Marie Alessandro – Gods in the Cogs

This is my submission as a final paper to my Honors Junior Colloquium. In this media analysis through the eyes of philosophy (and Marxist ideology), I reflect on concepts and themes of Transhumanism, as shown in the first two seasons of the popular HBO show, Westworld. If you don’t like spoilers, and you have not watched both seasons 1 & 2, you may wish to skip this one!

     Westworld is a fantasy world. This HBO sci-fi show presents Westworld to us as an amusement park of a higher order, an exorbitant, costly vacation playground in which the world’s elite class can play out whatever kind of adventure they can imagine in a world based on the American Old West of the 1800s.  The show also focuses closely on a few such guests who are what we might consider to be analogous to “hardcore gamers” in today’s world – they focus on the conquest, exploration to extremes, and on exploiting every aspect possible within the game of their chosen narratives. These “gamer” guests are also shown to be VERY powerful people, identified at various points as “Titans of Industry” who are shown to engage not only in extremely socially unacceptable behavior “in game”, but also in the real world pursuit of more power, as “…monetized life removes some of the incentives for people to adhere to social and ethical norms.” (Eisenstein 210).  This is no accident, as Westworld presents to us a poignant metaphor pointing to the socio-economic imbalances of power in the real world we live in, becoming increasingly obvious as a growing concern to our own lives.

Continue reading “Westworld as a Morality Tale on Social Power Imbalance (media analysis from a philosophical standpoint)”

This paper was originally submitted for my Communications class on New Media Society.

     In our current world, digital media – especially social media – has become ubiquitous. This allows us to remain virtually connected to others around the clock and has become more and more integrated in our lives each year.  These digital and social platforms are designed to keep us engaged, glued perhaps, to the screen. This pervasive influence is changing how we interact with those around us and continuing to monopolize more of our time. We can develop more associations, connections, and even friendships via the internet and online communities. But this increase in our networks and availability does not mean the quality of those connections to others (or ourselves) have improved at all. The constant input of information can be stressful as much as it can empower. Digital interactions are a blessing and a curse. I feel that awareness of this process is key to gain more positive impact from such digital interaction, and to avoid the social and psychological costs that can be experienced. These hazards have been studied, so that we may avoid such pitfalls. Anxiety, depression, and similar disorders affect millions of people a year. There are many factors that influence or contribute these struggles, but we may wish to consider the influence of digital and social media. Higher daily use of social media can be a predictor of increased manifestation of mental illness. However, despite this, there is also evidence and studies that don’t find evidence of such a link or show positive effects. Social aspects are also affected – often negatively, but there is some indication that those who already have social capital, or to quote our class lecture, “the socially rich get richer, and the poor get poorer.” (Quintero-Johnson, 2020, week 10). Here, I will look at a very specific example (with negative and positive aspects) and see how this works, socially and psychologically. Rather than speak broadly to all users of social media, I will examine the questions presented to me on the most important social and psychological points to “take home” about digital and social media use, especially as relates to teens. I have particular interest in committing this to my memory as I watch my own stepchild about to become a teen herself, after having watched with great interest how she has fostered and grown her friendships online in the face of this very alienating and isolating pandemic experience. Never has her digital experience had such importance in contributing to her well-being as now.

Continue reading “The Social and Psychological Challenges of Pervasive Social Media Use, with a Focus on Teens”

Recently, I posted my thoughts on the movie “The Platform”, a movie which I watched as my thoughts turned to the rich experience of food at Thanksgiving. The movie is visually beautiful, managing to be both Brutalist in its sets, while a meticulously set table of a sumptuous feast is shown descending, to be ravaged and destroyed, color filtered through a washed out palette that renders its splendor null and void, draining it’s vitality as it heads into decay. The Platform is also a horror, and horror requires something that perhaps brings up the bile in our throats, and what better statement to make about food as a symbol of Power, the inequities of this world, vice, transformation and survival than cannibalism?

