The Routine Debasement of the Transgressive Heroine

Hi everyone. Stephanie invited me to this blog, so I thought I'd contribute by posting a paper I wrote for a Women Writers class last year. It starts by focusing on the "fallen woman" film genre of the 1930s, but soon delves tangentally into an incoherent array of associations. I apologize for the obscene length of the post - not to mention its inexcusable dryness. (This is why I'm not an advertising major).

The Routine Debasement of the Transgressive Heroine

In The Wages of Sin, Lea Jacobs scrutinizes the pre-production controversies surrounding the fallen woman film genre, often referred to as the “sex picture.” The story of the fallen woman was typically marked by a sexual transgression linked directly to the heroine’s downfall (Jacobs 5). Contemporary digressions from traditional conventions, however, were viewed by certain parties as potentially offensive, sparking the need for some method of regulation. Relying primarily on case files, screenplay revisions, and studio memoranda, Jacobs presents a thorough examination of how the industry’s system of self-censorship contributed to the Hollywood representation of female sexuality from 1928 to 1942 — the latter year being “when the system of self-regulation [became] complicated by the Office of War Information’s attempt to monitor scripts through its Bureau of Motion Pictures” (Jacobs 25). The idea of the fallen woman, however, certainly does not seem to be a novelty of 1930’s film. The Biblical Book of Genesis, for example, gives the account of the first woman’s fall in the face of temptation. Upon discovering her transgression, God tells Eve that “In sorow thou shalt bring forth children: and thy desire shall be to thy husband, and hee shall rule ouer thee” (16). Thus, childbearing and societal inferiority are the eternal wages of her sin. In Milton’s Paradise Lost, which also is rendered divinely legitimate by the author’s self-proclamation, Adam tells Eve that “nothing lovelier can be found / In woman, than to study household good, / And good works in her husband to promote” (Milton 1978). The promotion of the female’s domesticity and of subjugated devotion to her male counterpart as a God-intended role is nothing short of value-oriented manipulation working to justify patriarchal morality. Similarly, the system of self-censorship associated with the 1930’s film industry effectively denounced or punished transgressive heroines in order to stabilize gender roles and to advance a normative definition of the family through domestication (Jacobs 123). Bearing in mind the gradual demise of the Production Code, and the advent of the women’s liberation movement in the 1960s and 1970s (as described by Alice Echols in Daring to be Bad), the idea of the fallen woman has evolved considerably. Consequently, contemporary film, and the viewing public, are generally more sympathetic to feminist values, yet some of it is still marked by rote conventions of self-censorship distinguished by the effort to maintain a sense of contemporary decency or the attempt to avoid potential backlash from morally conservative communities.

The rationale behind the necessity to portray sexuality in a certain manner “is best understood,” according to Jacobs, “as a function of a set of assumptions about spectatorship, specifically female spectatorship, current in the thirties” (3). These assumptions were reinforced by Herbert Blumer and Philip M. Hauser’s Movies, Delinquency and Crime, a reputable scientific study focusing upon the psychological and social effects of filmgoing on young males and females, which attributed the problems of prostitution and misbehavior among female adolescents to the “sex picture” (Jacobs 5). Due to this conception of the consequences of spectatorship, Jacobs argues, “the resistance to the fallen woman film on the part of censors and reformers largely centered upon…new permutations of the genre” that were deemed potentially offensive (6). It was then suspected that films shaped the morals of audiences, so it was argued by the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors Association that they must safeguard moral standards (Jacobs 40).

One particularly troubling aspect for these parties was a new emphasis on social mobility among women. Perhaps the most blatant example of aggressive social mobility is found in the 1933 film Baby Face, which portrays a woman who sexually exploits men in order to rise to a prominent and luxurious position. Considering the film was “banned in Switzerland, Australia, three Canadian provinces, and in the United States in Virginia, Ohio, and initially New York,” even after standard revision procedures were implemented, one can get a sense of how dangerous or undesirable the idea of female aggressiveness was viewed to be, for there was a fear that witnessing such aggression on screen would produce a congregation of imitators (Jacobs 69).

