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Journal #10

For this week, we viewed the first episode of the AMC show Interview with the Vampire. The episode focuses on Louis de Pointe du Lac, a wealthy Black pimp in 1910 who's made a name for himself in New Orleans to support his family. Louis then meets a mysterious and powerful man named Lestat de Lioncourt, who Louis just cannot get out of his mind. Quickly, the two fall into a sexual relationship and Lestat reveals himself as a vampire to Louis. Louis has to confront this internal conflict between trying to conform to what is "normal" and expected of him and these other abject desires he's feeling. Louis's story is interesting because he is already made to feel like an outcast because of his skin, not including his homosexuality and soon to be vampirism. He wants to protect his family, be respected, and take care of his mother. However, everything he does never seems like enough to make anyone happy, leaving him to feel alone and defeated.

Louis' story in Interview with the Vampire can be read similarly to our article by Sue-Ellen Case, “Tracking the Vampire”. There are often correlations between the idea of vampires and homosexuality. For one, it looks at the mixing and sharing of blood like the homosexual sharing of contaminated blood as seen with HIV/AIDS (p.6). The vampire is shown as this grotesque and monstrous being that feeds on others, but also as a source of temptation and lust. Louis is not very fond of Lestat at first, but becomes infatuated and borderline obsessed with him. Louis feels this desire that he can't resist, a desire that is completely new to him. In Louis' choice to become a vampire, he takes on an even newer desire for blood, not only being a vampire as a gay allegory but literally. Case also talks about how "in the monster's body that the sexual interest resides ... one of sexual difference (p.11)". Louis and Lestat's attraction falls outside of the heterosexual standard, making it different and monstrous to society. There's a parallel in how Louis is treated like a monster just for being a Black man, while Lestat can be seen as a monster for more literal reasons. There's not much difference between the two men and how they are seen by the world. Queerness, Blackness, is equated to the monster, the vampire. When Lestat offers to covert him into a vampire, Louis agrees because the world already sees him as a monster, at least being a vampire would give him some sort of power in his life. Being a vampire still wouldn't change anything because he's already seen like one. Queerness and vampirism holds a powerful parallel on how we as a society view queerness and POC.

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Journal #9

This week for class we viewed the film Captain America: Winter Soldier. In the film, Steve Trevor learns that the terrorist organization Hydra has brainwashed and is manipulating his long time friend Bucky to do their bidding. The film has gathered a lot of attention because of the queer readings of the film and the potential romantic subtext between Steve and Bucky, even though both characters are seemingly depicted as straight. One aspect of this film that I found to be most interesting is while the film heavily surrounds the relationship between Steve and Bucky, the badass assassin Natasha Romanoff is thrown right in the middle of them to diffuse any homosexual implications. The film plays with the relationship between Natasha and Steve in a really weird way, as they have no chemistry and Steve is clearly not interested, yet throws them in situations where they have to kiss or be intimate. Meanwhile, the whole film Natasha is trying to set up Steve with all these different girls. It’s like the filmmakers are yelling at the audience, “Steve can’t be gay! Look at these potential girls he can date!”. The only real purpose of this dialogue is to detach any romantic implications with Bucky. After all, Bucky and Steve have such a strong connection. Seeing Steve was the one thing that broke Bucky out of his brainwashing, like how Sleeping Beauty is awakened by her true love’s kiss. Seeing Steve woke Bucky up, and he keeps repeating “I knew him”, as it’s the one thing that Bucky is able to remember from his life. 

