Let's conclude this course with a good old dose of misogyny! One of the terrible lessons that movies are telling us in their evolution is that misogyny is no longer cool. What is this nonsense?
Oh, wait. Actually, that's probably a good thing: women are productive and valuable members of society. It's just hard to believe that Ayn Rand is a woman, because she grants them no agency whatsoever. Do you recall the woman who, in the literary version of The Fountainhead, would have been an architect if she weren't woman? Ah, for the good old days, when women were objects of rape and screaming.
Ann Darrow, of course, does not fare much better than Dominique Francon at all. She is a victim of her own beauty, and of whatever nature can throw at her. At the same time, for all of society's homophobia back in the day, the men in these works are decidedly homosocial and, in the case of the love triangle in The Fountainhead, homoerotic.
In King Kong, as directed by Roger Elizabeth Debris ("Whether it's Hamlet, Othello or Lear, Keep it Gay, Keep it Gay, Keep it Gay ...") Jack clearly realises "I guess I love you", because that's what's expected of him. Carl Denham laments that the audiences of the day want romance and dames, but what they really should be wanting is to see men, being manly, and beating things up like the men that they are. Ann is decoration, and little more. The men on the ship deeply resent having to accommodate a woman, but why should that be? They can accept a horribly stereotyped Chinese man, but not a beautiful woman?
In this film, where Carl is given none of the blame for any of the eventualities, Ann is responsible for a heck of a lot of the horrors portrayed: were it not for Ann, the natives (and, of course, we mustn't forget the natives: homophobia, racism and misogyny go hand in hand) would not have (hilariously) boarded the ship and taken her hostage; the good men of the ship would not have had to go to Kong's side of the island, and many of them would not have died horrible deaths, and Kong would never have been taken back to New York and killed by his own fascination for the blonde beauty.
"It wasn't the planes; 'twas beauty killed the beast" is one of the best lines in cinematic history essentially because it makes no sense and is a masterstroke of buck passing. Yes, Ann's very existence is problematic to the denizens of King Kong. Rough and tumble men are the only way to go when adventure is on the menu!
More problematic, not only for the fact that it's the work of a woman, is The Fountainhead. I cannot surely be the only one who finds nothing romantic about rape and find it difficult to understand that this is a sort of badge of pride for Dominique. As a woman who wants to be treated as an object, a piece of property, and as one who wants to deny the world anything that is of beautiful value, it's easy to see why The Fountainhead can be seen as a piece of sado-masochistic literature. I was enjoying the book in a sort of train wreck "this is hilariously wrong" fashion, and I decided that I would share my joy by reading aloud on the train to my friend Ajay. As I got onto the third page of Dominique's speech about the destruction and resulting protection of beauty, I realised that this is a work of seriously messed up fiction, with a hint of elitism that seems ripped straight from the pages of the internet. I suppose that Rand was a prophet, after a fashion.
The thing that rankles about The Fountainhead is that Dominique is clearly supposed to be a man. As Gail thinks, if she were a man, he would have destroyed her. Because she is not, he can happily take her as his wife ... and because they're so alike, Dominique catches herself gleaning some enjoyment from the situation, and this is simply not on! Introducing Roark to the dynamic has a curious effect, because Gail doesn't want to destroy him: he wants seriously to bed him, although not in so many words. Dominique acts as a simple vicarious sexual organ, so that none of that dreaded homosexuality comes into actual play here. I was watching the movie adaptation, and I could not help but marvel at the idyllic scenes of the three of them lying underneath a tree in the countryside. If either of the actors even approached attractiveness (although Gary Cooper was not without his charms), you can bet that there would be all sorts of Objectivist Slash fan videos splashed across the internet of today.
Rand comes to the conclusion that the man who does not compromise himself is the ultimate Man, and that the one who cannot help but bow to the pressure of society is someone whose life is not worth living. For its extra lovey-doveyness, only the film makes the step of removing any sense of the metaphorical from Gail's suicide. In the end, Dominique is merely an observer, an object and a possession, and there is nothing in this world save Howard Roark, outlined against the sky.
Equals do not exist in these films and the book. A strong woman can do nothing but bow to a stronger man and, for all of Dominique's subversion, she's just a standard cookie-cutter armholder. What triumph is there for a woman of Olde Hollywood? You'll find that there's very little, but that's okay: after all, Tomorrow is Another Day.
2 comments:
very interesting indeed. however - i read Dominique differently. i read her as an equal member of the Trinity of Independent Thinkers - Roark, Francon, Wynand. indeed, as a woman, she is certainly filled with frustrations, and can see no other way to express the independence of her mind than through worship and destruction.
but i do not see the sexual encounter between the two as rape. i actually think that this is one of the most beautiful and mutually powerful sex scenes i have read. a meeting of equal minds, a ritualistic battle with an inevitable end which they both understand and are party to, and the first time that Dominique has been able to feel sexual pleasure. this is the beginning of a process of liberation for Dominique - her new desire for sex ignites the inspiration she had quelled in despair. the film did not achieve the significance of this, but the novel certainly did.
there is no misogyny on the part of Rand in my eyes, but only a reflection of the misogynistic truth of the time, to which Rand offers the solution of Objectivism. Roark tells Dominique not to say "i love you without first knowing how to say the "i" - he rejects her as one who fears the world and encourages complete freedom of possibility. when finally she comes to him, it is because she is not afraid anymore, and has risen to Roark's clean and simple heights, above human constraints. at this moment they are two divine and equal - humans.
You, my friend, are made of awesome.
That is all have to say about the matter.
Post a Comment