Sci-Fi or Outcry?

Queer films and censorship have a long, sordid history. We go way back, farther even than feather boas and trips to Home Depot. It started with the Puritans and religious groups like The Legion of Decency in the 1920s. Not to be outdone, the government hired its own moral barometer, Will Hays, to be its federally mandated censor, thus starting the era of the Hays Production Code. The code was finally abandoned in 1967, forty years ago, but like all unhealthy relationships, censorship has not gone away. In 1998, local government officials in Seoul, South Korea pulled the plug on the first Queer Film Fest, going so far as to threaten shutting off the electricity if organizers tried to screen the films elsewhere. And just last year in Vancouver, a conservative lobby group petitioned the Department of Canadian Heritage to cut funding to the Vancouver Queer Film Festival because the films were considered “degenerate and degrading to humanity.” But what about here in the U.S., in the supposed bastion of freedom? In addition to the usual religious zealots and right-wing naysayers, we now have a new proponent of censorship: ourselves.

Due to its purportedly transphobic nature, The Gendercator, a short film by Catherine Crouch, which was slated to be screened at Frameline, the LGBT film festival in San Francisco (June 14-24), has become the first film in 31 years to be removed from the festival’s lineup. Pressure from the transgender community, including hundreds of emails, complaints from sponsors and 150 signatures generated from the popular left-leaning blog Left in SF were sent to the artistic directors of Frameline, Michael Lumpkin and Jennifer Morris, and were integral in the decision not to screen the film. The Gendercator was part of the OUTer Limits program, a science fiction and experimental-themed screening, which is described on their website as follows:

“Tripped-out futuristic lesbians! Sword-wielding S&M nuns! Cannibalism! Trannies in space! Welcome to the outer limits of queer filmmaking in this series of shorts by six experimental, visionary filmmakers clearly weaned on sci-fi and fantasy films.”

The above description doesn’t particularly inspire much critical thought on pressing social issues. But that aside, Frameline’s decision to nix the film after it had been screened, accepted and put in a program with several other trans-themed films, calls into question the reasons for the dismissal of The Gendercator, which resonate more with Crouch’s politics than with her filmmaking. And if not, then why wasn’t the green monster dyke who beats up other lesbians branded internalized homophobia? Why didn’t the notion of queer cannibals raise any ruckus? Because the directors of those films don’t have this statement on their website:

“Things are getting very strange for women these days. More and more often we see young heterosexual women carving their bodies into porno Barbie dolls and lesbian women altering themselves into transmen. Our distorted cultural norms are making women feel compelled to use medical advances to change themselves, instead of working to change the world. This is one story, showing one possible scary future. I am hopeful that this story will foster discussion about female body modification and medical ethics.”

If “fostering discussion about female body modification” was Crouch’s ultimate goal, then she succeeded. People are talking about The Gendercator - The Bay Area Reporter, The New York Blade, countless blogs, press releases, listservs, it even has an entry on Wikipedia - but no one is actually watching the film. As of today, I’m the only person who has formally reviewed it (and it’s actually more of a description than a review. You can read it here). Crouch estimates only about 250 people have seen it, which begs the assumption that the film is being preemptively judged by the negative press surrounding it rather than from the film’s content. As Crouch puts it, “it’s a fear of what it is, not the reality of what it is.”

Crouch’s director’s statement falls prey to the liberal feminist idea that transgender people who surgically/chemically alter their bodies are somehow threatening to biologically male/female bodies and that instead of “working to change the world,” they are embracing patriarchal, heteronormative standards and expressions. That these beliefs exist among some lesbian (and straight) circles illustrates that more critical dialogue is necessary within our fractured communities. But the notion that the film itself has been construed as dangerous or having weighty, long-term consequences seems rather exaggerated, especially considering that as a work of art, it’s mediocre at best. In response to her director’s statement, Crouch says, “I don’t think my film/statement is transphobic because I don’t think it is in any way about the transexual people. The film is to women/about Sally and the statement is from me to women about women.” While some of Crouch’s opinions are outdated and offensive, the current campaign to stop her film from being screened at future venues (LA’s Outfest, Philadelphia International Gay and Lesbian Film Festival and the Michigan Womyn’s Musical Festival) is a form of censorship doing little to change these kinds of misconceptions and misunderstandings about trans issues.

