On Being a Feminist and What it Really Means

A few months ago on this blog I essentially "outed" myself as a feminist when I voiced my approval of the worldwide SlutWalk movement in general (look it up if you don't know what I'm talking about) and SlutWalk Minneapolis in particular (once again, look it up). Since then, while I cannot say that I've been heavily involved with many feminist causes I have been meeting and spending a lot of time around feminists. It's had me thinking a lot about what feminism is and what some other people think it means. I've come to the conclusion that a lot of people don't have a clue.

Pat Robertson once described feminism as "...a socialist, anti-family political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism and become lesbians." I'd like to think that most sane people wouldn't put a lot of stock in what Pat Robertson has to say about anything, but even such an extreme and laughably inaccurate definition is indicative of what some people think about when they think of feminism. Feminism has a very bad rap in certain circles. There are a lot of people who imagine feminists as angry, militant, overly-masculine lesbians who despise all men on principle and who believe that we should be a purely matriarchal society. They couldn't possibly agree with or even get along with men because of their irrational hatred of anything with a penis. By the same token, no man could possibly agree with them without becoming traitors to their own gender.

As I am writing this, I am realizing how ridiculous this concept of feminism truly is. It's almost cartoonish, really. Real feminists do not hate men. In fact, many of the feminists that I know have husbands or boyfriends whom they love and respect very much. They also do not believe that women should be in charge over men. What feminist truly want is for men and women to be treated equally. No more. No less. I think it's really a shame that more people don't realize that. I've met plenty of men and even some women who practically run away screaming from anything having to do with feminism because of the misconceptions that they have. I'd like to think that more people would be willing to stand up for feminist issues if they realized that the movement was about social justice and equal rights and not declaring war on men.

That being said, the big question on my mind is whether or not I would truly call myself a feminist. The short answer to the question would be "yes," but there is more to my answer than that. I can be called a feminist as long as I am standing up for women's rights, but I don't believe in standing up only for women. I'd like to think I stand for social justice and equality for everyone in general. I may wear the label of feminist when I stand against the ill treatment of a woman, but I will also stand up against the ill treatment of anybody. Historically, those in this country who haven't been white, privileged, heterosexual Christian males have been the victims of some kind of discrimination or prejudice. Women happen to fall under a large umbrella of people who have been treated unfairly for being different from those who are in charge, but the same can be said for Blacks, Asians, Latinos, Native Americans, the handicapped, and GLBT people. In other words, I believe in standing up for anyone whose rights are somehow being repressed. If the rights of white, privileged, heterosexual Christian males were being repressed, I'd fight for them too.*

Yes, you can call me a feminist if the shoe fits because I would agree that it does at least part of the time. I'd prefer not to attach a label to myself too firmly, though.

*I know there are some people who seem to think that white, privileged, heterosexual Christian males are being oppressed. Believe me when I say that this is not happening. Just because there are people who disagree with white, privileged, heterosexual Christian males doesn't mean that they are oppressed. They are still very much in charge, no matter how much they say that their "American way of life" is being threatened.

Captain America, The Avengers, and Franchise Filmmaking

I finally got around to seeing Captain America: The First Avenger the other night (by "finally" I mean that I didn't see it on opening weekend like seemingly everyone else; I waited a week). Overall I have to say that it was a lot of fun, sort of a WWII-era action movie on steroids that features a likably straight-laced hero with a big heart. It's not the best movie from Marvel Entertainment (that title still goes to the first Iron Man), but it's still a great time at the movies.

It did have me thinking about where the "Marvel Cinematic Universe" is heading and about a practice that Hollywood has that I like to call "franchise filmmaking." Some of the snobbier, more cynical film critics who have reviewed Captain America have absolutely loved to point out the fact that the movie allegedly only exists as a setup to next summer's The Avengers, which will team Captain America up with fellow Marvel superheroes Iron Man, Thor, and the Hulk. For the record, that's not entirely true. Most of Captain America works just fine as a stand-alone film. There are some fun shout-outs and Easter eggs to be found (Iron Man's father plays a major role), but for the most part viewers who have never picked up a comic book or seen any other Marvel movies will still be sufficiently entertained.

Then again, the critics aren't entirely wrong about this movie being a setup to The Avengers. The movie is bookended by a prologue and epilogue that set up the Captain's role in that film. These bookends are really what got me thinking about mainstream Hollywood movies these days and how they are all too often used not as standalone films, but teasers for a bunch of sequels, spin-offs, and crossovers.

(From here on in I will talk a lot about what happens in Captain America: The First Avenger, including how it ends. If you haven't seen Captain America yet and want to, stop reading now. If you stumbled across this blog looking for a simple review, here it is: Captain America was good. Go see it.)

