*This review contains spoilers for Wonder Woman (2017) and Wonder Woman: 1984 (2020).
I admit it – I was seduced by Patty Jenkins’ Wonder Woman.
I saw the film in the autumn of 2017. That January, I had joined the sea of pink pussyhats in London for the peaceful global women’s marches against the unapologetically sexist harasser-of-women occupying the oval office. That same autumn I had started my PhD looking at representing female leadership in the entertainment industry, and had shared my #MeToo story on social media, joining the global wave of female solidarity – and rage.
Let’s be honest, we were ready for a fight – and Wonder Woman gave us the icon we didn’t know we needed. Through Gal Gadot’s Goddess, we were able to channel our collective fury and achieve a kind of catharsis for our impotence.
This Facebook review by my friend, Jenni Lea-Jones, posted in June of 2017, captures the thrill many women experienced and highlights the subtle ways this film was subversive for a Hollywood superhero blockbuster.
- Review by Jenni Lea-Jones, reproduced here with the permission of the author.
In this review Jenni articulates the energy of the time, the fervent desire to celebrate and empower women in the face of increasingly visible sexism in society. Although upholding simplistic good vs evil binaries, in essence, the appeal of a superhero film is about seeing justice done. We long for someone to sweep in and clean up our cities and towns, making our world a safer, kinder place. Superhero films speak to our collective ideal of justice, and often tackle tricky issues like the arms industry (Iron Man, 2008). Arguably, Wonder Woman tackled sexism, but was it really the feminist ideal many of us experienced it as? The short answer is no, it wasn’t.
Although explicitly an embodiment of the suffrage movement in America, Wonder Woman’s conception was somewhat less than perfectly feminist, her male creator’s bondage fetishes playing a strong role in her creation, according to Jill Lepore. Today, the internal dynamics and external reputation of the DC-verse are inherently male-dominated. Wonder Woman is the only woman in the Justice League line-up, and in 2017, was the first female-led superhero film for more than a decade, with Patty Jenkins famously the first woman to helm a superhero blockbuster. Ever. Progress, yes, but immediately tokenism and exceptionalism appear to drive the film. By being given ‘permission’ to enter this male-centric space, Jenkins and Gadot are unavoidably positioned as exceptional, special, ‘not like other women’. Exceptionalism allows the ideological makeup of the organisation to remain male-dominated. The marketing begins to unpick this, however, by actively appealing to women. White women especially.
People of colour are notable for their relative absence in these ‘feminist’ films. Granted, as Jenni points out, Wonder Woman does acknowledge Sikh soldiers fighting in WWI. Saïd Taghmaoui, who is of Moroccan descent, also plays Sameer, a key ally for Diana in the first film. For Black women, ‘Wonder Woman is bittersweet’, however. Black female representation is minimal, appearing only on the periphery and within the ‘caretaker’ role – which Cameron Glover notes is perilously close to the ‘Mammy’ trope. In Wonder Woman 1984 (WW1984), Latinx Pedro Pascal plays Maxwell Lord, a previously white character, given a new ‘immigrant’ storyline. As Yolanda Machado points out, “creating a backstory that amounts to ‘Because this country mistreated me, I will make everyone pay,’ just creates more ill-conceived notions about Latinos who all too often are only cast as traumatized immigrants, gang members, maids and criminals”. Wonder Woman is certainly not intersectional, but is it even (white) feminist?
The Warner Bros trailer (above) depicts strong, powerful women in leadership roles. Thrilling! The protagonist (of a superhero film) is a woman, and many viewers will have been aware that Gadot was five months pregnant during re-shoots: truly bad-ass! But watch to the end of the trailer and we encounter another hiccup. Outside of the realm of Amazonian power, we’ve met just two other female characters, neither match Hollywood’s beauty standards. You might be tempted to celebrate this – but don’t get ahead of yourself. Etta Candy, played by Lucy Davis, appears to represent the suffragist movement. Suffragists campaigned peacefully for women’s rights while suffragettes were the more active, and militant group, who tend to get the most attention. The ‘bookish’, less ‘flashy’, suffragists are parodied in the scene that closes this trailer, although Etta hints that she may be inspired to ‘fisticuffs’ if necessary. Perhaps a nod to Wonder Woman’s creation, however, the violence of the suffragettes arguably set the women’s liberation movement back. Today, our protests aim to be peaceful – in other words, the suffragists’ actions are the ones we model, and indeed the ones we followed in the 2017 Women’s Marches. We know violence isn’t the answer, but that doesn’t play well in a superhero film.
The only other woman is the disabled and disfigured Dr Poison, played by the conventionally attractive and able-bodied Elena Anaya (hmmmm…). Good vs Evil binaries are then delineated along beauty and able-bodied lines. Troubling indeed. Additionally, these strong women are all positioned as drawing their power from men – yes, even Diana! Etta provides administrative support to Steve Trevor (Chris Pine) and of course, fashion advice to Diana (cue an eye roll). Dr Poison appears to harbour feelings for her ‘master’ Erich Ludendorff (Danny Huston); she works to empower him and further his cause. In WW1984, Kristen Wiig’s Barbara Minerva wishes to be like Diana, so her power is drawn directly from Diana’s (through a magic wishing stone). However, the narrative action positions her as body guard and side-kick to Pedro Pascal’s Maxwell Lord. This subordinates her power to his, and since (spoiler) he is the wishing stone, really her power is only possible through him. Disappointing, Team Wonder Woman.
