The MacGuffin

Being the film festival that bills itself as the largest in the country, it is only right and just that many interesting films by women are showing this year at the Seattle International Film Festival. The most high-profile of these was the film shown last night at the Opening Night Gala, Lynn Shelton’s Your Sister’s Sister. But if you, like me, sadly could not attend, there are plenty of other opportunities to support female filmmakers during the fest. By my count, 50 of the 273 features showing were directed or co-directed by a woman. While I’d still love to live in a world with a better ratio than that, 50 films is a lot of work to check out, and that’s great. I’ve been able to see a few I can recommend already.

On May 11, Lebanese director Nadine Labaki’s second film, Where Do We Go Now?, will open in the United States. A festival sensation, winning the People’s Choice Award at the Toronto International Film Festival amid heavy competition and receiving acclaim at Cannes, that film is one of my most anticipated of the year. That anticipation grew astronomically when I finally watched Labaki’s first film, 2007′s Caramel. It’s an impressive debut feature that does one of my very favorite, rare things: lets female characters be kind to one another in the way that real friends are.

Though there was a resurgence of vocal Muppet devotion with the release of last year’s film The Muppets, one can’t really call that a “comeback.” Pretty much everyone I know has always loved the whole spectrum of Jim Henson’s creations, and millions upon millions of children have grown up and continue to grow up watching the original Sesame Street and its multiple international versions. Heck, I still like to watch Sesame Street sometimes. There is pure joy and sincerity in just about every Muppet production, and that draws people in.

As the tagline says: Aura would like you to know that she’s having a very, very hard time. The main character of the indie comedy Tiny Furniture (2010)—played by writer-director Lena Dunham—has just graduated college with a major in film theory, moved back in with her mother and teenage sister, and seems to have no idea what to do with herself. There are worse places to have no idea what to do with yourself than your mother’s incredible New York City loft, but I can still relate to Aura’s ennui. I graduated college with a major in English, moved back in with my mother (not in an incredible New York City loft) and proceeded to spend a year working about 15 hours a week at my old summer job, sending my resume out to a lot of people who preferred not to ever respond, and watching all seven seasons of Gilmore Girls holed up in my tiny bedroom. It can be a rough time.

Where the pathetic numbers in big budget Hollywood are stagnant at best concerning female filmmakers, women in indie film continue to prove that it is the system, not a lack of ability, that keeps women from these positions of creative power. It is, of course, doubly satisfying to watch a woman of color make this point, since Hollywood’s problem with women has a partner in its problem with minority filmmakers. We got to see one of these moments on January 28, 2012, when Ava DuVernay won the U.S. Dramatic Directing Award at the Sundance Film Festival for her film Middle of Nowhere, the story of a woman dealing with life while her husband is in prison. DuVernay was the first black woman to win this prestigious prize at the festival.

When you have Tilda Swinton’s face available to you for use as a storytelling tool, you employ it for all that it’s worth. Lynne Ramsay, in her new film We Need to Talk About Kevin, finally opening in the U.S. today, understands this truth. Swinton is Eva Khatchadourian, a woman who has been through some type of terrible trauma that the film takes its time spelling out. She wakes up alone on the couch in her small, untidy house, seemingly hungover, with the definite aura of someone for whom this is not an uncommon occurrence. Something in the light in the room is off; it dawns that this is because the sunlight streams through windows that have been splattered with red paint. The marks of a community lashing out against a pariah. And in Swinton’s face, weariness.

One of the reasons I am so passionate about film is because of the emotional experience the medium can provide. This is true as well of other types of stories and media; the narratives and images we are fed have incredible power. Obviously, this is also why they can be dangerous. As a person who is tuned into the media and who is also a feminist (let me tell you some other time why all of us who believe in gender equality should be comfortable saying we’re feminists), I am frequently distraught by images and depictions of women that permeate popular culture. The bad far outweighs the good, and progress sometimes feels non-existent.

Ah, winter. The time when my usual routine of watching a lot of stuff turns into “really watching a lot of stuff,” what with it being dreary outside most of the time. Here are a few things that have distracted me during the last stretch of particularly nasty days in Seattle:

A truly great child actor can illicit emotion from the viewer in ways that dissolve once the barriers to adulthood begin to be crossed. Perhaps this is because seeing a child invoke that kind of emotion reminds us that they feel as deeply as we “grown-ups” do, and that our own pain was never silly, like we might now think of it. Perhaps it is because of the inherent helplessness of childhood, where you must face your problems in ways that others determine for you, and the audience cannot judge the character and say “this is what I would have done.” Or perhaps we just enjoy marveling at talent that comes so young. Whatever the case, the pull is there, and I felt it to an amazing degree while watching the star of Tomboy (2011).

I think Top 10 lists are fun. Many critics write beleaguered sorts of “I don’t really want to be doing this and it’s stupid and rankings are meaningless” disclaimers at the beginning of their lists. Ugh. Look, it should go without saying that any list (or review) is a reflection of the writer’s personality and their un-duplicate-able individual experience. If you’ve read the rest of my writing this year, you will not be shocked by my list. What I’d like to say before I dive in I don’t consider to be a disclaimer, but just necessary context: the films I didn’t/couldn’t see that are on my mind anyway.