Play in Black Widow Fanfiction

As MARVEL’s Avengers move farther into the limelight with each MARVEL cinematic installment, fanfiction devoted to the costumed team increases exponentially. While most of the original Avengers (with the exception of Hawkeye) received multiple films to their name, Natasha Romanov (codename: Black Widow) has no such films to her name, nor do they appear to be on the horizon. This, combined with the fact that she is the only female on the original team, makes her particularly unique. As such, Black Widow fan fiction is ubiquitous. Fans, noting the lack of Black Widow backstory, have exercised their right to creativity, filling in the gap that Marvel has left them. The result is both both delightful and worrisome, as fans play with the idea of what it means to be a sexy and powerful female who interacts primarily with men.

I read two pieces of Black Widow fan fiction: Secret Keeper by Sofia Bee and The Reunited Avengers: A Black Widow Fanfic by Charles O’Carry. The Reunited Avengers: A Black Widow Fanfic was unique in that it was one of the few pieces I could easily find that cast Black Widow as the leader of the Avengers. Set as a sequel to The Avengers (2012), the story begins with another Chitauri attack, this one after Nick Fury himself. Once Nick is kidnapped, Hawkeye and Maria Hill appoint Natasha as the new leader of Shield. She rounds up the team and leads them to fight for Nick Fury’s rescue. Rather like Derrida’s de-centering, O’Carry tells a traditional Avengers story, but with Natasha as the focus. She makes many of the plans, is the key force in bringing the team back together, and in essence, takes the place of Nick Fury. The adaptation shows originality and also makes a powerful feminist statement, as Natasha’s role in the Avengers, though key, is often downplayed by her male companions.

O’Carry did not, however, re-interpret the emotional depth of Natasha as a character. Throughout the story, she performs much as she does in the traditional narrative. She is underestimated by men, she beats up small time antagonists who taunt her, and she tries to calm all of her testosterone fueled characters down a notch. The piece also rotates from one character's point of view to another each chapter, which though imaginative, means that only a fraction of the story is actually told from Natasha’s perspective. The piece represents the strain often felt in fan fiction: an effort to move away from the source material, but retain the rules of play that the original authors have established.

The second piece, Secret Keeper, re-imagines Natasha in completely different way. The short story documents a single conversation that Natasha and Bruce Banner have while in bed. Bruce opens up about his anxieties with Tony’s goal to ‘loosen him up’ and Natasha listens to him and comforts him. They end by kissing passionately, though not overly erotically, the image of a romantic yet productive relationship. Bee, though not de-centering the narrative, has played with the piece emotionally and narratively, giving us access to a scene only loosely alluded to on screen. Like a videogame, this piece of fan fiction allows us as the reader to dwell on an element skipped over in a linear narrative. Similarly, we are made to identify with these characters. No super powers or fantastical feats are shown in the story, just words and actions of love. Again, like a game, we are brought to identify with these characters through the piece, rather than see them as other. In this way, the piece is progressive for Natasha, and represents her as a multifaceted female character.

Still, the extent to which the piece critiques some of the problematic feminism in Avengers is complicated. On the one hand, Natasha is playing a stereotypical female role. She is the antithesis to the masculine Bruce, and must use her softness and gentleness to balance out the monster inside of him. Though this role is far from progressive, it is, on the other hand, a role that is unusual for Natasha, who is often seen as an aggressive and caustic force, so it could be argued that it is still providing her with more realistic depth. The story ends rather sensually, yet another classically complicated issue for Natasha. In fact, the majority of fan fiction about Black Widow is R or NC-17 rated, and is extremely sexual in nature, Bee’s rather tame ending being one of the exceptions. This piece runs a fine line between identifying with her as a sexual being, and objectifying her image as she and Bruce spend a night together in bed. Progressive or not, it should be lauded that Bee’s interpretation of the piece opens up new questions that the source material does not.