Even the beloved goddess Diana draws her power from men. Initially from Zeus who gave her the spark of life and her power as a god, and then through Steve, since Diana is only able to fully embrace her power when she realises her love for Steve (as she loses him). It’s a beautiful moment in the film. I cried. But on reflection – problematic. In WW1984 (another spoiler) Diana finally learns to fly – again, thanks to Steve. Very disappointing. Male superheroes don’t need to draw their power from the love of a woman, or from another man, they own it outright. Furthermore, their power isn’t linked to their objectification by women, either.
The Seductress trope is as rife in Hollywood as the male gaze. Tracing the roots of the ‘femme fatale’ for The Week, Scott Meslow asks: “Is it sexist to portray a woman as a manipulative, calculating succubus? [Or] Is it empowering to portray a woman who is comfortable with her own sexuality, and willing to use it in pursuit of her own ends?” Scott, it’s sexist. Ever heard of a ‘homme fatal’? No? That’s your first clue.
If a woman is having to use her ‘sexuality’ to win her goals – then the real power lies with the heterosexual men she needs to manipulate. Sexual allure is only a ‘tool’ in your ‘arsenal’ if you need to attract a heterosexual man to further your objective. And that storyline is heterosexist. Exploring your sexuality with a willing (enthusiastic!) partner is empowering – having to use it to manipulate someone, is not. Thankfully, Diana doesn’t fall into that obviously sexist (yes, Scott, obviously sexist) trope – but she is subjected throughout to the male gaze. Consider, for a moment, how the ‘rule of reversibility’ might apply to our protagonist in Wonder Woman.
The ‘male gaze’ in film theory, articulated by Laura Mulvey in 1975, might better be described as the ‘hetero-masculine’ or even ‘heterosexist gaze’ today. This theory exposes the role of the camera and script in positioning women as sexual objects for the male viewer’s ‘scopophilia’ (sexual pleasure drawn from looking). It is so commonplace today that we, women, have internalised it. Audience members don’t need to be attracted to women to know that an onscreen woman is sexually desirable, the camera, dialogue, and narrative action tell us as much. In addition to narrowing the criteria for desirability to Hollywood beauty standards, apply the ‘rule of reversibility’ and you’ll immediately see the double-standard at play. Would this character be received by other characters and framed in this way if played by a man? Tragically, Wonder Woman fails this test.
Although the female gaze is certainly present in the Themyscira hot-pools scene between Steve and Diana where we catch (a little more than) a glimpse of Chris Pine’s beautiful form, Diana must contend with the male gaze throughout. Many have argued that Wonder Woman was created to break the staid feminist mould: to be both feminist icon and sex symbol. This argument has been stale for decades, however. Heads up – objectification is not empowering, sexually or otherwise. In fact, it is disempowering. You see, Diana could have been portrayed as a powerful, and sexually liberated, woman without being objectified – that’s how we film male superheroes as standard.
Although Gadot’s costume did look more like real armour and cover marginally more of her than previous incarnations, can you imagine a male superhero bare-legged below his bum cheeks? What about another character making a pun about a male superhero going ‘undercover’ – playing on how scantily clad he is? A male superhero supported by a group of women who constantly ogle him, anyone? When a male superhero walks into a room, do people notice his power first, or his sexual allure? When Superman says he’s from Krypton, do the female characters objectifying him immediately ask, ‘how do we get there?’ None of the above, because male superheroes aren’t constantly framed in relation to their attractiveness to the ‘opposite’ sex. Although rare, some heroines have freed themselves from that chain.
When Battlestar Galactica was remade, a key player was gender-swapped and the gender-play eroded stereotypes and offered a more layered character than the original. Katee Sackhoff was cast to play Kara Thrace, aka Starbuck, in the 2004 remake of the 1978 series. Both Starbucks are fighter pilots with attitude problems, but where Dirk Benedict’s 1978 Starbuck offered a familiar womaniser and gambler trope, Sackhoff’s built nuance in contradiction. Importantly, she debunked the tomboy trope. Usually when gender expression transgressions are portrayed on screen, they fall into the tomboy trope: insufficiently feminine woman must re-conform to her gender expression prescriptions to ‘win’ her love interest (by wearing a tight fitting red dress and too much makeup). Sackhoff’s Starbuck had no need for nonsense tropes. Despite being told to ‘bathe more frequently’, her power and appeal was in her lack of interest in conforming to gender tropes, and her extraordinary ability as a pilot. Sackhoff’s Starbuck was unquestionably a cisgender woman, but she did not express her gender in feminine ways at all. Even so, she never lacked admirers, both on-screen and off – her gender transgression was incidental to her character’s narrative and did not undermine her or discredit her. In fact, it allowed her to erode stereotypes: both in the dismantling of the tomboy trope, and in her casting itself which erased the tired ‘misogynist rogue pilot’ trope. Had the gender-swapping involved a re-imagining of Starbuck as feminine, this would have removed the contradiction which supported her layered portrayal, and would have been indicative of bias entering the creative process. Instead, Starbuck passes the ‘rule of reversibility’ test with flying colours!
