But I hope I don't get killed by a giant boulder

I’ve decided I want to be Lara Croft when I grow up.

Sure, I’d need millions of dollars to fund all the travel, equipment and training. Don’t own hiking boots. I’ve never handled a gun before. Not to mention the inevitable back problems associated with having boobs the size of cantaloupes.

BUT travelling the world discovering ancient relics and breathtaking new landscapes, exploring civilisations and ruins, climbing mountains, rappelling down gigantic mausoleums, fighting mythological creatures, burning across the desert in a quad bike, diving in search of Atlantis, collecting priceless artefacts, solving puzzles, adventure, action… WHERE DO I SIGN UP?

What’s a girl supposed to do when instead of studying, all she can think of is doing silly dangerous crap like this:


Heh, I love that. “I don’t need climbing equipment or safety gear because I’m BADASS.”

But it’s not all scaling waterfalls in a push-up bra. Lara Croft can be a hardcore jerk sometimes. She pretty much barges into these wonderful heritage sites and steals stuff and kills endangered or mythological or general minding-their-own-business animals. Most disturbing is the nonchalant way in which she executes lethal force against every human being she encounters – including the native inhabitants of the remote Pacific Islands villages she is invading. Smells a bit like Imperialism.

And more often than not, the priceless artefacts she so fiercely pursues fit into some sort of personal vendetta. She will do anything (including murdering copious amounts of people) to get a hold of items that COULD-I DUNNO-MAYBE hold clues to the mysterious and tragic disappearance of her mother.

And the gratuity? Oh, boy. If I’m ever a millionaire adventurer archaeologist trudging through tropical rainforests and deserts and the like I’m going to forgo showing off my cleavage/bellybutton for the sake of basic protection from the environment.

But for all the shady morality and being reduced to a series of sexy body parts, I can’t help being filled with childish glee every time I see pictures of Lara Croft doing something awesome. As a teen the Tomb Raider series ignited a brief interest in archaeology – although I realise now that real archaeologists must get sick of young people brought up on the likes of Tomb Raider and Indiana Jones entering the field and getting puzzled by dusty digging and time-consuming bone-collecting. What the games and the character really ignited in me was that longing for action and adventure – a longing to explore the world in my own way. The kind of recklessness I can only safely indulge in using a Playstation.

So I guess my implausible adventures will have to stay safely tucked away in my imagination as I return to the reality of essay deadlines and waiting tables on Friday nights. But who knows – maybe if I invest in some khaki hot pants, a motorcycle, and a membership at that indoor climbing place on Swanston Street, maybe I’ll at least feel a little closer to being Lara.

Off on my next adventure.

Widow's Bite

So there I was, calmly watching Ironman 2 with my sister, when Scarlett Johansson appears in her Black Widow costume and proceeds to KICK INDESCRIBABLE ASS!


"Did someone order an ass-kicking?"

I'm disappointed that she wasn't more Black Widow-y until that scene (she was "undercover" posing as a PA for most of the film, so not a whole lot to work with but I still think there could've been more of a Romanova edge). In fact I'm disappointed that halfway through the film it didn't just turn into a whole lot of action scenes starring the Black Widow kicking each and every single person in sight's arse and using her stinger bracelets and performing amazing stunts until the end. SHE WAS USING THE STINGER BRACELETS! Though you do have to wonder if carrying kilos of artillery on your wrists gets old.

Watcing female action heros on film for me is like what Skye over at Heroine Content says: "When I walk out of a movie theater after seeing a film where the heroine kicks ass, I have to admit I walk differently. I feel stronger. I feel energized."

I got that feeling after seeing the Tomb Raider films as a teen. I got it after watching Mortal Kombat (I used to jump around pretending to be Kitana when I was 13ish), Domino, the X-Men trilogy, and the prison break scene in Watchmen. Even before the films ended I'd be sitting up straighter, with a secret smile on my face like somebody had just unlocked a new world for me where I had power.

I wish I had that feeling more often. The fact that I can count the amount of times I've been noticeably affected by female power fantasies in films on one hand, compared to the shitloads of male power fantasies that drip out of every cinema, makes me sigh.

“I do not pretend to set people right, but I do see that they are often wrong.”

Good one, Mary Crawford.

I quite like Mary Crawford. Any young lady so wildly over-confident as to make dirty jokes at the dinner table in a Jane Austen novel is all right with me. And look, here she is to the right, as portrayed by Hayley Atwell in the 2007 adaptation of Mansfield Park.

Now I'm not a Fanny-hater either (Fanny Price, Jane Austen character, to any pervert who misunderstood that statement). On contraire, I can relate to a girl who's so timid and painfully unsure of herself that her favourite activity is being a silent observer of those around her, and given that I have struggled with an anxiety disorder, I can definitely relate to Fanny's fears, particularly the terror she feels when at the centre of attention, being 'brought forward' or 'forced to speak'. The controversial protagonist of Austen’s ‘least likeable novel’ has triggered a lot of, shall we say, Mansfield Park flame wars*. One of the foremost supposed problems of the character is her silence and all the negative connotations that go with it – weakness, subordination, insecurity, timidity, restraint and invisibility. Not too surprising that some readers – especially those with high expectations in the lieu of Elizabeth Bennet and the like – find themselves drawn to the more lively and witty Crawfords. However, rather than silence being a marker of Fanny’s insipid or weak nature, I think of Fanny as a character with a naturally reserved temperament and a complex psychological background, with Mansfield Park charting Fanny’s personal and emotional growth.

