Chella Quint

Vag Magazine

mandy — Sat, 16 Apr 2011 10:00:00 +0000

I didn’t think it was even figuratively possible to shoot yourself in the foot while disappearing up your own behind, but the characters in Vag Magazine have proven otherwise. This eerily well-observed sketch show from the women of the Upright Citizens Brigade is watchable and rewatchable by third wave feminists and those who love them—or who love to laugh at them—especially since every episode is available on the web.

The six-episode, internet-based series of shorts shows what happens when a trendy, glossy women's magazine is taken over by a group of hardcore third wave feminists who revamp it by firing all but one staff person then change its name to Vag Magazine. The newly minted mag is a hipster-heavy haven of hypocritical hilarity that describes itself as such: "Not your grandma's feminist magazine, though we support her as a woman."

I have to admit that, as the editor of a comedic zine about menstruation, I was terrified Vag Magazine would have me crying instead of cracking up. And I'm relieved to report that the show is really very funny. The humor is devised from improvisation at its finest. The overall concept covered all my pet peeves about feminism, an ideology to which I subscribe, despite the kind of annoying behaviour on display in Vag Magazine. I offer the following dialogue as evidence.

Hierarchical Hypocrisy: "We don’t believe in hierarchies, but we also don’t have time to get our own coffee."

Capitalist Conundrum: "I feel like the idea of advertisers is really un-feminist." Swiftly followed by, "It's just that we need advertising dollars if we’re gonna be able to tell women what to do."

The biting observations are dead-on, down to the last detail: roller derby, cloth maxipads, ironic bunting. The writers leave no handmade, vegan, Zapatista-solidarity stone unturned. You’ve gotta be in that scene, or very near to it, to be able to poke so much fun in such glorious detail, and to my satisfied delight.

How did these awesome comedians have time to spy on self-righteous feminists and put together an outstanding sketch comedy show? Perhaps a future season of Vag Magazine will tell us.

Written by: Chella Quint, April 16th 2011

A Chanukah Noel: A True Story

annette — Tue, 21 Dec 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Sharon Jennings

Second Story Press

A Chanukah Noel is a welcome addition to the limited but much-needed canon of interfaith children’s books, and it has the particular additional benefit of being entirely secular. This combination of qualities already sets it apart from most Christmas picture books. The story is about a young Jewish girl named Charlotte who moves to rural France and struggles to fit in. She is held back several grades until she learns French, she’s called ‘the foreigner’ by a classmate, she’s afraid she’ll be left out of the Christmas grab bag gift swap, and her parents tell her she has to study French while everyone else is enjoying their Christmas vacation. She finds Chanukah a poor substitute for what she sees going on around her–decorations, lights, a traditional travelling Christmas market, shops full of gifts and rich foods. It’s not entirely altruism-driven when she hits upon a great way to support a poorer classmate who celebrates, but can’t afford all the trappings. She convinces her parents to let her experience Christmas by proxy: they do all the usual holiday preparations and then donate the food, gifts and decorations to her classmate’s family.

The protagonist is flawed, but in touch with her emotions. Parents of children in Charlotte’s position will find this story valuable for modelling emotional literacy. Envy is named and owned, distinctions are made between religious and national customs, and the word miracle, which is nearly always used in religious Christmas and Chanukah stories, is applied very specifically to human generosity in this one.

It’s a very matter-of-fact take on a real experience of a child whose family doesn’t celebrate Christmas, and it acknowledges the benefits of sharing cultural traditions. The portrayal of class is glossed over more than some may like–a very brief conversation, where Charlotte insists that the family who receives the Christmas goose and decorations would be doing her a favour–sums up the exchange in a way that makes sense from the point of view of the young main character, and may oversimplify the complex hierarchy of charitable giving, but an event at the end of the story equalizes the exchange. This is a true story, and I appreciated it in the sense that it was a snippet of a real event retold to the author and illustrator. From that perspective, it stands alone well. However, after the story ended, I wanted to know more: why did they have to move to France? Was it during the war? A little more recently? Did it take Charlotte a long time to learn French? Unfortunately, these questions aren’t answered, but the rich honesty of the story–despite its deceptively simple narrative–makes me want to hear from this author and illustrator again.

Speaking of the illustrations, the expressiveness in each picture combined with the slightly muted color palate gives the impression of old film footage. The Christmas market actually looked just like the local ones that visit Yorkshire every year, to my surprise and delight. People, landscapes and kitchen utensils are afforded the same attention to detail and fit well with the story.

Half my family is Jewish and the other half is Catholic, and we do a bit of both holidays every December. I missed out on secular interfaith holiday books as a kid, and really appreciated this story personally. More, please.

Written by: Chella Quint, December 21st 2010

Laughed 'Til He Died: A Death On Demand Mystery

barbara — Mon, 11 Oct 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Carolyn Hart

Harper Collins

I do like a good mystery, though I normally tend to go for either an author I know, a series I know, or a “world” I know. Since the author and locale of Laughed ‘Til He Died were both completely new to me, the fact that this book held my interest, and had me doing some late-night page-turning to see how it all turned out, speaks well for it.

