There’s
a scene early in Little Women that crystallized the importance of
seeing the voices of more diverse filmmakers. It’s a very small moment.
The action is happening in a pub and people are dancing. Later there’s
much more formal, precise dancing, but here people are merely carried
away by music and drink. As the couples swing wildly, two women,
swinging on the arms of their partners, collide. Their
reaction—surprise, hilarity, and joy—is purely natural. (It may not have
even been in the script.) It’s a glimpse into the behavior of women.
We notice it because our eyes, for once, are meant to follow the women. This is a movie about women, which is rare enough, but much more unusual: it’s from the perspective of women. Hollywood gives us a smattering if opportunities to see female leads, and some of them are fun and inspiring, like Captain Marvel. But in these movies so often the template is a male one. Captain Marvel inhabits a movie from the male perspective. It’s fundamentally the same story told about Captain America or Spider-Man.
In fiction, we’re much more aware of perspective. Whether in first or third person, the author can place the reader inside a character’s experience. It becomes a highly personal perspective, and the only information we’re given is what that character sees, feels, thinks, and believes. It’s why writers have to be good if they write about people very different from them—a poor job and the illusion of reality is shattered. We see a writer failing.
In film, perspective is much more subtle. It has been dominated by men so long that we don’t even recognize that the available templates all begin as (usually white) male storylines. The voices of women are either placed in the masculine framework as in Captain Marvel, or are seen through the eyes of the male leads. It’s the men’s view of the women. What they even bother to take note of is momentary and impoverished.
Imagine the dance scene staged in a male movie where men are the ones crashing into each other. What comes next? A fight, perhaps. Posturing? Maybe that bro-y, “sorry dude” thing men do. What would *never* happen is what Greta Gerwig shows us.
And the thing is, humans are experts at adopting perspective. We slide into it so easily we find ourselves sympathizing with monsters like Walter White and Tony Soprano. Women are constantly asked to sympathize with male characters, and part of the reason our highly gendered film industry persists is exactly because they can. It is just as easy for men to slide into the riveting perspective of women. Their own sexism and social anxiety prevents them from entering a theater, but not being absorbed by the movie.
What an impoverished world the cinema offers! The perspectives of *so many* voices are never reflected at all. The fact that women, more than half the population, still have few people telling their stories suggests how difficult it will ever be to see what a Muslim immigrant, for example, might show us. I hope Little Women makes a mint and pries open the door just a crack further.
FWIW, the movie is deeply affecting. It’s nonlinear and Gerwig drops us into the middle of lives without a drop of exposition. (I didn’t even know what era it was set in.) We are meant to access the characters emotionally even before we understand where the plot is taking us. It turns out to be extremely elegant storytelling, and what seemed unfocused at the start turns out to be precise and intentional.
Just personally, as a writer I was highly engaged. I can’t remember ever seeing a writer (Jo, the protagonist) so accurately portrayed. Writing is always shown to be an act of genius rather than struggle and will (as every writer from Rushdie to Tolstoy knows). In the opening scene, Jo’s work is being cut and cheapened by an editor whose goals are commercial. All writers have been there! The very best moment is later, at a time when Jo’s life isn’t going well and she’s giving up her dreams of a writing life. One of her sisters points out that she really doesn’t have any alternative—she’s always written. This is the horrible truth of the writer—you can’t make any money at it, it’s really hard and unreliable, and you can’t stop. Finally, the movie ends on the exact note it should for a writer—not with a fairy tale like riches or reward, but a form of completion. (Best quote ever: “I don’t love writing; I love having written.)
Gerwig is going to have a very special career. Go see it.
We notice it because our eyes, for once, are meant to follow the women. This is a movie about women, which is rare enough, but much more unusual: it’s from the perspective of women. Hollywood gives us a smattering if opportunities to see female leads, and some of them are fun and inspiring, like Captain Marvel. But in these movies so often the template is a male one. Captain Marvel inhabits a movie from the male perspective. It’s fundamentally the same story told about Captain America or Spider-Man.
In fiction, we’re much more aware of perspective. Whether in first or third person, the author can place the reader inside a character’s experience. It becomes a highly personal perspective, and the only information we’re given is what that character sees, feels, thinks, and believes. It’s why writers have to be good if they write about people very different from them—a poor job and the illusion of reality is shattered. We see a writer failing.
In film, perspective is much more subtle. It has been dominated by men so long that we don’t even recognize that the available templates all begin as (usually white) male storylines. The voices of women are either placed in the masculine framework as in Captain Marvel, or are seen through the eyes of the male leads. It’s the men’s view of the women. What they even bother to take note of is momentary and impoverished.
Imagine the dance scene staged in a male movie where men are the ones crashing into each other. What comes next? A fight, perhaps. Posturing? Maybe that bro-y, “sorry dude” thing men do. What would *never* happen is what Greta Gerwig shows us.
And the thing is, humans are experts at adopting perspective. We slide into it so easily we find ourselves sympathizing with monsters like Walter White and Tony Soprano. Women are constantly asked to sympathize with male characters, and part of the reason our highly gendered film industry persists is exactly because they can. It is just as easy for men to slide into the riveting perspective of women. Their own sexism and social anxiety prevents them from entering a theater, but not being absorbed by the movie.
What an impoverished world the cinema offers! The perspectives of *so many* voices are never reflected at all. The fact that women, more than half the population, still have few people telling their stories suggests how difficult it will ever be to see what a Muslim immigrant, for example, might show us. I hope Little Women makes a mint and pries open the door just a crack further.
FWIW, the movie is deeply affecting. It’s nonlinear and Gerwig drops us into the middle of lives without a drop of exposition. (I didn’t even know what era it was set in.) We are meant to access the characters emotionally even before we understand where the plot is taking us. It turns out to be extremely elegant storytelling, and what seemed unfocused at the start turns out to be precise and intentional.
Just personally, as a writer I was highly engaged. I can’t remember ever seeing a writer (Jo, the protagonist) so accurately portrayed. Writing is always shown to be an act of genius rather than struggle and will (as every writer from Rushdie to Tolstoy knows). In the opening scene, Jo’s work is being cut and cheapened by an editor whose goals are commercial. All writers have been there! The very best moment is later, at a time when Jo’s life isn’t going well and she’s giving up her dreams of a writing life. One of her sisters points out that she really doesn’t have any alternative—she’s always written. This is the horrible truth of the writer—you can’t make any money at it, it’s really hard and unreliable, and you can’t stop. Finally, the movie ends on the exact note it should for a writer—not with a fairy tale like riches or reward, but a form of completion. (Best quote ever: “I don’t love writing; I love having written.)
Gerwig is going to have a very special career. Go see it.
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