Natasha remains a complex character in the MARVEL universe, one who is either forgotten, sexualized, or championed. Those who ‘play’ with the canonical story are as quick to objectify as they are to deepen and strengthen her character, a struggle that every artist encounters when they take the reins of creation in their own hands. It will be interesting to see if MARVEL is ever brave enough to do it themselves on screen.

Diversity in Grave of the Fireflies

In an effort to provide affirming narratives, few children’s films strive to de-center. This focus on de-centering is the primary thing that makes Grave of the Fireflies (1988) a unique and invaluable children’s film. As Jacque Derrida explained, de-centering is the conscious act of recognizing a privilege or bias, and then shifting that privilege to a new focus. Grave of the Fireflies does this on several levels, presenting its viewers with a de-centered perspective on World War II, societal deviants, and the value of victory.

Grave of the Fireflies is a thoroughly Japanese film. This goes much farther than the fact that it is created and performed by Japanese artists. Though the film focuses on the Japanese-American conflict during World War II, no Americans are seen on screen. Their planes are viewed from below, ominous and inhuman machines of death. The destruction and eventual loss of the conflict is one of the most defining events of Japanese history and culture in the last one hundred years, and the personal loss and trauma felt during the war is felt clearly in each minute of the film. This is an image of war foreign to Americans. Instead of viewing Japan from the cockpit, we experience the heart wrenching ordeal of being the target on the ground. Our typically American bias is decentered and placed upon a different culture.

Seita and Setsuko do not live within the mainstream of the Japanese population. This again de-centers the narrative, this time from a position of privilege to that of poverty. Seita and Setsuko do not just experience the challenges of poverty, they choose it, stubbornly fighting to live independently rather than feel insulted by their nagging aunt. Seita feels so alienated from his own culture, that he even reverts to theft to provide them with food. In a sobering moment of the film, Seita raises his hands in the air and cheers at the sight of the firebombed village, thanking the American bombers for the opportunity to steal from the abandoned homes. Rather than following a trend of stories that place children in the mainstream of society, on a trajectory to become contributing adults, Grave of the Fireflies introduces us to vagrant and irreverent children, who in such dire circumstances even cheer on the same evil that orphaned them.

Finally, Grave of the Fireflies questions the value of victory. The film puts us on the flip side of the victor’s coin. Not only do the Japanese lose the conflict at large, but Seita and Setsuko do not overcome their personal challenges, both perishing prematurely at the conclusion of the film. Particularly for American children’s media, this may seem the most drastic de-centering of all. What makes the story so beautiful and memorable, is that it finds the eminent in loss. As a nation, Japan, like these children, has had to come to grips with loss, and try to make meaning of not only the sorrow experienced in loss, but also its purifying and maturing power. Near the end of the film, three teenage girls return to the town where Seita and Setsuko have been eking out their existence. The girls cheer with delight at the sight of their old home, and speak lightheartedly of how much they have missed the beautiful view. These girls have, to some degree, won a personal victory, in that they have survived. Yet they have not experienced the same sobering growth as Seita and Setsuko, who have discovered the true meaning of love, sacrifice, and family in the anvil of their affliction. Grave of the Fireflies not only reverently sorrows at loss, it also illustrates its incredible power to exalt humankind.

This beautiful film introduces children to a truly diverse world. It de-centers traditional American views of World War II, roles in society, and the importance of victory. Still, throughout, it manages to reach all audiences through its honest characters and universally heart-wrenching depictions of family.

