Screening #MeToo

Rape Culture in Hollywood

Lisa Funnell,Ralph Beliveau

• Editorial: SUNY Press
• Año: 2022
• ISBN:
  9781438487618
• Categoría: Media & Performing Arts
• Categoría: Film History & Criticism

2023 CHOICE Outstanding Academic Title Screening #MeToo offers an important and timely discussion of the pervasive nature of rape culture in Hollywood. Essays in the collection examine films released from the 1960s onward, a broad period that coincides with the end of the Motion Picture Production Code in Hollywood, which resulted in more frequent and increasingly graphic images of sex and violence being included in mainstream movies. Focusing on narratives in which surveillance and sexual violence feature prominently, contributors from North America and Europe examine a variety of film genres, including spy films, teen comedies, kitchen sink dramas, coming-of-age stories, rape/revenge films, and horror films. Reflecting the increasing social and academic awareness of sexual violence in Hollywood film and its transmission and cultivation of rape culture in the United States and abroad, they are concerned not only with the content of the films under scrutiny but also with the clear relationship between the stories, how they are being told, and the culture that produced them. Screening #MeToo challenges readers to look at mainstream Hollywood films differently, in light of attitudes about art and power, sexuality and consent, and the pleasures and frustrations of criticizing "entertainment" films from these perspectives.

CHAPTER 1

Delightful Duties?

Sexual Violence in the Connery-Era
James Bond Films (1962–1971)

Lisa Funnell

As the longest film franchise in history, James Bond consists of twenty-five films released across a nearly six-decade period. With No Time to Die (Fukunaga 2021) marking the end of the Daniel Craig era, critics and fans continue to speculate about the direction of the series. While the orphan origin trilogy (Casino Royale [Campbell 2006], Quantum of Solace [Forster 2008], and Skyfall [Mendes 2012]) is revisionist and reworks key elements of the Bond brand, Spectre (Mendes 2015) is decidedly reversionist as the film is rooted in the gender politics and generic conventions of earlier works (Funnell and Dodds 2017; Funnell 2018). Although scholars have examined the importance of sex in the franchise in relation to Bond’s libidinal masculinity and mission success (Black 107–109), limited attention has been directed toward the sexual politics of the early Bond films and the messages conveyed through them about sex, gender, and power. Bond is framed as a lover, but his sexual encounters with women are often violent and devoid of consent. These problematic scenes are framed within narratives that justify and normalize sexual assault, coercion, and harassment.

While sex plays a central role in spy culture, so too does sexual violence. Affirmative consent is often strikingly absent especially in the early Bond films and novels, which have been influential in shaping subsequent/derivative spy narratives. Through words and actions, a person—real or fictional—must be able to knowingly (i.e., not hindered by age, substances, or cognitive impairments) and voluntarily (i.e., without pressure, force, or coercion) agree to participate in sexual activity. When affirmative consent is missing and sexual violence prevails, it influences the way a character is perceived even if they are heroic by design. This chapter explores the spectrum of sexual violence depicted across the Connery-era films as well as their source novels. It considers how the sexual misconduct of Bond and his predatory practices diminish his heroic capacity, decrease his phallic masculinity, and mar his reputation as a hero. Moreover, it raises questions about the adoption of these foundational sexual politics in subsequent James Bond films as well as other spy narratives.

In recent years, the #MeToo Movement has raised social awareness of the insidious and pervasiveness nature of sexual violence within the workplace and especially the media industry. While focus has been placed on the working conditions for women (cis and trans) as well as trans-men, and nonbinary and queer individuals within the industry, limited attention has been directed toward the content of the films on which they are working. Sexual violence all too often plays a central role in defining the identity of women on screen as well as their heteronormative relationships with men. These texts frequently convey troublesome messages about gender, sex, race, identity, and power though the normalization and naturalization of sexual harassment, coercion, and assault, thereby influencing social consciousness. Utilizing a critical lens informed by the #MeToo movement, this chapter draws attention to the hegemonic invisibility of rape culture that has, for too long, defined the world of James Bond and spy culture at large.

