A Love Letter To The Not-So-Feminist Film
One of my least favourite things in this life is us ladies bringing each other down. In my experiences we as women can be judgy, bitchy, jealous and scornful of each other - I say this as I’m fully aware that I do it too; something I find myself subconsciously doing without ever meaning any ill or necessarily caring about whoever it is that I’m judging - but it’s safe to say we all do it - not just women, but people. But as women we’ve pretty much been trained by general humanity to go for each other and although I sometimes fail - I do hate it; endeavouring to make a conscious effort to stop myself before I know I’ve done it.
So if you told me that one of my favourite films would be about women ruthlessly backstabbing, screaming at each other, ripping each other to shreds, pushing each other off from horses and even biting… well I would have eaten my hat - my bejewelled silk turbaned hat - a staple fashion piece that features heavily throughout said film to which I could only be talking about the vivacious and sensational 1939 screwball comedy ‘The Women’.
The year is 1939: the first wave of feminism is yet to take off but little do we know that there’s an ember already lit in the Ethel Barrymore Theatre in Midtown Manhattan three years previous. The Women was originally a play written by Clare Booth Luce in 1936 which received rave reviews. Then the film adaptation arrived three years later of the same name starring Norma Shearer, Rosiland Russell and Joan Crawford. It is strange to think in those days women ran the roost of Hollywood, reigned supreme and ruled the land and were far better paid than their male contemporary counterparts. You could say the film itself is a strange melange of feminist and not so feminist archetypes and blueprints which you could argue is something that we as women consciously struggle with internally on a daily basis.
The film’s basic plot follows the lives of a group of female friends’ lives in high society New York City. Mary Haines and her friends discover that her husband Stephen is having an affair with the vampish villainess perfume shop girl Crystal Allen. Mary must decide whether to listen to her mother’s and questionable friend’s advice of staying with him and essentially being the bigger person and try to win him back - or to face a life without him and admit defeat to the wicked Crystal. Alongside this she must contemplate her own pride and integrity, all backdropped by the sophisticated slapstick screwball comedy as well as the odd existential and profound exploration of womanhood.
Is it not feminist because its main plot point is that it stems from a man's action, to which the whole film is a female re-action?
It certainly fails the Bechdel test - but then the film doesn't hold back in suggesting that men are easily manipulated and in some ways ‘made to think they are the ones in power’.
But surely it must be applauded by feminism for being the first and still, more or less only film with an all-female cast - even the horses and dogs were female! With a queer man at the steering wheel directing – George Cukor, who went on to direct ‘The Philadelphia Story’, ‘My Fair Lady’ and ‘Holiday’ - it’s fair to say I trust his taste in leading ladies licencing them to shine a little brighter than their male co-stars. So not one man is featured throughout - but without one, there would be no film. And yet there’s a quiet confidence in the women who carry this film: they are sophisticated and elegant but at the same time wacky, mad and outrageous. It goes without saying that it wouldn’t work at all if there were any males characters, not in the way where it would ‘ruin it’ per say, but it would be a different film entirely.
This would be true in the way women talk when there are no men around - would there be as many devastating confessions of womanhood and what it means to be a woman - particularly in those days - if a man was around? There’s not a single man around to affirm superiority or dominance - yet the whole film revolves around a man’s actions.
Could it be a metaphor for the whole of women’s oppression? That even without men in the picture are we never really fully in power or control?
I remember the first time I saw ‘The Women’ on a rainy day in the summer with my mother around aged 12 or so. It’s the first time I’d seen any black and white film from the classic era and after that I was hooked - screwball comedies still live in my heart because of their canny and eloquent dialogue and exceptionally suave slapstick way of storytelling that I just adore. Back when films were ‘Pictures’ rather than movies or blockbusters, with those slick transatlantic accents that somehow had a way of making everything feel like Christmas - in the same way a Frank Sinatra song will.
I still remember being astounded that it was all women. I thought it was trailblazing and transcendent of any film with a female driven narrative. As we watched, my mum and I laughed hysterically with tears in our eyes at the campy and bizarre delivery of the lines or a side character overacting as well as relating to the more tender moments between the mother-daughter relationship with Mary and Little Mary and the wise old Grandmother, who gives one of the best lines in the entire film “I’m an old woman my dear, I know my sex. Goodbye.”
