mcu meme; eight characters [3/8]
mcu meme; eight characters [3/8]
Oh look! It’s Wonder Woman! And she’s wearing Wonder Woman clothes. Except they’re armored. So they’ll protect her in a fight. And she doesn’t have her breasts out. Or her midriff. And she’s not twisting her spine to show her ass. In fact she looks incredibly badass.
And here DC had me thinking such a thing was just artistically impossible.
In response to my Ms. Male Character video someone made this clever image illustrating what “female as default” might look like. Because we live in a strongly male-identified society the idea of Pac-Woman as the “unmarked” default and Mr. Pac-Woman as the deviation “marked” with masculinizing gender signifiers feels strange and downright absurd. While Pac-man and the deviation Ms. Pac-Man seems completely normal in our current cultural context.
#LADIESLEAD | NATASHA ROMANOV/BLACK WIDOW BEST MOMENTS (COMICS)
Black Widow: Name of the Rose (vol. 4, #5)
There’s been a fair amount of backlash lately against the trend in comics to go for the “grimdark” - the notion that cynicism and violence make a work more real or mature. The push back has been toward the more hopeful or optimistic tone of earlier comics.
Black Widow would seem to be an unlikely source in which to find some of that optimism - she is, after all, a Russian spy frequently characterized by her willingness to kill and her morally grey past. However, as mentioned before, the writers who really get Natasha are the ones who make her most human, and that element is part of why the Liu run is my favorite Black Widow run I’ve read thus far. Her Natasha is infinitely human - and infinitely built on moving on, on continuing to live and never giving up. Natasha has seen sorrow, and tragedy, and lived for a very long time.
This panel is from the very end of the comic, and I’m just going to quote the entire line that ends with that last phrase, because it says it better than anything I could:"I discovered the writer, Leo Tolstoy, in a ditch that held more blood than rain. One of the soldiers loved his words - and then, so did I. "All, everything that I understand," he wrote, "I understand only because I love." That was so many years ago. But words on a page didn’t teach me that lesson. I learned it on my own.I learned it in trenches with bullets flying overhead; pressed back to back with grizzled starving men who would have laid down their lives for mine. I learned it from a ribbon tied around my ring finger. I learned it from a kick inside my belly. I learned it from death, and hardship, and brief acts of inexplicable kindness. I learned love from sacrifice. I learned love from living. And no matter where I’ve gone, or what I’ve done - all the dark things I do not regret, but will never speak of - that is the one part of me that I have always kept safe.Imus was such a fool.Tolstoy will live forever. Some people do. But that’s not enough. It’s not the length of a life that matters…just the depth of it. The chances we take. The paths we choose. How we go on after our hearts break. Hearts always break. And so we bend with our hearts. And we sway.But in the end…what matters is that we loved…and lived.”
SYLVIA PLATH ‘The fig tree’
Holy shit. Holy shiiiiiiit.
In my screenwriting class this week, my instructor explained that if you do not signify a race or ethnicity, your character will be assumed to be white. There will be no clarification, no one will ask you to explain, the director and casting agent will create a whites-only casting call for auditions.
This obviously isn’t news. We know that the default for Hollywood is white even though mathematically, according to the demographics of California and the entire world, this is laughably illogical.
I asked him how you signify that you want open casting in your script for any race or ethnicity because you want the best actor for the character.
He didn’t understand and started talking about words like “eurasian” in the descriptive lines following your character’s introduction.
I explained that I wasn’t asking about how to denote racial ambiguity (which is another favorite of Hollywood), rather an actual open casting call that wasn’t limited to white and white passing people.
He said he had never come across this.
Never, in his entire decade+ career, had he ever come across an open casting call.
So when people say shit like, “oh well maybe they just got the best actor for the role!”, they deserve to have their faces slammed into the nearest available surface.
We gotta get these bitches out of here.