In addition to the film, we had the reading “The Monster and the Homosexual” by Harry Benshoff. The reading looks at the view that homosexuality is seen by some as a “monstrous condition”. The existence of homosexuality has always been seen as monstrous and different compared to heterosexuality which is seen as normal (p.117). Bucky can be read as a monstrous character as he has a metal arm and has unfortunately become an experimental puppet to Hydra. He’s a killing machine and is only seen as such, except for Steve who still sees the man he is deep down. Steve sees past the “monster”. To Steve, Bucky is perfect and he loves him and won’t give up on him. Even Steve could be categorized as a monster, as he was also experimented on to be a super soldier, making him different from everyone else around him. Two soldiers from a different time, completely changed, but still having that love for each other. In the reading they reference that in one of Margaret Tarratt’s essay’s “Monsters from the Id”, that in Hollywood monster movies of the 50′s the “monster represented an eruption of repressed sexual desire (p.121).” And while we cannot confirm if Bucky’s feelings for Steve are sexual, we do know that he loved him. And that love and emotion is what was being suppressed by Hydra because that’s what ultimately would free him. Whether or not the queerness of Captain America: Winter Soldier is unintentional, it’s hard to deny that Bucky and Steve’s relationship is so full of love and that love is what saves Bucky. Bucky’s love is repressed and Steve is able to break him free. While I can see how casual audience’s may not see this relationship, it doesn’t mean that it’s not there. Queer readings of media are valid readings.

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Journal #8

For this week’s film we watched Pariah by Dee Rees. Pariah follows Alike as she navigates and discovers her identity as a lesbian and how it begins to clash with her family. Alike’s character feels very easy to connect to in terms of being queer, as we’ve all had experiences in self discovery and how it will effect our lives once we accept our identities. Alike has to mask her lesbian identity by dressing more feminine around her mom, making Alike’s queerness mainly subtext because she is forced into that by her mother. She lives two different lives, the one she can present to her mom and the one she can present in front of her friends. It’s interesting to compare it to a film like Watermelon Woman where the main character is fully in tune with her lesbian identity and aesthetic, whereas Alike lives in shame. But both films highlight that Black queer women are not recognized and are hidden by mainstream society, which leads to shame and struggle in finding other Black queer women to identify with. I’ve seen many coming out stories in media, but I don’t see many coming out stories from Black lesbians. Seeing this perspective that revolves around pressures about femininity and culture was very unique. The film is all about seeing and what is unseen. Alike is seen as feminine by her mother, as butch by her friends, as “going through a phase” by her father”. Alike’s hookup Bina is seen as a lesbian behind closed doors, but wants to remain unseen by society. It’s all about our appearances we present vs our reality. 

In addition to the viewed film, we read the article “The Oppositional Gaze: Black Female Spectatorship”, in Movies and Mass Culture by Bell Hooks. The article focuses on the idea of spectatorship and gaze. Films are often made through the gaze of straight white men. Films weren’t made with the intention of Black female spectators. As said in the introduction of the article, “there is power in looking”, which has historically suppressed Black individuals who have been forced to avert their gaze (Hooks pg.115). This is significant because it demonstrates how white men have used film to shape depictions and stenotypes of Black people. Black women are often used in film as roles to serve others, uphold white womanhood, and to be fetishized. But Hooks informs us that though an oppositional/ defiant gaze, used in the formation of Black cinema, that “disrupts conventional racist and sexist stereotypical representations of black female bodies, [they] invite the audience to look differently (pg.130).”  Pariah by Dee Rees is a part of independent Black cinema that represents the oppositional gaze. A story about a Black queer female character through the lens of a queer Black woman filmmaker, representing a story, theme, and identity unknown by white male spectators. 

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Journal #7

For this week’s screening, we watched the Black Mirror episode titled Striking Vipers. The episode is centered around Danny, a happily married family man, and Karl, his old friend from years ago. In an attempt to rekindle that friendship through the VR fighting game Striking Vipers, they find themselves having a sexual attraction in this virtual environment. What makes this episode so multidimensional and abstract is that Danny and Karl are portrayed as two cis straight men, but embody the characters of a virtual man and woman. It’s only inside the game that they embody these characters and have sexual attraction, but no attraction whatsoever outside of the game. It asks questions like, are Karl and Danny gay? Is Karl transgender or non-gender conforming since he puts himself inside a woman’s body? Are they attracted to each other only physically or emotionally too? If Danny and Karl were the opposite sex in the real world would they be sexually attracted to each other? Even though the video game characters Lance and Roxette they play as have heterosexual sex, there is an unseen queerness to it. To me, this episode really exemplifies how sexuality and gender are a spectrum. Karl does not identify as trans, yet is comfortable in a woman’s body that enjoys having sex with men. But he also has no interest in having sex with men outside of the game. Danny is a straight man playing as a male character in the game, but likes having sex with Roxette’s body that is also Karl. It comes to a point where it’s not worth trying to figure out their sexual orientations or gender identities. The queerness of their cyber relationship should ultimately be taken at it’s face value, and doesn’t necessarily need to be explained. Queerness does not need a label to exist, it just exists how it is. 