Immediately upon seeing the opulently prepared food, knowing it would be rendered into refuse as the story progressed, I was reminded of a long-time favorite of mine, the Peter Greenaway film, “The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover” (1989). As a person with a deeply ingrained appreciation for the pleasures of food, not only for nourishment and enjoyment of it, but as a rich and sumptuous visual metaphor, this movie fed my art-house cravings.

Continue reading “The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover”

Words have power. They can infect the world with notions, ideas, concepts. It brings with it understanding. And zombies.

Words and language are the key to our entire human evolution. To communicate, share, command, control, question, create – all are enabled by speech. This world of words has long since expanded into the world around us, growing into images, then print, sounds and images moving on the airwaves, bleeding into the pervasive media environment all around us. In 1964, Marshall McLuhan, said “The medium is the message because it is the medium that shapes and controls the scale and form of human association and action.” (from Understanding Media, p11). Often, when we take in a message, we give no thought to the medium in which it is transmitted. That oversight  can cause us to miss a lot of context that perhaps would serve us well to observe. It is not an oversight made by director Bruce McDonald in his 2008 intelligent horror-thriller, “Pontypool”.  Based on the book “Pontypool Changes Everything” by Tony Burgess (who also wrote the film adaptation script), it is a treat for those who like to get meta, Pontypool really dives in.

(note: I try not to be too spoiler-y, but the analysis might be considered so….just in case that is of concern.)

The intro sets us up with the typography of the title revealing the word “Pontypool” piecemeal, first highlighting the word “typo” that is centered in the name, a clever little visual that foreshadows all to come. Set in a small town Canadian radio station, the story introduces us to Grant Mazzy (Stephen McHattie), a former shock-radio host exiled to this smaller, rural existence.  Moments before he arrives at work, a strange run in was had with a distressed woman muttering what subtitles reveal as the word “blood” over and over, appearing confused before vanishing into the early morning darkness. Grant takes this as a cue for listener call-in response to “when do you call 911?” as he works his way into his usual fiery rhetoric. His high-key hype style is both engaging and ridiculous in light of the needs of this community of Pontypool, where his daily broadcast features the obituaries, school closure reports, and appeals to find a lost cat named Honey. He has two coworkers present: Laurel-Ann (Georgina Reilly) the intern, and the producer of his morning radio show, Sydney (Lisa Houle). Ken (Rick Roberts) is another voice that shares Grant’s airwaves, delivering to us the weather and traffic news of the day…at least until things get a little curious under the watchful eye of the “Sunshine Chopper”. 

Suddenly, in this small rural community, there seems to be something dramatic happening nearby. A riot seems to be happening at the offices of a Dr. Mendez (Hrant Alienak), cause unknown. Ken becomes frantic, really leaning in to the trope of the terrified reporter in the face of monstrosity, speaking of trampling, of blood, even exclaiming that there seemed to be “…an EXPLOSION of people!!”; it isn’t long before BBC News is on the line to speak with Grant as the radio persona who broke the story. Is there a quarantine? Are the roads blocked? Is this a conflict between the French-Canadians and those who speak English, a racially motivates “insurgency” of terrorism?                                                                                                                                                       