Diversity in Whale Rider

Whale Rider is unique, in that it not only teaches its viewers to respect a specific culture, it also teaches them to question its foundations. While many films fall on one side of the spectrum or the other, either touting traditionalism or progress, Niki Caro's remarkable story lives somewhere in between the two. We come to truly understand Paikea's culture, not just for its beauty and validity, but also for its faults and frustrations.
On its surface, we join Paikea in a journey to fight against the misogynistic traditions of her fathers. Paikea excels in all things that should please her grandfather: she is a good dancer, singer, swimmer, and fighter and she upholds their tribes rules and traditions with exactness. But, she is a girl. When fixing the motorboat together, Paikea metaphorically connects the old lineage with the new, and uses it to start the engine, but Koro will have none of it. He warns Paikea to stop messing with the engine, or in other words, to not assume she can fix things. She may have the skills, but the fact that she is a girl makes those skills even more frustrating to Koro. Though the sexist litany is familiar to almost all cultures, Paikea's struggle is unique to her position in the tribe, and we are introduced intimately to its frustrations. When change finally does come, and Paikea is made the rightful chief, we feel relief and a sense of victory.
Despite the fact that this aspect of Maori culture is flawed, Caro approaches other aspects of their culture with sacred respect. The story is from Paikea's perspective, and it is therefore taken for granted throughout the film that the tenants of their beliefs are true. The whales are the wise gods of the film, watching over Paikea's life. There is no question whether it would be a good choice for Paikiea to pursue the position of chief or 'prophet' in this tribe: it is taken for granted that it is something that she wants and something that will bring her fulfillment. Throughout the film, we see touching examples of how these belief systems bring the community together. Whether it is in the dance hall, on the beach rescuing the whales, or finally, rowing out to sea in their boat, their unique beliefs bind these people together in a way that brings about true love, compassion, and forgiveness.
Niki Caro is not interested in throwing the baby out with the bathwater. Though she recognizes the failings of this Maori tribe, she also sees its beauty and power. Thus, we as the audience both feel like we can identify with these people, but also respectfully recognize that they are unique from us. We all experience joy and frustration in our own cultures, and here, it is no difference. Rather than undermining or exoticizing the Maori, Whale Rider shows us the complete picture, a group of people we can relate to, and also see for their beautiful differences.

Documentation in The Catcher in the Rye

The Catcher in the Rye (1951) - J.D. Salinger

The Catcher in the Rye is, in many ways, the perfect document. Though a work of fiction, J.D. Salinger has carefully crafted a novel that documents the life of a frustrated youth from every perspective. The book reads like a direct link to Holden Caufield’s mind. Every thought, word, and action is carefully accounted for. By doing so, Salinger writes a novel that does not rely on metaphor, allusion, fantasy, or parable to carry its themes. Rather, the strength of The Catcher in the Rye comes from its almost brutal honesty, perhaps a better vehicle for this weighty thematic material than any other.

The story takes place over a remarkably short period of time. Salinger’s clever choice to write about a mere four nights in Caufield’s life creates the feeling that the reader sees every detail of Caufield’s life. No snippet of dialogue is leapt over in an effort to ‘move the plot along’. Not even a single thought slips unnoticed from the reader’s attention. In this sense, quite literally, Caufield’s life is an open book, and even if he would choose to hide anything from the reader, it would appear he cannot. This creates a remarkable sense of empathy for the character. As the reader travels with Caufield through every one of his often amusing and sometimes illogical thoughts, they find it easy to connect with him. Though despicable at times, he cannot help but be liked, for the reader cannot help but see themselves in him. Thus Salinger’s choice to follow Caufield’s life meticulously provides us with more than just good documentation, it also allows us to relate deeply to the character.

Salinger also chooses to write his novel in the first person. This deepens the reader’s connection with Caufield in two ways. Firstly, it becomes easy to empathize with his point of view. When he feels that he is the victim of unfair teachers, the reader understands why. When he decides to get drunk and avoid responsibility, though disagreeable, it is still understandable. Secondly, Salinger inhabits the voice and syntax of Caufield through the entire book. Perhaps the most memorable aspect of The Catcher in the Rye, his mastery of the written word is remarkable. Caufield’s coarse and sarcastic world view is applied to every description and thought, and readers soon find themselves inhabiting completely Caufield’s perspective, and even thinking like he would think. Though fictional, Salinger’s use of the first person still furthers the power of the book as a document, as it helps us to emotionally internalize the thoughts and motivations of another.

