Table of Contents
I. Fiction
II. Non-Fiction
III. Academic
IV. Other
Isaac studied himself in the fancy men’s room mirror. He liked the way the red velvet couches lining the walls behind him contrasted with his jet-black tuxedo. He ran his strong, thick fingers through the waves of his shoulder-length blonde hair and thought of Susan. Susan loved his hair and the way it framed his high cheekbones and slightly pointed chin. She loved to stare into his teal eyes and rub her tiny nose against his. Isaac smelled the deep, red rose she had given him, pinned to the front of his jacket, and wished to see her face in the audience.
Isaac picked up his cello and walked out onto the stage towards his section. He stood for a moment in front of the principal seat, scanning the crowd for Susan. In the surge of bright light, he could only see black dots where faces should have been. He sat down, placing the antique wood between his knees. Dragging the bow across the front of the instrument, he checked each string against the one next to it. He turned the ebony tuning pegs as he leaned his right ear into the neck of the cello, listening for the slightest change in pitch. He took the handkerchief from his back pocket and buffed the shoulder of its body. He again looked into the audience. His eyes, now adjusted to the dimly lit hall, darted between seats, searching each row on the orchestra floor and in the balcony. The sudden hush of the crowd and rap of the conductor’s baton interrupted Isaac’s hunt. He sat up straight and placed his bow on the strings.
He played each piece just as he had for Susan. She would come to his apartment every Tuesday afternoon, taking off early from work to watch him practice for hours. They’d sit across from one another, both with closed eyes. His body would sway gently in rhythm with the melody, his fingers gliding effortlessly up and down the neck as each note blended into the next. She would tap her petite foot lightly into the plush white carpet, and heave long, deep sighs as she listened. As each piece ended, the bow still poised on the strings, Susan and Isaac would sit motionless, waiting for the tone in the air to cease. Afterwards the two would make love in his bedroom—always with a Debussy album playing on the stereo.
Isaac smiled, taking her hand from his nose and moving it to his lips. Susan took her heels off and mixed herself a gin and tonic while Isaac rosined the fine horsehairs of his bow. He watched her tiny frame float around the apartment, looking at the framed newspaper clippings on the walls and the miniature crystal cellos that shone in his corner curio cabinet. She smelled the vases of fresh flowers scattered about his living room, and hummed to herself, drowning out her least favorite part: the tuning. She resumed her seat on the couch, and he began to play. Isaac sank into intense concentration, while Susan drifted into her own world, guided only by Isaac’s beautiful music.
Once the piece ended, Susan wanted a chance to play. She sat down between Isaac and the cello, and pulled the bow slowly, back and forth in front of their knees, while his hands made intricate patterns on the fingerboard. He smelled her clean, fragrant hair and kissed her delicate neck. The volume of the music grew as Isaac’s lips explored her collarbone and the tops of her breasts. Susan laid the bow across the music stand and stood up gently, handing the neck of the instrument to Isaac. She pushed play on the stereo, and The Seduction of Claude Debussy began to play as she wandered towards the bedroom.
Isaac fished another soft cloth out of his case, and began to dust off his cello and bow. He placed his instrument in the corner of the living room and followed Susan to the back of the apartment. She was waiting for him in his king-sized four-poster bed, wearing nothing but his hunter green silk sheets.
Nobody knew what Jodi was thinking about as she stretched out over our beach blanket. Her legs extended from her hips like straws from a juice box; the sides had been squeezed in haste for the last drop.
I took a sip of my Hi-C. “I like your bathing suit, Jodi.”
“Thanks. Black is slimming,” she answered, the straws crossing over one another.
The bottom half of Jodi’s two- piece hung loosely over her hip bones. The fabric gathered over her middle like a roof collapsing, held up by two support poles. We all wondered who was supporting Jodi. 20% of people who don’t seek treatment and necessary support for their eating disorders will die.
“Goldfish?” one of my friends offered.
“No, thanks. I’m full from the Ensure I drank this morning,” answered Jodi.
Ensure had been one of the few items Jodi brought with us on our trip to the Jersey Shore. A whole case of it blocked the bottom shelf in the fridge. She would drink one or two a day, and occasionally munch on her Kellogg’s Raisin Bran or Wheat Thins.
“What do we want to do for dinner, guys?” another friend asked.
“Doesn’t matter to me,” said Jodi.
