tai's media mind

Category: Commentary

  • Gender and Sexuality in Amazon Prime’s The Boys

    The Boys on Amazon Prime is a controversial, blood-soaked, satirical commentary on the superhero genre and the American justice system. Challenging topics like systemic racism, corporate greed, addiction, abuse of power, political power, parasocial relationships, gender, sexuality, inequality, and assault to name a few, The Boys questions all aspects of the toughest experiences humans can go through, but through a superhero lens. The series takes the question, “What would happen if the heroes were actually the bad guys?” and spins it on its head. Characters like Starlight, Homelander, The Deep, and Queen Maeve help shine a light on American culture in which male dominance is maintained through objectification, coercion, and strategic manipulation of women’s identities. 

    In the first season of the show, the audience is introduced to a superhero named Starlight, whose civilian name is Annie January. Upon joining what is considered the Avengers of The Boys universe, known as The Seven, Starlight is the victim of the first striking commentary on gendered abuse in the workplace. Starlight is coerced into a sexual act by The Deep, a member of The Seven, under the guise of him being the determining factor in whether or not she will actually be joining the team. Deep’s exploitation of his perceived seniority and the “threat” to Starlight’s career mimics the tactics used by men in positions of power across multiple industries. On their first mission together after the assault, Deep reflects on his own objectifications, claiming that Vought, their employer, only values him for his muscles and attractive features. It’s an ironic reversal of gender norms but clearly underscores his lack of understanding of systemic inequality. Unlike The Deep, Starlight has to prove her competence to her employers and her team, while fending off sexualization and maintaining her morals. In this scene they share together, Starlight confronts Deep about the lack of care for her as an individual and as a coworker and lets him know that she will no longer be taken advantage of. He tries again to manipulate her into staying quiet, and she threatens to burn his eyes out if he ever touches her again and unsurprisingly that is the only way he agreed to leave her alone. Her demand for respect delivered with unwavering authority signals a shift in sense of agency, but also reflects to the audience the reality that for some women, the only language that deters harassment is one rooted in fear or threats.

    This portrayal of workplace harassment was a nod to the testimonies and efforts made by the #MeToo movement which is made light of by Deep in a culminating fight between him and Starlight in season 4. In this long awaited moment Deep says, “‘First, you tried to cancel me, victimize an innocent man because I guess that’s just cool to do to white guys nowadays. But jokes on you, #MeToo’s over sweetheart, it didn’t work. I do not respect your truth, I do not honor and cherish your story, and I do not f*cking apologize’” The Boys, Episode 7 (The Insider). This take on this type of individual criticizes those who wrongfully assume the victim in situations where they ignore the mental health and safety of those in subordinate positions. Starlight publicly shared her story in season one of the series, so for years the character endured penalization by the company’s PR teams and CEO for making them look unsavory. Starlight as a character challenges the type of dangerous rhetoric that bashes survivors for speaking out against sexual harassment and assault and forced the audience to confront any biases that would align them anywhere but with the survivor of abuse. Starlight’s trauma in the show is not presented as sensationalized or isolated within the context of the show or to the watchers at home. Instead, it becomes a central part of her character arc, embodying the unfortunate reality of how institutional structures can often enable or ignore such violations. 

    Another example of how The Boys critiques concepts of gendered power is through the only other female superhero in the first season, Queen Maeve. Despite privately identifying as bisexual, Homelander, Maeve’s ex boyfriend and coworker (but workplace superior through threats of violence and blackmailing), forcibly outs her as gay on national television. This  manipulative play was designed to control her image and commodify her sexuality for corporate and political gain. Homelander’s selective mislabeling despite knowing otherwise addresses a patriarchal tendency to suppress and appropriate female identity for spectacles sake. In the wake of Vought catching fire for a lack of diversity in The Seven, Homelander took efforts into his own hands to boost LGBTQ+ ratings. Maeve isn’t being celebrated for her authenticity, but turned into a marketable product for Vought’s use. Upon Homelander’s statements, Vought completely rebrands Queen Maeve’s superhero persona to be overtly proud of her queerness, hijacking her personal life to serve Vought’s progressive facade. This storyline mirrors how large corporations and institutions often tokenize LGBTQ identities to serve their profits, while maintaining underlying structures of exclusion and control within the workplace. It is reminiscent of the corporate pinkwashing that companies executed for Pride Month in previous presidential administrations. When consumers notice that companies may be using these tactics as a form of improving business engagement, it questions the same issue I previously mentioned. In their study of corporate pinkwashing, Berbers and Boukes write, “…​​ participants questioned if the communication reflects a true desire to support LGBTQIA+ people as they do not know if the organization treats their LGBTQIA+ employees well and/or criticize organizational behavior viewed as unsupportive, meaning that the organization are using LGBTQIA+ people for their own benefit” (Berbers & Boukes, 23). The company that preaches about equality, but does not treat its employees with a shred of respect that they claim to demand from the world on their behalf is performative allyship in its truest form.