Grant is visibly shaken and begins to waver in his thoughts. Is this even REAL? Is he being punked? If it is real, what is really happening? Grant tries to wander off, and his stunned demeanor seems a bit like what we could imagine PTSD looks like, manifest in a former soldier having a flashback, as he insists that he “has to see for himself”, heading outside. This is going to be a theme that plays out for the duration of the movie – moments where Laurel-Ann responds like a grunt under orders hints to us what this is about, as did an earlier scene just before the chaos ensued in which we see locals in a hokey singing group, dressed as “Arabians”, with one little girl in full on blackface and reference to Osama bin Laden and terrorism laid on thickly. Grant has on his thinking cap, and those gears are turning, hard. He witnesses the zombies, and we hear about the insanity and the cannibalism, though we as an audience are subjected to very little direct violence, as the story grows frantic, with the horror implied but never shown. There is copious blood being…ejected…from the zombies, however. Oh yes, this is real. But WHY is this occurring? Dr Mendez himself shows up on cue, to explain to us in his mad-doctor manner that this zombie disease is spread by words. Specifically, English, with particular infectives being terms of endearment and “rhetorical discourse”. Again we think, why? “It makes no SENSE!” declares Grant…and then it hits home, the uncomfortable and deeper truth – that’s it! TRUTH! Grant had complained of the BBC creating chaos with incorrect conjecture of terrorism, he reflects on the military doing it’s job of killing citizens outside who are infected, and he realizes that it is very possible that HE is a huge vector of the plague. Himself, the BBC, media, speaking their words of half-truth for drama and effect, media not doing due diligence in getting the facts before broadcasting. The medium IS the message after all, and it is a vector of disease. Words want to be spread around, one person to another. News travels fast. Mouth to mouth, it is when we understand the content of the messages that we become infected with words, be they true or false. There is quite a lot of conjecture and semi-philosophical discourse on the nature of words and language for a horror movie that follows. Grant works out a “cure” by literally redefining the words as we understand them, releasing the hold it had on them, even as the military circles overhead, ready to treat them as the enemy. “KILL is KISS” he tells a distraught Sydney. Once more Grant exclaims something to the effect of “…of course it makes no sense! It never did! YOU ARE KILLING PEOPLE WHO ARE SCARED!” even as the story is still being spun, this time by the military, and a flat-out lie.

It is worth noting that the set of the movie is set solely in the radio station, and at times looks like a stage play while sounding like a radio drama (indeed, there is a BBC radio drama of Pontypool as well).  It is simple and well staged in the space of the studio, building dread slowly even as it keeps visual violence to a minimum while still holding tight to that “zombie essence” as a trope. It was done on a tight budget and they did well by it. The slow build of anxiety from knowing something is very wrong, but having no idea exactly what that something is, is expertly played. The metaphor that sneaks in about the dangers of overly enthused newscasters throwing false leads out there and spreading fear, spreading this embodied disease, enabling more fear and terror as the military responds is haunting. 

This is a horror movie that may miss the mark for genre fans who prefer their monsters to be more literal and explicit, but it is also a horror movie that I love introducing to people who hold no love of horror but do like a movie that gets the gears moving in the skull. Pontypool took me by surprise, and left me with plenty to think about to boot.

Originally posted here – http://blogs.umb.edu/cinemastudies/2020/12/04/kill-is-kiss-pontypool-a-review-and-synopsis/

Movies have filled more of my days than usual, even for a movie lover, during this time of COVID. Netflix and other streaming services have provided material to fill the void that would normally be time spent with friends and family, perhaps even going to movies in theaters together (remember that, those “before times”?).  I have even tried to recreate some of that feeling by sharing movies with friends in VR (Bigscreen, for those who might be interested). Even before all of THIS occurred, I had a taste for bleak and harrowing movies, particularly in the genre of Horror. COVID makes it impossible to not to seek ways in which to frame the content of many movies that use themes of isolation, of struggle and survival, and of social inequities within the context of this oddly nebulous nightmare we are all currently sharing.  My choice for this week’s blog post is particularly well suited to view as a moral parable with even more meaning at the forefront than it would usually have. This movie was recommended to me as “a really GOOD film, not just a “good horror”, and I must admit, it is true. I was enraptured for the entire 92 minutes of runtime of The Platform – a Spanish language Netflix Original with the original title of “El Hoyo (“The Hole”).

I will discuss the main plot point of the movie below while giving a rough synopsis that seeks to avoid giving away too many of the nuanced details or subplots.  This movie easily lends itself to a more in depth analysis, and I heartily recommend that you explore this movie for yourself as well.