A South Carolinian island is the location for this latest installment in the Death Walked In series. It’s a sleepy town where everyone knows everyone else. Unlike Cabot Cove, Jessica Fletcher’s TV domain, however, the mystery writer who pops up to help out now and again in this book has a minor role, playing fourth or fifth fiddle to a likable amateur crime-solving couple and the town police. In Laughed ‘Til He Died, the plot focuses on a community center, a philandering bigwig, and half a book’s worth of potential suspects. Characters were slow to stick in my head, and were introduced more quickly than I normally like, but by the end of the book they were well fleshed out and memorable, all of them making consistent, believable choices.

A couple of characters jumped in and out of the story a bit haphazardly for me, but I could tell they’d been established in previous books in the series, though Hart neatly avoids that tired old identical exposition chapter at the start of nearly every other book series.

Slightly jarring choice: there were titles of other mysteries name-dropped throughout the book. I know this series is set in a mystery bookshop, but I felt like... the only way I can describe it is that I felt like the author was evangelizing. It didn’t sit well with me, and I’m a devout Agatha Christie fan.

Otherwise, though, this is a well-crafted addition to the genre.

Written by: Chella Quint, October 10th 2010

We Have To Stop Now

barbara — Sun, 10 Oct 2010 00:00:00 +0000

Directed by Robyn Dettman

Dynakit Productions

We Have To Stop Now is freakin’ hilarious, excruciating, and perfect. You have to watch it. Convention dictates that I now tell you why.

It all started in 1994 when I watched the Out There Comedy Special on Comedy Central while I was in college. Suzanne Westenhoefer had a ten minute stand up set on that one-off queer comedy show, and I was hooked. So when I saw her name on this blog’s list of review items, followed by the words “lesbian” and “comedy tv series,” I requested that I be the one to review it. I was Lady Request, the Grand Duchess of Request Land, in the country of Requestshire. It soon arrived in the mail and I decided to watch it in bed one Saturday morning with my lovely wife Sarah. She asked, “What’s it about?” and I didn’t know. I told her about seeing “Suzanne Westenhoefer” and “lesbian comedy tv series” and the requesting, and said that was as far as I’d gotten. So I grabbed the leaflet that came with the DVD, and realised it was about a lesbian couple who are both psychotherapists, who are splitting up in couples therapy after a very long relationship, with the added complication that they’ve just written a bestselling relationship manual together. Delightful breakfast viewing, I assured her, and pressed play.

Despite the excruciating premise, this show is hysterical. Cathy DeBuono, who’s new to us but whom we gather is very well known to our fellow lesbians across the Atlantic (particularly for a couple of films she’s produced and starred in that are getting rave reviews, that we also now plan to check out), commands the small screen with some serious intensity. Jill Bennett plays her highly-strung and emotionally hyper-literate partner with the comic foil stylings needed to balance things out. The couple could be any couple, queer or not, therapists or not. Their quirks, foibles, habits, and anxieties were heightened enough to reassure us we had nothing to worry about, but had that grain of truth that made us recognise ourselves and the kinds of things we argue about as well. Suzanne Westenhoefer plays their wonderfully incredulous therapist. During their sessions, her facial expressions alone should have had her running to supervision—the acting in the silences is some of the best I’ve seen on screen from all three main performers (on a par with hit British series The Royle Family—our gift to you). The fourth character is a mooching stoner sister-in-law of doom who never shuts up, so I can’t assess Ann Noble’s ability in this area. But I can certainly vouch for her writing skills—she wrote the whole thing and it’s absolutely brilliant.

There’s a lot of stuff going on, despite the series being so brief (only six episodes in season one). There are many surreal tangents, creative stretchings of coincidence and reality (there ought to be be an entropy meter in the corner of the screen) and a real life deus ex machina or two.

I’m a pay-per-view web series virgin, but, like my early forays into sexuality, I’m curious enough to try it. Twenty-four dollars sounds like a lot for the privilege of watching one show (although the second series has sixteen episodes), but it’s cheaper than a monthly cable subscription, so you might want to consider it. If you’d rather delay your gratification, you can buy each season on DVD after it’s finished airing.

You should definitely do one or the other though, or you’re missing out. It’s beautifully produced, very funny, scathingly well written and observed, and I highly recommend it.

Written by: Chella Quint, October 9th 2010

Signed, Abiah Rose

barbara — Sat, 09 Oct 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Diane Browning

Tricycle Press

I love picture books and have particular respect for anyone who can both write and illustrate them engagingly. Artist and illustrator Diane Browning has done exactly that. Signed, Abiah Rose chronicles, in a confident first person narrative, a young woman’s determination to become a professional artist despite the conventions and taboos of her time.

Everyone in her family has a special talent, but when Abiah Rose tries to develop her artistic ability, she is discouraged. Her parents first try to keep her from painting at all, but she perseveres. They next advise her not to paint for others, and then nearly forbid her to work as a travelling portrait artist. Although she finally achieves all of these goals, she poignantly signs her work with a small rose instead of with her name, because she is repeatedly told that buyers will only value paintings by men. The end of the story finds her preparing to ask her father’s permission to work in her uncle’s shop in town, where she plans to create and sell her paintings full time.