    The Boys continues to challenge gender dynamics in the workplace through Starlight standing up for herself when Vought wants to change her hero costume. After getting caught on video saving a girl from sexual assault in civilian clothes, Vought CEO Madelyn Stillwell tells Starlight that they are rebranding her as a ball-busting feminist to save face in the eyes of the public since she was seen out of uniform “assaulting” three men. Her original costume is scrapped and she is given a new one that is incredibly revealing despite that aesthetic not aligning with her morals or her mission as a hero. When she’s forced into the hypersexualized uniform by Vought, the company justifies the outfit as “empowering”, a nod to the corporate feminism tactic where exploitative optics are rebranded as empowerment. Judith Butler theorized that gender identity is not a stable essence but the product of repeated expressions. “…there cannot be a gender identity before doing gendered acts. This is also reflected by Butler’s comment that there “is no gender identity behind the expressions of gender; that identity is performatively constituted by the very ‘expressions’ that are said to be its results” (Ton, 9). The defining act of being a woman who experiences assault or coercion is essentially what Vought views as Starlight “reclaiming her femininity”. It lacks a true feminist identity because there is no genuine essence behind any given “expression”, only the performance. These performances being profit-driven exposes just how hollow these “feminist acts” really are. In its depiction of workplace harassment, identity politics, and the commodification of women’s bodies, The Boys serves as a thought-provoking allegory for the contemporary socio-political workplace landscape. 

    References

    Berbers, A., & Boukes, M. (2024, August 2). Rainbow fatigue: 

    The effect of LGBTQIA+ corporate social advocacy communication on organizational legitimacy. Amsterdam School of Communication Research, University of Amsterdam.

    Ton, J. T. (2018). Judith Butler’s notion of gender performativity 

    [Bachelor’s thesis, Utrecht University]. Student Theses Utrecht University. https://studenttheses.uu.nl/bitstream/handle/20.500.12932/30880/JTTON_BScThesis_Judith_Butler_Gender_Performativity_FINAL.pdf

  • mother! (2017)

    Darren Aronofsky’s mother! (2017) is a film that strived for artistic depth but ultimately collapses under the weight of its own ambition. It’s marketed as a psychological horror, but that would only ring true if the audience is strictly women, as all of the psychological damage happens to our perfect female protagonist. The film quickly abandons traditional storytelling in favor of innumerable allegories and graphic and chaotic symbolism. The hyperbolic elements that adorn every aspect of the storytelling reduce the moments to mere spectacle while hiding the weaknesses in the narrative. The film bombards viewers with unwavering intensity, not allowing for genuine suspense or any connection, which is a foundation necessary for effective storytelling. As a result, mother! feels like the most disjointing, fever-dream-like singular experience whose shortcomings fall on the erratic pacing, a lack of character motivations, and over-reliance on symbolism, culminating in an exhausting two hours and one minute. 

    The film follows a young woman called Mother living in a very secluded house with her husband, Him, who is a poet. As she renovates their home from what the audience learns was a house fire, many unexpected guests start to arrive, starting with a mysterious and secretive man who later invites his sexually provocative wife. These first uninvited guests serve as representations of Adam and Eve, as Man has an illness which is later to be discovered as cancer, and a contusion on his back rib cage. They invade Mother’s home, are unruly house guests, invade their privacy, and set up the story for the eventual chaos. The next characters to arrive are Man’s and Woman’s sons, who are set up to represent Cain and Abel. Due to the understated context surrounding the father’s will, The Brothers show up at Mother’s house and start fighting with one another until one gets murdered in a jealous rage. The violence that occurs in the house is just foreshadowing the destruction and violence that consumes Mother’s home throughout the film. As the poet’s fame grows, crowds of worshippers flood into the house, turning it into a literal war-torn battlefield. The followers of Him possibly symbolize the dangers of blind faith and fanaticism, showing how, ultimately, people destroy what they idolize, but there is no real action that grants the audience comprehension. What Aronofsky loses in plot points, he makes up in cinematography for the intense and flawless transitions throughout the house as it morphs and changes into a nightclub, to a battlefield, to a refugee camp, and finally into a complete shrine at the end. 

    The film makes use of the obscure nature of the setting. Aronofsky’s decision to forgo a soundtrack leaves the film feeling stark and at times hollow. It is oddly quiet with minimal sounds of nature, but the foley is too loud in comparison to the action and mood of the scenes. Even in actions as simple as walking barefoot down the stairs, the booming sound of Mother’s feet feels out of place for the setting of a beautiful country home at daybreak. This choice may have been intended to enhance realism and unease, but ultimately is contributes to the alienating aspect of the film, further driving a wedge between the audience and connecting with the already disjointed material. Without a score, mother! Relies solely on sounds like creaking floorboards, sudden noises, and murmured dialogue to create tension and suspense. The overwhelming sensory assault in this film leaves little room for emotional nuance, which is executed by acting and directing, but bolstered by intentional sound design or scoring. This makes it difficult to track the tonal shifts and changes in moments of chaos where the audience cannot rely on the actors for context. 