The movie was released just before COVID hit the US, necessitating lockdowns and quarantine time, and conveniently setting it up for a more receptive audience to truly digest its concepts than might have otherwise been possible; the movie  aims to be a brutal, yet practical lesson in social economics with a side of philosophy, dressed up in blood and despair. In fact, the movie has been discussed in terms of how economists understand socioeconomics in an enlightening article in the L.A. Times.  The setting is vague – futuristic, we assume, as the tech of the “platform” itself seems to be beyond what we are capable of, and certainly, OBVIOUSLY dystopian as it takes place inside of a rather unique and starkly hostile prison nicknamed “The Hole”. Hundreds of floors are contained within, with each floor containing only two prisoners.  In the center of this cell that is a Brutalist vision set in cold cement, there is a hole through which we can look up or down at the numerous floors, and through which a “table”…the platform itself…passes through once each day for only a few minutes, carrying food. The plot darkens as we swiftly realize that this is in no way distributed adequately. For a few moments we are shown the exacting gourmet kitchen above providing sumptuous and splendid meals that immediately reminded me of The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover, and with good reason it turns out, as these two movies do have a bit more in common thematically that I realized at first glance. This meal is sent down, with each level eating from the leftovers of the floor above. Needless to say, the lower you see the platform descend, the less food there is, until there is none at all…save, perhaps, for a darkly sensible yet abhorrent source. “Obvio”, to quote Trimagasi (Zorion Eguileor), who we meet very quickly after the start of the film. 

Trimagasi is a denizen of The Hole, sent there as punishment for accidentally killing someone after throwing his TV out of a window in a rage. Goreng (Ivan Massagué) is his cellmate and the protagonist of the story, a man who volunteered to enter the prison to quit smoking and read a book (since everyone is allowed to bring one item), while passing the time, in exchange for an “accredited degree”. It is a pitiful situation, to realize his naivete in willingly coming to this place. 

 We start the film with the pair, currently on level 48. Trimagasi lays out how it works and sets up to stuff his face as the platform arrives…an unholy mess, but

still relatively full of food. We learn that each month, inmates are drugged and moved around as a pair to random floors which could improve their existence or…end it. How many floors are there, exactly? The film continues to use floor level reveals to good effect as we learn exactly how far this rabbit hole goes, so to speak. Trimagasi is a menacing sort of sociopath, who brought with him a “knife that sharpens itself”. Even without having it spelled out for us at first, it is clear what exactly must happen on the floors below, where they receive no food. Trimagasi gladly enlightens us. 

The morality tale inherent to the story becomes clear as day at this point – if the upper levels could only moderate their consumption, all might survive.  Writers David Desola & Pedro Rivero, and director Galder Gaztelu-Urrutia unfold the story to us in each more harrowing moment, even when we see a moment where the prisoners in question have an improved lot at a higher floor. Then, we experience a twisting of the narrative towards more socially conscious and morally noble aims – an  attempt to disrupt the system in a “spontaneous show of solidarity”, only to immediately question the purpose of The Hole as an experiment in how to control those who might rise against those above them.  We are guided through scenes that are meant to illustrate the extreme selfishness of survival, and how that easily can veer into contempt for the needy, as we witness prisoners above defecate and urinate on those below (and the food that they eat).

Each twist in the dim and grimy prison setting illustrates the effect of social and economic inequalities starkly, painting “those above” as a metaphor for the ills of a Capitalist and consumer driven society who holds zero concern in their existence for those with less social standing, less food, less reason to live. Those above who cannot bear the waiting game to see if they remain on top or once more find the depths of the prison, often throw themselves down that hole, inadvertently providing some nourishment to those below, bringing a new level of metaphor to “eat the rich”. The upper levels (who represent those with money and power) are particularly cruel to those below them in light of the fact that many have experienced the horrors and suffering below, showing psychopathic lack of empathy and sympathy. In here, being “above” is power, and as they say, “absolute power corrupts, absolutely”.