The artwork is colourful, in keeping with eighteenth century folk art, and supports the clear narrative. I couldn’t get over the title character’s facial expressions on each page; pride, determination, even impishness are conveyed with only a few coloured pencil strokes and some acrylic paint. There is great attention to detail: beautiful end papers covered with a repeating blue-on-blue rose and leaf pattern pick up the recurring theme.

I would read this book with children aged five and up, and take the opportunity to look for the rose hidden in each painting (as we’re invited to do on the back page). Inevitable questions like, “Why couldn’t she sign her name?” could instigate a real dialogue on any ability level about rights women have had to gain. Older children could read this on their own and make deeper inferences about the social hierarchies of the time. Any child, however, will easily relate to the frustration of being told, “no."

Some of the language toward the end of the book may need rephrasing for younger readers or listeners, but Browning gives a good overall flavour of the formal speech of the time period. It’s a nice introduction to historical fiction: young children who like this book may go on to appreciate the determined first-person heroines in children’s and young adult books by Ann Rinaldi, for example.

The book’s educational value is wide-ranging. As well as the obvious "teachable moments" the book provides, there is also a glossary of old-fashioned vocabulary at the front, and a page with more information and references for further reading at the back. This book could also provide stimulus for an elementary school cross-curricular art and history project.

Feminist? Yes, with an adult pointing out some of the more subtle aspects of the didactic nature of the story to younger children. Abiah Rose does not overtly defy the restrictions of the time, although she does question them. There are a lot of “no you can’ts" and the ending is intentionally ambiguous. I think it would be important to draw out some of the reasons for this and discuss it further, but overall I believe that Signed, Abiah Rose is a worthwhile addition to a home or school library.

Written by: Chella Quint, October 8th 2010

Timer

admin — Wed, 18 Aug 2010 09:00:00 +0000

Directed by Jac Schaeffer

Capewatch Pictures

I love a romantic comedy. Throw in some magic realism–even better. Jac Schaeffer's Timer ticks both of those boxes, but, unfortunately for a film that explores people’s fears about missed opportunities, this film missed a few opportunities itself, and lost me as a fan in the process. (It bills itself as sci-fi but I say magic realism–there is new technology, but it’s never fully explained. I call that magic. More on this later, though.)

The concept is great: a company has created a wrist implant that counts down to the moment you will meet your soul mate–but only if that person has also bought an implant from the company. Obviously, this service is incredibly popular, leading to new phenomena in the dating world: some desperate types insisting every new person they date gets a timer implanted to make sure they’re "the one," others only dating those with timers in the first place, last-hurrah flings as the timer counts down its final days, and even technophobic hold-outs who don’t trust this newfangled stuff (with parallels to social networking). The consequences of having the timers could have been explored further though. Things were briefly touched upon-class issues, young love, bigger questions about fate and chance. The ideas all had loads of potential, but as I watched, I kept feeling like Schaeffer tried to go too far down each road, without taking the opportunity to wrap up every angle.

Because of all of the above, including my desire for more closure, I really wanted to like this film, and came very close to liking it. A few other things rankled, though. This may seem petty, but it struck a nerve with me: One of the opening shots of the film was of the logo of the company that created the timers–the silhouettes of a man and a woman, yet we briefly see later in the film that the company caters to couples of all sexualities. I don’t generally care what sexualities the main characters of a romantic comedy are, but it wouldn’t have taken much more effort to come up with a logo that was slightly less heteronormative. I mean, surely it would have been better advertising for the company itself within the confines of the film. Which brings me back to the world of the film. It was quite shallow–poke at it too hard and it was clear that there were a lot of unanswered questions: How did the technology work? How did the implants work? Why hadn’t anyone tried to hack the system? What if people’s bodies rejected the devices? Were they only available to wealthy westerners? Again, what made for a less than satisfying film could yet pave the way for a great series.

When it comes to the Bechdel Test, this film almost succeeds, but focuses just too hard on the guy-chasing and glosses over the other aspects of the relationship between the two main characters. Timer’s website purports to put across the message that you can escape your fate, but the message I got was these women needed to define themselves through their romantic relationships.

Great concept, but ultimately I was dissatisfied.

Written by: Chella Quint, August 18th 2010

If You Like It Then You Should Be Able to Put A Ring On It

admin — Sat, 26 Jun 2010 16:01:00 +0000

Directed by Cara Holmes, Ciara Kennedy

Adorable, DIY-style animation and quirky music start off this excellent and important film about marriage equality in Ireland. Cara Holmes and Ciara Kennedy cut and paste stories, images, protests, and facts into a clever, witty, and purposeful narrative.

Voice-overs and interviews are illustrated and screened, intercut or overlaid upon footage from rallies, photo montages, and title cards (which have a very on-trend hand-drawn look). These touches make the film more accessible and adhere to the filmmakers’ established aesthetic. I really respect the directors’ decision to use this style–it actually underscores the gravity of the issue. It’s a very watchable, warm, and likeable documentary, and will have wide appeal.

