Extract of Thoughts on SQIFF and Arika

SQIFF's arrival in Glasgow offered an opportunity to see a great many queer films in a short period of time, sketching out the boundaries of where queer cinema has been and where it is heading. The range of choices, from serious 1960s' attempts to articulate queerness to contemporary witty chronicles of dating anxiety, SQIFF is an inclusive and intelligent introduction to a difficult and contested area.

The presence of 'The Queer' in Glasgow has become increasingly visible, and this is partially thanks to the work of Arika, an Edinburgh based organisation who, for the past three or four years, have curated a series of events, both in Glasgow and beyond, that have celebrated queer theory and art. 

Arika's Episodes at Tramway have shown art from the New York Ballroom scene, staged lectures from academics and connected unlikely allies - Miss Prissy, the queen of crump and M Lamar, philosopher Fred Moten. It's this variety that ensured that Queerness was not simply presented as a novelty, but as a dynamic and diverse entity. Difficult to define, appropriately, but also fertile and emancipatory: the chat between Prissy and Ballroom artists revealed an intriguing shared enthusiasm for ballet, while Lamar's musical magic grappled with the problems of making beauty from ugly historical fact.

Arika's approach seems to be based in a series of conversations: some happen in America, others are not public facing (such as their 2014 'community work with the Sex Workers Open University'). These conversations are then placed in a public space, and audiences get to join in.

The proliferation of queer festivals in Scotland, and the identification of certain work as 'queer' (not always accurately), suggests that Arika's work has laid a foundation for a discussion about the meaning of the word and its importance for art and society. Typically, though, Arika have kept moving. Their last Episode took on the notion of care, moving away from the Ballroom and Black American emphasis of Episode 6.

Arika's work beyond Scotland feeds into their Glasgow Episodes, and each event becomes a link in a longer chain of conversations, arguments and creative practices. Without them - and this being an example of how allowing Arika to 'fail' (certain lectures are boring, some of the artists can indulge themselves on the audience's patience) can build towards a wider, more inclusive and evolving network of ideas and experimental festivals.


April 2014 - Masters Ballstar Weekend in New York with the ballroom community
Sept 2014 - Episode 6: Make A Way Out Of No Way
February - non-public community work in Glasgow with the Sex Workers Open University, the Unity Centre and West Glasgow Against Poverty
April 2015 - Episode 7: We Can’t Live Without Our Lives
May 2015 - No Total Weekend, New York

SQIFF: Something Positive

I'm sitting out front of the CCA in the 'parklet' with Sam Kenyon. I am only talking to him because I respect his opinion and really like him: I had previously intended to boycott him because he didn't come in to see Pasolini's Theorem. Sam is being reasonable, and pointing out that the word 'queer' is all about the fluidity of meaning, while I am moaning that it is being appropriated by the mainstream. I think we are both right, although I am being conservative and wanting to hang onto an idea of queer that belongs to Jarman, Bikini Kill and the 1990s.

What makes us old once made us young.

Sam also programmed the selection of more experimental films - films that I regard as being more queer because their formal aspects (which some people might call bad editing, rejecting the gloss of contemporary cinema) offer the kind of retinal shudder that I dig. They are not easy to watch, allude rather than display, and juxtapose images in a way that reflects intersectionality. 

There has been a lovely atmosphere in the CCA during SQIFF. I shy away from conversations about political matters in public (except for with Sam, who gets the full-frontal Vile jabber), but the building has been full of people who care about art as a medium for discussion. Diane Torr did her banana dance on the Friday night, and where there are bananas, there is fun.

The range of films has been great - not least because Pasolini got a slot, and I got to see some difficult 'feminist pornography' (which I did not enjoy, either in the feminist or pornographic sense). Like Arika's exploration of the Ballroom scene, SQIFF gave me plenty of food for thought, ready to be half-baked by me into opinion. 

Sam is always a great deal more thoughtful than I am, but I like to think we share a sensibility. Both the tough art films and the big blockbuster are valuable to us, and the possibility of conversation combats the misery of catching rotten art. 

More Feminist Porrn

Trigger Warnings: Discussion of pornography, NSFW, Video of an Asshole

1. Having come down rather hard on SQIFF's Feminist Porn selection (suggesting that it was mis-titled and condemning the pretension of Marit Ostberg's contributions), I'd like to dwell on a work that didn't fill me with anger and frustration, but missed the mark both as pornography and feminist film-making. 

Shave Me, Mirror Me is not pornography. Director, and star, Lasse Rusk, has made a personal 'transsexual erotic movie about wanting to kill your inner man and be reborn into mother earth'. It's got a bit of hot cock wanking action, but mostly consists of Lasse's transformation (to looking a bit like early Prince, which is kinda sexy, though). 

2. Pornography has a very clear intention: to get the audience off. Erotica (bearing in mind that old joke - erotica is what I like, porn is what you like) aims at something more complex, but is really just a more pleasant tag for sexy material. Erotica is possibly a better term to use in this context, since it lacks the stigma of pornography (the root in Greek implies that it describes the actions of prostitutes).

And Lasse is an undeniably erotic presence through the film. But as the reference to mother earth suggests in the description, there's a bunch of New Age bullshit structuring the adventure. Lasse adds in some unpleasant comments on masculinity (it's all violence and machismo, apparently) that connects back to less nuanced Radical Feminism (a feminism that has little time for trans identity). 

