings, for example, can be very subjective; the artist may well be trying to convey a certain message, but the viewer will draw their own conclusions - sometimes based on their age, gender, ethnicity, moral values and so on.  In Dutch paintings, such as Vermeer's, meaning is situated between a realistic representation, and the symbolic sum of coded objects - often hidden as household items, spatial relations and characters.   Consequently, a painting's hidden meanings and suggestions can be easily overlooked, and Z00 plays on this by constantly throwing the viewer red-herrings and random, misleading clues to follow.  Vermeer's paintings require the viewer to reflect on their nature, purpose and signifying strategies, and Z00 asks the same.  The Music Lesson (above) in particular evokes self-reflexivity, by depicting a mirror reflecting an easel.  The above film poster mirrors this (pun intended), by showing camera tripods in a frame behind Greenaway; connoting the extreme self-reflexivity of cinema too.

It came up in Monday's seminar that the characters in Z00 are so flaming odd, that no-one could identify with them.  I would argue though, that we're not supposed to identify, or even like, the film's collection of nutters.  Rather, they serve a purpose, as images to interpret; like Venus de Milo (see above), who is commissioned by Van Meegeren to make a dress for another character, Alba Bewick, who allegedly resembles the women of Vermeer's paintings, namely The Music Lesson and The Concert.  So, you see, the characters in Z00 all fit together to form certain meanings and ideas for the reader to work out.  Granted, they're still proper weird. 

The film is also about twin-ship, and the phenomena of coincidence.  The two protagonists, twin brothers Oswald and Oliver (the two 0s?), both lose their wives simultaneously in a car crash.  The car, driven by Alba Bewick (Buick is a car manufacturer), crashes into a swan (what else?) on Swan's Way (of course), and the brothers (both zoologists) become totally obsessed with trying to sort these coincidences into sorm form of narrative, in order to make sense of this bizarre trgedy.  The brothers' quest for answers parallels our own search for details within the film, that will enable us to make sense of the plot.  This duality signifies th process of producing meaning; the attempt to locate, and then connect, a series of events, from which to tell a coherent story.

Obviously, if you'v seen the film then you'll know it's not that straightforward to understand (understatement much?!), due to the numerous red-herrings and dead ends. While McHoul and Wills (not Prince Wills') accuse Z00 of being pretentious and vacuous (cited in Petrolle, 2008:163), Petrolle argues that the film's refusal to completely satisfy our thirst for knowledge does not make it devoid of positive content.  Instead, the disturbance of wanting to know something, yet not quite being able to figure it out, mirrors life's biggest mysteries - the origins and meaning of life - and this is epitomised nicely by the lovely David Attenborough's Life on Earth films, which Oliver is seen avidly watching.  This, according to Petrolle, highlights the limitations of the human mind, and our uncertainties about such questions as the meaning of life are reflected in the art of textual interpretation that is required when viewing this film. 

Finally, because poor Oswald and Oscar are unable to create an understandable narrative, they end up committing a double suicide (shoulda gone to Bad Wolf Bay).  But even this attempt to make death meaningful fails, as the camera set up to record the event malfunctions, once more paralleling the viewer's interpretation of the film; we are unable to construct any logical meaning. 

A Zed and Two Noughts makes us aware of our longing to completely understand the world around us which, if this were possible, would mean that there would be no room for ambiguity.  As Petrolle says:

'Z00 suggests that it is possible, necessary, and sometimes even fun to live with ambivalence.' (2008:174)

That's it folks.  Hope that was an enlightening experience.  I'm still nowhere near a fan of the avant-garde, and I think Z00 is one of the most bizarre films I've ever seen, but at least I can now see that it was trying to make a point, rather than just being random for the sake of it.

BW xxx

References:

A Zed and Two Noughts (Greenaway, 1985)

Dictionary.com (2010) 'avant-garde',  Dictionary.com LLC [online].  Available from: http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/avant-garde (Accessed November 20, 2010).

Hobbs, S. D. (1997) 'The Avant-Garde and The Culture of The Future', in: The End of The American Avant Garde: American Social Experience Series, New York University Press: New York.

O'Pray, M. (2008) 'Introduction', in: The British Avant-Garde Film 1926 to 1995, Luton University Press: Luton.

Tate Online Glossary (2010) 'Avant-Garde', (c) Tate London [online].  Available from:  http://www.tate.org.uk/collections/glossary/definition.jsp?entryId=38 (Accessed November 20, 2010).

Petrolle, J. (2008) 'Z is for Zebra, Zoo, Zed, and Zygote, or Is It Possible to Live With Ambivalence?', in: Alemany-Galway, M. & Willoquet-Maricondi, P. (eds.) Peter Greenaway's Postmodern/Poststucturalist Cinema, The Scarecrow Press: Lanham/Toronto/Plymouth, p.159-176.