Full disclosure: I met Cara when we were both booked at Ladyfest Berlin a few years ago, and her band wrote a song about my zine. A couple of years after that, we were both on the bill at Ladyfest Cork, which became the hen do before my UK civil partnership with my wife Sarah. Sarah and I actually staged a mock wedding as part of our comedy show at the festival, using vows rewritten to address the illegality of our marriage in Ireland. We met with MarriagEquality, who were tabling at Ladyfest, and took badges back for our friends to wear while preparing for our ceremony in the UK. We knew some bills were being proposed, and things were looking pretty good in Ireland at the time–like this issue was moving ahead.

When I saw If You Like It Then You Should Be Able To Put A Ring On It mentioned on a friend’s Facebook page, I immediately recognised Cara’s name and followed the link to the film. I felt really frustrated as I began watching; Ireland seems to have come no closer to legal and financial equality for queer couples who wish to marry.

Here’s a quote from one of the on-screen title sequences early on in the film:

In 2005, it was argued before the High Court that Katherine and Ann Louise had a constitutional right to equality: a right to marry, property rights, and family rights. They also argued that the failure to recognise their marriage breached their rights under the European Convention on Human Rights. To date their marriage is still not recognised. On Feb 23, 2007 the case was appealed to the Supreme Court. There is no known timeframe for the Supreme Court hearing.

If You Like It... goes on to introduce couples who’ve married elsewhere, shows footage from protests and rallies (including some awesome placards!), interviews representatives from several marriage rights organisations, and manages the difficult task of presenting different viewpoints (civil partnership as a stepping stone to full equality vs. ‘separate but equal’ compromise) toward a common purpose remarkably well. It also puts the campaign into the larger context of queer rights around the world generally, and provides links in the credits to the organisations and artists who contributed to the film.

The pace of the film is quite inspiring–it builds to a climax that offers hope to the queer community, and should galvanise new allies into action. In the end, I was heartened by both the message and its style of delivery.

The case mentioned above is still pending, and a civil partnership bill is working its way through the Irish government, but it’s a slow process. Major props to Holmes and Kennedy for helping speed things along with this outstanding short film.

Written by: Chella Quint, June 26th 2010

Bye Bi Love

admin — Tue, 22 Jun 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Directed by Giovanna Chesler

Bye Bi Love is a short film about a woman named Vera who receives a wedding invitation from her ex, and has a decision to make. Ticking this box is answering the most loaded question ever, and the reasons for this become clear as Vera’s story unfolds in a series of flashbacks depicting scenes with her current and former partners, all in the same apartment.

Stylistically, it’s a rondo, which is really nice to see executed on film so sophisticatedly. It’s easier and more expected in classic stage drama, but whoop, there it is in 2010, which makes a linear story more cyclical, and shakes up the viewer with suspense and familiarity at the same time. I didn’t even think suspense was possible outside of a Hitchcock thriller, but director Giovanna Chesler repurposes both of these storytelling tools in a more naturalistic narrative, and nails it.

Lots of queer people of colour are represented here, positively or incidentally (points scored for both). Attitudes to commitment, marriage, and breakups bear the brunt of the bitterness, and, although the word "bi" is in the title of the film, there are no specific jibes about or plaudits for bisexuality, and there are hints of parents approving of their children’s same-sex relationships. The apartment is as much a character as the characters are, and it reflects the style of the film itself: minimalist. Every person and prop has a reason for being there, and the film is as well crafted as the stylish setting.

It looked great, and felt pretty good too. Watching it was like mainlining gossip without the guilt: I cringed at Vera’s situation (no “plus one” on the wedding invitation you send your ex? Damn!) while she remained none the wiser. But I was distressed to realize I couldn’t comfort the characters either. They weren’t real—they were over there on the screen doing uncanny impersonations of my friends, and in some ways, me. The ending was completely and utterly satisfying.

Find it. Watch it. And look out for Giovanna Chesler’s next big thing, because it’s gonna be awesome.

Written by: Chella Quint, June 22nd 2010

See What I'm Saying: The Deaf Entertainers Documentary

admin — Thu, 17 Jun 2010 16:01:00 +0000

Directed by Hilari Scarl

Worldplay

See What I'm Saying is an irreverent yet important introduction between Deaf performers and a mainstream hearing audience. The film, which is open captioned, follows a year in the lives of four performers who make up a cross-section of the Deaf community in terms of art form, race, gender, and sexuality. One performer identifies as hard of hearing rather than deaf, but wishes to be accepted as a part of Deaf culture.

Before I go on, a few definitions:

Deaf Culture: Deaf with a capital “D” means a specific reference to the largely American Sign Language (ASL) using community, and the media, theatre, comedy, music, history, and other aspects of any culture transmitted through language. Deaf with a lowercase “d” means the generic description for someone who can’t hear, whether they are a part of the Deaf community or not. The film goes a long way toward making this clearer, as well as succinctly demonstrating various different ways of communicating using speech and sign.

Open Captions: See What I'm Saying has the captions burned into the film itself, and there is no way to turn them off. Every print of the film in every cinema is captioned. The captions also include descriptions of incidental sounds and music, but are otherwise like watching a subtitled foreign film. This is a huge deal for a film on release at major cinemas. The film is also voice-interpreted where necessary, so there is a continuous signed, spoken, and captioned narrative.

