I
t was a Wednesday night
in early March. We had
spent the day wander-
ing the narrow, balcony-lined
streets of New Orleans, stop-
ping
in
quaint
book
shops and
swaying
to
pop-
up
brass
bands
in
the center
square.
There was
a
breeze
coming
off the Mississippi, bringing
with it the briny smell of fish
and centuries old stone houses.
And vomit. There was a
distinct smell of vomit as my
friends and I made our way from
bar to bar down the infamous
Bourbon Street, encountering
new
friends
(alleged
New
Orleans Saints players) and new
challenges (a drink consisting
solely of grape slushie and
Everclear) along the way. As
we approached our destination
we let out shrill giggles in
anticipation; we were doing
something none of us, as former
student council representatives
and current homebodies, had
done before. Feeling young and
alive and independent, singles
in hand, we walked into the Bad
Boys of Bourbon Street, an all-
male strip club.
Confession: I saw “Magic
Mike” in theaters three times.
(Once was actually at a drive-
in.) When Channing Tatum’s
star-making film about male
strippers with big dreams and
hearts of gold came out in 2013, I
told everyone who would listen
about how good it was. The film
is surprisingly smart, unafraid
to dig into the class and racial
dynamics
that
complicate
the stripping industry. And
Tatum is excellent, pulling
from his own stripping past to
bring a conflicted gravity to a
character that could have been
just a meathead. I would whip
out these reasons whenever
anyone questioned the film’s
integrity,
or
my
obsession
with it. But without fail, every
conversation would inevitably
end with me saying, “And
c’mon, it’s hot guys stripping.”
What can I say: a girl wants
what she wants.
The Bad Boys of Bourbon
didn’t disappoint. The boys
were hot, they could move,
and they did their damnedst
to engage the cozy Wednesday
night crowd. I watched as my
friends threw singles on the
stage and even participated
in
the
show,
unabashedly
reclaiming this place as theirs.
I
love
objectifying
men.
Really, it’s one of my favorite
pastimes, other than reading
biographies for pleasure and
drinking wine from a box. It
may sound shallow, or even
callous, but in a world built
on the constant, unrelenting
objectification of women, I feel
no guilt in turning the tables.
I watch certain shows solely
for the man candy. I stare a
beat too long at the cute boy
across the airplane aisle. Last
week I even called a statue of
Andrew Jackson “foxy as all
hell.” (Like I said, a girl wants
what she wants.) There is an
empowerment in assuming the
traditionally masculine angle
of removing a person’s inner
self from their physicality, in
acting unapologetic of your
primal instincts.
Take “Grandfathered,” the
FOX comedy starring John
Stamos
(“Fuller
House”)
and Josh Peck (“Drake and
Josh”). It’s not a great show,
at times sharp and pithy but
all too often sweeping in its
characterizations. But my best
friend and I watch it every week,
in part pulled in by our libidos
— she’s an Uncle Jesse fan while
I prefer Peck’s former-chubby-
kid adorableness. As a TV snob,
it’s a rarity for me to watch a
show for aesthetics alone, but
it’s refreshing to watch with
half a brain, to whoop at the
shirtless scenes like a bored
frat bro.
“The Good Wife,” too, plays
a cat and mouse game with my
sex drive, as Alicia Florrick
has reignited her sexuality and
got some over the show’s seven
season run. Alicia treats sex in
a traditionally masculine way;
when she wants it, she wants it,
no strings attached. While this
may complicate her own life,
it invigorates mine. When her
boss Will passionately kissed
her in an elevator in season
two, I rewound multiple times,
and proceeded to tweet that
all I wanted was to make out
with someone in an elevator.
When she pulled her estranged
husband into a back room for a
midday quickie in season four, I
cheered. This season, when she
hooked up with her grizzled
investigator in her darkened
office, my friend texted me her
excitement in all caps, and I
responded with a resounding
“YASSSS.”
It shouldn’t come as a shock
that women like sex. Women
have attractions and urges just
like men, whether they be for
Channing Tatum or disgraced
19th century presidents. I find
admitting these feelings to
be an open act of feminism, a
response to millennia of women
functioning solely for men’s
sexual desire.
And yet. As I sat in the
Bad Boys of Bourbon Street,
I
couldn’t
help
but
feel
irrevocably,
deeply
icky.
I
couldn’t
remove
my
own
sensibilities from the situation;
I couldn’t just be a man about
it. What were these men’s real
names? Did they always want
to strip, or was this a stepping
stone for some other dream?
Do they have families, children
relying on the money coming
in from this Wednesday night
show? Do they even want to be
here?
I ran out in a panic, texting
a friend “I feel like this is so
violating.” That to support
the industry didn’t feel like a
feminist move. That I found
it all really sad, and not at
all sexy. I was confused; I’m
pretty open about my sexuality,
and I wholeheartedly support
compensation for patriarchal
wrongs.
Maybe
I’m
more
prudish than I thought, but
I found the institution to be
irredeemably abusive.