A synopsis of the film is as follows:

It’s 1973 and a group of hippie dykes are celebrating Billie Jean King’s victory over Bobby Riggs. The protagonist Sally, who’s a sporty simpleton, passes out under a tree only to awaken 75 years later to discover that sisterhood isn’t so powerful after all. Sex roles and gender expression have reverted to caveman times and are enforced by law and medical intervention. Sally’s short hair and tendency to “dig” women make her a target for “gendercation,” which is kind of like compulsory gender reassignment surgery. Tork, a government official and expert gendercator, is put on the case. He informs Sally that gender and sexual conformity are mandatory and that she must choose to be either Jane or Tarzan. A few of Tork’s cronies step in to show Sally what manhood has to offer, namely receding hairlines and beer bellies. Of course, she has no real choice in the matter and is forced to undergo gendercation anyway. But, lo and behold, she’s rescued by some kind of underground lesbian mafia at the last minute. The end.

Crouch says her film is “a science fiction satire, not a prediction of the future but a comment on social phenomenon played out to logical ends. It’s not true; it’s exaggerated. I think if you take it literally, that’s not what it’s meant to convey. I’ve made several films that address gender, what kind of woman I am, etc. and this is one of those films. It’s based on my own life experiences and story.”

On May 12th, a month before it was supposed to go to Frameline, The Gendercator screened at Chicago Filmmakers in Chicago to an audience of two: Sam Feder and Jules Rosskam, creators of the acclaimed trans documentaries Boy I Am and TransParent. They found the film to be hateful and were part of the impetus to censor the film. Sam Feder says, “While endorsing and aiding the bodily violation of women, the film perpetuates archaic and anti-transgender ideas that trans-people are anti-gay and anti-feminist who conspire with the greater power.” On the Trans Group Blog, Rosskam exclaims, “‘The Gendercator,’ [is] an ignorant, transphobic film by Midwest lesbian director Catherine Crouch that depicts a 1970s ‘feminist’ tomboy who awakens in the 21st century to find that some of her friends have become men. ‘They made me do it. They’ll make you too,’ a transman (referred to by Crouch as an ‘altered lesbian’) tells his friend. Transsexuality is portrayed as the evil that has taken over the world, and as a way to enforce heteronormativity.”

Not to undermine the strong reactions of Feder, Rosskam and other members of the queer community, but to advocate for the film’s removal based on one interpretation of its possible implications is troubling. If opponents of The Gendercator believe that stopping the showing of this film is going to protect the public from themselves, it is a classic case of censorship, and that this response is coming from other queer filmmakers is baffling. If it is in fact the issues the film raises that need to be addressed and not the film itself then why advocate for its removal?

Another question to consider is if it is even applicable or relevant to place literal definitions of transgenderism onto a science fiction spoof and if so, what purpose does it serve? Tork and some of the characters in the film should not be read as transgender at all because identifying them as such implies that they are complicit in their gender modification, which they aren’t. They are part of a fictional, forced government agenda to eradicate all gender and sexual diversity - no butches, no twinks, no trannies, no nothing. If one were to interpret the film literally as a political statement about fear of trans bodies, one would also have to take into account the film’s other explicitly unrealistic elements. For instance, softball has also been eliminated from the dystopian version of society. Should we chalk this up to a fear of organized sports?