Now, back to the review. The four performers featured are really engaging people. Bob Hilterman is an old school rocker who, Blues Brothers style, decides to get his former band back together for one last show. Everyone in the band is Deaf and all the guys are really funny, as is their repartee when they finally get together and start rehearsing again.

CJ Jones is a comedian with a level of success on the scale of, perhaps, Robin Williams, going by reactions of his fans when they spot him at Deaf events. His humour is a mix of storytelling, improvisation and observation, and he’s a comic actor as well. The film follows his well-deserved but not always fruitful attempts to break into mainstream comedy and television.

Robert DeMayo is an admirably centered person who can talk about his difficult past with honesty and understanding for people who’ve let him down. He’s an amazingly gifted storyteller and comic mime artist, and it’s a shame there wasn’t time to feature more of his work in the film. I could watch his stuff all day.

TL Forsberg is the youngest performer, the only woman, and also the only artist whose journey specifically relates to being accepted by the Deaf community, while the others are followed trying to achieve success with hearing audiences. This juxtaposition adds further depth to the audience’s understanding of the difficulties of "crossing over." In fact, any minority artist or from any underground art form could relate to the difficulties portrayed in See What I'm Saying.

Hilari Scarl, a hearing performer and director who worked as a voicing actor with the National Theatre of the Deaf (NTD), decided to make the film after noticing that once the tour was finished, she was getting work and her deaf colleagues just... weren’t. Scarl became passionate about this issue and used her considerable skills as a producer to make this happen. She does not come across as an outsider but, to this hearing reviewer in any case, as part of the scene. Her drive as a filmmaker was evident when I spoke to her, and she had a dedicated team of performers, promoters, volunteers and friends, as well as the financial backing of a few major corporations. It is her hope that these and other Deaf performers will receive the attention they clearly deserve.

Written by: Chella Quint, June 17th 2010

Sapphistries: A Global History of Love Between Women

admin — Sun, 21 Mar 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Leila J. Rupp

New York University Press

Sapphistries is an epic journey through real and fictional love between women. It is so epic that the author, Leila J. Rupp, had to coin a new term to describe this type of book. It is not just a history; it is an interweaving of prehistoric musings, fictional accounts that draw on suppositions of what it must have been like in times when no evidence was left of when and where these kinds of love was forbidden, right up to the modern day. I say these kinds of love because Rupp has effortfully but effectively convinced me that I need to know about the whole she-bang. It’s not easy to keep track of lesbians throughout history when people didn’t self-identify as such.

This book takes in the whole gamut of potential interpretations of women-loving-women: social males, women who live as men but retained their female identity, third and fourth gender identities, women passing as men, two spirits, secret weddings, school girls having accepted but secret relationships as a cultural yet unofficial rite of passage in various modern cultures... as a run-of-the-mill modern lesbian, I was a little overwhelmed. This varied interpretation of ‘Sapphistries’ is extremely broad, and definitely widened my perspective on what I think the author would like me to consider a part of my culture.

Primary and secondary source material across the span of human history is combined with fictional accounts throughout the book. I personally found the interweaving of fictional accounts and historical details a little too seamless at first. I had to flip back and forth a few times mid-tale to remind myself which was which, but I eventually got the hang of it and had a much better contextualized grasp of what I was reading. I thoroughly enjoyed the re-tellings and re-imaginings of ancient women-loving-women. With Rupp's first-person interjections and a storytelling tone, the book reads like a long and enjoyable university lecture delivered by a witty, warm, and knowledgeable teacher.

I would recommend this book for women’s studies, literature, queer theory, or history syllabuses. I even suspect it would make for an excellent module on its own, with some supplementary reading thrown in. It’s no coffee table book—this is some serious reading and I personally would want a sherpa to guide me through it the next time I read it.

Sapphistries is particularly invaluable for queer theory because of the vastly broad picture it presents of the grand scope of women who love women—regardless of whether they identify as queer or not. This book opened my eyes to the many positive and negative perceptions and lifestyle choices of those who were a part of ‘Sapphistry’ in the past, and I look forward to seeing how it informs future study and thought.

Written by: Chella Quint, March 21st 2010

When Everything Changed: The Amazing Journey of American Women from 1960 to the Present

admin — Thu, 18 Feb 2010 01:00:00 +0000

By Gail Collins

Little Brown and Company

Oh, Gail Collins, you had me at New York Times columnist. Maybe it’s because I’ve lived away from New York for so long now and have to read it online most of the year, but holding printed and bound words from a witty Times writer in a book that I can dip into for a few minutes, or a hour, whenever I like is brainy self-indulgence that I can say yes to.

My mother grew up in the ‘50s and ‘60s, and I’ve always had a thing for vintage and retro pop culture. If this is you, too, you’ll quickly find yourself on board as well, Times fetish or no. The ‘New Yorkness’ of Collins’ writing style is so readable that the broad range of subjects covered in its 405 pages are cohesive and coherent. As for the title of the book, it had me thinking immediately—I had a mini-epiphany before even cracking the cover—of course, then it all changed.

When Everything Changed contains facts I should have known, such as the shock-value of women wearing trousers, archaic divorce laws with state-by-state variations that virtually trapped women in marriage, and the ‘speed-dating’ approach many women took to college in the '60s, using higher learning as a way to find a husband. The chronicles pivotal moments in our recent feminist history—from things that seem simple, like adhesive maxi pads, to nation-altering events, like the Equal Rights Amendment.