Also among the permutations of the fallen woman film, along the same lines as social mobility, was the depiction of glamour. Jacobs states that “in the thirties, glamour was defined as a problem by reform groups and social scientists concerned about the Hollywood cinema’s presumed appeal to women, particularly young, working-class women” (133). In the 1937 film Stella Dallas, the heroine goes to the movies and becomes mesmerized by the upper-class lifestyle portrayed on the screen. Her aspirations for such riches come true when she, a poor girl, marries into an aristocratic family and is provided “with a large house, elaborate clothes, and an entrance into the town’s most exclusive club” (Jacobs 134). Yet in both films, the heroine is not allowed to remain prosperous, as the instances of female aggressiveness are intentionally reciprocated with some form of denunciation; for it would not be conducive to conventional morality for the films to condone transgression by associating it with success.

Jacobs makes a distinction between the regulation techniques of pre-1934 and post-1934, the former generally relying on a single major debasement or punishment of the transgressive heroine, and the latter using a more omnipresent form of judgment, “‘hidden’ within the mechanisms of narration” (148). It is commonly believed that the Studio Relations Committee, the division of the MPPDA in charge of the administration of censorship, was “an ineffectual organization, unable to enforce the terms of the Production Code until its reconstitution as the Production Code Administration in 1934.” However, Jacobs points out that in the period 1929-1934 the office actually was active in negotiating with producers and formulating strategies for dealing with the fallen woman genre (27). For example, the Committee was heavily involved in the negotiations concerning Baby Face. In order to render the gold-digging heroine’s exploitation of men less explicit, the producers were advised to censor much of the sexual innuendo surrounding her rise to prominence (Jacobs 74). After the New York state board rejected the film, however, it became clear that an acknowledgment of conventional values was needed in order to undo the appeal of female exploitation. This was accomplished by changing the ending—which originally was to show the heroine reacting with indifference to her husband’s suicide—to one that both punishes her with sudden impoverishment and stabilizes her role as a female through domestication. According to Jacobs, Baby Face’s “ending is crucial to censorship, not only because it inverts the trajectory of class rise, but also because the heroine’s sudden reformation allows the inversion of the power relations that have been played out along the lines of sexual difference” (78). The product of such endings was apparently typical of Studio Relations Committee negotiations, given that, as a general rule of thumb, sin was to be ultimately portrayed as unattractive and crime was to be punished.

Since the Committee “focused primarily on denunciation scenes and endings, it could tolerate forms of the plot which would have been unacceptable after 1934” (Jacobs 152). This is because, as previously stated, the Production Code Administration developed a more pervasive mode of censorship, one interwoven throughout the majority of the film narrative. Whereas “pre-Code” films were often characterized by abrupt shifts and seemingly illogical sequences, films after 1934, such as Stella Dallas, were rather uniform in their judgment of the transgressive heroine. In contrast to films of the early thirties, which frequently portrayed class rise as a graceful and unproblematic experience, Stella Dallas “marks the failure of the heroine’s social aspirations by rendering her transformation as a hideous display” (Jacobs 135). After her marriage to Steven Dallas, Stella is almost immediately shunned due to her inability to conform to upper-class tastes and interests. Later, she is even forced to leave her daughter in the care of Steven’s new upper-class wife in order to guarantee her daughter’s success (Jacobs 134). Stella’s realization of her own common status and her self-sacrifice for the well-being of her daughter were clearly contributions to the acceptability of the film in the eyes of the Production Code Administration, but what was probably most significant to that end was the portrayal of her discomfort with the upper-class lifestyle. Jacobs asserts that Stella Dallas “undercut the motif of class rise in ways which made it highly congenial with the aims and interests of censorship” (134).