Along with Striking Vipers, we read Senthorun Raj’s, “Grindring Bodies: Racial and Affective Economies of  Online Queer Desire.” In this article, Raj discusses the effects of apps like Grindr and how the gay male body has been idealized as white and how queer men’s bodies have been consumerized. Raj states that “the interface architecture displays bodies in a grid-like fashion, like products to select and experiment with (pg.3)”, highlighting the idea that men on these apps are seen as objects and commodities, not as real people. The space of queer hookup apps detaches itself from romantic and personal connections, focusing on physical attraction and lust. Striking Vipers is interesting in that Danny and Karl have no real intimate and romantic feelings for one another, only platonic (supposedly). It’s their virtual bodies that bring upon this lust and sexual connection that otherwise is not present. It’s the idea that their bodies are the main point of attraction. And while maybe not an intentional commentary of the show, Danny and Karl are Black men, yet choose to play as video game characters outside of their race. Maybe this has no real meaning, but it’s interesting when Raj’s article talks about how “racial ‘others’ become produced in this economy of desire as fetishes or repugnant objects (pg.2).” While Danny and Karl are still playing characters that are racial “others”, they still distance themselves from being Black. In a story about Black masculinity and sexuality, they may be looking to escape social judgement by distancing themselves from Black identity. Or maybe the video game characters’s race are of little significance and it’s just the characters they like to play as. Grindr creates a space of virtual consumption of bodies, just like the world of Striking Vipers. Grindr promotes whiteness and white aesthetics, but Striking Vipers promotes an “otherness” with its complicated and multilayered cross sections of race and gender. 

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Journal #6

For class this week, we watched the film And Then We Danced directed by Levan Akin. The movie follows Merab, an aspiring dancer, as he slowly starts to develop feelings for the new guy Irakli. This film, like many queer films it seems, leans a lot on queer subtext. The fact that so many queer films utilize queer subtext may exemplify how important subtext is in queer culture. If you went into this filming not knowing about its queer storyline, you might have been mislead by the beginning of the film. Merab dances almost exclusively with this girl who is alluded to be his girlfriend. They dance intimately and are obviously very close. When Irakli first shows up, Merab almost seems jealous of him upon first impression. There is no direct mention or interaction between Merab and Irakli that is queer, until the subtexts builds later in the film. The film itself is interesting because, as mentioned in class, in Georgia dance is considered quite masculine. This is very interesting because America seems to hold different standards of what masculinity is. In America, dancing is seen a quite feminine. In the film, and in real life, this form of dancing between men is very intimate, emotional, and plays with the idea of gender roles in dance.

Along with the film, we read Jennifer Campbell's, “Dancing Marines and Pumping Gasoline: Coded Queerness in Depression-Era American Ballet”. Campbell looks at ballets that lead a double life, appearing hyper masculine but also queering this masculinity (pg. 2 & 11). She relates this to the idea that often gay men have to lead a double life. In the context of Merab and Irakli, they have to perform both in their dance but also in their everyday lives. Merab performs heterosexuality when he tells his girlfriend that the first time they have sex has to be perfect. And Irakli performs heterosexuality when he has to be married to a woman to make his family happy. Ironically, when Merab and Irakli are dancing together they are allowed to express these queer identities and feelings more than they are able to outside of dance. According to Campbell, ballets "offer opportunities for various types of erotic expression, focused on heterosexual relationships (pg.2)." Merab's and Irakli's dancing can be seen as having erotic undertones, but to bystanders it would have no homosexual context because that's not typically expected. Dance allows Merab and Irakli to share semi-erotic and intimate moments without judgment. Georgian dance is an exploration of their attraction in a safe environment that can be considered "masculine".