Readers of all ages will enjoy finding their decade in the chronology. The conclusions Collins draws about each era are deft, trustworthy and cogent. It is interesting to see Collins assert that that we are a part of living history, and that these changes, while feeling slow, have been swift in the grand scheme of things. This book is hard to stop reading even if you meant to leave some for later. It flows so well and is written in such a conversational style that I found it easy to carry on for a few more chapters.

The picture section seemed unnecessary to me. I wanted big, iconic illustrations throughout, or none at all, but that’s a small criticism for a largely excellent read. This book is a primer, of sorts, but I felt that the way the images were presented was more cursory than inspiring. The words alone are enough to encourage readers to find out more. Should gender studies, or women’s history be offered as a high school module or elective, I’d recommend this book, or extracts from it as an introductory text.

Based on my enjoyment of When Everything Changed, I’m also interested in tracking down Collins’ precursor to this book: America's Women: 400 Years of Dolls, Drudges, Helpmates, and Heroines. This is a more mainstream feminist text than I’ve read in a while, and I was almost put off by the schmaltzy tone of the book jacket, which I interpreted as lauding Hilary Clinton’s presidential campaign as a symbol for the be all and end all of women’s equality. This tone continues in the final chapter itself, which I found to be a dissatisfying gloss over of the achievements of all American women, rather than just the privileged few in mainstream politics. Moreover, the stylistically vague 'gloss' of American women can be interpreted as a very real slight, considering the minimal representation of women not from the U.S.

Most interesting to me is the epilogue section. While some of it is depressing, the fates of some of the figures mentioned in the book are quite uplifting. There’s even a witty bit about Barbie dolls. Overall, the book is enjoyable and informative. It serves as an inspiring reminder of not only when it all changed, but how it all changed.

Written by: Chella Quint, February 17th 2010

Off and Running

admin — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 01:00:00 +0000

Directed by Nicole Opper

First Run Features

Off and Running is a very non-traditional coming-of-age story told in a way that deftly conveys one young woman’s unique situation as well as more universal themes. Filmmaker Nicole Opper was afforded intimate access to her subjects, which enabled her to invite the viewer to take a sensitive and warm perspective as the events unfold.

The film’s central subject, a high school track star named Avery Klein-Cloud, is honest and likable. Her story, though specifically about interracial and intercultural adoption, asks questions that many young adults often don’t dare ask aloud. Avery introduces us to her family of white Jewish lesbian mothers and adopted brothers from multi-racial backgrounds during the Jewish festival of Chanukah. At the start of the film, she speaks very matter-of-factly about her decision to attempt to contact her birth mother during her junior year of high school. The significance of this year will be clear to those who have attended school in the U.S.—this is the year that standardized tests and sports results can affect college choices and scholarship options— not a year to be taken lightly. Avery begins to feel the strain, yet perseveres in her quest to find out more about her biological family and reconcile this aspect of her identity with her, at first, seemingly incongruous upbringing.

Along the way, we get to know her adoptive mothers and adopted siblings who all share a similar ‘tell it like it is’ vibe when speaking about serious issues with warmth and humour. Avery meets her old friends from her Jewish elementary school in scenes that further contextualise her upbringing. Filmed chats with another adopted young woman of colour raised by Jewish parents are natural and open—inviting the viewer in and allowing us to experience something we might never have seen otherwise. We also see Avery training for and competing in track meets supported by her long-term boyfriend, and getting to know African American culture with a group of high school friends. She is truly a professional and takes her sport seriously.

What makes this story all the more poignant is that her desire for more contact with her birth mother thwarts her progress in athletics and is detrimental to her relationships within her family. Although there are unexpected developments in this story, Opper maintains a strong, real narrative that shows a complete picture of the desires and feelings on all sides in this family. Opper’s choice to conclude the story the following autumn during the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah is culturally and narratively satisfying.

I found myself empathizing with everyone, which is a testament to the director’s craft. Each of Avery’s brothers shares opinions about her quest, and though one brother is a Princeton freshman and the other is a second-grader, Opper affords them equal screen time in well-framed sequences. Avery’s mothers receive the same fair treatment, and disagreements on screen never feel voyeuristic or melodramatic. There are many television shows aiming for this level of intimacy and family drama. All pale in comparison to Off and Running. Opper has done a great service to this genre, allowing me to reinvest in it as an audience member.

The film looks good as well—kudos to director of photography Jacob Akira Okada and editor Cheree Dillon. Thankfully, there is no voice-over narration, or even excessive exposition: occasional captions show the passage of time. A sympathetic and unobtrusive soundtrack by Daniel Bernard Roumain gives the film even greater depth. Home movie footage and a few still photos provided by this very honest and dignified family round out the story visually.

Feminist? Yes. This is a true story about a young, Jewish, African-American woman who knows her own mind, stands by her decisions, and learns from her mistakes. Unusually, but very successfully, Avery Klein-Cloud co-wrote the film and has actively supported the production process. I’m sure others who see this original documentary will join me in routing for Avery’s and the film’s continued success.