Literary Roots

James Bond is an icon of popular culture. As a character, Bond is defined by his social locations and privilege. He is a white, cis-gender, able-bodied British man from the upper-middle class with an elite education and burgeoning professional career. He is also defined by his sexuality. As a heterosexual man, Bond is depicted as having an almost magnetic appeal and women seem to gravitate toward him. His heroic identity centers on a prominent stereotype of masculinity—the lover. According to Julia Wood, “being sexual is a way to perform and prove [heterosexual] masculinity” (176). Bond exudes a libido-based heroism that is rooted in the British lover literary tradition (Funnell, “I Know” 458), which brought forward glamorous gentlemen heroes who were willing to risk everything for both a higher cause and the women they love (Hawkins 29–30). By sleeping with women, Bond confirms his masculinity (as well as that of the British Secret Service) and convinces his lovers to support his missions (Black 107–109).

The inaugural Bond films starring Sean Connery were adaptations of a series of novels and short stories written by Ian Fleming. Published between 1953 and 1966, the texts convey some troubling messages about sex, gender, and power that have, in turn, influenced the representational politics in the Connery-era films. While an examination of each work is beyond the scope of this chapter, a consideration of how sexual violence factors into prominent characterizations and storylines is paramount. Although Fleming uses sexual violence—be it real, suggested, or threatened—in his framing of various characters, he offers a somewhat ambivalent impression. While rape and sexual exploitation are frequently included in the backstories of various figures, their framing in the narrative seems to be more dependent on the gender of the character and their relationship to Bond rather than the egregious nature of the act.

Sexual exploitation is often referenced in the backstories of men who are antagonists. In the first two novels, Casino Royale (1953) and Live and Let Die (1954), villains Le Chiffre and Mr. Big respectively run prostitution rings. This is included in their dossiers as a way to quickly establish their immorality via the sexual exploitation of women. In addition, villains frequently strip women of their clothing when holding them captive. Clothing is not only a powerful signifier of identity but also serves as a layer of protection concealing vulnerable areas including sex characteristics. As such, its forceful removal can be framed as a (sexual) violation. In Live and Let Die, Solitaire is stripped in front of Bond on the order of Mr. Big: “She stood pale and naked. She hung her head and the heavy black hair fell forward over her face … ‘You bastard,’ said Bond through his teeth” (218–219). In Moonraker (1955), the henchperson Kreb begins to undress Gala Brand, who is feigning unconsciousness while bound to a chair. The book conveys the impression that Brand faces not only physical danger (as Krebs specializes in torture) but also sexual danger through the threat of rape. In both cases, the forceful removal of clothing is framed not only as an act of sexual violence against the woman but also as an act of aggression toward Bond; the violation appears to be more abhorrent because it is happening to “Bond’s girl” (i.e., the Bond Girl) and challenges the phallocentric claim of the white male hero (to the white woman).

Sexual assault plays a more formative role in shaping the backstories of women to explain their “colder” dispositions and distrust of men, positioning them as greater sexual challenges/conquests for Bond. In Diamonds Are Forever (1956), Felix Leiter reveals that Tiffany Case was gang-raped as a teenager and “won’t have anything to do with men since then” (69). The impact of this trauma is evident when Bond kisses Case, who “suddenly stiffened and fought her way free” from his embrace (78). Bond is set up in the narrative as a good man who eventually wins her trust and is contrasted with the violent men who violated her years before. Goldfinger (1959) takes this approach one step further and offers a deeply troubling explanation for why Pussy Galore is not sexually interested in Bond. She is characterized as a lesbian and her sexuality is framed as a by-product of the trauma she experienced as a child. Galore tells Bond, “I come from the South. You know the definition of a virgin down here? Well, it’s a girl who can run faster than her brother. In my case I couldn’t run as fast as my uncle. I was twelve” (279). This conversation is followed up by the pair engaging in some “TLC” as they recover from a plane crash. Thus, Bond is depicted as “the only man” who could “rescue” Galore from sexual and social “deviance,” especially since homosexuality was a criminal offense in the United Kingdom at the time (Black 107). Moreover, the novel relays the problematic message that lesbianism is not a true identity but rather a temporary phase that can/must be “resolved” through a “proper” heterosexual encounter. It ends with the restoration of phallocentric order through the validation and successful performance of Bond’s heteronormative masculinity.