Uproars about controversial works by queer filmmakers abound, from the argument that only positive images of queers should be depicted to the use of stereotypes. There are films like Hidden Fuhrer, which explores the relationship between Hitler’s reprehensible deeds and his sublimated sexuality and self-denial. Or Heavenly Creatures, which chronicles the real life story of two teenaged lesbians who brutally murder their mother. Even John Cameron Mitchell’s real sex scenes in Shortbus have generated a good deal of media buzz. But trans people, who have only recently begun to garner greater acceptance from the broader queer community, are perhaps more susceptible to negative or contentious film representations. Queer media portrayals, however, are in no way universal or homogenous. Indeed, they are proof of the complex and variegated ways in which we are capable of expressing ourselves and how relentless we are at trying to incorporate every point of view, evidenced by the ever-growing LGBTIQQ acronym.

A strictly textual reading of the film, not of the filmmaker’s politics, presents an innocuous, somewhat cliched, B-rated film that is garnering much more attention than it deserves. And advocating for it to be barred from future festivals is, in a way, giving the film greater sway when it would’ve most likely dropped off into obscurity a few months after its festival runs. As Feder says, “Honestly what I think needs to be addressed is WHY people are reacting so strongly - the ISSUES need to be addressed not the film itself” (emphasis hers). I couldn’t agree more, especially when a majority of the arguments surrounding the film begin, “Well, I haven’t seen it but…”

Written by Anna Pulley

Anna is a post-Creative Writing major and validation junky. In addition to Queerky, she also writes for dykediva.com, centerstagechicago.com and does film reviews for theaspectratio.net. She uses quotation marks unnecessarily and spends entirely too much time justifying the artistic merit of limericks. You can contact her at banannarama01@yahoo.com

Trans-gressions

Back in November when I was listless and unemployed, I had the audacity to ask the folks at the Reeling Queer International Film Festival to give me free, advanced copies of all the films I wanted to see (and review). To my surprise, they said yes, and soon I was loaded down with armfuls of films (in reusable, environmentally-friendly canvas bags, of course). The best documentary film of the fest was Sam Feder’s and Julie Hollar’s Boy I Am, which provides a critical and challenging look at contemporary trans issues told through the narratives of three transitioning transmen: Norie, Nicco and Keegan. Their insights, triumphs and hardships are punctuated by interviews with gender theorists, lawyers, and activists who attempt to clarify and complicate issues surrounding trans identity within the broader queer community and the world at large. The heart of the documentary is the voices from the transmen themselves, who come from racially and economically diverse backgrounds and who beautifully dispel the notions of trans identity as a “cop out” or as an appropriation of male privilege by rejecting feminism and butch lesbianism.

Such notable names as Mike De Luca (producer of Magnolia, Boogie Nights, Life as a House, Blow and Hedwig and the Angry Inch amongst others) have taken notice of Boy I Am. De Luca said of the film: “Boy I Am does justice in its exposure of the tragic double standard gender modification is held to in America. I am reminded of the very brave scene in All About My Mother where Agrado (Antonia San Juan) describes to an audience each and every procedure she had to become the woman she is today. As technology catches up to identity, still there are hypocritical collagen sneers. Perhaps, in their ignorant heart of hearts, they are jealous in their inability to be who they are. Men like Norie, Keegan, and Nicco deserve better.”

I was lucky enough to sit down with Sam Feder at a Chicago cafe on a recent faux spring day in April to discuss the film and some of the necessary and complex issues it inspires.

Q: What kind of reception has Boy I Am received, from the trans community specifically, because one of the major criticisms I’ve read comes from non-trans people talking about/speaking for trans people. You certainly give a voice to the three FTMs in your documentary, but what are your thoughts on tackling issues that directly and physically pertain to experiences that you haven’t lived?

SF: Some trans folks have thanked us -one trans youth asked for a copy to show to their parents before they came out to them-others feel frustrated by the discussion being presented. Ultimately, we expect a variety of reactions and are more than eager to hear them. We made this to promote dialogue. In respect to non-trans folks making a documentary about transfolks, Julie and I made a documentary that turned the mirror within our community; we discussed an issue within and about our own community - the dyke community. We have not taken an isolated event and presented it as outsiders. We are extremely invested in the issues we explore for social, political and personal reasons. As two gender variant people, a lot of these issues permeate into our lives. And, every aspect of the films comes from our stories.

