Sally Jane Black’s review published on Letterboxd:
We oppose imperialism. As the most destructive action in the world, as the source of more war, death, and exploitation than anything this world has known since chattel slavery was born, imperialism is the highest, most vile, most horrifying aspect of capitalism, and we oppose it. We oppose the countries that engage in it. We oppose the armies that effect it. We oppose the racism that enables it. We oppose the economic outlook that devised it. And we oppose the lies that support it.
And we oppose those who spread those lies.
It's hard to watch this movie, as it is hard to watch a film about abuse where the lead actor is a known abuser, as it is hard to watch a film with a cis man playing a trans woman, because its message is shown to be the vacant, hollow noise that it is by the fact that it is a product of those who profit off of the violence and destruction the film ostensibly opposes. World War I was the culmination of imperialist aggression at the time it happened, only to be topped twenty years later before settling into the endless consumptive parasitic wars we have now. This film tries to engage with that reality through the naivete of its lead character (played by someone who fully embraces the lies that support imperialism), but it is itself a naive fantasy.
If I had known before I bought my ticket, I probably would not have gone, but I saw that there was a woman-only showing here at my favorite theatre, and I impulsively bought a ticket. The show sold out so quickly none of my friends had time to buy one, so I ended up going alone. Before the show, as I was getting ready, I was overwhelmed by an anxiety attack. I reached out, and help was given. I found calm, or as close as I could get, and I went to the theatre. No one batted an eye as I got my ticket; in line, I felt like I was being stared at but could not prove it. In the theatre, I sat down, and a couple sat next to me. The two women greeted me politely, and we chatted a little bit. No animosity. No stares. No exclusion whatsoever. The atmosphere was celebratory. Women were in costumes. Middle aged cis women were wearing Wonder Woman outfits. (This is New Orleans; we all have a few costumes handy.) When the movie played, the laughter was that knowing kind of laugh you get when you're in on the joke, the sort of haha wink wink that's for us kind of laughter. When Wonder Woman walked across No Man's Land, there was applause, and when the credits rolled. Despite the film I was watching, it felt good to be there.
It feels better in women-only spaces. It feels worse when they reject you and better when they accept you. It's unjust, a sign of internalized whatever, but the affirmation of being welcomed into women's spaces is a healing force, a shield against dysphoria and so much more. The two women who ended up next to me, who were so friendly, did more for me than they could possibly know. My anxiety fell away and as the film played, I felt engaged not just with the story being told but with the people around me. It was a rowdier crowd, but not a distracting one. There were no deep bonds formed, but for a while, it was nice to just be part of a special space.
It was the best part of the movie, and it stood in contrast to the movie's flaws. The manner in which Steve took center over Diana so often, or was continually given the final say in a fight or argument, the manner in which she was reduced not just by her naivete, by her ignorance, but also at times by her femininity--and this is unforgivable, as femininity has been demonized to the detriment of cis and trans women for forever--the way the black Amazons were shown to be largely in service to the white Amazons, the corny "empowered by love" bullshit, the othering aspects of the film went against the spirit being embraced by those who viewed it. It felt good to be a part of something, but being part of something made the exclusionary subtext of the film and the context injected into it by its star's violence more pronounced.
And that's also why it's okay if you loved it. Because it does have that power, if you have the right context. It can be sweet, or empowering, or a relief, or satisfying. If this is something you've waited for your whole life or if this has room for you or if you can note the better-than-average inclusivity of the main cast or if you cheered her march through No Man's Land, that's fine, that's great, I appreciate your enjoyment of the film. But understand too that what you got to enjoy is denied to others, and that's why I demand more.
52 project: 83/52