Thematically throughout, animalistic comparisons in this film are a big thing, which I know is a big ‘no-no’ for some of the extreme feminists out there, some of whom have referred to it as ‘dehumanizing women at the hand of a male director’. Although, from where I’m sitting, it's just a harmless tongue in cheek campy reiteration of their ruthless catty behaviour - even the nail colour they all wear is ‘jungle red’.
The psychedelic opening credits show us the actresses’ character’s counterparts as animals: Norma Shearer’s quiet strength and integrity as ‘Mary Haines’ (a Deer) carries the narrative and is a driving the force as the voice of reason and collected calmness amongst the outrageously vampish villain that is Joan Crawford’s ‘Crystal Allen’ (a Leopard) and is often referred to as “that creature”. Then appears the sophisticated slapstick and essential comic timing that I love in all of Rosiland Russell's performances, but maybe not as much as any other than her role as the fickle and frivolous ‘Sylvie Fowler’ (a Cat).
Following the animal credits we’re thrust into ‘Black’s Department Store’ where the story begins with two female dogs fighting (wink wink) to the distress of their flapping owners. We’re lead through a meandering relay race of gossip between clients and shop girls as we move through the department store; women get facials, spa treatments, mud baths, massages and finally come to a halt at Sylvie Howler having a manicure by the gossipiest of all the shop girls - coming to reveal that one of her colleagues on the perfume floor has engaged in an affair with an established and high rolling Wall Street engineer Stephen Haines.
With every line of dialogue there is a sharp cutting undertone of subtle insults as they roast each other. There’s a side character Nancy who refers to Sylvie as ‘the spider’ who I wish had more screen time because she alone sees right through all of the others’ shady behaviour, describes Mary as “ contented to be what she is...a woman” . “And what are we?” Sylvie exclaims, to which Nancy replies “females”. “And what are you?” Sylvie retorts, received with a devastating truth bomb about women in their older years “I’m what nature abhors, I’m an old maid and a frozen asset”. The wholesome and pureness of Mary Haines is shown to us through her stable relationship with her daughter Little Mary.
Little Mary who is curious and quizzical to her mother their tender relationship is attested and elevated by Mary’s mother who is wise and direct with her advice of steering clear of her gossiping friends. Even though everyone now knows of Stephens affair - she mustn’t leave him and how Mary should essentially let it go and be the bigger person. “Stephen is a man - he’s tired of himself. We women are much more sensible. When we tire of ourselves we change the way we do our hair or hire a new cook or decorate the house. A man never thinks of anything so simple.” The dialogue is just so right its wrong to be a film of the time and to have these perceptive existential and somewhat psychological notions as to what it is to be a woman; nowadays there are rarely any dialogues that I think can contend with the screenplays of the screwball comedy era. Every scene is meticulously sculpted around the scintillating razor sharp dialogue.
I think a sign of a good villain is their presence, much like Anthony Hopkins in ‘The Silence of The Lambs’, Joan Crawford isn’t actually in it that much, only really a few scenes, but her presence is palpable. Crystal Allen the sultry and provocative perfume girl and our villain. It’s easy to see why she is iconic - she just looks so mean. Ruthlessly doing whatever it takes to win over Stephen and his cash - who at this point seems like a bit of a moronic man child that you wonder how he gets anything done other than being manipulated left right and centre.
A little less than half way through there’s the extraordinarily strange sequence of a six minute full technicoloured fashion show. With some amazingly ostentatious garments with sharp and svelte silhouettes and designs varying from: shoulder pads, Perspex visors, lush greens, deep vermillions, tartan, prairie, genie inspired looks, fine cut editorial looking embroidered dresses that would make Valentina or Oscar De La Renta gasp. But hilariously it’s never explained. Perhaps was it some kind of metaphor for the multifaceted ways of womanhood and all of our infinite complexities or was it because the director felt like featuring some fabulously chic clothes in colour for 6 minutes? Who knows, who cares! It’s so very strange and it’s part of the wild ride that is ‘The Women’. In an attempt at trying to cheer Mary up with some retail therapy, little do they know that Crystal is in the next changing room spending Stephen’s money; what ensues is a pivotal scene with a quick-fire sparring match between Mary and Crystal. Mary knows and now Crystal knows she knows - but Stephen doesn’t know anything!