Q: It’s interesting that all three of the guys you chronicled decided to go on T (testosterone therapy) and get top surgery. Do you think there is now pressure for FTMs to conform to the chemically/surgically altered body? Is there a cultural ideal that trans people feel pressure to uphold?

SF: Yes…I think pressure exists. As, Keegan states, there is policing within the community. He expressed there was pressure on how to be and how not to be a transman. As a non-transperson I can’t speak about personal pressure. The community I am part of has come a long way from the narrow definitions of what it once meant to be a transman. And that’s something I see celebrated and encouraged. As for all three undergoing hormones and surgery, we aimed to document a variety of trans masculinity, and worked with the guys accordingly, but this changed over time and the film ended with them all being on hormones and having surgery-we weren’t looking to portray that form of masculinity solely. And, the film is by no means suggesting that hormones and surgery are the end all for a transman. That was just their stories.

Q: Boy I Am does a really good job of bridging the theoretical aspects of identity with the lived experiences of those who are theorized. What role/relevance do you think theory plays in these discussions of gender and identity?

SF: The relationship between theory and practice is tricky to follow and work with. Ideally, theory needs to be more respectful, should reflect what’s going on in the subject being theorized, question what’s going on, and inspire dialogue. Theory is risky when it starts establishing norms and predicting what those norms should be. I do think theory is helpful in the sense that it gives us a vocabulary - a jumping off point. However, I think theory itself needs to be theorized more, that theorists need to take more responsibility for the role they play in people’s actual lives and not be so removed from it. I’ve heard some gender theorists express shock and offense when they hear the community critiquing them or even devaluing their work. I would think that would be an inherent expectation for a theorist and encouraged. Additionally, for many people’s practice, i.e. their lives, theory surrounding isn’t accessible and/or has no cause and effect relationship for them.

Q: I wanted to talk a bit about binaries and choice. Because binaries are almost always hierarchical-white is better than black, straight is better than gay, etc.- transgenderism has the potential to invalidate those either/or politics, which is one of the reasons why I think it’s perceived as so threatening. It’s the whole “you’re either with us or against us” mentality. How then do we respect choice (the choice to live as male in a patriarchal society, for instance) without destroying political foundations, alliances, and laws for our “protection”?

SF: I don’t see how respecting choice lends itself to destroying political foundations, alliances, and laws for our “protection”. Not respecting choice is policing within. How can we knowingly do that? Not supporting choice is the antithesis of feminism. Remember, “My Body, My Choice”?

Q: Another thing I loved about your film was the dialogue from girlfriends of FTMs. You don’t often hear about the odd reality of lesbians suddenly being read as straight and the implications of that identity/sexuality shift. How does a lesbian reconcile her sexuality without undermining her trans partner’s male identity?

SF: I think this is an important topic, and a touchy topic as well, for people because sometimes partners of trans people are seen as accessories-their sexual identity changes based on who they’re with. Speaking from personal experience, why should I have to give up my political identity or sexual identity based on who I’m sleeping with? On the adverse, how do we maintain our sexual identity when it’s inherently defined by the other person involved. Kate Bornstein has begun discussing an idea of moving self identity away from being defined by who we are with and turned back to how we see ourselves. I see myself as a queer dyke regardless of who I am dating be it a fag, femme, butch, transperson, transman or transwoman and so on…

Q: Do you watch The L Word? If so, I wanted to get your thoughts on Max, the trans character. Do you feel that there are elements of tokenization and/or unrealistically negative portrayals of trans issues on the show, like taking testosterone, etc?