With all of these moral lessons, and the fact that much of the dread and despair that is shown is not a beacon of special effects or monsters outside of the baseness of humanity, it is best to remember this is still in fact a horror film. A horror film that then picks up speed and takes on some semblance of an action film as it spirals into a bloody and gory mess. We see resistance to this system finally, as some of the prisoners are inspired to try and create a forced system of food distribution that would allow all to live…but only after discovering that asking nicely or appealing to the idea of unity is rejected to the sound of cruel laughter. This spiraling despair dumps us at an unfathomable depth below, leaving us to question “what just happened?” by the conclusion, leaving us perhaps dissatisfied. But truthfully, the movie has moved artfully through the metaphor to a place of symbolic hope for salvation, leaving us less dissatisfied than if it had played things out to a literal conclusion. It leaves the potentials hanging in the air for us to grasp, or grasp at, instead.

In light of the year 2020, a year full of protests, riots and calls to change our system that keeps those in power right where they like, and those below to suffer the results of their greed and hoarding of economic resources, this movie is well time, and such, very well received. Netflix has been profiting off of us, the captive audience, while telling us a parable of socioeconomic disparity.  We find ourselves watching movies like The Platform, even as we see this virus decimate jobs, kill off family members, and destroy whatever tenuous financial security many Americans may have built in trying to survive against a system that is built to keep them where they are. This movie echoes our own concerns, our own fears, and is well worth watching, and spending time with, as we move forward into an uncertain future. None of us want to see ourselves in a horror movie, and The Platform is the perfect reminder that if we don’t change the path to a dystopian future, it may one day prove impossible to dig our way out of The Hole we find ourselves in.

Originally posted here – http://blogs.umb.edu/cinemastudies/2020/11/27/the-platform-just-in-time-for-thanksgiving/

Cat People is an extraordinary classic. It was a slow-burn hit in 1942, and became a beloved cult movie, and one often discussed in Cinema Studies. There is a rich tapestry of visuals and messages contained within it, and every moment of its 73 minute runtime has been devoured and digested, from dialog, to lighting technique, and through its unique and stunning editing. Rich with unspoken context, most especially sexual tensions, there is much to delve into within the movie’s use of archetype, psychological ploys, symbolisms. The movie owes much of it’s depth to the use of darkness and the shadows, where the dread of the audience’s imagination lies in wait. Yet, even when we look, we find less than expected and yet, this emptiness only builds upon itself, giving ample room for our minds to fill it. Despite this volume of topical dissection and analytical examination, the Cat People holds a tone of mystery that continues to beckon to each new generation that discovers it, calling them to explore the darkness. And we heed that call because, as Irena (our protagonist) says, herself says – “I like the dark; it’s friendly.”

Cat People was a success of Val Lewton, made on a budget of $135,000, and brought together some extraordinary talent in the process – direction by Jacques Tourneur, cinematographer Nicholas Musuraca, scripting by DeWitt Bodeen and a plaintive score by Roy Webb. The movie was a production for RKO that led him to have a continued run of films that followed Cat People over the next four years through 1946. An experienced screenwriter and story editor himself, he learned his art under producer David O. Selznick of MGM. Lewton wasn’t without some of his own shadows however – he had some interesting sidelines of work before his success with Cat People, writing trashy pulp novels and other “morally questionable” activities, published under pen names. But his time with Selznick paid off, and his break with Cat People gave him a path in which to shine in Hollywood.

The story unfolds thusly: Irena Dubrovna (Simone Simon), a Serbian artist in exile, has been cursed. The Balkan curse extends to all the women of her village – that those very women will metamorphose into a panther if they should become passionate, and this forms the basis of her deep fear of losing control over love. This prevents her from making a true connection with the man she loves, Oliver Reed (Kent Smith) out of fear these stories have created in her. We of course, perhaps have a little laugh at the absurdity of such folk tales, as do others within the film, notably, her psychiatrist, Dr. Lewis Judd (Tom Conway). She finds her concerns brushed away as mere superstition, or even trauma. Yet even so, there we see the myth hinted at in something as simple as the reaction of panic shown by birds in the pet shop at her arrival as the owner remarks that the animals are “ever so psychic”.