Can
there
be
feminist
retribution in recreating an
industry that was established
through eons of the normalized
sexualization
of
women’s
bodies? Just because men can
pay to enter a dark room and
watch a woman they don’t
know remove her clothes, and
have been able to do that for
centuries, does it mean I should
feel comfortable doing it in the
reverse? I don’t think so. I want
it to be easier, I want equal to
be the same as equitable; an eye
for an eye, or more pertinently,
a tit for tat. But an institution
founded
in
a
society
of
objectification, of debasement,
of violence, can’t be turned on
its head and made clean. As the
phrase goes, an eye for an eye
means the whole world’s blind.
And I need my sight to keep
watching “The Good Wife.”
Gadbois is watching “Magic
Mike” for the fourth time.
To join her, email
gadbnat@umich.edu.
GENDER & MEDIA COLUMN
An eye for an eye, a
tit for a tat
NATALIE
GADBOIS
See ‘Foxtrot’ for Tina
Fey and witty script
By REBECCA LERNER
Daily Film Editor
“Well, we saw
it for Tina!” said
my dad said as
we drove home
after
seeing
“Whiskey
Tango Foxtrot,”
starring
the
aforementioned
Tina
Fey
(“Sisters”). “We
saw it because
we like her.”
I can’t say this is untrue.
When
I
saw
the
ads
for
“Whiskey
Tango
Foxtrot,”
starring Fey, produced by her
SNL mentor Lorne Michaels
and her husband Jeff Richmond
and written by her “30 Rock”
show runner Robert Carlock,
there was a part of me hoping
it would be the story of Liz
Lemon working as a journalist
in Afghanistan. That part of me,
the same part that would fall
asleep listening to Tina Fey’s
book “Bossypants” on my CD
player in high school, was not
disappointed.
Based on the book “The
Taliban Shuffle” by the film’s
real life inspiration Kim Barker,
“Whiskey
Tango
Foxtrot”
follows journalist Kim Baker,
who
leaves
her
uninspired
life in New York City for an
international
assignment
in
Kabul. Her arrival is chaotic
and reflected in the turbulent
and
shaky
editing,
which
quickly calms as Kim adjusts
to life in the “Kabubble,” as
the characters affectionately
call journalistic life in the
city. Kim instantly bonds with
Tanya
Vanderpol
(Margot
Robbie,
“Focus”)
the
only
other female journalist living
in their guest house, which
more
closely
resembles
a
continuous collegiate frat party
than a living space for adults.
But that’s the dichotomy of
womanhood in the Kabubble
—
it’s
acceptable,
even
encouraged, for these women to
get blackout drunk and wild in
the guest house, but it’s equally
acceptable for strangers to call
them whores if their heads are
uncovered outside of the house.
Kim
embeds
herself
in
the
military
presence
in
Afghanistan and finds herself
surprisingly
addicted
to
the adrenaline rush of war
reporting, much to the chagrin
of both the top Marine officer
in the area (Billy Bob Thornton,
“Our Brand Is Crisis”) and her
“fixer”
Fahim
(Christopher
Abbott,
“James
White”).
Kim
and
Fahim’s
cultural
differences
provide
fertile
ground for witty one-liners
about their personalities and
relationship — she’s a cynical
workaholic from New York and
he’s a traditional young Afghan
man trying to keep her safe. But
the truly noteworthy aspect of
their relationship is its caring
yet platonic nature. There are so
few filmic models of emotional
connections between men and
women without sexual motives,
not just in the industry as a
whole, but also in this movie.
Pretty much every other man
besides Fahim propositions Kim
to have sex with him. Whether
it’s a licentious Afghan attorney
general (Alfred Molina, “Love
Is Strange”) casually showing
her the bed in his office or a
photographer trying to look
down her shirt when she’s
passed out after a particularly
rowdy party, Kim is constantly
negotiating the gender politics
of adapting culturally while
successfully doing her job.
Fey, with plenty of previous
experience in roles arbitrating
the complexity of femininity
in the workplace, strikes this
balance
almost
perfectly.
Before the third act, during
which both the audience and
Kim realize she’s been in the
Kabubble for too long, the film
strikes a harmonious balance
between romantic comedy and
war story.
And
yet,
critics
and
audiences alike are putting
“Whiskey
Tango
Foxtrot”
on trial for whitewashing its
Afghan actors. Racism and
problems with diversity are
ubiquitous in Hollywood today,
from the casting of Zoe Saldana
as Nina Simone in an upcoming
biopic to the recent “Gods of
Egypt,” in which the gods in
the North African nation are
predominantly
white.
But
“Whiskey Tango Foxtrot” is
different. Tina Fey, who was
also a producer on the film, says
she requested a native speaker
for the part of Fahim, but that
the casting directors chose
Christopher Abbott as the best
person for the job. There are also
the specificities of Afghanistan
that distinguish it from other
cases of whitewashing. Afghans
can be Caucasians, making
it conceivable that someone
from
Afghanistan
could
resemble Abbott. But there’s
also a question of safety for
the actors and their families.
