Italian American

City Island

admin — Thu, 18 Mar 2010 08:00:00 +0000

The film City Island is no more about City Island of the Bronx than Chinatown is about the Chinatown of Los Angeles. Let me be clear. City Island clangs loudly around in the china shop of classical drama allusions, the acting world, Italian American stereotypes, blue collar romanticism, more than one film homage, the gung-ho desire to leave its audience feeling all is well, what Kenneth Burke considered the role of comedy, and a huge helping of "New York, New York." Unemployment, the erosion of blue collar jobs, and the gentrification of New York’s waterfront communities like Red Hook, Greenpoint, and Hoboken—of which City Island itself could be emblematic—do not appear in this movie.

The juxtaposition of the Manhattan skyline and the "authentic" working class neighborhood evokes cinema history (On the Waterfront, Manhattan), not present-day urban reality. Manhattan remains the dream. Indeed, we get the money shots, and the view from Roosevelt Island is definitely a refreshing change from the Brooklyn Promenade. City Island is more about metaphor than it is the challenged metropolis.

The movie is about Vince Rizzo (played by Andy Garcia, who is a producer of the film) and his secret dream of becoming an actor, which he keeps from his wife and two children. He also has another secret: before his marriage he fathered a son, whose mother he abandoned before the boy was born. In the course of Vince’s job as a corrections officer, he realizes a prisoner, who cannot be paroled because there is no family member to release him to, is his son (Steven Strait). Vince’s acting lessons, which he hides with the excuse that he is playing poker, have convinced his wife (Julianna Margulies) that he is having an affair, particularly since their relationship has degenerated into loud domestic bickering. Misunderstandings, inappropriate pairings, and revelations ensue, with a happier ending than any character or viewer has a right to expect.

Yet, there is grist for the feminist mill in this lighthearted paean one of New York's ethnic enclaves: family über alles, an off-kilter salute to the beauty of big women, and a couple of convenient kick-the-woman-to-the-curb plot contrivances. The secrets and white lies the plot makes much of are all secrets kept from the family by individual members of it, not family secrets kept from all but the most affected member, which are, in my experience, the most troubling ones. The dreams deferred are all individual dreams—college is the big one for both father Vince and adult daughter (Dominik Garcia-Lorido, who is Garcia’s daughter in real life). The capacious family accepts not only the convicted felon love child, but also the teenage son’s fat lady fetish, indulged by the very generous next-door neighbor (Carrie Baker Reynolds), a professional big, beautiful woman with a commercial website. For me this smacked of tokenism to make up for the pole dancing of Rizzo's daughter and the excessive beefcake of Steven Strait's character.

Feminists might cringe at how conveniently the very bad mother myth—“a drunkard and a whore,” says her own son—is used to justify Rizzo’s youthful conduct. I was more disturbed by the dispatch with which the delightful Emily Mortimer was whisked out of the picture, essentially, for putting her own dream ahead of maternal responsibilities. She should be happy for helping the male lead realize his, an outcome that is itself one hundred percent “dollar and a dream” lottery culture.

That said, director-and-writer Raymond De Felitta has crafted an intricate, allusive, and subtle script into a funny, enjoyable movie that most feminists can finish without experiencing too much discomfort.

Written by: Frances Chapman, March 18th 2010

Life Lived in Reverse

admin — Mon, 27 Jul 2009 16:25:00 +0000

By Lucille M. Griswold

Hamilton Books

Who says a woman can’t do anything she puts her mind to? Lucille M. Griswold’s memoir, Life Lived in Reverse, is written proof that dreams are attainable. This small volume is structured so that each chapter resembles a standalone essay. I found myself thinking of them as life lessons. Griswold’s work is a rich history in positive attitude and determination.

When the author entered her seventies, she decided to complete her formal education which she had abandoned at nineteen, when her single mother could no longer afford the tuition. Ms. Griswold became a student at Vermont College and not in the traditional sense: she took courses online. She majored in creative writing and minored in women's studies, both her passions. While photographing working women in all types of professions, she reflected on her life. This led to finishing her studies at Vermont by writing a memoir.