Cat People also toys with themes of sexuality and the contexts of it within marriage (and later, suggestions to the allusion of lesbianism as well), purposely poking a sleeping beast that existed within the Production Code, a system by which any sexual content, even hinted at, could be redacted for fear of corruption of the wholesome American audience. Her “otherness” is highlighted as well, her non-American status as an immigrant, creating a feeling of separateness in the differences between her “mysterious” and witchy ethnic background and Oliver’s all-American cheer, deepening the obvious chasm between them. They initially encounter each other at the zoo and introductions are made – he is a draftsman for a shipbuilding company, and she is an artist, who happens to be sketching a panther…impaled upon a sword. Curious, no? Already, there are shadows overhead.

They meet and soon thereafter are married, surprisingly, if we consider Irena’s pathological fears and Oliver’s blithe cluelessness. Deeper and more ominous details are revealed about Irena – that the curse she believes she bears is because of devil worship in her ancestry, which was nearly erased by “King John”, which Oliver glosses over in his usual manner, with assurances of her “normalness”. At their wedding dinner, Irena encounters an exotic woman who greets her as “sister” in conversation, setting off some suggestiveness in the process. We never see her again, but that moment changes the tone of the film. Henceforth we bear witness to Lewton’s touch over and over – fleeting impressions giving us the tale in symbolic and predictive snippets- Irena’s predictive sketch drifting away on the wind, howling of beasts near her, shadow outlines of a crouched Irena by the window and then again in the shower (a racy moment for the age, with her bare skin glittering with drops of water)…or the moments where she brings the zoo panther a bird to eat, dead in her hand. The visual shifts that occur from scene to scene share a distance spoken of by Oliver as he states “in many ways we’re strangers”, even as we watch the rift grow. Though the film is in black and white, there never seems to be any truly bright or sunny moments in the film; instead there is a slight dimness to the lighting of the day scenes, as though overcast.

After a long run of being reminded at the disintegration of Irena and Oliver’s relationship, we finally get to the metaphysics of the tale, the dark center towards which we have been sauntering. The greyness of daylight hours blend into the darkness of the night, a fitting transition after the time we have spent witnessing Irena’s torment, mistrust, and depression, laced with yearning and loneliness, or Oliver’s willful ignorance combined with his increasing frustration at Irena’s inability to consummate their marriage. Oliver’s shallow emotional depth seems to come to the fore as we see his frustration turn to flirtation with his office mate Alice (Jane Randolph) far too easily, even as he confesses “I’ve never been unhappy before”, continuing on about how easy his life has been until this conundrum had occurred. In this moment, Oliver’s innate lightness paired against Irena’s brooding torment is stark – he is the American dream embodied, she is the broken influence of foreign destructive forces, lurking in the shadows. He encourages her to seek help, from a psychiatrist that was written to be despised, Dr. Judd. He is slick and suave, and also dismissive and immoral in his authority. He explains the deleterious effects of childhood trauma, leaning into Freud as he informs us that the death instinct lurks in us all. That Freudian allusion leads neatly into his lecherousness that makes itself known at first opportunity. Needless to say, it doesn’t end well for Dr. Judd.