The film’s inspiration, Kim
Barker, tweeted that “The most
‘authentic’ people to play Fahim
and Sadiq are Afghans, not
people from the Middle East,
or Pakistan or India…But what
happens if there’s a reaction in
Afghanistan against that actor’s
family? … The Afghan boys who
starred in the movie “The Kite
Runner” had to go into hiding.”
She went on to say that “This
movie looks like Afghanistan!
And the extras were Afghans
speaking Dari and Pashto. That
made me happy.” While there
should be an effort to improve
diversity
in
cinema
today,
there was never a moment
in “Whiskey Tango Foxtrot”
that didn’t feel authentic to its
inspirations or locations.
“Whiskey
Foxtrot
Tango”
is a balancing act, teetering
between
absurdist
comedy
and a tragedy in a war-torn
country in which almost 10,000
American troops still remain.
The movie doesn’t always stay
upright, but Fey’s trademark
sense of humor pulls it back up
when it falters.
PARAMOUNT PICTURES
Is this the “Bound 2” video?
FILM REVIEW
B+
Whiskey
Tango
Foxtrot
Quality 16
Paramount
Pictures
Daily Book Review:
‘Sweetgirl’ a success
By SOPHIA KAUFMAN
Daily Arts Writer
Percy James is used to picking
up after her mother Carletta,
a woman who has trouble
staying
away
from
drugs.
When Carletta disappears in
the middle of a blizzard, her
daughter grudgingly sets off to
find her, more annoyed than
worried. But when she stumbles
into a house and finds a wailing
baby by an open window, alone
except for two passed out drug
addicts in a room downstairs,
she
makes
a
split-second
decision to grab the baby and
run. She soon realizes she has
more pressing problems than
a MIA mother strung out on
meth.
The
heroine
of
Travis
Mulhauser’s
debut
novel
“Sweetgirl”
possesses
every
trait that you would imagine
the heroine of this kind of
story to have. Think Jennifer
Lawrence’s
character
in
“Winter’s Bone” meets Hailee
Steinfeld’s character in “True
Grit.” She’s unyielding and
sardonic and refuses to be
vulnerable and has a chip on
each shoulder, but she’s also
determined and self-sacrificing
and courageous.
Percy takes baby Jenna —
whom she subsequently refers
to mostly as “Sweetgirl” —
from the house because she is
freezing and on the verge of
becoming ill, and Shelton Potter
and his girlfriend (the drug
addicts) don’t look like they’re
in any shape to be taking care of
a child. She takes Jenna to her
mother’s ex-boyfriend, Portis,
a gruff yet caring borderline
alcoholic who helped raise
Percy and her sister once upon
a time. She knows that he’ll help
her, despite grumbling about it
first. The urgency of finding
Percy’s mother and getting
Jenna to a doctor escalates
once
they
realize
they’re
being pursued by Potter — and
various members of his gun-
toting posse.
There
are
a
few
subtle
indicators that “Sweetgirl” is
a debut novel. The continuous
switch between Percy’s first
person narration and the third
person narration that follows
Potter is sometimes jarring
and
unequal.
While
Potter
is
an
intriguing
character
psychologically, the parts of the
narration that follow him and
his dealings with threatening
men are less interesting, and
throughout the novel there
are a few turns of phrase that
don’t quite fit in with the rest
of the book’s brusque style; the
elegance of more sophisticated
language feels imposing on the
gritty, simple wording of the
rest of the novel. Percy describes
baby Jenna’s “strength” on a
few occasions; though romantic
in sentiment, this doesn’t quite
ring true. A baby who gradually
stops
crying
generally
isn’t
exhibiting emotional strength
for her guardian’s sake — she
has tired herself out.
A
couple
deaths
in
“Sweetgirl” are true plot twists,
shocking in their abruptness.
However, though they change
the direction of the story, they
aren’t utilized solely as plot
drivers — but neither are they
given space to be mourned.
They’re given the amount of
time they take to occur, then the
remaining characters move on.
Other than Percy and Portis,
the characterization of the rest
of the cast is bleak; there are no
shining heros or vibrant villains.
No one is fully good or fully evil.
Though this sometimes drains
the energy from the pages, it
also makes it more realistic.
Yet there are a few things that
stick with you once you close
the book — a short yet gorgeous
description of the ocean, the
stealthy, sucking power of a
small town, how wallowing in a
state of melancholy can feel more
real than bouncing around in a
state of fleeting happiness and
the possibility of finding hope in
a final goodbye. Written in sharp,
staccato sentences, “Sweetgirl”
is sprinkled with brittle pieces
of bone-dry truth about what
it’s like for a kid to grow up
faster than she should have to.
What can I say:
A girl wants
what she
wants.
BOOK REVIEW
A few things
stick with you
once you close
the book.
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Wednesday, March 9, 2016 — 5A