Jacobs’ most important clarification is that self-regulation or self-censorship was always, to some extent, in accordance with the goals of film producers (150). The Studio Relations Committee typically was not involved in banning films or cutting scenes, but rather in negotiations that were ultimately beneficial to producers. The Committee’s goal was to identify certain elements of a film that the state boards would find offensive. Upon identification, the committee would advise the producers to alter particular aspects, or it would defend the inclusion of such elements as instrumental in upholding certain conventional values; Jason Joy, head of the Production Code Administration, declared that “the mere statement or even description of an evil, lawless or immoral act is not in itself immoral and the question of whether it would ‘tend to corrupt morals’ or incite to crime would depend upon the impression left as to whether the act stated is profitable or unprofitable” (Jacobs 49). The state boards, as Jacobs notes, were the genuine threat to producers, with the ability to alter a film’s editing by emitting certain scenes and also to even prevent films from being shown (20). So the Studio Relations Committee actually aimed to help producers avoid such violations to their films, though they still tried to remain faithful to the Code.

The Production Code, which was implemented officially in 1930, specified primarily that “‘no picture shall be produced that will lower the moral standards of those who see it. Hence the sympathy of the audience should never be thrown to the side of crime, wrongdoing, evil or sin’” (Wikipedia). Aside from films centered around gold diggers and other transgressive women, one genre affected by the Code was classic noir, in which the villains tended “to be homosexual aesthetes…or homosexual Nazi sadists…[threatening] the values of a democratic and somewhat proletarian masculinity” (Naremore 98-99). The motivations behind the suppression of depictions of such “sexual perversion” were ideologically analogous to those underlying the criticisms of the transgressive female in film; the misrepresentation of what was deemed corruption and immorality constituted a danger to the conservative patriarchal status quo. Accordingly, it was violence—a matter relatively harmless in the patriarchal scheme in comparison to sex—that “accounted for the most visible changes in the standards of motion-picture censorship during the 1940s and early 1950s” (Naremore 102). Perhaps, in part, this also can be attributed to the desensitization of routine violence in the midst of American involvement in World War II and the Korean War. During the McCarthy Era, with the formation of House Un-American Activities Committee and the Hollywood blacklist, writers and directors relied on self-censorship to avoid any overtly undemocratic or unpatriotic subject matter. Once again, the pressures on filmmakers stemmed from the apprehensions of conservative ideology.

It was not until the late 1960s that the Production Code was abandoned due to its ineffectiveness and the lack of any means of enforcement. Furthermore, the Motion Picture Association of America introduced a ratings system, in 1968, “under which there would be virtually no restriction on what could be in a film” (Wikipedia). Another significant transformation came with the alleged sexual liberation of women. David Loth wrote in a 1961 publication that

“emancipation” and other factors have given women a taste for more precise sexuality than the insinuating tone of the Victorians. The social conversation which is permitted in polite circles broadens. Petting, even in public places, and discreet sexual experiences outside of marriage grow more tolerated and are even condoned. The widespread recognition of the fact that orgasm is not only possible for women but is entirely proper and indeed their right is encouraged by much of the current sex education. The literature which women reared in this atmosphere find erotically stimulating must also undergo some alterations.” (Loth 152-153)

This suggestion that women’s desire for erotic stimulation is at the heart of thematic and descriptive alterations is remarkably unsatisfying. It seems more sensible, rather, that the prospect of open sexual expression, in the absence of any form of overt censorship, allows for the inevitable acceptance of new extremes, and the redefinition of what constitutes pornography.

Loth’s assessment of emancipation, because it was published in 1961, obviously was not able to evaluate what is today considered a more distinguished time for the advancement of feminist agendas—the late 1960s to the mid 1970s. An understanding of the women’s liberation movement of this particular time and its cultural implications may help to explain some of the changes in the portrayal of women in contemporary film. The movement was comprised of numerous factions including the politicos and the liberal feminists, but the radical feminists were perhaps the most influential of the period. While

“liberal feminism sought to include women in the mainstream, radical feminism embodied a rejection of the mainstream itself. And while liberal feminists defined the problem as women’s exclusion from the public sphere, radical feminists focused on the sexual politics of personal life.” (Echols 15)

Often employing the slogan “the personal is political,” radical feminists argued that women’s inequality in the public domain was linked to their subordination in the family (Echols 3). Echols notes that “the historical conditions that prevailed by the mid-twentieth century—improved possibilities for female economic independence, and accessible and reliable…contraception—made the radical feminist assault on the family possible” (13). Radical feminists “shamelessly asserted women’s right to sexual pleasure while resisting male-defined ideas of sexual liberation,” since they still, to some degree, equated sex with danger (Echols 14). Radical feminism, like all social change movements, failed to survive.