We continue to see Lewton use crafty obfuscation throughout, saying everything with literally nothing in the key scenes. Alice is followed by Irena in the park, an implied stalking with each moment of ceased footstep or pause to scan the area as the sense of being watched tingles in us, or the famous moment in the pool scene where moviegoers SWORE they “saw” a panther in the shadows, even as there was nothing to be seen at all on screen, beyond the implication itself. Yet the follow-through indicates our raging imaginations were onto something – paw prints blend into shoeprints, a terry cloth robe was torn to shreds, as though by a large cat. We recall the rustle of a bush, the growl we may have heard in the shadows by the pool. We make assumptions naturally, that Irena is indeed manifest in the form of a giant cat, yet we see not one single shred of tangible evidence that this is so. Budget concerns may have necessitated this wonderful play of tensions against our imaginations, but in truth the effect of not seeing what we know to be there is raised to a fine art in drawing out our tensions, with breath held a moment too long, as we wait for a creature that never shows up. It is a glorious trick, a tease that truly gives depth and tone to the plot.

In the end, Cat People tells us a tale as modernized myth, wrapped in a bit of horror, to impressive effect. There is no clear cut evil within the tale, nor shining knights for good – all the players are of mixed character, intermingled well. There is deep expression of tragedy and sorrow under the horror and dread presented in the protagonist, and even the cheery persona of her counterpart contains a search for companionship and longing to not be alone. We are not left with the expected “bad guy” on who we may place blame – Irena was a mere pawn of fate, having inherited a punishment for a sin she did not commit. The movie as a whole carries a gothic shadow overhead, a pall of death as an eventual fact that is closer than we may think, which may have struck a deep chord in the wartime audience to which this movie played originally. It carries us away into the darkness, with the “friendly” promise of oblivion and escape from the grief and sorrows that may plague us, as they do the characters of this story.

Originally posted here – http://blogs.umb.edu/cinemastudies/2020/11/20/1113/

30 years after the debut of Paris is Burning, we have become more culturally aware of the niche of gay culture that the movie portrays – the Ballroom scene – and yet a more widespread acknowledgement for the movie itself is culturally overdue. We have binged on Pose, and perhaps on RuPaul’s Drag Race; queer vernacular has become so notably present in the daily lexicon of the media and urban culture as we hear references such as “throwing shade” or perhaps describe someone’s style as showing “realness”. How many of us are aware of the roots of these “new” cultural phenomena, as we pick them up from entertainment media?

A little background first – these Queer balls took their roots from the earlier form they had in Harlem, during the 20s and 30s, where drag and queerness also ruled the roost in the decadences of the era, to be snatched where they could be among the lives of Harlem residents. What started as low key gatherings grew to lavish, sought out experiences where the more daring white uptowners would sometimes go “slumming”, taking in the daring spectacle for themselves. In fact, one of the most well known of these was founded by the Odd Fellows – Hamilton Lodge 710; these galas were talked about and anticipated at length, and were written about in glorious fashion by the peridicals of that era. The Balls of the 80s came from that illustrious heritage in Harlem.

Paris Is Burning showed us the world of the “Ballroom” scene, this time centered in NYC during the 80s. Black gay men and women were the primary culture of these balls; performers sought out the support of a “House” of reputation in which a “Mother” would nurture and encourage these younger members of the queer community, and in which the “children” would flesh out respectability and power among their own. This engrossing documentary examines the inner workings of this community, from which we have seen white performers such as Madonna appropriate “voguing”, bringing it into the greater public view. It is a blunt and beautiful, heart wrenching and yet humane tale of unity within the queer community, and of overcoming the obstacles that so many of this community experienced. Thrown out of their homes for their queerness, vulnerable to violence and assault, down to be surviving as best they could, with dignity and audaciousness. It is this resilience that provides the meaty central theme of the movie. We see the lives of Black and Latinx queer, trans, and gender-nonconforming folk up close, intimately. They stand proud with each other against society at large throughout the movie, with elegance and poise. This support of each other in the face of societal opposition is the thematic center of Paris Is Burning, a fact that remains a major factor in its lasting appeal.