Finally, Salinger relies solely on the events that unfold in Caufield’s life to expose the thematic content of the book. Rather than relying on metaphors or verbose pontifications, Salinger masterfully and truthfully relays the facts of Caufield’s experience: his expulsion from Pencey, his lonely night in the hotel, and his schemes with Phoebe. Though carefully crafted to tell the story of the anxieties and pressures of youth, particularly in the stifling post war period, Salinger is careful not to play his hand. Rather, through Caufield’s own coarse tongue, he allows the reader to interpret the truth for themselves, using the boy’s experience as a ‘true life’ document to be studied again and again, each visit yielding greater understanding.

Experimentation in Alice

Alice (1987) - Jan Svankmajer

Jan Svankmajer’s Alice (1987) is an astounding achievement in film. Svankmajer interprets Carol’s work masterfully. In his interpretation, the rabbit hole does not just transport Alice to a new world, it carries its audience to a new dimension of the filmic arts. In Alice, the transformative narrative allows Svankmajer to experiment with the boundaries of film, presenting viewers with dimensions of the medium they have never before encountered. These experiments do not just amaze, they also delve deep into the human experience.

Svankmajer’s exploration of the visual medium is both methodical and gleefully spontaneous. From the very beginning of the film, he lays before you the subjects of his experimentation. The roving camera in Alice’s room reveals the teacup, the jars of buttons and tacks, the doll, the playing cards, the tarts, even the white rabbit. These are the building blocks that Svankmajer will experiment with through the entire film. In this way, he is methodical, carefully taking each individual prop and re-arranging it again and again, to experiment with it in every possible way.

Despite this methodical introduction, the actual experimentation is wild and courageous.

As is true of all of his work, Svankmajer introduces a sense of texture into Alice that is rare in film. Each successive sequence introduces a new tactile character: the rabbit’s flaky sawdust entrails, the slimy pickled thumb tacks, the coarse sock caterpillars, the limp cut of meat, and the crisp playing cards. Svankmajer sets each one up carefully. At first, we simply see the object. But as the experimentation is pushed farther the character moves and interacts with the space around it in unexpected ways. Finally, Svankmajer’s characters often go through a tactile examination or destruction of some kind. The sawdust is consumed, the pickled tacks spread across Alice’s fingers, the socks first crushed and then inflated again, the cards snipped to bits. This is Svankmajer’s ingenious experimentation at work. It is not enough for us to simply see something in his films, we must see it transformed, destroyed, or consumed for us to truly feel its texture and understand it as a tactile object.

Svankmajer’s experimentations extend beyond the formal elements of the film. He examines the causal nature of storytelling as well. As exemplified in the tea party scene, Svankmajer questions the very nature of progress and agency. The March Hare and the Mad Hatter repeat themselves endlessly, their actions leading to no improvement in their condition or relief from their quotidian worries. Alice is caught in a similar cycle.  Her body is often at the whims of the confusing world around her, a fact that she can do little to change. The juice and tarts, which either shrink or enlarge her body, seem to follow no logical rules, and any attempt to use their powers productively are mostly unsuccessful. In the haunting court scene at the conclusion of the film, Alice’s head is suddenly replaced, in dizzying flashes, with the heads of the other characters she has met on her adventure. She cannot control her own body, not to mention the outcomes of her future. When she is returned safely to her room, it is by no doing of her own. She is plucked helplessly from her plight, her body just another experimental object in the hands of fate.

Svankmajer is not content with simply telling us a story. He wants us to experiment with it, see it destroyed, consume it, watch it be transformed and mutated before our eyes. In this way, we come to understand it that much better. This is not just true with the host of fascinating creatures we encounter in Alice, it is true of the titular character herself. As Alice is transformed, disfigured, and examined from every possible angle, we come to understand her more clearly. Svankmajer’s experimentation is more than just an exercise in artistic limits, it is a method of exposing us to new aspects of the human condition.