    In the most horrifying and objectively most unnecessary scene in the film, Mother and Him’s newborn baby gets passed around as the metaphorical Jesus the Messiah is viewed by the people. As the baby is crowd surfing through Him’s followers moments after his birth and against Mother’s will, we hear an unfortunate and deafening crack. Unsurprisingly, the baby’s neck snaps, resulting in his death. The followers in the house then recite the same eulogy that they gave for the brother who passed early in the film before proceeding to cannibalize the child’s remains (eating the body of Christ). This sequence marks a moment where Aronofsky’s portrayal of women becomes troubling. In an act of sheer brutality, Mother is being viciously assaulted while gendered, pointed slurs are being screamed at her. The extended nature of this scene, combined with its relentless violence for the sake of the story, raises questions about the film’s treatment of its female protagonist and whether it respects or values its female lead beyond her suffering.

    Unfortunately, this film never leaves the viewer satisfied. Nothing you want to happen happens, and if it does, like people leaving the house for example, it’s short-lived. I suppose it could reflect the frustration that our ‘creators” or Mother Nature feels, but it leaves for an unpleasant viewing experience. Sometimes a film can get lost in its own plot, in its own writing and then you lose the story completely which is exactly what is happening here. 

    While the film attempts to weave biblical, environmental, and existential themes into a psychological horror formula, mother!’s abstract storytelling and chaotic structure make it a frustrating, rather than compelling, experience. Despite the narrative shortcomings, the film is technically executed well. Aronofsky’s direction creates an unrelenting sense of malice and claustrophobia, while the adaptive POV style cinematography immerses the audience in Mother’s world. With Jennifer Lawrence’s raw and emotionally charged performance and Javier Bardem’s self-centered and detached personification of the character Him, the film’s visual style and immersive (yet erratic at times) camera work translate the artistic passion behind the film, even if the story itself fails to engage. 

  • Between Fantasy and Reality: The Emotional and Visual Master of Coraline (2009)

    Everyone has a film that they turn to in specific moments of their life—a film that evokes nostalgia, reminds them of what once was and what could be. Moments of cinema that inspire and allow escapism to take precedence for just a few hours. For some, that film is Henry Selick’s 2009 masterpiece, Coraline. As a dark, fantasy horror film teetering between a whimsical, fantastical world and a grueling, unremarkable reality, Coraline highlights the modern-day horrors of childhood neglect and the mundanity of adolescence.

    From the mind of Neil Gaiman comes a modern take on the female hero’s journey. Upon moving to a new state, Coraline Jones, a curious and adventurous young girl discovers a tiny hidden door in her new home that leads to an alternate reality. In this parallel world, everything seems perfect. With an “Other” mother who cooks elaborate meals and hand-sews stylish outfits, a father that sings clever little songs and has a magnificent, lifelike garden, and thoroughly entertaining neighbors, Coraline has no desire to wake up from this dream. But it’s not a dream, and everything is not what it seems. She soon realizes the sinister truth behind the Other World and must face the dark reality of her unravelling fantasy. Coraline must summon the courage to save her family while navigating the complexities of self-discovery, bravery, and the consequences of her own desire.  

    Diving head first into this uncanny dream, anyone with an eye for cinema will recognize that Coraline is a masterclass in worldbuilding. The contrasts between the real world and the Other World are noticeably incongruent both aesthetically and emotionally. Set in the spring of Ashland, Oregon, the film displays a drab, gray, and rainy atmosphere, devoid of color and riddled with formal structure. From the perfectly scalloped border of the rectangular burnt-orange background in the opening credits to the barren trees that stick straight up with spine-adjusting rigidity, no stone was left unturned when it came to establishing just how static and unyielding Coraline’s life has become since moving to the Pink Palace Apartments. This is evident on Coraline’s first visit to the Other World. Upon opening the hidden door, she is met with an accordion-like tunnel that expands by the second, pulsating with vibrant hues of cobalt and amethyst. This is the first splash of color the audience is introduced to outside of her bright yellow raincoat and electric blue asymmetrical bob. 