Sexual assault—be it actual, suggested, or threatened—is frequently used in fiction to convey physical vulnerability in even the strongest of women characters. They are presented with a “visible fragility” that renders them more conventionally feminine and thus appealing to men in the audience (McRobbie 79). At times, these women are given the opportunity to avenge their attack (e.g., rape revenge films of the 1970s) and sexual assault is (problematically) used as a justification for women to (temporarily) enact violence on men. This approach is taken in Dr. No (1958) to emphasize the vulnerability of Honeychile Rider, described by Fleming as headstrong, independent, and self-taught. Midway through the novel, Rider relays to Bond that she was raped as a teenager and sought revenge by placing a black widow spider in her attacker’s bed (122–123). Bond is sympathetic and accepts her reasoning for enacting violence while instructing her not to make a habit of killing men. Importantly, when Rider is sexually threatened later on by local men (of color), Bond steps in and protects her. Thus, the backstory of Rider not only provides a “crack” in the veneer of one of the strongest women in the novel series but also opens up space for Bond to save the vulnerable white woman from hostile men of color, subsequently reaffirming one of the oldest themes in white culture: resistance to miscegenation.

In the novels, Bond also develops close friendships with white men who engage in intimate partner violence by inflicting physical, emotional, and/or physiological abuse on their partner/spouse. In From Russia with Love (1957), Kerim Bey claims that “all women … long to be slung over a man’s shoulder and taken into a cave and raped” (140) before describing the “little Bessarabian hell-cat” he “won” in Istanbul: “So I got her to my place and took away all her clothes and kept her chained naked under the table. When I ate, I used to throw scraps to her under the table, like a dog. She had to learn who was master” (141). When his mother tried to return the woman to her home, she refused to leave Bey’s side, and he describes their “encounter” as “an interesting lesson in female psychology” (141–142). A similar backstory is conveyed by Bond’s (future) father-in-law, Marc-Ange Draco, in On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1963). He describes his “relations” with an English governess who had “a subconscious desire to be raped … she found me in the mountains and she was raped—by me. The police were after me for a time. … But for some reason she refused to leave me” (43). This “encounter” resulted in the birth of his daughter, Tracy, whom Bond later marries. In both instances these acts are justified by presenting the victims—whose names and personal experiences are not relayed—remaining with their attackers as to suggest that the violence was ultimately acceptable. Rather than condemning these actions, Bond relays his growing affection for both white men, drawing attention to their increasing kinship that extends to Bond’s treatment of women.

In the novels, many of Bond’s sexual encounters are similarly coded with the language of sexual violence. In Casino Royale (1953), Fleming writes that Bond’s “conquest” of Vesper Lynd’s body “would each time have the sweet tang of rape” (156). In Thunderball (1961), Bond “could almost see the proud, sensual mouth bare away from the even white teeth in a snarl of desire and then, afterwards, soften into a half-pout of loving slavery” (117). In The Spy Who Loved Me (1962), Fleming writes, through the third-person perspective of Vivienne Michel, his narrator, that “All women love semi-rape. They love to be taken. It was his sweet brutality against my bruised body that made his act of love so piercingly wonderful” (139). In On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1963), Bond’s future wife Tracy tells Bond, “Make love to me … Do anything you like. And tell me what you like and what you would like from me. Be rough with me. Treat me like the lowest whore in creation” (31–32). The regular use of violent imagery, often requested by women (and thus “justified”), to describe the sexual encounters of Bond relays problematic messages about gender and power in the novels. As such, it contributes to the sexism and misogyny that define the literary world of Bond.

In his analysis of female characterization in the Bond novels, James Chapman argues that Fleming forwards a troublesome fantasy of men about the sexuality of women that would “leave some readers apoplectic with rage” (14). The Bond novels not only convey the Playboy ethos in their depiction of guilt-free sexual relationships and positioning of women of erotic objects of desire (13) but also trivialize sexual consent by almost negating its existence. By forwarding the idea that all women want to be raped and/or sexually dominated, the novels remove personal agency by claiming that women do not need to consent to sex. Throughout his novels, Fleming projects a fantasy of men’s desire and relays a patriarchal worldview in which the sexual needs of certain (white British) men (through the figure of Bond) take precedence over the objections of women. And it is these novels, with their problematic sexual and gender politics, that serve as the source texts for the James Bond films.