Once the film covers the hero's origin and turns skinny Steve Rogers into the super soldier Captain America, the main plot involves Cap leading an elite military unit as they destroy the military bases of Hydra, which begins as Adolf Hitler's deep science division during World War II but becomes its own independent entity when its leader hatches his own plot for world domination. The climax of the movie has Captain America taking control of a war plane armed with weapons of mass destruction that are intended to destroy every major city in the US, including Cap's home town in New York. He doesn't know how to land the plane safely, and he would end up killing millions of people if he were to keep it on course, so he makes the ultimate sacrifice. He crashes the plane somewhere in the Arctic and is apparently killed...sort of. Thanks to a prologue and an epilogue showing the Captain's frozen body being discovered in the Arctic and revived in 21st Century New York, we know that he will live on to fight in The Avengers next summer.

Anyone who knows about the Avengers of the Marvel Comics universe probably figures that Captain America's fate at the end of the movie is a foregone conclusion. After all, he's been the flagship member of the group since the 1960s. Still, the way it is presented on film is very typical of Hollywood's tendency to make movies not as standalone films but as lead-ins to multi-movie (and multi-million dollar) franchises. This practice has always both fascinated and infuriated me. On one hand, I like the idea of telling a story over multiple chapters, and it can be fun to watch part of a story unfold and anticipate what is going to happen next. On the other hand, Hollywood tends to go overboard with this concept. A story told in multiple chapters is all well and good, but a good movie should be able to stand on its own. I've seen way too many movies that simply do not work because the studios that are releasing them are obsessed with turning them into franchises with no less than two sequels. Plot lines are left unresolved, climaxes are unsatisfying and don't resolve the main conflict, and the most egregious examples of these movies actually end in cliffhangers. When I sit down to watch a movie, I want to see it end in a logical and satisfying way; I don't want to watch what boils down to a glorified television pilot.

I have to admit to being excited about The Avengers. I grew up reading Marvel comic books, and I think the fact that someone is making an earnest attempt to recreate the Marvel Universe on film is great. Still, I'm left wondering what would've happened had Captain America not featured the bookends showing its hero being revived in the 21st Century. We would've essentially had a big-budget summer action movie that looks to all the world like the latest in a long line of superhero movies meant to set up another franchise, but in the end it would've appeared to pull a fast one on everyone by killing off the hero. The last we would've seen of him would be him saying goodbye to his would-be girlfriend and heroically sacrificing his life to save his country. Everyone would remember him as a great hero, the legendary super soldier who fought and died for the good of the world. It would've been a neat way to end the movie, and one that casual moviegoer wouldn't expect. Cap would of course come back for The Avengers, but it would come as a nice surprise to anyone who doesn't know the character's comic book history.

Sadly, I don't think Hollywood would have the guts to do something like that. In the end they will always follow the money and set up the almighty franchise. The revelation that Captain America lives on in the 21st Century in no way invalidates or cheapens the experience of seeing him onscreen, but I think it would've had more of an impact if it came as a surprise next summer instead of a taste of what the public should be getting excited about next.

My name is Tom, and I'm a Technophobe...kind of.

Okay, maybe calling myself a technophobe isn't entirely accurate. I usually have no problems using computers or cell phones on a daily basis (after all, I'm using a computer to write this blog post). I can honestly say that I'm not as enamored of modern technology as many other people seem to be, though. My reactions to the latest and most sophisticated smart phones, tablets, HD TVs, video game systems, and computers generally range from boredom to aversion depending on my mood. All I ask from a cell phone is that I can make phone calls, I'm happy with an obsolete computer as long as it's still functional, I'm more likely to play video games from two decades ago than anything on an X-Box, and I could care less about my TV's resolution.

I've never seen anything wrong with this; it's just who I am. Unfortunately, I sometimes get the impression that the rest of the world doesn't agree with me. I know people who NEED their computers, cell phones, and televisions to be state-of-the-art, and when they find that I don't share their enthusiasm for technology they look at me like I'm crazy. I don't like watching TV because it seems like every other commercial tells me that I need a brand-new smart phone to qualify as modern human being. I grew up playing video games, but I don't fit in with other gamers because I rarely play modern games. Sometimes I feel like the rest of the world has left me behind, and I no longer fit in with a lot of people because I don't drool over the latest smart phones on the market.

That last sentence came out a little melodramatic and self-pitying. It wasn't meant to. The truth is that I'm fine with being left behind in the technology race, mostly because I honestly don't care to be part of that race at all. I actually think we all rely a little too much on computers, so much so that I don't think people in a generation or two will know how to function without them. Technology does make our lives easier when it works, but what happens when it doesn't? I often see people - rational, intelligent people - reduced to deer in the headlights when a computer system goes down. They are unable to do their jobs, communicate with others, or even enter their homes in one case when a power outage left residents of a friend's apartment building stuck outside thanks to the failure of computerized locks. The cynical side of me is darkly amused by this, but for the most part I find it frustrating and a little scary. I'm not paranoid enough to believe that computers will bring about our ruination, but I do believe that the time will come when people will not know what to do when their computers or cell phones do not work for whatever reason.

I guess you can call me a bit of a technophobe. You can also call me weird, crazy, or anything else you think may apply to me, but this is just how I feel on the subject.