The joy of our voyeurism is rewarded as we witness the pride, the DEFIANCE, in those we see walking the ball even as America grappled (or rather, ignored) the AIDS pandemic. We see the effects of racism and economic disadvantage; there is pov­erty, homelessness, and escape from violence. We hear them talk of daily experiences of homophobia and transphobia, the struggles of addiction. Tales of sex work are shared. Each of these performers sought a way to their dreams while pushing away the darkness. If that darkness wasn’t clear enough, the movie will bring it front and center with the death of one of the most vivacious and hopeful of the performers, at the hand of violence, cracking the hope inherent in the narrative and brutalizing us with the reality of queer existence in NYC in the 80s as a poor person of color. In today’s world of Trump and right wing narratives, sinking us into a miasma reminiscent of the anxieties of the scene we are witnessing, Paris Is Burning still provides a beacon of bright and shining fortitude…proclaiming a loud and rainbow hued message that queer and trans lives matter more than ever. The revelations that this movie revealed to us in the 90s is as relevant now as ever, bringing it to the realm of lasting infamy, a rallying cry, then and now.  

A documentary produced by Jennie Livingston, Paris is Burning gathered lots of praise and recognition…but not without criticism. Livingston was privileged, an Ivy educated woman who took a path that allowed her to study photography and painting at Yale. An out lesbian feminist by the early eighties, she lived and worked in New York by the mid 80s; taking up activism to the cause of AIDS awareness and prevention with ACT UP. She became familiar with a group of young performers of the Ballroom,  practicing their dance and walk styles publicly, leading her to the Harlem ball scene. Her interest started as a photography project, soon expanding to the concept of a documentary with the support of not just family and friends, but local communities of indie filmmakers and queer movie festivals. Even so, she struggled to get the movie out and distributed. Livingston was still subjected to criticism, as many saw the accomplishment of Paris is Burning as an appropriation of a Black gay subculture by a privileged white filmmaker without concern that her queerness gave her entrance to this scene. There were quibbles later about money as the movie garnered praise and exposure. Lawsuits were threatened. Participants felt cheated when the film made close to $4 million and thought to sue, but were dissuaded when Livingston’s lawyer confirmed they had indeed signed the necessary forms. Later, $55,000 was distributed among the 13 performers, a little more than a tenth of the cost of making the film, and unusual for a documentary in which paying performers is not the norm. This still comes up- in 2014, when the film was to be screened for a public event hosted by Celebrate Brooklyn!/ BRIC, protest and petitions were raised against the event until such a time that Livingston would apologize for her appropriation of the ball culture to her advantage and profit.

The biggest message the film brought to the table for us to witness, then and now, is the concept of intersectionality—the place where discrimination on various aspects of our existences all intersect, compounding –  race, gender, sexual identity, age, class, weight, ableness. While that intersectionality is the most pressing message within, the most lasting impressions in the documentary come from the performance competitions themselves, as they parody and take on a challenge they deal with daily – “passing” through the masks of society around them, be it their “heterosexual counterparts”, the rich and famous, the elegant and worldly, primarily taking elements of privileged culture. They play with gender like toys, seeming at times effortless in their presentations of high femininity and masculinity for a world out of reach to them as queers.  They represented items such as “yacht wear”, business attire, the looks of private school kids, of high fashion evening wear, military garb, and just straight up “realness” in which they strove to represent themselves as if they were straight. They weren’t above parodying the shadows and darker elements of their communities either – sometimes strolling like a local G, or the sexy stride of a ‘round the way girl of the prowl. Gender is performative, and nowhere is that idea clearer than here.

Paris is Burning is still a very powerful look into Queer Culture from a time that lacked the media coverage of today, solidifying its stance as an important documentation of a culture we may never have witnessed to this extent, in it’s own glory, rather than the forms it has taken in the past such as Vogueing a la Madonna, or today as queer culture grows in popularity and acceptance. It’s a peek into a life even peers of the day may not have witnessed, save for the grand silver screen. I am one of those peers. And I am grateful I bore witness to this slice of queer life in the shadows of NYC.

Originally posted here – http://blogs.umb.edu/cinemastudies/2020/11/14/paris-is-burning-an-important-slice-of-queer-history/