The three of us knew it didn’t matter to Jodi. We knew she would throw up whatever she ate, even if it was a simple, dry green salad. She never confided in us, but we recognized a pattern—nobody uses the bathroom at a restaurant as frequently as she did—nobody except for the other three women out of one-hundred college-aged women that share this terrible burden with our friend.
Jodi rolled over; the bones in her upper back took control of the caving structure. Her skin hugged the muscles in the back of her arm, tiny and ineffective. Her limbs looked fake and plastic in the sun. I wondered how close her measurements came to those of Barbie. I pictured beach Barbie in her size four, florescent pink string bikini, playing volleyball with Ken and Skipper. Barbie’s eyes didn’t sink in. Her cheeks didn’t puff out around her mouth. Her face didn’t float and sway over a painfully obvious collarbone. If Barbie were a living, breathing human being, she would most likely be confined to a hospital bed. Her six-foot frame would not be supported by her 101 pound body. Her thirty-nine inch chest would curl into her nineteen inch waist as she lay in the fetal position, the only way in which she would be able to comfortably contort her figure. It is a good thing she is not real, only a doll in the toy boxes of young girls across the nation.
Jodi fell asleep. The rest of us lay close to her, the four of us sandwiched on the yellow terrycloth. Her mouth dropped open as she snored faintly. Her body quivered slightly while she exhaled, her breath reeking of stale crackers and bile. I gently applied sun-screen to the line of flesh that burned between the pieces of her two piece suit before deciding to cover her with my towel. The sun would be setting soon, and in the cool of the June evening, Jodi would certainly be chilled to the bone.
Anorexia Nervosa and Related Eating Disorders Inc. “Statistics: How Many People Have Eating Disorders?”. http://www.anred.com/stats.html. March 14, 2003.
The National Institute of Mental Health. “Depression in Men and Women: What’s the Difference?”. http://www.nimh.nih.gov/research/differencesummary.cfm. March 14, 2003.
The National Women’s Health Information Center. “Women’s Body Image and Health”. http://www.4women.gov/BodyImage. March 14, 2003.
Independent films often feature an outsider protagonist, physically or emotionally different or unappealing to a member of the mainstream audience. Specifically, characters in an Indie film may exhibit behaviors unexpected for their societal gender role. Abel Ferrara’s Ms. 45, as well as Spike Jonze’s Adaptation, focus on the lives of two very different characters—Thana and Charles, respectively, as they struggle to exist in society as “others”. Through the development of the two characters, these films challenge the culturally expected ideas of masculinity and femininity.
In the opening of Ferrara’s Ms. 45, the attractive protagonist Thana, appears to function as a normal member of society as she holds a factory job, shops at the supermarket, and maintains her own apartment in a rough part of New York City. However, the viewer is quickly aware of her disadvantages; she is mute, though it is unclear whether her problems are emotional or physical. Her mouth and lips are unusually large, a constant, visual reminder of her inability to speak. She is made an outcast by the other characters in the film, particularly her supervisor: “I realize you are working under a tremendous handicap, which is why you have to work harder than a normal person.” His assumptions about Thana categorize her as inferior, strengthened by the lack of positive attention she receives from her other co-workers and her landlord. A protagonist typical to an Independent Film, Thana’s inability to relate to the other characters in the narrative classifies her as an outsider.
Because Thana is unable to speak a verbally defend herself, she is the victim of two rapes—one of which ends with the death of the man in her self-defense. Her relations with men are strained as she fears their touch, particularly innocent caresses by her boss, a man whom she previously trusted. The crimes are mentally antagonizing, causing her to suffer from nightmares and hallucinations of men groping her as she undresses. Affecting her emotional health and work ethic, Thana’s reaction is common for a victim of violent crime. As the narrative progresses; however, her traumatic experiences lead her further towards an unnatural hatred of males. She adorns low-cut shirts and leather pants in an attempt to attract and kill all kinds of men. Carrying a gun she acquired from her first murder, she wanders the streets killing both those who pose a threat to her, as well as pimps and other men that threaten women or even display affection towards women in public. Incapable of expressing herself verbally, Thana releases her anger and torment through sexually chauvinistic violence—the very force she seeks to gain revenge against.
