Objectification of Women

A few years ago, while watching the sci fi classic "Forbidden Planet" made in the early 50's, I noticed something I hadn't noticed before. In the movie a young girl had been raised by her father alone on a distant planet. She had no experience of men, so when a bunch of spacemen turned up their leader (our hero) saw fit to tell her to dress more appropriately (she was in the habit of wearing skimpy short things - much like you see every day in the street these days). What struck me was not how patronising and sexist this was, but how, if the movie were made today, no one in it would mention the girl's wardrobe and the hero would, no doubt, have managed to shag her by the end.

What I noticed was how women are still being objectified by our culture, despite the intervening years seeing the rise of the women's movement, one of its aims being the elimination of the objectification of women.

In the 50's and 60's women were babied. For example, they were not allowed to compete in endurance sports and they found borrowing money difficult. Many professions and pasttimes were completely barred to them. There were powerful and successful women in many fields but they were the exception rather than the rule. The women's movement succeeded in changing all that but ...

In those dim dark ages there was sexual objectification of women, but it only involved certain "types" of women (a sexist concept in itself) and was kept very firmly behind closed doors. Nowadays it's in your face 24/7 - on television, in all modes of advertising (banks are advertised as extra-marital affairs, sanitary products are advertised with "cute" little furry creatures, cattle "do it" in Toyotas) and in the general culture (Boobs on Bikes anyone?). Now I know the owners of these boobs believe they have been liberated to flash their assets, but I believe they are deceived. The men who line the streets are not there to celebrate their liberation. They're there to oggle boobs.

Women have been liberated to be objectified sexually. Now men expect every woman they meet to be sexually available, because that is what the culture tells them. I recently read two magazine articles from radically different points of view. The conservative writer lamented that women who engage in casual sex have trouble forming intimate relationships (maybe that's been men's problem all along?) and the liberal writer lamented that sexually predatory women are as bad as sexually predatory men (and this surprises you how?). It's been a jolly good win for men though. They might have to compete with women for jobs and what not, but they've gained a whole lot of "liberated" sexual playthings.

Fierce and endearing Joy Davidman

My favourite 20th century writer is probably C.S.Lewis. It has always seemed remarkable to me that, after a near life time of bachelorhood, he should marry Joy Davidman. They seemed an odd couple, he an elderly English don, her a younger American divorcee with two young sons. Furthermore she was a Jewish, ex-communist Christian convert.
I am presently reading a book of her letters which enlightened me considerably (Out of My Bone, edited by Don W King published by Eerdmans). As Debra Winger (who played her in the movie Shadowlands) says on the cover she was both fierce and endearing. In fact a kind of female American C.S.Lewis. She had a razor sharp mind and a quick wit and didn't mind commiting both to paper (in the equivalent of blogging in the 1940s). She was a ruthless but fair critic, writing to one poet that basically he needed a better education and appending a reading list (everything from Homer to T.S Eliot)!
This volume is most fascinating however in her detailing her disillusionment with communisim. She has the intellectual honesty to admit that she had been lazy and had joined the party without fully investigating it's philosophy. When she finally did she found it completely without substance. She came to believe, at the height of McCarthyism, that the American Communist Party wasn't so much dangerous as inept.
She remained a sharp social critic to the end of her life. The book includes a largely tangential description of her relationship with Lewis and an honest portrait of the trials and severe tribulations of being a freelance writer. It ends with her letters written during her final illness - a testimony to her wit and her faith.
All in all a role model for intelligent Christian women, and writers.

The Unique Perils of Loving Dr Who

Last Sunday we saw the end of David Tennant's Dr Who and the first appearance of the new one played by Matt Smith. Regeneration is something old time fans of Dr Who are used to and look forward to to a certain extent. But to my children the demise of Tennant's Doctor was a wrench. We saw a few seconds of the newer younger variety (Ew - he looks weird!) I tried to reassure them that all Doctors were cool in their own way. You always start off thinking - he's not right - but eventually you become fond of them.
However, my Dr Who memories go back all the way to William Hartnell (yes, the first Doctor) and I clearly remember the shock when he turned into Patrick Troughton. In any case the Doctor's regenerations are part of his appeal and absolutely the reason he's still going strong after nearly 50 years. (Yes, there was a gap. But the new Doctor has managed so far to be even better than the old Doctor.)
But Tennant's Doctor was becoming a troublesome character. The Doctor's always been a smart alec but Tennant verged on megalomania from time to time, and a new aspect to the Doctor's character - a tragic preoccupation with death and suffering - meant he was actually not such fun company as he had been. It seemed the character had nowhere further to go. He was too hurt by the suffering he was causing his companions to invite any more to join him, so he was lonely. He was without family or home, and was the last of his race (give or take the evil council imprisoned in a time lock). He had friends but put them in danger by his very presence. Tennant played the whole last two shows as if he was in great pain all the time. It was almost as if ending the character was a blessing.
I hope the young new fellow gets to have some jolly fun before he starts losing companions and making serious life and death decisions.

Natcoll Student Vid Blast

There were several excellent short films at last night's Natcoll end of year show for 3D animation and post production video courses. For us the outstanding item in the 3D was David Morris's "Breaking Point" which he rightly described as dark, but which was stylish and well executed. We also especially enjoyed "My Apocalypse" (Govind Dhir Singh) an interesting POV short about a dragon attack with an ear splitting sound track and an iconic shot of a dragon landing on the Auckland Skytower.
While the 3D show was obviously the work of a class of 100% young male artists (ie games, comics and movie influence) they were mostly original in their take on popular media.

The Video post production show was more diverse and included an excellent, although unfinished hand drawn animation by Joe Faga ("Fetu"), which I sincerely hope he finishes and we can see in its entirety, and a very accomplished live action short from Michael Miller ("And We Think in Colours"). This was a film that worked on every level and would have been at home in any professional short film programme. Miller tracked the story of a relationship in a symbolic, short form way that was emotionally and artistically complete.

The debate-stirrer of the night was the first item, the joint project for the 3D animation class. This was a film they made for a client and thus they were not responsible for the design of the characters. In fact they seemed embarassed by them. The two female characters were basically naked, which is not how any woman would (un)dress in order to "kick butt". This is a common fantasy in the gaming world, but is, in all practicality, laughable. Breasts flop around and are uncomfortable and get in the way, guys!

Good chance to play "spot the kiwi"

I have not read "The Lovely Bones" and having seen the movie I wish I had so I could understand what was going on. This is not good. A movie should make sense in and of itself.
There were many things here I did not get. I did not quite understand all the pfaffing around in the "in between" place, I didn't get why Susan Sarandon's character was played for laughs, I didn't get why Susie Salmon's sister took such a risk breaking into the murderer's house. On and on and on. My biggest problem was with the ending. No payoff. At the end there's a prolonged scene where you just know they're going to discover where Susie's body is, you just know it. Susie's been trying to lead them to the murderer all through the movie and here she is, just ready to tell the psychic girl, and she detours into a creepy possession scene to experience "love's first kiss". The murderer does "get his" in the end, but it seems much more down to karma than the legal justice system. Not the first time Peter Jackson's movies have failed to deliver in the ending department (see "The Return of the King" and his leaving Faramir and Eowyn, having won huge personal victories, just dangling).
However, that said, stellar cast and quite cool to play "spot the kiwi".