It remained the dominant force of the women’s liberation movement until cultural feminism became the prevailing tendency in 1975, led by the liberal feminists (Echols 243). One of the most appealing aspects of cultural feminism was that it offered women a sort of escape from male supremacy and subordination (Echols 269). Cultural feminism, unlike the politically-charged radical feminism, revolved around the idea of creating an alternative women’s culture with institutions independent from the dominant culture (Echols 270-271). Stressing the connections between women rather than the differences, the founders of the Feminist Economic Network “maintained that women could embrace capitalism and eschew democracy precisely because they were women and had common interests” (279). The empowerment of females through the prospect of entrepreneurship signified economic self-sufficiency and freedom from patriarchy (Echols 272). Yet cultural feminism was attacked and criticized by both radical and left feminists alike. Joanne Parrent argued that “‘we will never make the immense changes that as feminists we see necessary by imitating the structures that men have created’” (Echols 278). Adrienne Rich, though an early supporter of alternative women’s culture, contended that it was a withdrawal from political struggle, and that “‘woman only space,’ while often a ‘strategic necessity,’ had too often become ‘a place of emigration, an end in itself.’” (Echols 281). In response to those who were cynical about women’s culture, Rita Mae Brown made the provocative assertion that

“Big is bad. Feminists don’t want anything to do with it because women will strangle in frozen hierarchies…Perhaps what we don’t acknowledge is that big means successful in America. Many feminists may die before they admit but they are terrified of success. Failure in patriarchal terms, defines women. Success means you’re a ballbuster, acting like a man.” (Echols 275).

One significant transformation that cultural feminism brought about, as Echols notes, is that “the struggle for liberation became a question of individual will and determination, rather than collective struggle” (279). Thus, if one accepted this individualist line, it was a woman’s own fault if she was not successful. This line of thinking was indicative of liberal and cultural feminists’ shared promotion of power and hierarchy, and their condemnation of confrontational politics (Echols 279).

Despite the fact that it was internally fractured from the beginning, the women’s liberation movement, most notably the radical feminist faction, made some great strides that have vastly affected the world today (Echols 285). The rise of “feminist health centers, credit unions, rape crisis centers, bookstores…publishing companies,” and newspapers were, for cultural feminists, a profitable opportunity for women (Echols 272). But for radical feminists, these counter-institutions were part of a compromise to help satisfy needs unattended to by the current system and to raise public awareness of feminist political issues. Echols lists some of radical feminism’s lasting impacts:

“By challenging the phallocentrism of normative heterosexuality, radical feminists have contributed to a restructuring of heterosexual sex… [W]omen are today more apt to assert their sexual needs. Both the legalization of abortion and growing public awareness of rape as a serious crime (reflected in revised rape laws) have done a great deal to further women’s sexual self-determination. By exposing the sexism of the medical profession, questioning the omniscience of the physician, and promoting, questioning the omniscience of the physician, and promoting self-help techniques, radical feminists have encouraged women to take a more active role in their health care. Radical feminism’s assault on the nuclear family and institutionalized heterosexuality has helped to make it possible (if not easy) for people to fashion alternatives to the nuclear family and heterosexuality…There has been some erosion of sexual division of labor in the home…Finally, although gender is far from meaningless in our culture, our cultural definitions of masculinity and femininity are today far less rigid and constraining than was the case before the resurgence of feminist activism in the late ‘60s.” (Echols 285-286)