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Journal #5

This week we viewed the film Happy Together (1997) directed by Wong Kar-wai. The film follows Lai Yiu-fai and Ho Po-wing and their messy and complicated relationship that has brought them to Buenos Aires and unable to get home to Hong Kong. So far this semester, this has to be my favorite film we have viewed. It’s such a grounded and realistic depiction of a toxic relationship and the things we do for the people we love, whether for better or worse. At first it seemed that our protagonist, Lai, just had to deal with the horrible boyfriend that was Ho. Ho Po-wing was manipulative, needy, selfish, and sometimes predatory. But the film gives us a multi-dimensional protagonist in Lai because he also isn’t perfect. He’s possessive and jealous, taking Ho’s passport so he can’t leave him. I loved this because it showcases queer characters that aren’t just only defined by queerness. Queer people are deeply layered, they have their faults, and struggles just like any other person. It was refreshing to see that our protagonist isn’t perfect, and isn’t just an arm candy boyfriend, he is well developed throughout the whole film. One more small detail I really enjoyed about the film was the relationship between Lai and Chang. Their dialogue was filled with so much queer subtext that genuinely I thought they would kiss by the end of the film. Specifically when they have a discussion on women’s voices and Chang says he likes deep voices and Lai says he doesn’t really care about women’s voices. Chang even asks Lai to record his voice so that he can listen to it when he wants to remember him. They have a lot of lingering physical contact and their goodbye hug was really intimate.

In addition to the film, we read the article “Reflecting on Decolonial Queer” by Pedro Paulo Gomes Pereira. This article was a little tough for me to understand, but this is what I took away from it. Modern queer theory is through the lens of European/white culture and identity and fails to look at queer theory through other racial/cultural lenses. Pereira calls this decolonization, “an operation that consists of detaching ourselves from Eurocentrism and, in the same movement with which we extricate ourselves from its logic and its apparatus, opening ourselves to other experiences, stories, and theories (pg.407).” In relation to Happy Together, the film looks at an interesting perspective of queer characters. Our two main characters are queer Chinese men, stuck in Argentina. I admire this narrative choice because it’s an intersection of race, culture, and sexuality that is very unique and makes for an intimate and personal story that differs from the stereotypical white gay American queer film. Pereira says that “colonial logic is masculine, hetero, and white (pg.421).” And unfortunately that is how a lot of American and European societies view the world, which minimizes and makes inferior the voices of anyone who falls outside these parameters. I love that Lai expresses his love for Hong Kong and that he dreams of nothing more than to go back. It’s important that Lai expressed how angry he was that Ho is the reason they are stuck in Argentina, because it reemphasizes the love that Lai has for his home and culture that he has been taken away from. Lai is stuck in a foreign world that is so different from the one he is used to. 

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Journal #4

This week we viewed the 1996 film Watermelon Woman directed by Cheryl Dunye. What made this film so interesting to me was it’s focus on Black lesbians, which is an intersection of identity that media often doesn’t explore. It’s powerful that the film was directed and created by a Black lesbian woman who wanted to tell this kind of story. The struggle to find Black lesbian stories in media is highlighted by Cheryl’s search in the film to track down the “Watermelon Woman”, a prominent Black actress and figure who hasn’t been properly credited and remains elusive to film history. The search for the Watermelon Woman feels like a historical analogy that society has suppressed and hidden the history of African Americans. It’s discovered that the Watermelon Woman was also a lesbian, who potentially had a relationship with one of her directors. A scene that stood out to me was when Cheryl and Tamara went to the library to find out more about the Watermelon Woman. This is because the library had no record of the Watermelon Woman at all, despite the library having a record of the white director of one of the films and the fact that the Watermelon Woman was present in many films. The media controls perception. And in this case, it’s used to hide the stories of diverse people and make them fade into non existence. 