Much of the early narrative allows me a glimpse of a struggling young married couple. With Pearl Harbor only a mere ten years before, Lucille and her husband set out to form a family. The author reminds us that the country as a whole approached life in a much different way than we do now. Planning seemed a luxury. People were more accustomed to life being thrust at them. There was no healthcare insurance, reliable birth control, or fair treatment for women in the workplace. Yet Lucille never surrenders to the temptation to give up, even after her husband is drafted, just out of dental school, and sent to Vietnam to provide dental work for American soldiers and the Vietnamese.

I love the details of Griswold's childhood life as an Italian American in a small town of New Jersey during the forties. And as an adult, the example she sets as a woman encourages and inspires me to never give up on my dreams. Life Lived in Reverse is the perfect title for a memoir of this woman’s life. Griswold reminds me that my story continues to be written, to thrive, and evolve, and that age should never be a legitimate factor when stepping out of one’s box. It is up to me as a woman to embrace this evolution, seek out the details, and make the most of all the doors that open.

Griswold puts a capital ‘F’ in feminism, even if that was not her intention. This book gives a lesson in empowerment.

Written by: Ann Hite, July 27th 2009

Old World Daughter, New World Mother

admin — Sat, 18 Jul 2009 09:28:00 +0000

By Maria Laurino

WW Norton

Taking us from her childhood to the present, Maria Laurino explores what it’s like to be an Italian American woman through the lens of identity, feminism, ethnicity, motherhood, pregnancy, and economics in Old World Daughter, New World Mother_. Laurino unveils the restrictions she faced as a feminist daughter, as well as all that a traditionally Italian upbringing entails. We learn of her severely over-protective mother who gets up at dawn to make the day’s meals, how this mamma’s_ actions and attitudes have rippled across the pond of Laurino’s life, and why this mamma did not serve as a role model for her daughter because she remained stuck within an ever “motherly” and self-effacingly sacrificial role.

This theme of sacrificial motherhood is ubiquitous in the book, and Laurino later ties it in to her deep analysis of feminism and motherhood in America today. In a way, Laurino’s story is epic because it is both personal and boundless. At least part of her story—her thoughts and feelings about life lived through the stark lens of feminism—will resonate with most readers. While Laurino is fond of details her humanity broadens their reach, which is precisely what makes this book so touching, graceful, and important.

Laurino shares the connections that she forms with herself and everyone around her, even when they’re not reciprocated. There is enough intimate divulgence to let us perceive our narrator’s sensitivity in the face of a callous world, and we see strength inhabit Laurino as she surpasses obstacles to evolve into the writer who lived to tell the tale. As I read, I truly marveled at the uninhibited candor and courage stemming from this person who is, in the end, so much like each of us.

This book deals largely with “reconstructive feminism” or “family humanism.” Laurino explores ways in which feminism can approach class and economic equality, mitigate the difficulties of working-class parents (women in particular), and deconstruct the myth of independence anchored in American culture that leads mothers to make false choices about their careers. When she interviews Nidia, a working-class mother who lacked the opportunity to get to know her children because she had to work (with no benefits, minimal vacation time, and no flexibility to even use an office phone to call home and check that her children had gotten home safely from school) an embarrassed Laurino if Nidia is a feminist or supports the movement: “’Let me see,’ [Nidia] replied with a sly smile, ‘is that when women fought for the right to employment?’”

Essentially, Laurino believes it imperative that the “two strands of the women’s movement—one that sought to protect women’s interests as wives and mothers, the other that fought for universal human rights—converge once again.” She affirms there need not be contradiction in a “feminist motherhood agenda,” which would serve us all—mothers and otherwise—supremely well. Laurino introduces ideas for legislation to guide us in moving forward that utilizes cultural perspectives inspired by her Italian upbringing. She also suggests actions we can take right now.

Appropriately, this book has reminded me that we are all linked together. We all matter because we are all riding the same wave of life, as Laurino likes to say, and injustice against one will duly impact everyone riding it—and so will compassion. This is a memoir that cruises through politics, ethnicity, motherhood, and identity politics while pulling the reader back into the palpability of these encompassing themes.

Old World Daughter, New World Mother is an important and potentially paradigm-shattering book with a lot to offer feminists, especially to those privileged enough to get their hands on it. As Laurino walks us through her deconstruction of myths, prejudices, and familial ingrained ideas, her concepts breathe a tender and brave vitality onto us, and stretches our minds to blur misconceptions about motherhood, ethnicity, class, the economy, and feminism itself.

This book is nourishment. Don’t miss it.

Written by: Natalia Real, July 18th 2009