The effects of radical feminism are reflected in the release of the 1994 film The Last Seduction, which probably would not have been made before the 1970s, and certainly could not have been made as early as the 1930s. Linda Fiorentino plays the heroine (or perhaps the anti-heroine) Bridget, who is first seen in an office building, patronizing and belittling the men who work for her. Her assertiveness and dominance in this scene set the tone for the rest of the film. Bridget’s idea of an alternative to the nuclear family is in running away with her husband’s drug money (which is earned as a result of her persuading him to sell medical cocaine), tossing her wedding ring into the vehicle’s loose change bin, and then proceeding to get another job under a different name. At the local bar, after she asks “what a girl has to suck around [there] to get a drink,” an onlooker remarks that there must be “a new set of balls” in town. A man named Michael attempts to play the chivalrous gentleman in buying Bridget a drink, but she is not impressed. He tells her that he is “hung like a horse,” and she, unexpectedly, orders him to show her. While sitting at a booth in the bar, she reaches inside his pants and feels him up (which is ironic, as the men were talking about how many women they’ve felt up at the bar). As if this was not humiliating enough for the now-emasculated fellow, Bridget coldly tells him when he should meet her outside to have sex. After having sex on multiple occasions, Michael tells her that he wants to get to know her more, and she responds, “Okay, you can be my designated fuck.” This reversal of the prospect of phallocentric heterosexuality is a dangerous thing for Bridget’s new sex object, who complains that she will not “stop reminding [him] that [she’s] bigger than [him].”

As Nicholas Nicastro contends, “the pleasure [in The Last Seduction] isn’t suspense, but in the definitive portrayal of a particular male fantasy: the beautiful woman as emotionally disconnected, remotely controlling, and therefore invulnerable as men wish they could be…Bridget engages the deep current of male masochism so cleanly missed in pop psychology and most Hollywood movies.” She almost always remains in control of men and, consequently, everything else. Indeed, the scenes where she appears to be weak or submissive are deceiving. For example, the first sex scene where she is not on top occurs only after he submits to her interests. Another instance is when Bridget walks out to the car of the private spy hired to watch her. Her attire is, opportunely, similar to that of a domestic housewife from the 1930s. And although she is carrying a plate of chewy, homemade cookies, she also is carrying the nail strip that she places under the tire of the spy’s car. Alone, the heroine’s deliberate use of sexuality to exploit and manipulate men undoubtedly would have called for justice done unto her if the film were made in the 1930s. But her utter disregard for morality does not stop her merely at sexual exploitation; she later deceives Michael into killing a man (who happens to be her husband), and then ends up doing it herself. This particular femme fatale, however, is never punished or denounced as was typical in early fallen women films. Instead, she is seen driving off in a limousine, knowing that her husband is dead and that Michael is in jail for it. The fallen woman comes out on top. Nicastro commends director John Dahl for never letting up, never condescending “to Bridget by parsing her character in search of why. To answer that question would make Bridget a character instead of an icon, and The Last Seduction a morality play instead of a kick in the balls.”

The moral disregard of The Last Seduction and the mere thought of Loth’s supposed sexual emancipation are both absent in the 2002 film The Magdalene Sisters, which is based on the true story of the estimated 30,000 women detained in Ireland’s laundry factories, or Magdalene Asylums. Run by Catholic nuns for over 150 years, the last factory reportedly was closed quite recently, in 1996 (Dolbee). The fallen “whores” subjected to a life of labor are told to follow the example of the Biblical character Mary Magdalene, for, as the head sister avows, her “salvation came only by paying penance for her sins, denying herself all pleasures of the flesh.” The main characters, however, can hardly be called sinners—Margaret is a victim of rape; Bernadette is denounced as a “temptress” (though she never once touches a boy); and Rose has a child out of wedlock. (Mary Magdalene’s traditionally poor reputation can be called into question too, since the Catholic Church did not regard her as a prostitute until the late sixth century, over two centuries after Jesus Christ’s divinity was affirmed, quite conveniently, at the Council of Nicea, but I digress). Although the film attacks the moral domination of the white male Church, the actual transgressors never are punished satisfactorily, and the true victims are not compensated consistently. For example, the much-abused character Chrispina provides a voice of moral denunciation in harshly condemning the sexually unreserved priest, howling repeatedly, “You’re not a man of God!” Yet this only leads to her being confined to an insane asylum for the short-lived remainder of her life. The film’s judicial ambiguity, however, serves effectively as the fallen women’s redemption, at least in the eyes of the audience. While the punishment and denunciation of transgressive women in the films of the 1930s were often warnings to the audience, the same treatment in The Magdalene Sisters is essentially an invitation to sympathize with the lesser of two relative evils, in this case being the women’s desired release from the subjugation of patriarchal morality.