Rape as Backstory and Trope

The Connery-era Bond films (1962–1971) are adaptations of Fleming’s literary series. The novels have not been adapted in order and they range in terms of their fidelity to their literary sources. The inaugural Dr. No (Young 1962) is an adaptation of the sixth novel and introduces the character of Bond as well as other elements that have come to define the cinematic brand, such as the Bond theme composed by Monty Norman. While the film remains faithful to its literary source, a few key elements have been added, effectively shaping the character of Honey Ryder who is considered by many to be the quintessential Bond Girl.

Ryder is best known for her iconic introduction into the film, which emphasizes her beauty and attractiveness; she is framed as an object of desire via the “male gaze” (see Mulvey). Midway through the film, Bond awakens on the beach to the sound of a woman singing “Underneath the Mango Tree.” As noted by Anna Piotrowska, the lyrics confirm the sexual availability of the woman “by positioning her as a prospective bride dreaming of getting married, making ‘boolooloop’ and having children” (175). As I have argued elsewhere, “the arresting image of [a bikini-clad] Ryder not only attracts and holds the attention of Bond but also distracts him from his colonizing mission on the island. When Honey Ryder asks Bond if he is looking for shells on the beach, Bond replies that he is simply interested in “just looking” at her body (“I Know” 467). The film cuts to his point of view, and the audience is encouraged to share his gaze. This moment of scopophilia is replicated when Bond’s helper, Quarrel, runs down the beach to inform him of an incoming ship. He stops and stares at Ryder. Once again, the camera shares a man’s point of view, but Bond interrupts his line of sight by running toward Quarrel/the camera asking, “What’s the matter?,” effectively claiming/controlling the gaze and returning attention to the mission at hand while stopping any potential for miscegenation. From the outset of the film/series, the white Bond Girl is explicitly set up as an object of desire for (the white man) Bond and her body is arguably framed as being “for his eyes only.”

Much like her novel counterpart, Ryder relays her backstory, which provides an explanation as to why she mistrusts all men, including Bond. As she recounts the details of her rape and how she killed her attacker, Ryder is wearing a (dry) white shirt over her bikini, completely covering her body. This helps to focus the attention of Bond (and the audience) on the details of her account rather than on her body. In this scene, which works in opposition to the “male gaze” (or at the very least deflects it), rape is presented as an unacceptable form of sexual violence perpetrated by evil men. Bond appears sympathetic and understanding, and the film positions him as the man who will safeguard Ryder from evil forces; armed with a “license to kil...

Índice

• Cover
• Title
• Copyright
• Contents
• Acknowledgments
• Introduction: The Promise of #MeToo as a Theoretical Lens
• 1. Delightful Duties? Sexual Violence in the Connery-Era James Bond Films (1962–1971)
• 2. Before #MeToo: Maria Schneider and the Cultural Politics of Victimhood
• 3. A Rapist in My Apartment: Class, Rape, and Saturday Night Fever
• 4. Deny the Beast: The Howling (1981) and Rape Culture
• 5. A Woman of Obvious Power: Witchcraft and the Case against Marital Rape in 1980s America
• 6. “The Rapiest Film of the 1980s”: Analog “Revenge Porn,” Raced and Gendered Surveillance, and Revenge of the Nerds
• 7. “Nothing happened to her that she didn’t invite”: Wes Craven, Rape Culture, and the Scream Trilogy
• 8. Survivors in Rape-Revenge Films: Melancholic Vigilantes
• 9. Painting Pain on Her Skin: Vigilante Justice and the Feminist Revenge Heroine in The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
• 10. Taking Consent into Account: American Teen Films amidst #MeToo
• 11. Flipping the Script on Consent: Recentering Young Women’s Sexual Agency in Teen Comedies
• 12. Seeing What Isn’t There: The Invisible Man and #MeToo
• 13. Believable: Feminist Resistance of Rape Culture in Netflix’s Unbelievable
• Contributors
• Index
• Back Cover