You read enough books in which people like you are disposable, or are dirt, or are silent, absent, or worthless, and it makes an impact on you. Because art makes the world, because it matters, because it makes us. Or breaks us.
Rebecca Solnit, Men Explain Lolita To Me
It’s easy to feel tiny in the front row at the IMAX. All of my peripheral vision was screen – was rolling desert landscape and interstellar arctic tundra, was stars and the pew-pew-pew of spacecraft revolution.
I had reservations going into Star Wars: The Force Awakens. I’d learned to set my standards low for blockbusters – a feminist education and worldview means I can’t just take off my Equality Goggles and Enjoy The Film Even If It’s Three Hours Of White Men Talking. The feminist gaze isn’t just a lens: it’s a conversation that continues, that we can have with every item of media we encounter. It’s rare that I can just choose to stop having that conversation with a film. If the film refuses to speak to me, then I walk away feeling emptied. Feeling tiny. During the trailers that led up to that iconic black screen with the small blue lettering that invited us to a galaxy far, far away, I steeled myself further. Here we go.
Deadpool: a man becomes a superhero and remains kind of quirky instead of becoming brooding and isolationist. Imagine that, like.
The Revenant: Leonardo De Caprio is a caveman looking for his son. Oscar bait.
Batman Loves Superman, with no more than a cursory glimpse of the Wonder Woman I’ve been waiting to see on the big screen my whole life.
I was reminded why the box office wasn’t for me. Why science fiction, why superheroes, why quests weren’t for me. Roe McDermott, film critic at Hotpress, had recently awarded the film five out of five stars:
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