    Experiencing the tunnel for the first time evokes emotions in her that the viewer has not yet seen: confusion, followed by bewilderment and disbelief, and finally, what could only be described as curious determination. Once Coraline enters the other world, everything is highly saturated, intensely imaginative, and all that an 11-year old would be fascinated by. Throughout the film, the protagonist has many visceral reactions to vibrant colors and hues. Since this is a stop-motion picture with more than 15,000 hand-sanded and painted faces for all of the characters and over 6,300 face replacements for Coraline alone, each emotion and reaction displayed is not a coincidence. Her relationship to color and variety is reflected through these subtleties, and the filmmakers worked tirelessly to ensure that these nuances were translated nonverbally. 

    Moments throughout the film that further reinforce the disparity between Coraline and the reality she resides in. One such moment is when her real mother takes her shopping for school uniforms. Coraline picks up the only article of clothing that is not a shade of muted gray—a dynamic pair of lime green and orange gloves. She is immediately shut down by her mother who refuses to purchase them for her. Upon first viewing, the scene may not appear significant, but considering the fact that when Coraline begs for the gloves and her mother says no, she responds with, “My other mother would get them for me,” to which her mother retorts, “Maybe she should buy all your clothes” we begin to understand its impact. This line, facetiously delivered by Teri Hatcher, largely contributes to what makes this film relevant to audiences of all ages. Despite knowing that her parents are unemployed and their career endeavors leave her subject to neglect and isolation, she picks up the most expensive gloves in the sale pile— $24.99—and subconsciously triggers her mother’s maternal and financial insecurity. This scene is the final blow to Coraline’s relationship with her real mom. Not only does the Other Mother provide Coraline with new clothes during her next visit, but since her true form is a spider seamstress with needles for appendages, she handmakes—-no pun intended—a new outfit for Coraline, a vibrant blue sweater with sparkly white stars. From a character development perspective, this validates Coraline’s childlike wonder, making her feel seen in her style choices, but also solidifying the maternal bond Coraline desperately craves. 

    The beast that is stop-motion animation takes a keen eye and a strong sense of patience to accomplish. After Henry Selick received an early version of the story from Neil Gaiman in 2000, prior to the novel’s official release in 2002, “Coraline” underwent over four years of production, including 18 months of pre-production and two years of principal photography before hitting theaters. The 35 animators that contributed to the film were averaging 2.22 to 6.52 seconds of footage per week. Under the visionary direction of Henry Selick, renowned for The Nightmare Before Christmas, the film was released to audiences in February 2009. During this groundbreaking production, LAIKA Studios emerged as pioneers in the use of 3D-printed facial replacements.

    The attention to detail in the film plays a large role in character development. For Mr. Bobinsky, Coraline’s neighbor and eccentric Russian ringleader of a jumping mouse circus, played by Ian McShane, the details seem boundless. His stature is rat-like as he is tall and has a noticeably large gut. Bobinsky has an extremely long wiry black mustache, closely resembling whiskers and his beady eyes sit slightly above his long rat-like nose. Atop his stained and tattered A-shirt and short shorts, he proudly wears the medal of a Chernobyl liquidator, and although it is not explicitly stated in the film, one can infer that his pale skin which is blue, is due to nuclear radiation poisoning. Some of the other details pertaining to character personality and intention are less obvious, such as Coraline’s neighbors, Miss Spink and Forcible. These two superstitious lesbian actresses, whose lives center around their former careers and obsession with their Scottish terriers, act as the oracles who help guide Coraline on her hero’s journey. As this is a modern day hero story for young girls, she seeks advice from the most opinionated, independent women in the film. 

    The reason Coraline repeatedly returns to the other world lies not in its whimsical nature and its enhancements, but in the companionship and nurturing she craves and which she receives from her Other Mother and father. The most nourishment Coraline receives from her real mother comes in the form of a multivitamin. She is often cast aside and ignored by her parents which motivates her to seek out relationships from her other parents. Blinded by her desire to be loved, Coraline fails to notice the eerie nature of the parallel dimension. Initially put off by everyone having buttons for eyes, it isn’t until the Other Mother shares the rules of her world—that Coraline can only stay if she lets her sew buttons in her eyes—that Coraline comes to the realization that all that glitters isn’t gold. The lesson here is to be grateful for what you have, even if it feels like it’s not enough. As a child, one might side with Coraline as her distress is evident, but once grown and evolved, that same person will understand the complexities of being a parent in today’s society. The hair-raising soundtrack and score, composed by French composer Bruno Coulais, create harrowing moments throughout the film. Without the masterful use of sound design, accompanied by the subtle visual cues to help build tension, the horror aspect of the film would be disregarded. The clever utilization of a made-up language in the soundtrack contributes to the unfamiliarity of the unsettling atmosphere that Selick has crafted. When taking a deeper look at the film, one can find themselves just as enthralled by the whimsical landscape as the protagonist. The foreboding suspense feels like a true betrayal. With striking visuals, disconcerting melodies, eccentric characters, and an overall message that resonates with viewers of all ages, Coraline (2009) is a timeless piece that continues to inspire even 16 years after its initial release.