#i feel like this is also an important showcase of the different tones of insult women face! #natasha is scary and strong and she takes down the bitches comment #because someone as unwilling to play the game as her would see it a lot #(like scarlet herself does whenever she speaks out about her bullshit treatment) #but pepper is someone who lives and breathes those powerplays#so she gets ”honey” she gets the sweet ones #we’re all on the same side here honey there’s no need to make that call #be sweet and soft and quiet know your place honey #and they’re both awful and sickening #and bad and unokay and you never doubt that! #the threat of violence is something natasha takes down easily #but pepper not bowing to a #air quotes #friendly piece of advice from a friend in the business #is just as amazing and strong #unimpressed ginger coalition more like do you see how easy it is to have two female characters #do you see how easy it is to have them interact #wow it’s like women are people and not a delightful array of barbies with slightly different dresses on
quixoticgood asked: Hey Kelly Sue! Currently engaged in a fantasy-genre collaborative project and dealing with the old 'women aren't strong enough for combat' debate. My first line of argument is that if you're willing to buy giant flying magic lizards there's no excuse for saying women can't fight because realism. But was also wondering if you had any historical or other resources to consult in my efforts. And also, I guess I'm reconsidering the wisdom of this collaboration after typing this question.
Forget our stature—it’s our tits! When they don’t hurt, they’re just so fucking hot. We have this biological need to lay down and knead them like a cat making biscuits every once in a while. That need strikes in the middle of battle? Shit gets ugly, man.
Also? PERIODS. Little known fact: before Midol, for one week a month housework had to do itself!
We have cycles, dude. Deeply, deeply disturbing cycles. That’s why only post-menopausal women should hold office. Bitches can’t have their finger near the button during That Time of the Month, amirite?
Also: we’re werewolves.
Collaboration is great. Trick is, you want to choose collaborators who are at least as bright as the lamp that sits next to you. I’d be willing to bet that the dudes you’re collaborating with are married to what they’re utterly and completely certain is “common sense.” Know this: there’s an unbelievable amount of bullshit that masquerades as “common sense.”
Not only does this particular bullshit conviction indicate that your collaborators are not terribly clever, but—worse, for your purposes—they’re not terribly imaginative.
Who’s the scariest bouncer at the club? Is it the big guy? No. You know exactly how the big guy got the job. The scariest bouncer is the little tiny guy. How the fuck did that little dude get the gig that may—at any moment—mean he’s going to have to drag a belligerent drunk out onto the street?
The big bouncer? He was born with a natural intimidation factor. He may or may not have ever actually been in a fight.
The little bouncer? He was born with guts and cunning and he fights dirty. I guarantee you he’s the scariest fucker in the room.
My own personal experience with notion —
I had a bad time at a club when I was a young woman — a drunk pinned me against a wall and tried to get his hands in my pants. I had a cigarette in my hand [Yes, I smoked — I was young and stupid and apparently thought it would make me more attractive to smell like shit] and I held that cigarette out of that guy’s face with my stronger right arm while I tried to push him off with my weaker left.
I should have put it out on his cheek.
I have been conditioned since I was wee that it’s more important to be pleasant than safe, and more important to be safe than equal. So really? I shouldn’t have been in that club at all. What did I expect, putting myself in that space? My bad.
The guy was suuuuuper drunk and I basically ducked under him and got away, but the experience fucked me up nonetheless. I eventually ended up taking a full combat self-defense course that I LOVED and could go on and on about but this is already too long.
Here’s what I learned that I want you to know:
I am five feet tall. As a lever, I’m not terribly functional. Also: if we arm wrestle, you’re probably going to win.
If I drop to the floor and fight you with my legs? I can defend myself. Even my wee legs are longer and more powerful than your arms. You have been taught to fight with your upper body. Unless you’re a trained fighter, that’s how you think, that’s how you move.
Did you just grab my leg? I’ll flip over and kick you with the other. Wait, now you have both legs? Oh no! What will I do?? Let’s see… hang on! You need both arms to hold both my legs. Know that that means? I can sit up and jab my fucking fingernails in your eyes.
When you let go of my legs to get my hands out of your bleeding eye sockets, I can kick you in the balls until your grandpa’s grandpa pukes in his grave. (My tender bits are on the inside, where they belong.)
Then, if I have to — if, say, help and safety is more than a couple blocks away and I don’t think I can outrun you — while you’re down I can position myself near your head and bring the heel of my boot down on your nose hard enough to break it. And I can keep doing that, if I have to, until I collapse your fucking skull.
Women can fight, dude. We’re only guaranteed to lose if we hold ourselves back and try to fight like men.
Or if we wear a chain mail bikini. That shit chafes.