Thana’s shift in attitude and behavior further perpetuate her status as other. Her criminal activities denote a disregard for societal expectations, regardless of her handicap. The frustrations she feels both as a mute individual and a woman are manifested through her obsession with eliminating men. At the end of the narrative, she attends a Halloween party, dressed as a nun. She performs a killing-spree, seeking out and murdering only the men, and is stopped when a female co-worker stabs her in the back. Thana screams and mutters the word ‘sister’, both her first and last spoken word in the film. Her choice of words reflects the religious implications of her costume, as well as her desire to be an integral part of the female population. The protagonist’s death at the end of the film results in a lack of resolution, an expectation of mainstream audiences not often fulfilled by Independent cinema. Not a typical female, Thana’s character begins and remains an outsider throughout the entirety of the film.
In contrast, Adaptation provides a glimpse into the atypical male character. Like Thana, Charles Kaufman, played by Nicholas Cage, is socially inept. In the opening credits, before the viewer is exposed to the image of Charles, his inner-monologue describes his in voice-over, worst fears and lack of confidence—creating an unappealing protagonist. His image reflects his attitude as his hair is unkempt, his body and face are constantly slouched (emphasizing his obesity), and his wardrobe consists of flannel shirts over jeans or sweat-pants. His neurotic and pessimistic commentary continues throughout the narrative, a constant reminder of his lack of appeal. In his interactions with others, particularly women, Charles sweats profusely and often speaks with a monotone, emotionless voice, beginning many of his statements with ‘um’. Most notably, Charles is a failing screenwriter who continuously writes himself into the script, self-reflexive of the film, and a trait extremely undesirable to the mainstream, movie-going audience. Charles’s ‘other’ qualities are further evidenced by the presence of his twin brother, Donald. Also played by Nicholas Cage, Donald provides at the most basic level, a visual contrast. His hair appears thicker and well groomed, his posture more erect, and his clothing more stylish. Socially, Donald is well received by the other characters in the film. His child-like energy and innocence enables him to successfully interact within social circles, and hold healthy, sexual relationships with women. Conversely, Charles makes several failed attempts at dating, and instead relies on fantasies and masturbation to calm his sexual needs. In addition, Donald tries his hand at screenwriting and is successful—deeming his character more appealing to the viewer—though Charles finds his script ideas to be ridiculous. Regardless of Charles’s negative attitudes and awkward presence, Donald looks up to his brother, in awe of his successes in life.
In comparison to Thana, Charles’s character is passive. His frustrations regarding his career and his inadequate masculinity are vented through constant self-torture and harsh sarcasm towards others—particularly Donald, who treats Charles with the utmost compassion. In one scene in particular, Charles feels it necessary to speak with Susan Orlean, the author of the book he is adapting to screen, yet he cannot muster enough courage even to talk with her on an elevator. Instead, he allows Donald to act as the screenwriter. He is charming and funny towards Ms. Orlean, and for the first time in the film, the character of Charles appears as a functioning member of adult society. Despite their identical appearance and portrayal by the same actor, it is obvious that Donald is the man giving the interview—the clear choice for the mainstream audience.
For the remainder of the narrative, Charles and Donald team up to uncover the secrets surrounding the life of Susan Orlean. They discover her involvement with drugs and an extra-marital affair, and Orlean attempts to kill them in order to protect her reputation. Donald is shot and survives, only to be killed seconds later in a car accident as they try to escape. As an independent film, Adaptation plays with audience expectations, killing off the more favorable party. The audience is left with the pathetic Charles as he struggles to cope with his best friend’s death and finish his screenplay. The death of the masculine figure results in a default acceptance of the ‘other’. In contrast to Ms. 45; however, the ending provides a glimmer of hope. Suggested by the brothers’ favorite song “Happy Together” on the soundtrack, the viewer is aware that a piece of Donald still lives within Charles. He drives off towards home, ready to finish the script with a new sense of confidence, prompted by his brother’s advice: “You are what you love, not what loves you.”
Gender roles within a society provide a black and white picture of the relation between the two sexes, as well as a set of cut and dry expectations associated with each. Mainstream cinema plays into these implications, providing a healthy, normal, and often idolized, protagonist. Independent cinema strives to confront the prescribed rituals, featuring both aesthetically and emotionally unattractive characters in an attempt to convey a more realistic image. Ms. 45 and Adaptation both succeed in representing socially misfit protagonists—challenging the viewer to think differently about what defines and separates male from female, social individual from outsider.
Copyright © Megan Chalek, 2005. All Rights Reserved.