When I attend a film festival, I make it a priority to see as many films directed by and/or focused on women as humanly possible. While the mainstream box office might still be dominated by films made by men and telling men’s stories, film festivals such as Tribeca are rich with diversity – if you know where to look. These films might not have the most glamorous celebrity names attached or draw the biggest crowds at the festival, but if you take a chance on them, you will often be richly rewarded with stories told from a much different perspective than what you’re used to seeing on the big screen.
In the case of American Woman, writer-director Semi Chellas’ adaptation of the novel of the same name by Susan Choi, that different perspective is that of an Asian-American activist during the dying days of the Vietnam War. Loosely inspired by the woman who spent time with Patty Hearst while the heiress was on the run with revolutionaries, the film focuses on the complex politics and emotions that ran like an electric undercurrent through that troubled era in American history. Yet by telling this story through the eyes of a character who would too often be relegated to the periphery, American Woman gives us a much-needed new viewpoint on a time period that has been depicted on celluloid so many times before.
Peace and Love?
There is a moment at the beginning of American Woman in which a man asks the film’s protagonist, “Why are you girls so goddamn mad?” The woman being questioned, Jenny Shimada (Hong Chau, Downsizing), remains silent, but no matter her response, I was ready to stand up and cheer. After all, how often are women asked similar questions by men who are unable to understand just why we aren’t content to lie down and be steamrolled by the opposite sex? In just one scene, I already felt more understood as a woman than I had in the vast majority of other films I’ve seen this year.
From here, American Woman spirals outward into a lengthy flashback telling the story of how Jenny – a pacifist who mastered the art of living underground after bombing a government draft office in protest of the Vietnam War – got tangled up with three fellow revolutionaries who narrowly escaped dying alongside their comrades when their safe house burned down. One of them is Pauline (Sarah Gadon, Alias Grace), the daughter of a wealthy and powerful newspaper magnate. Pauline was kidnapped by the revolutionary group and eventually converted to their cause, yet it’s clear that she still hasn’t proven her radical bonafides to Juan (John Gallagher Jr., Sadie), the self-appointed leader of the group, who constantly calls Pauline “Princess” and bullies her to the point of physical and emotional abuse.
Jenny is recruited to keep watch over Juan, his partner, Yvonne (Lola Kirke, Gemini), and Pauline in a remote farmhouse in upstate New York. The hope is that Jenny can convince the trio to write a book about their experiences that will help the message of their movement reach the masses. Yet it’s clear from the start that Juan has other plans, and that those plans conflict sharply with Jenny’s pacifist views. Jenny may have built bombs, but she only blew up buildings at night, when they were empty; she never betrayed her values through her methods of resistance. Meanwhile, Juan and company’s flashier actions – primarily robbing banks and causing bloodshed – detract from any political message that they may have been trying to get across. They might be making headlines, but are they really making a difference?
Inner Life
Jenny’s status as an Asian-American woman during the Vietnam War era causes friction within the group and in the outside world. People constantly ask Jenny “what” she is, demanding that she identify herself, as though she presents a danger just by virtue of the color of her skin. Meanwhile, Juan believes that it is Jenny’s duty to provide a “Third World” perspective on their revolutionary struggle, incapable of understanding that his obsession with Jenny’s race and his constant othering of her is the exact opposite of the progressive values he attempts to espouse. (And as Jenny constantly reminds him, she didn’t even grow up in the so-called “Third World” – she’s from California.) Meanwhile, a jealous Yvonne rages that Juan only values Jenny for the color of her skin and what it represents; not a persecuted minority himself, Juan puts those who are on a pedestal, as though that somehow makes him even more of a radical.
After one of Juan’s plans goes haywire, Jenny and Pauline escape on their own and begin driving across the country, attempting to avoid the ubiquitous “Wanted” posters bearing Pauline’s pretty face. Alone together in an intense situation, they develop what appears to be a close friendship, but it soon becomes evident that Pauline has far more going on beneath the surface than she initially let on. Both Jenny and the audience are easily manipulated by her delicate beauty, girlish whispers, and heaving sobs, but it’s clear that Pauline is no mere victim; she will do – and say – whatever it takes to survive.
The plot of American Woman is relatively flimsy; however, the film thrives on the basis of its powerful performances, particularly those from Hong Chau and Sarah Gadon. The two of them subvert every possible trope associated with their characters, bringing all of the inner complexities of Jenny and Pauline to the surface to confront the audience with their own misconceptions. Chau has a magnetic presence that renders Jenny powerful even in her quietest moments. In many ways, the cool-headed and collected Jenny is far more dangerous a revolutionary than the loud, blustering Juan. Unlike Juan, Jenny is clearly and consistently driven by something greater than herself; she is willing to sacrifice for the greater good until the very end. Gadon, much as she did in her standout starring role in Alias Grace, seesaws between childish naivety and calculating intensity, reminding us all – onscreen characters and audience members – that first impressions aren’t always what they seem.
American Woman: Conclusion
American Woman is at its best once Jenny and Pauline begin traveling on their own; while the scenes of the four rebels together in the house occasionally veer into cliche, the scenes between these two complicated women feel utterly fresh. It’s their unique perspectives that are the most valuable to the story, and it’s their scenes that keep this fiery film from crashing and burning.
What do you think? Does American Woman sound like it provides a valuable perspective on the complex politics of 1970s America? Share your thoughts in the comments below.
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