SF: I have seen it enough to have an opinion about it. I was turned off by Max’s character because he was way too one-dimensional. A perfect example of how the mainstream media can be irresponsible when addressing these kinds of nuanced issues. I heard of young folks who feared if they transitioned they might become like Max. I’m glad they have included a transmale character (though I do wish there was more inclusion of dykes and butches) because I know it has started dialogue that wasn’t there before. However, in my opinion, it’s pretty transparent what the agenda in presenting Max was and that’s not an agenda I support.

Q: Trans issues are further complicated by the medical component. Whereas homosexuality was removed from the DSM list of pathologies in the 70s, transsexuality remains firmly controlled by medical and psychological technologies. To what extent does trans identity become inhibited by the medical aspects of body categorization, gender dysphoria, etc.?

SF: The medical community still dictates what a trans person is. Because of this, people have learned to tell doctors what they want to hear regardless of its relevance to their lives. And, essentially this just reinforces the medical component. As long as there’s a medical format, trans people can never have complete ownership of their bodies. As long as doctors continue to have this much control, transpeople will be denied a very serious human right. As a friend said the other night at a Q&A, “Why do transmen need a doctor’s note when you can get a shot of botox on a whim without a note saying, “you’re crazy”—which, maybe they should.”

Q: What are you working on now?

SF: I’m in post-production on a short narrative called “F. Scott Fitzgerald Slept Here” with my partner Jules Rosskam. And I received a research fellowship from Columbia College’s The Institute for the Study of Women and Gender in the Arts and Media to work on a feature length doc. That explores feminism. That narrows it down, no?

Check out www.boyiam.mayfirst.org for the latest news regarding the film, dates of upcoming screenings and for additional resources concerning trans issues. While you’re at the site, check out the Boy I Am blog, where the issues raised by the film continue to be discussed.

Written by Anna Pulley

Anna is a post-Creative Writing major and validation junky. In addition to Queerky, she also writes for dykediva.com, centerstagechicago.com and does film reviews for theaspectratio.net. She uses quotation marks unnecessarily and spends entirely too much time justifying the artistic merit of limericks. You can contact her at banannarama01@yahoo.com

Interview with Musician Courtney Robbins

From high school jazz musician and self-effacing garage band guitarist to opening for folk rock icons Dar Williams, Melissa Ferrick and Lucy Kaplansky, Courtney Robbins’ muscular rhythms and melodic grace are impossible not to tap along to. Infused with raw nostalgia and emotional urgency, Robbins’ music artfully blends the taut intimacy of an acoustic affair with galloping riffs and a fragile, folk sensibility. Courtney took some time out of her Sunday afternoon to talk with Queerky about her upcoming album, creating poetry out of politics and the repercussions of throwing a pie in Ann Coulter’s face.

So how would you describe your sound?

CR: I’d say its folk rock, with more rock than folk, more energetic. A little bit of country has been creeping in too. It just sometimes happens like that. I listen to a fair amount of blue grass and alt-country stuff like Dolly Parton and Gillian Welch, but I would have a hard time saying I play country music.

Who are some of your influences?

CR: Well, I grew up listening to primarily the oldies station, like The Mamas and the Papas and the Beach Boys. Then I started listening to more classic rock like Led Zeppelin and Janis Joplin. Then my sister tried to get me into the Indigo Girls in high school, but I didn’t like them at first. Patty Griffin, Joni Mitchell and Stevie Ray Vaughan are also up there. I know it’s kind of cheesy, but in a way I think we’re influenced by everything we hear - even stuff from high school jazz band, you know?

Oh, I agree. Speaking of high school, I have to ask about your garage band name “Some Idiots Afloat.” How did that come about?

CR: Some Idiots Afloat…how did we decide on that? We practiced in our drummer’s basement and his parents had a bunch of old magazines strewn about. I’m pretty sure it was the title of a Life magazine article from the 60s.

And you went to college in New York?

CR: Yep, Hamilton College. I was a creative writing major.

What kind of themes do you explore in your writing?