To go along with the viewing, we read Evelynn Hammond’s, “Black (W)holes and the Geometry of  Black Female Sexuality,” differences (1994). This text also examines the underrepresentation of Black queer identities. Specifically, it looks at the relationships that exist between the identities of being queer and Black. Two important points that are made by Hammonds is that “the term ‘lesbian’ without the racial qualifier is simply to be read as ‘white’ lesbian” and that the “homophobia experienced by black women is always shaped by racism” (pg.6 & pg.15). There exists the struggle of being Black and there exists the struggles of being a lesbian, one sometimes more prominent than the other. It was interesting in the film when Tamara accuses Cheryl of secretly wishing that she was a white woman. Possibly examining the idea that a “white lesbian” is the default and the suppressed urge she might have to fit that mold. Cheryl shows no shame in her identities, but it’s interesting that Tamara would even mention that. As well, we see that Cheryl is stopped by police on the street based solely on her appearance. Racism fuels a lot of the oppression she encounters. White lesbians and Black lesbians have entirely different lived experiences and face different kinds of oppression, hence why white lesbians shouldn’t be compared to Black lesbians. Perfectly summed up, Hammonds explains that “rather than assuming that black female sexualities are structured along an axis of normal and perverse paralleling that of white women, we might find that for black women a different geometry operates” (pg.18). As long as people don’t acknowledge the difference between Black and white lesbians, no progress will be made. The advancements made for lesbians are advancements made for white lesbians because that’s the only way how they are perceived. Black lesbians need to be seen and heard in order to make progress for the queer community as a whole.

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Journal #3

This week we viewed the film Funeral Parade of Roses (1969) directed by Toshio Matsumoto. Funeral Parade of Roses showcases the queer and trans culture that existed in Japan during the late 1960s and how they fit into Japanese society. The film follows Eddie a cross dressing man who works at a gay bar in Tokyo. Personally I found the film a little hard to follow, but I definitely took away a few things from the film viewing. It was really interesting when the film switched to a documentary style of filming and asked people/cast about their gender identities. It was surprising that a majority of those interviewed claimed to not be trans, but instead just a boy who wants to live their life as a woman. They seem to be afraid of the trans label, yet totally embodying the identity of a woman. Of course, it’s totally acceptable to be a man who acts very feminine, but in this case it feels like Japanese culture has a harsh perception of trans identities and avoid that label all together. The film highlights the amount of shame that comes with being queer in Japan. At one point Eddie visits an art exhibit displaying all these grotesque masks, explaining that people mask their true selves. Eddie is quite unsettled by this exhibit and it conveys that Eddie is not comfortable in their own skin. In addition, Funeral Parade of Roses reinforces a trend in which gay characters always suffer. Eddie learns that his lover is actually his father. As a result his father kills himself and Eddie stabs out his own eyes. Watching this, it makes me believe that Japan had very cynical views of queerness, which reflects itself in how queer Japanese filmmakers viewed and represented themselves in film. There was no happy ending because it wasn’t believable that a queer person could have one at that time.

In addition to the film, we read Queer Japan from the Pacific War to the Internet Age by Mark McLelland. This reading reinforced some ideas that were present in Funeral Parade of Roses. For one, the article states that “at this time male homosexuality was not clearly differentiated from cross-dressing and transgenderism (pg. 72)”. In the film, none of the gay bar workers identified as trans women. This appears to be a result of the lack of understanding and education of what trans identity means and that being a gay boy was really the extent of what you could be. With the inclusion of a gay bar in the film, it really demonstrates the explosion of sexuality in Japan after the war. According to the text, the “postwar period witnessed a loosening of traditional sex  and gender ideologies, resulting in an endorsement of "curiosity seeking"  in sexual matters and a less judgmental attitude in the popular press toward homosexuality and other non procreative acts (pg. 65)”. After studying Japanese cinema and how strict the ideas of traditional roles were in Japanese society, it’s surprising that the Japanese had such an open mind to homosexuality compared to the United States. Not to say life was perfect for queer Japanese people, but there was a recognition of them. The film and article convey to me that Japan was a mixed bag of messages. Japanese society seemed to be somewhat open to explorations of sexuality, but at the same time queer men and women didn’t feel fully accepted or optimistic about their futures. 