Written by: Chella Quint, February 16th 2010

Vegan Cookies Invade Your Cookie Jar: 100 Dairy-Free Recipes for Everyone's Favorite Treats

admin — Thu, 21 Jan 2010 17:01:00 +0000

By Isa Chandra Moskowitz, Terry Hope Romero

Da Capo Press

Vegan Cookies Invade Your Cookie Jar is a tasty new book by Isa Chandra Moskowitz and Terry Hope Romero. It looks so good I’m tempted to eat it, Cookie Monster-style, but then I wouldn’t be able to follow the recipes. I felt the same way about the authors’ earlier book, Vegan Cupcakes Take Over the World when we received it as a wedding present. I was pretty sure their cookies would be as amazingly delicious as their cupcakes had been, and I was right.

Now, a short side note here, for transparency: As far as my cooking expertise goes, I can make salad, and I can make sandwiches. (I’m particularly good at slicing sandwiches into triangles.) Whenever I try anything more complex, I tend to either get carried away with details (gingerbread mansion of December 2003 rings a bell) or simply wander away and let pots boil over or toasters go up in flames. (Yes, I consider making toast cooking...) So when it came time to try out these cookie recipes, I asked my wife Sarah Thomasin, baker to the stars (well, the stars of the zine-writing, Ladyfest gigging, performance poet scene, anyway) to do the honors.

This book has a great introductory chapter that even I understood, with basics like the difference between regular and all-purpose flour (which I’d always wondered about) plus more specific stuff (like the tools they use to make those cool star-shaped cookies at the bakery). A list of vegan ingredients and where to find them is helpful, and there’s a handy food substitutions section for people who haven’t got the time, money, or inclination to get the specialty stuff. The recipes themselves are very clearly explained and illustrated in full color with what I can only call… cookie porn.

Feminist? Much mainstream media urges women to be skinny at any cost, so it’s pleasing to see a book on the shelves that role-models cooking and eating for pleasure (albeit sensibly, with healthy options throughout the book, and warnings about hydrogenated oils and trans-fats).

Now, to the cookies. Sarah jumped right in to the Fancy Cookies section at the back, and made Peanut Butter Chocolate Pillows. Her version didn’t look like the cute, fluffy Cinderella’s-glass-slipper style cushion in the book, but wow did they taste like a fairytale with a chocolate outer layer and a mouthful of melted, sweetened peanut butter inside. While visiting New York for the holidays, we took the cookies to my sister’s boyfriend’s house on Christmas Eve, and another batch to my cousins’ for Christmas Day. For the uninitiated, New York Italian Christmas dessert spreads are heart-stoppingly indulgent, and these friends and relatives were, um, not vegan, so this is major deep-end road-testing here. The verdict? Awesome and fought-over by hardcore carnivores who held them on a par with the coveted home-made struffoli.

One success behind us, we tried an easier recipe: Mexican Chocolate Snickerdoodles. (Okay, we’ll admit it—we wanted to make these because the word snickerdoodle sounded like a silly innuendo.) The cookies were fantastic, and they looked exactly like the ones in the picture on Moskowitz’s and Romero’s website and in their book. They were easy to make and included the palate-friendly contrasting flavors of chocolate and chilli. We took some as holiday gifts later on in our trip, and, again, our non-vegan friends were shocked there weren’t any animals in there. Even a friend's older brother, a former marine-turned-butcher, has been turned onto these vegan delights.

So the taste tests were deemed a success. We can’t wait to try Moskowitz’s and Romero’s other recipes, like their take on the traditional NYC Black and White Cookies and the Ooh La Las (vegan sandwich cookies). I’m not vegan, but I don’t eat milk products, so this book is excellent for me. The cookies were much better than store-bought vegan cookies, and tasted better, too. I totally recommend it.

Written by: Chella Quint, January 21st 2010

Travel Queeries

admin — Sat, 05 Dec 2009 08:07:00 +0000

Directed by Elliat Graney-Saucke

Three Dollar Bill Cinema

I perform a comedy show with my partner at Ladyfest Berlin every year. One of the vague memories I have of our first performance was of a U.S. filmmaker named Elliat politely introducing herself at some of the shows and workshops, then asking permission to film parts of the festival for a documentary she was making. She was warm and welcoming, and people were happy to oblige. I forgot all about it, though, until I saw this blurb on a website last month:

Travel Queeries_ is a feature-length documentary film that examines the culture, art and activism of radical queers in contemporary Europe. Through personal interviews and documentation of performances, festivals, multi-media [sic] visual arts and spaces, Travel Queeries puts an exciting international lens on queer fringe culture.

I felt sure this must be the result of that film project we saw the start of several summers ago., and a little internet research proved me right. Elliat turned out to be Elliat Graney-Saucke of Three Dollar Bill Cinema. Pleased as I was to feel some vicarious satisfaction at the piece coming to fruition, as a queer artist and activist living in Europe, I also had high expectations for the finished product. I wondered if I’d automatically be biased toward the film, and whether I’d be a fair reviewer. Eventually, I decided I could potentially be one of its worst critics—easily able to spot glosses or discrepancies in the narrative or perspective, and see through any objectification of a vibrant subculture. So I watched it.