Interestingly, directors of screwball comedies would purposefully have the women dressed in more masculine clothes as a way of showing the gender reversal. Throughout the film costume and wardrobe play an integral part in displaying status and sophistication as well as the ridiculousness of a character in a way to soften their icy words. Sylvie could quite easily be the meanest and worst out of the lot of them but she’ll definitely be your favourite. So it’s hard to take it all too seriously because the film itself doesn't and in some ways is merely a slapstick satirical look at what us women can be like with each other through distorted stereotypes of different women, or in the 1930’s at least.
The film ties up at a perfect crescendo in the ladies bathroom on a night out, which feels very fitting as we know that a ladies bathroom is never short of drama. It turns out that Crystal has been in an affair with the Countess’ Buck Winston whom she thought was filthy rich but in actual fact it’s all the Countess’ money. So therefore Crystal winds up without a man and without their money and back to the perfume counter, delivering the unforgettable line ‘There’s a name for you ladies but it isn’t used in high society...outside of a kennel! So long ladies”. Iconic - as well as neatly tying the whole thing together with a nod to the dog fight in the opening scene. Such a sweet comeuppance.
The violins swell as Mary joyfully frolics towards Stephen. All dignity has flown out the window as she joyfully says “ No pride at all. That's a luxury a woman in love can't afford! “. This is something to which some feminists still find archaic and inappropriate as an ending. I say she got what she wanted and isn't that supposed to be feminism?
I couldn't talk about The Women without talking about the 2008 remake. I love a bad film as much as the next cinephile and we all know that a film doesn't have to ‘be good to be good’. But with Meg Ryan, Annette Benning, Debra Messing and Jada Pinkett Smith it took thirteen and a half years to make and with the end result, frankly they shouldn't have bothered. Not only is it a bad, bad, bad interpretation of the film, it’s outright problematic. The character Nancy, played by JPS is both the token person of colour as well as lesbian, to which Debra Messing’s character (Mrs. Potter) says: “I accept you as my gay friend - but now the rest of the world’s gone gay - explain that” – which is already a bit dicey. Nancy replies with some wishy washy comment that if men weren't so darn annoying she wouldn't be dating a woman - as though it’s an elective choice. It just reeks of being written by an uninformed straight woman.
I can't help but feel offended for the 1939 film - it seems to outrageously and unapologetically disrespect its predecessor. I could write a whole other essay on why the 2008 version is dreadful - but all there is to say is that the original cannot simply be forced through the remake mould and dually really does nothing to help the cause of feminism in fact it tarnishes it to a degree by making the characters flat, superficial and stale.
The concept of a film like ‘The Women’ only really works because of the time, because of the campy shrillness and tart dialogue but mainly only can work because of the cast and the place that it lives in history.
The chemistry or feuds that took place behind the scenes (apparently Joan Crawford and Norma Shearer didn’t get on - which in my opinion only elevates their performances) and of course the flawless direction from George Cukor. But if you change all these elements to fit a modern version focussing on ‘female friendship’ then you are setting yourself up for failure. It’s far too sophisticated and omnipotent to be another drab meaningless 2000’s ‘chick flick’ or ‘rom-com’ (vom-com more like).
The Women (1939) means a great deal to me as a film, it taught me a lot about womanhood and the struggles we face subliminally - not just in a patriarchal society, but amongst each other with other women and it has probably shaped me in more ways than I’m actually aware. So many reviews say that it’s about female friendships, I completely disagree, I think essentially it’s just about being a woman.
I love it for so many reasons; something about that transatlantic accent with machine gun paced dialogue, set in the Post Art Deco era in New York City makes me feel so warm and fuzzy inside - they remind me of comfort, home and my mum and the countless times we’ve watched it together. It is simply a joy to watch as a woman, on your own or with others. Had I not seen it I never would have discovered all the other classic Hollywood films that I now love so deeply or discover all the women of the time that I’ve grown to admire just as much and learn from - Bette Davis, Katherine Hepburn or Mae West.
With the way the world is now it’s hard to believe that it existed in the same world that I do. It’s a nice place to return to - to feel the unique and relentlessly exhausting sting of a constant battle with each other or the world that is forever undermining or underestimating our abilities. In some strange backwards way it reminds us that we are all in this together, us ladies. And if like me you like dialogue at the top of its game, it’s essential viewing, particularly to anybody who loves great performances and comedic gold. It is full of devastating banter, sass, with witty women at the forefront and I really can’t recommend it enough. I can guarantee you won’t regret it.
Written by Annie Thorpe