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Journal #2

This week we viewed The Celluloid Closet (Rob Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman, US, 1995), a documentary viewing the history of homosexuality and queer representation throughout cinema. The documentary highlights the subtle ways in which homosexuality and queerness has represented itself. Laws like the Hays Code had limited sexuality on the big screen, but use of subtext and queer coding allowed some filmmakers to get passed these restrictions. Ben-Hur for example used queer coding in it’s use of lingering, intimate gazes and physical touching between men. The subtext can be seen in the dialogue between the two men discussing their enjoyment for eating oysters or snails, and the morals that coincide with eating oysters or snails. However while some films rely on subtext and coding, some films are more explicitly queer but at a cost. Gay men were often portrayed as the stereotypical “sissy”, a character that is loud, flamboyant, dramatic, and a clown type archetype to be laughed at by audiences. The harm in this representation, is that it teaches audiences how to perceive and react to queerness. And if gay characters weren’t the sissy, they were often portrayed as threatening predators or characters destined to die. The documentary showcases the vast history of queer related cinema, but also examines its downfalls and effects on audiences. 

In relation to the screened film, we read Alexander Doty’s, Making Things Perfectly Queer: Interpreting Mass Culture. Doty’s reading is all about validating the audiences perception of what they view on the screen. The filmmaker may have an intention behind their film, but audiences are free to interpret that film in a variety of ways depending on their personal, cultural and social background. Specifically, Doty reinforces the idea that “queer readings aren't ‘alternative’ readings,  wishful or willful misreadings, or ‘reading too much into things’ readings. They result from the recognition and articulation of the complex range of queerness  that has been in popular culture texts and their audiences all along (pg.16).” We all take away something different from the text. And like discussed in class, one doesn’t explicitly have to be queer to interpret a piece of media as queer. The reading also touches on the idea that pieces of media are read differently depending on the lens we view it under. Specifically, we “enter cultural history at various times and under differing circumstances, which affect how we make sense of the personalities and products within a culture (pg.38).” I want to relate this idea to a popular show that I’ve seen called Supergirl. Supergirl has gained a lot of controversy online regarding two female lead characters, Supergirl (Kara Danvers) and her friend Lena Luthor. Within the show, the characters appear to be heavily queer coded. They share intimate glances with each other, often engage in close physical touching, and constantly confide in each other emotionally as you would a partner. They constantly save each other and go out of each other’s way to make each other happy. Yet, this coding seems to have been entirely unintentional as the show creators have stated that they have no intention of making the characters a lesbian couple. This is an example of how viewers can interpret media as queer, regardless of the actual context behind the media. All audience perception of queerness in media is a valid expression of ideas that manifest from our personal background and cultural history. 

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Journal #1

This week we viewed Different from Others (Richard Oswald, Germany, 1919), and read the article The History of Sexuality by Michel Foucault. Both the film and the article showcase the idea of silence and how homosexuality is displayed in through code. Foucault describes silence as “the things one declines to say, or is forbidden to name” and he talks about how with silence we must “try to determine the different ways of not saying such things, how those who can and those who cannot speak of them are distributed” (pg.27). Queer culture has often involved queer individuals having to mask their identities and be silent or hidden in certain situations. In Different from Others Paul dresses rather flamboyantly in his home, wearing kimonos, robes, and loose collars. He’s relaxed and safe at home. But when he goes out, he wears a traditional men’s suit. When he performs as a musician he also performs as a straight man, as mentioned in class. Sexuality is seen as something to hide, most likely because of Catholic emphasis on the “importance of penance... to all the insinuations of the flesh” (pg.19). With such a focus on repenting for sexual thoughts and desire, let alone the desire for the same sex, it created a societal belief that sexuality is shameful. Homosexuality being out of the “norm” would make queer individuals terrified at people knowing their true identity. Paul and Kurt never directly show explicit romantic affection, but imply it through their facial expressions, close contact, and body language. When we are silenced, we find other ways to communicate our identities and new ways to discuss sex and sexuality. Different from Others is the product of a time where science and evidence backed the legitimacy of sexuality, but the world was still not ready to accept it. Still today, people like to argue that homosexuality is a choice. Some beliefs from 1919 still remain today, and so still we remain somewhat silent. Maybe not as silent as we were in the past, but not fully loud for everyone to hear because realistically it can be dangerous.