This film is excellent.

Interviewees seem at ease, positive, knowledgeable, and forthcoming. Unofficial spokespeople give articulate and emotive views on issues from those as broad as the definition of queerness to specific reasoned hypotheses about links between queer culture and squatting, immigration, and drag performance, for example. Their answers are interwoven so that, even though participants may be separated by time or distance, their answers resonate with and build upon each other, providing rich coverage of an often ignored scene.

Graney-Saucke’s voice is unique, and her style is very readable. Well-chosen stock footage (sometimes including footage taken by other independent queer artists and activists) and a variety of quirky and charming multimedia animations balance out the interviews and further illustrating both fact and emotion. My partner and I were delighted to see one or two familiar performers and interview subjects on screen.

Despite the familiarity, we kept exclaiming over the detailed coverage of events we had only third-hand knowledge of, such as fascist protests against pride marches in Eastern Europe. Travel Queeries is an important film in terms of both transmitting a snapshot to outsiders and as an archival resource for the community it explores. It is particularly successful in making the term queer more tangible for viewers who might not understand it, without excluding or admonishing those who don’t embrace the idea of queerness.

Though the majority of the interviews were conducted in English, Graney-Saucke chose to subtitle the entire film, and also offers a wide variety of foreign-language subtitles for screenings in different countries. I can’t applaud this enough, and found my experience of the film greatly enhanced by the open captioning. (The post-production team may like to take the opportunity to fix some typos and misspellings in the current set of English captions, which slightly detract from an otherwise slick execution.)

Great joy emanates from Travel Queeries and stays with the viewer: from the pride and confidence of the participants, through the clever soundtrack featuring independent and queer musicians, and finally from all of the art featured throughout. Though some discussion points provide more questions than answers, the whole picture is one of intelligent and thoughtful inclusion and exploration of many cultural possibilities. The production company does not yet have a distributor for the film, but is currently touring it around festivals this year in cities across the U.S., Canada, and Europe. See it.

Written by: Chella Quint, December 5th 2009

Ad Nauseam: A Survivor's Guide to American Consumer Culture

admin — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 16:00:00 +0000

Edited by Carrie McLaren, Jason Torchinsky

Faber & Faber

Ad Nauseam: A Survivor's Guide to American Consumer Culture is an anthology of articles (plus some new material) from ‘90s ad-busting zine Stay Free!. Since I write a zine that deconstructs feminine hygiene advertising, I couldn’t have represented more of their target demographic if I’d tried. So when I saw that it was up for review, I immediately requested it.

I was a little miffed when only a cursory mention of the industry that lent its name to Stay Free! was covered in Ad Nauseam, but I was not disappointed in any other regard. This book is ace. And it’s funny.

In a series of short, sharp essays written over the past fifteen years or so (and the older articles are, revealingly, still very relevant to current marketing trends), the editors and other contributors cleverly debunk, deconstruct and delight in the many ways that advertisers try to put several over on us. There is something for you here whether you are completely new to the topic or have studied it before. Subjects include (but are not limited to) television’s influence on the U.S. legal system, the ins and outs of subliminal advertising, brand loyalty taken to almost unbelievable extremes, and the techniques magazines use to sell ad space by marketing, well, us.

Spoof multiple-choice quizzes at the end of each chapter reveal creepy tidbits you can use to impress your friends. (This worked well for me at the pub last week.) There’s also a brief history of the advertising industry that will catch up anyone new to it, and refreshingly refresh those who've already got the basics down.

The final section is my favorite part—a chronicle of the merry ad-busting japes undertaken by the editors and others, followed by an encouraging word—and a few resources—for any potential japesters out there. Carrie McLaren and Jason Torchinsky acknowledge that although one small prank can’t combat the financial might of major corporations, it can still raise awareness and educate on a small scale, forging personal connections. McLaren continues this with a blog and Brooklyn-based alternative lecture series.

Does this book pass the feminist test? Yep. Historically, most of the advertisers were men, and most of the shoppers they targeted were women. Again and again, Ad Nauseam chronicles in detail and handily exemplifies that old traditions die hard. It’s an excellent tool kit for any feminist, male or female. At $18 in paperback, it's also an expensive toolkit, but its 335 pages are stuffed full of wittily presented stats and examples—all backed up with extensive references and notes, so it is actually very good value for money.

Ad Nauseam would make an accessible companion to a high school or undergraduate module on advertising or media studies, and I’d even go ahead and recommend some of the shorter segments that illustrate each chapter (easy to find on gray background pages throughout the book) for middle school students. Read it all in one sitting like I tried to at first, and your world may be so deconstructed that you can’t put it back together again. As a zine anthology, it’s made for dipping into, and I plan to keep mine on my bathroom bookshelf. (It’s the modern coffee table. You know it is.)

Props to Faber and Faber for allowing Torchinsky to design the cover, which sports a lovingly rendered airsickness bag emblazoned with the book's title on a fetching field of blue. Can a barf bag be beautiful? Scarily, yes. It’s great to know that Torchinsky and his co-editor understand the industry well enough to manipulate it to their advantage, and that they’ve chosen to use their powers for good.

Written by: Chella Quint, October 31st 2009