CR: Usually I tend to draw from personal experiences. Some of my songs are generated from stories I hear and think are relevant. I think actually my degree in creative writing has given me an ear for stories I might want to turn into songs, but I don’t sit down and think, “I’m gonna write this kind of song” unless it’s something that really caught my attention. I don’t write overtly political songs usually but I do think that the personal and political turn up some in my songwriting.

It’s certainly difficult to make poetry out of politics. That’s why I’m always amazed that songwriters like Ani DiFranco do it time and again.

CR: I know! She manages to do it in original, interesting ways each time too.

I read on your website that you recorded an album, but haven’t released it quite yet. What was that process like?

CR: Well, it’s called “Red Sky in Morning” and should be done hopefully within the month. The title references a line from one of the songs. I was working with Dave McGraw, who’s also a singer/songwriter and an awesome drummer, Thomas Lord, who I met a couple times in Tucson. I went up to Vermillion Cliffs in northern Arizona last February and we ended up recording eighteen songs in three days. There are going to be twelve tracks on the CD, plus a hidden track. The whole process was totally laid back. We recorded right outside of the Grand Canyon, in a tiny community of about forty people. It was beautiful and relaxed and just quiet out there.

Speaking of relaxing, what celebrity would you most like to punch in the face?

CR: That’s a funny question because I immediately think, who am I to punch someone in the face? But…that said…I could probably punch Ann Coulter in the face, if I had to.

Do you remember those University of Arizona students who tried to throw a pie at her when she came to lecture in Tucson?

CR: Yeah, someone told me the other day that there’s still a legal battle going on with whoever threw the pie.

They didn’t even hit her. She ducked.

CR: Really? An attempted pie throwing! That shouldn’t count. I don’t see how they can still be in trouble.

Yeah, a waste of a good pie too. So how long have you lived in Tucson? Any notable differences between East/West music scenes?

CR: I’ve been in Tucson for two and a half years. I had mostly college-related music experiences in the Northeast, so it’s kind of hard to say. But there is the Northeast Singer/Songwriter Circuit which fosters more of a music community that the Southwest doesn’t really seem to have as much of, in my experience. But maybe it’s because of location- many of the large cities and colleges are close together in the Northeast which makes it a little easier. Everything’s spread out here and I’m still taking time to see to see how things work, getting my foot in the door. I haven’t played outside of Tucson much because I have a job and not a lot of time to run off to shows. But I did play a show in Seattle recently and some in Tempe too.

Do you think sites like MySpace have helped make the marketing process easier for independent musicians who are trying to get their stuff out there?

CR: I think it’s great. I didn’t know a whole lot about MySpace until recently. My friends were trying to get me to sign up but I was like, “Nah, I’m on Friendster. I don’t need another internet meeting place.” Once I started looking into it though, it was actually kind of cool. The music sites are very do-it-yourself and this whole world is at your fingertips-you can network, find other musicians, download songs, etc. I’ve gotten a couple shows through MySpace and when I was trying to find a place in Seattle to play I looked up this bar, the Conor Byrne Pub, that does women’s music on Tuesdays, which took me, of course, back to MySpace.

So what new projects are you working on?

CR: Well, let’s see. I’m going to try to cover my costs from the CD and to get more shows around Tucson lined up. Once I have the CD, I can tell people something besides “Well, here’s a crappy demo, but I don’t really sound like that anymore.” I’m going to try to get more shows outside of Tucson as well, once I have the CD in hand.

Check out Courtney Robbins’ music on her website www.courtneyrobbins.com or on MySpace www.myspace.com/courtneyrobbins

Written by Anna Pulley

Anna is a post-Creative Writing major and validation junky. In addition to Queerky, she also writes for dykediva.com, does film reviews for theaspectratio.net and writes profiles for singles on e-cyrano.com. She uses quotation marks unnecessarily and spends entirely too much time justifying the artistic merit of limericks. You can contact her at banannarama01@yahoo.com