Growing up in Texas, you learn that there are some words you just don’t say because they aren’t polite, and any Texan child knows the value of manners and the severity of threats like having your mouth washed out with soap.
So at all costs, we avoid words with propaganda-like nicknames: “the four letter word,” “See you next Tuesday,” and my personal favorite, “the F-word.” Shall we say it in unison? “Fem-i-nism.” Not in front of the ladies, now!
We all know that were it not for feminism, any woman reading this article would be forced to check a box on her web browser that said, “My husband knowingly has given his permission for me to access the Internet." But why, then, can’t we sit side-by-side as a unified group without any preconceived notions from our peers about the connotations that feminism might bring?
HBO recently premiered the documentary, Gloria: In Her Own Words, a film about Gloria Steinem and her inimitable, feminist voice. The documentary is a raw look into the life of the social activist: the highs — vibrant, lively and full of color (though I may just be remembering Steinem’s unending supply of colored sunglasses) — and the lows, as she herself admits, are black and white, lacking the veracity with which so many associate her.
The piece is a narrative progression from the start of Steinem’s career. Her move to New York is inundated with sexism, from finding an apartment on her own to gaining creditability as a young journalist. But the beginnings of a writer who wants to be taken seriously soon morph into images of an activist whose voice, often angrily opposed, fights for the equality that her younger self couldn’t have imagined.
“The hostility is a step forward from ridicule,” Steinem says with a nod.
The first article of Steinem’s I ever read was published in the October 1978 edition of Ms. Magazine (which she co-founded in 1972) entitled, “If Men Could Menstruate.” Though I wasn’t among the first to read it, 30 years later, her well-worn prose remained shockingly relevant. On my first acquaintance with Steinem, I was struck by her wit, measure and honest ideas. I laughed at the absurdity of themed tampons for men and, thanks to my Texas upbringing, even came up with a slogan or two for the John Wayne brand. “Life’s hard. Even harder without John Wayne tampons.”
What I really gained from that short article—aside from strategies for marketing men’s toiletries—was that finding a voice empowers a person to speak about all different kinds of things, in ways never before thought of. Before Gloria Steinem, who knew that women’s rights could be attested by mockery of men’s menstrual cycles? Who would have thought an article about men menstruating could be ever published, and in a magazine dedicated to feminism, nonetheless?
While Steinem’s story is uniquely her own, the images that comprise the piece are those that we all know quite well: Grainy, black and white video of women protesting the right to vote; a mob of women pouring the streets in the 1970 Strike for Equality March; a news clip of a Walter Cronkite broadcast with the text “Roe V. Wade Decision January 22, 1973” at the bottom of the screen.
They are those events that have so rightly gotten us to the place we are at today: A place where feminists old and young join together to laud the efforts of those before us and begrudge the term that unites us all together.
We all know that were it not for feminism, any woman reading this article would be forced to check a box on her web browser that said, “My husband knowingly has given his permission for me to access the Internet." But why, then, can’t we don our “This is what a Feminist looks like” T-shirt and sit side-by-side as a unified group without any preconceived notions from our peers about the connotations that feminism might bring?
For me, this HBO documentary makes some headway in answering this question. It is incredibly refreshing to see a singular woman’s story. We constantly hear the women’s movement, the women’s federation, and even though, as individuals we are part of these things, we don’t want to have to dye our hair magenta to be noticed on our own.
Gloria Steinem is an outstanding, talented writer, an activist whose ideas are formative in the alteration of so many people’s understandings of women’s rights and more importantly of equality—mine included. But she is one person to whom we can turn for inspiration within the movement that so inspired her.
Rather than take her experience as universal, it’s time to recognize that feminism is a familiarity of ourselves that we find within the larger group. And while the movement is growing globally to new people in far away places, it’s because of how these worldly, unifying ideas impact singular stories—like Gloria Steinem’s—that feminism, however dirty of a word, is still able to connect us. She says so herself, “Do not listen to my advice—listen to the voice inside you and follow that.”
As recently as the late 2010s, if a movie was made about an LGBTQ+ character, it was more than likely about their coming out experience. Romance, if it existed, was typically chaste, and actual sex was almost completely out of the question. Things have changed dramatically in the 2020s, to the point that a major movie star has no issue starring in a film called Queer.
Based on the 1985 novella by William S. Burroughs, the film features William Lee (Daniel Craig), whom everyone calls just Lee, a writer living in 1950s-era Mexico City who spends most of his time haunting local bars with friends like fellow writer Joe Guidry (Jason Schwartzman) and hitting on younger men. His early interactions in the film seem to indicate that Lee has a bad reputation within the local gay community, as multiple people avoid him or give him odd looks.
Lee senses an opportunity when he encounters a newcomer, Eugene Allerton (Drew Starkey). Despite some awkward interactions, the two of them start spending time together, although Lee has much more invested in the relationship than Eugene does. Their hit-and-miss bond continues until Lee, who’s starting to get into drugs in addition to the booze, convinces Eugene to accompany him on a trip to South America.
Directed by Luca Guadagnino and written by Justin Kuritzkes (making their second straight film together after Challengers), early on the film seems to be mostly about the divide between an older person who’s grown comfortable in his ways and a younger person who’s living a relatively carefree life. The introduction of drugs into the plot changes things, though, with Lee searching out more ways to open his eyes to what the world has to offer.
Guadagnino and his team use some interesting visual storytelling techniques to introduce ideas that may not be present in the actual script. The most successful, demonstrated in multiple scenes, is the superimposition of movements by Lee over what’s actually taking place in the scene. The subtle overlay gives the audience insight into Lee’s true feelings, showing what he can’t or won’t say out loud.
Music also plays a big part in how the plot is perceived, with the use of anachronistic songs from Nirvana and Prince serving to heighten certain moments. The score by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross is not as in-your-face as the one they did for Challengers, but it complements the film well, especially when the plot starts to get trippy in its final half hour.
Craig, who appears sweaty and disheveled for much of the film, is about as far from the suaveness of James Bond as you can get in this role. He takes multiple risks with his performance and almost all of them pay off. Starkey’s character is subdued by comparison, but still comes off well. Schwartzman and Lesley Manville are given showy roles, with both using altered appearances that make them nearly unrecognizable to deliver memorable performances.
Queer is not as accessible as Challengers was storytelling-wise, but the fact that it tells a story about gay men living their lives as they see fit with no interference or questions shows how far the film world has come in a short period of time. It also continues Guadagnino’s streak of making audacious films in a way that few other filmmakers are willing or able to approach.