The 2005 independent film Thirteen seems to follow more closely to the 1930s portrayal of fallen women in its blatant declaration of the exponential dangers of insubordination, sexual promiscuity, and drug abuse. In certain scenes where lewd acts are committed, a conventional utilization of ellipses suggests the worst without actually showing it. For example, thirteen-year-old Tracy is last seen unzipping a boy’s pants before she is shown laying next to her friend, where she subtly alludes to how “it” tasted. In another scene, Tracy and her friend mention getting high, before they are shown suddenly dancing in an unabashed manner among the water sprinklers of a local golf course. Filmmakers typically desire controversy to an extent, as it has the potential to increase sales and marketability, but careless distaste can lead to adverse outrage. Accordingly, such instances of directorial self-censorship are an instinctual attempt to maintain a sense of decency that is appropriate to contemporary standards.

The film’s two main characters, Tracy and her mother Melanie, seem to be doomed from the start, taking into consideration the former’s impressionableness and the latter’s difficulties in coping as a single mother. In fact, Melanie’s “transgression” lies in her rejection of both patriarchal marriage and her role as maternal nurturer. She instead seeks to be a friend to her daughter, despite the paternal sensibilities pouring from her son. Tracy detaches herself from familial responsibility as well, and she devotes herself to insubordination. Her mounting exploitation of patriarchal values in her reckless pursuits is mirrored by a rise in social class; her new wardrobe is characterized by glamour, a distinguished quality ascribed to the appearance of gold-diggers. The glamour and fun obviously is transient, though. The screen, once filled with vibrant, bold colors, becomes tinted in a melancholy blue shade as the family’s relationship grows more disastrous. At the point of Tracy’s and Melanie’s ultimate low, just after they have been condemned by neighbors and friends alike, they embrace in the midst of their despair on the kitchen floor, essentially returning to their domestic familial roles as nurturing mother and obedient daughter. Familial reconciliation is hence valued as the moral solution to transgression.

While Thirteen’s writer and director Catherine Hardwicke probably did not intend her sincere warning to be undermined by an omnipresent defense of normative patriarchal domesticity, it nonetheless occurred, due to the awareness of conservative ideology made intrinsic in all humans by society’s perpetual repetition, and the unavoidable rote learning of its values. The conventions of the “sex picture” and the teachings of the “divine” are ingrained in societal thinking; this rote manner of thinking plays a part in the realization of a self-fulfilling prophesy, one where only female limitations are seen rather than female possibilities. Thus, Rita Mae Brown’s assessment of feminists’ fear of success can be applied more vastly to an entire culture. The majority of the population is arguably uncomfortable with the idea of a dominant female figure. Though they are few and far between, it is the films like The Last Seduction that challenge the authoritarian mentality of the patriarchal culture and that cause viewers anxiety and even great anger. And while The Magdalene Sisters and Thirteen do tend to sympathize with their female characters, the films nonetheless place women at a level that viewers are comfortable with. For if the fallen woman is not punished or denounced, she had better not be glorified.


Works Cited

“Bible in English: The First Booke of Moses, called Genesis: Chap. III.” King James Bible. 6 Apr. 2006 .

Dolbee, Sandi. “Film about Laundry Factories Puts the Catholic Church in the Hot Seat – Again.” 21 August 2003. BishopAccountability.org. 10 April 2006. .

Echols, Alice. Daring to Be Bad: Radical Feminism in America 1967-1975. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1989.

Jacobs, L. The Wages of Sin: Censorship and the Fallen Woman Film, 1928-1942. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1991.

Loth, David. The Erotic in Literature. New York: Julian Messner, 1961.

Milton, John. "Paradise Lost." The Norton Anthology of English Literature. Ed. Stephen Greenblatt. 8th ed. vol. B New York: Norton, 2006.

Naremore, James. More Than Night: Film Noir in its Contexts. Berkeley and Los Angeles, California: University of California Press, 1998.

Nicastro, Nicholas. “A lust. Actresses and ambition.” Film Comment. 32.1 (1996): 2-4.

“Production Code.” 6 April 2006. Wikipedia.org. 9 April 2006. .