Mary Crawford FTW, though.

One of my favourite scenes in Mansfield Park is when Mrs. Norris insults and humiliates Fanny in front of the Bertram family and the Crawfords. In the shocked silence that follows Mary suddenly decides to sit with Fanny and cheer her up. Despite being determined to hate her pretty rival, Fanny is grateful for Mary's kindness during this moment of mortification. Clearly, despite being shallow and snobby (and c'mon, Fanny can be just as bitchy, her jealous thoughts about Miss Crawford are rarely that of a charitable Christian), Mary has the capacity for kindness and empathy.

Despite her 'flaws' (that Austen paints with a rather damning puritanical brush), Mary Crawford is awesome. Sure, she’s selfish, materialistic, ambitious, morally ambiguous at times, and her strong opinions are usually just regurgitated generalisations she’s heard everyone else say. But she’s also sharp, clever, sensitive to the feelings of others (even though her lively tongue can’t seem to stop rudely deriding Edmund’s choice of occupation), confident, talented and good-natured. And while Mary Crawford seems to have mastered the social world, she is still learning about herself – whether or not she is valuing the wrong things, whether her old worldview correlates with her experiences, etc. She's only around 18-19, after all!

Edmund could never have made you happy, Miss Crawford. Someone with your looks, popularity and talents – not to mention that handy little fortune – could have done much better. I’m sure any heartbreak suffered at the hands of Edmund would have only served to rein in any of your ‘indelicacies’ and curb that derisive snobbishness. Sobering up after a broken heart, I like to imagine Mary Crawford used the experience to improve as a person and reassess some of her shallower values and stereotypical thinking. I especially like to imagine that Mary Crawford eventually landed a wealthy, morally-upstanding, and equally vivacious and witty man as a husband and found happiness. No less than she deserved.

* I was very much trying to avoid saying 'Fanny Wars', as they have been sometimes referred to...

Backwards In High Heels

To all those who argue that it is perfectly plausible for kick-ass superheroines (or women in similar professions that require stealth, athleticism, martial arts prowess or basic coordination, such as sexy-ninja-assassins!) to be wearing high heels during work hours: I give you the prison break scene from Watchmen.

Next to the opening montage set to “The Times, They Are a-Changin’”, this is my favourite part of the film – seeing Silk Spectre II carve her way through rioting convicts to bust Rorsharch out of prison with Nite Owl II. This sexed-up film translation of Silk Spectre II calmly and efficiently roundhouse kicks, dodges, spins, punches and karate chops these hardened felons and doesn’t even seem to break her stride. Finally she's in action!

Awesome (if a little stiff), isn’t she? About as close to a real life Black Canary as we can get. And look, Silk Spectre II wears spiked fetish boots and garters and no pants and can still kick considerable choreographed arse!

WAIT.

Where did her stiletto heels go during the actual kicking-people-in-the-head bits?

WATCH IT AGAIN.

The high heels are gone! Inexplicably replaced with sensible FLAT heels during the stunts! Fascinating. Certainly seems to suggest that even basic stilted martial arts choreography is hard to perform while wearing sexy spiky heels, doesn’t it? Stiletto heels - specifically designed to place the wearer off balance - would seem to impede one's ability to perform spinning kicking combinations, no?

See, this is my basic rule when it comes to superhero costumes (particularly martial artist type superheroes):

Excluding garishness / colours / capes / symbols / animal motifs / throwbacks-to-superhero-parents etc., would the costume function properly if you wanted to go jogging?

If you answered no to this question, than I daresay it is a very stupid costume indeed. Who the living hell goes jogging in heels?

I don’t get why the costume department didn’t just design Silk Spectre’s costume with flat boots in the first place and keep it at that. Is it so important for the character to be in stilettos, even if it clashes with continuity once she actually performs fight sequences in flats?

There are more female vigilantes/crime fighters/superheroes who appear to sacrifice basic comfort and balance for sexy sexiness than you can poke a stick at. Many, many more. And as Malin Akerman up there demonstrates, not even months of training and working out can counteract the devastating effects ridiculous high heels have upon one's ability to be completely and utterly kickass.

***

Further references for stupid non-functional superheroine costumes:

Rose/Thorn: A split-personality-disordered streetfighter who is quite cool but seems to think basic protection from the elements – let alone protection from bullets/knives/blunt weapons/bare hands – is completely unnecessary. Also wears thigh-high stiletto boots and proudly displays her g-banger throughout an entire issue of Birds of Prey, curtesy of Ed Benes.

Would you wear that to a MMA match?

Rachel Summers: Sure, Marvel Girl is a telepath/telekinetic who can harness the Phoenix Force, hence she doesn’t rely solely on her physical prowess, but that is no excuse to be wearing a miniskirt the size of an elastic band. I presume she needs to walk, run or sit down at some stage.

Nice knickers, Starchilde.

Black Canary looks great in heels – but stabbing factor aside, this martial arts master needs footwear that will aid her in her quest to put some serious whammy on thugs and the like, not clip-cloppy balance-disrupters of doom.

Yeah, she might make it look easy but that shit gets old fast in high heels. Not to mention it could be permanently crippling. S'why Dinah's ditched them for stompy army-style boots.

I'm not too keen on Elektra’s peekaboo red loincloth either, but that’s for another day. At least she wasn’t tottering around in high heels, though.