There is one exception to the ‘rule of reversibility’, what I term the ‘masculine power gaze’. The growing interest in superhero films, including ‘superheroines’, and their action-quota, has led to audiences seeing increasing levels of physical violence and aggression from both female and male protagonists. The inherent problem of the ‘masculine power gaze’ is that it defines power in dominating ways. We are directed to see violence met with violence, and must always hope our hero is the physically stronger of the contenders. Positioning leadership and justice in these terms is troubling, and particularly damaging to women leaders.
When women dominate verbally they are judged more harshly than men. Women are also much less likely to be able to dominate nonverbally. I don’t mean through violence, but simply in behavioural ways: taking up space, looking ‘down’ on others, being louder, and more imposing. When we style leadership through domination, we weaken women’s position and relegate us to the ‘damsel in distress’ trope. We cheer when this trope is subverted, because it is thrilling to imagine we could experience the world completely free of the pervasive fear of assault (WW1984 plays on this desire to build sympathy for Wiig’s Cheetah). Unfortunately, this is not our reality.
There are ways in which the superhero genre tries to mitigate defaulting to dominance, but usually this falls into the trap of undermining interpersonal leadership techniques (such as negotiation) as these are seen to fail meaning force is ultimately required to overcome the villain. This positions these styles in a hierarchy of effectiveness which, ironically, is the opposite of that found by research. All members of our society are impacted when we approach problem-solving through dominance and competition – not only women. The stereotype of the dominant masculine persona does not apply to most men. In fact, less than a third identify this way, and the ‘Men Don’t’ approach to masculinity has been shown to impact men’s mental and physical health. Rather, looking toward an inclusive future, as artists we must both raise awareness, and offer spectators (non-dominant based) steps to take to action social change. WW1984 attempts to offer this, but Unbelievable provides the gold standard here.
Unbelievable (Netflix, 2019) offers clear strategies to support its transformational vision for justice. By comparing two investigation styles when dealing with sexual assault, viewers are given clear examples of how best to conduct sexual assault investigations, as well as how not to. Writing for The Guardian, Adrian Horton even likened the inclusive strategies demonstrated by the detectives in episode two of the series as suitable for use as “a high-budget training video for sexual assault investigators”. Unbelievable offers spectators a compelling story, with strong female leads, which raises awareness of an issue and offers actionable steps to instigate meaningful change in this area. We shouldn’t need to watch a gritty crime drama to find this, however.
WW1984 does elevate negotiation, social responsibility, and love above violence and dominance. In the final moments of the film (spoiler) Diana must convince Maxwell Lord, and everyone who has wished on the stone, to renounce their wish in favour of the people they love and society at large. It should have been a beautiful, uplifting moment. Humanity before greed, social responsibility above egoism. Perhaps if I lived in New Zealand, it would have been.
My experience watching WW1984 was markedly different to that of Wonder Woman. Almost a year into a global pandemic where initial sentiments of solidarity had begun to fray; covid-strain, zoom-fatigue, and isolation-exhaustion had bred mistrust and blame-placing. 2020 was markedly dissimilar to 2017, and surely every year in living memory. The winter of 2020/2021 was a particularly bleak period. Locked down for the third time, separated from loved-ones over Christmas, and anxious for a real but still-distant vaccine, as a rare treat, I snuggled down with my partner to rent WW1984 (cinemas being closed).
Just as the mood of 2017 welcomed and celebrated Wonder Woman, so the bitterness and strain of 2020/2021 eroded WW1984. The playful, upbeat 80s nostalgia fell a little flat, as did the character of Maxwell Lord (aka 80s Trump). Greed, ambition, and narcissism felt both hollow and far too familiar as villains. It is painful to admit that in a superhero film, where our protagonist is an ancient goddess, I couldn’t quite suspend my disbelief sufficiently to concede that humanity might just put self aside for the greater good. Had it landed during the social cohesion of lockdown #1, before Barnard Castle, PPE cronyism, anti-maskers, Brexit, and a momentous hundred thousand deaths and rising, perhaps then I could have believed. Or maybe Peter Debruge is right, the end flopped because it dropped us out of escapism and back into our cold reality. Right now we need socially conscious leadership and collective action more than ever, and it feels pitifully slim on the ground.
Nonetheless, WW1984 deserves some credit for attempting to shirk dominance for compassion in those final moments. Ill-executed and clunky as it was, there is a revolutionary texture to the villain being redeemed rather than defeated. An action-packed indulgence can be thrilling and invigorating, but it is empathy that builds common ground, supports perspective-taking, and reaches across divisions.
I hope Wonder Woman 3, when it arrives, embraces intersectional values, rejects the male gaze, and empowers viewers with active strategies for compassionate leadership.
That would be a superhero film worth seeing!