Most of Shave Me follows Lasse's journey, which is fine, if a little self-indulgent. There's plenty of chat about friendship, past or possible sexual encounters, but little context. By being so apolitical, Lasse might be making another point (not all trans film has to be about the politics). But it is also a film about a small group of people, with little displayed consciousness about the wider meanings of gender.

3. Even if the film is about sex, that does not make it porn. But the charge that it isn't feminist is more tricky. The lack of explicit political awareness isn't necessarily a problem, although it is frustrating. Where it gets confused is in the final sequence, which pitches live action child-birth against Lasse dancing about in nature.

While I reject most essentialism about gender, giving birth is one of those things that remain, at the moment, the domain of cis-gendered women. I mean literally giving birth, not having children.

Juxtaposing that with an under-developed ritual to cleanse Lasse of masculinity was not a powerful move. It undermined the point. In my opinion, of course. 

4. So the failure as a feminist film consists of presenting childbirth as a marker of identity. Discuss, if you like. 

Feminist Porn

Trigger Warnings: Discussion of pornography, NSFW, violent sexual fantasies

1. One day, I am going to learn.

Part of SQIFF, this selection of short films seemed the perfect opportunity to address the conflict between my libido and my desired social identity. On the one hand, I am aware of the systemic oppression of women through patriarchal ideas of beauty and eroticism: on the other, I have a filthy mind that I hope to contain within the wider context of social responsibility.

2. Right...

After that introduction, forgive me if I ramble.

Certain atheists  accuse feminism of poisoning things: in this case, it feels as if porn is doing the poisoning. Intrigued as I was to experience women-friendly erotica, four of the films managed to be self-defeating and obnoxious, while the other two (On Your Back and Neurosex Pornoia Episode 2) were playful and experimental, respectively.

3. I didn't really want to write a qualitative assessment of the selection. It feels important that the conversation about feminism porn happens in a safe environment, where matters like ratings are ignored for a broader consideration of the possibilities of feminist pornography.

But the quality of this work is important. Its aesthetic failures prevent the discussion. Some of the pieces (Authority) present enough sex to count as porn, others (Shave Me, Mirror Me) make do with a cheeky wank and ponderous meditations on gender. The interview with director Marit Ostberg, however, is a testament to a painfully self-indulgent, self-regarding vision of both feminism and art.

4. Feminist interventions into pornography (and sex work) have become difficult. The debate over lap-dancing generated by the under-considered legislation knocking about the Scottish Parliament encouraged my insistence that any use of the word feminism needs an adjective to clarify its position. 

While I recognise the right of people living in an area to define its tone (the legislation seems to be aiming at this), a more active feminist response might be to ensure that the women who work in the clubs are not being exploited, financially or emotionally. The same applies to pornography: feminist erotica would be made by performers who are getting paid and treated right. Maybe unionised, even?

5. In Marit, the interview with Ostberg, there are repeated references to the politics of her films. She never really explains what the politics are - she recognises that she didn't consider them in the making, and only the circumstances of one film's release forced her to discuss it. There is a vague idea that her working methods (the performers are not doing it for money, they are friends) is an anti-capitalist provocation.

Set alongside a showing of her Authority, however, this is not good enough. Having said that the politics were secondary to the act of making the films (although the sexuality she portrays is consciously queer and she makes a point about making the films because she wanted to represent it, which makes it a political action...), she connects her work to anti-pornography feminists of the 1970s (apparently, it is the same struggle), and answers potential critiques of her material (isn't it rather close to mainstream pornography) with a useless 'it's a paradox' or 'it's interesting'.

It probably is interesting, although saying that it is fails to unravel why it might be.

6. Authority, one of the two Ostberg shorts shown in the programme fails to make much of a political point. Apart from the terrible lighting, which renders her performers pale and insipid, and the weak editing, the actual sex on show is violent. 

Okay, so it plays a game, in the relationship between a criminal and a police-officer - there is a vague ironic reversal of power. The low production values might offer the veneer of alternative cinema, but the sex itself is generic and abusive.

That is not to say it is non-consensual, or documents an act of abuse (Ostberg is clear about her performers' desire to act out the fantasies). But it does represent a fantasy of sexual violence. This kind of material is open to exactly the same critique as mainstream violent pornography: that it depraves the audience.

That critique might be invalid, but that the difference between Authority and New Wave Hookers ends up being pretty minimal. And I'm sure Crusty Porn can present low quality film making just as effectively. 

7. Ostberg's redeeming feature is her wit: her other short, Ladybeard, is funny. And there is a joke at the end of Authority which is worth a titter. That's not enough to justify a copper getting pumped off a night-stick, though. People walked out, and I am assuming that they were offended by the content. 

That is people who came to see feminist porn... not by mistake. 

8. The big problem here is that I am a guy trying to decide whether the porn is feminist. It's not obvious that I have the right to decide. I can say I was disgusted by Authority and my memory of it makes me want to avoid pornography. So, maybe she is working in the tradition of Dworkin. 

But if feminist porn means porn aimed at women, then I need to shut up (or be taken as a single, subjective voice). But another word came up in the interview with Ostberg, one that is not surprising in the context of SQIFF.

It is a queer festival and the adjective that this programme needed was queer. There is no reason that feminist porn can't be hetero-normative. But this selection was consciously queer, and the 'feminist' tag was dishonest. 

I'm realising that my qualitative assessment is becoming increasingly negative.

9. I have a great deal of doubt about publishing this - not just in case my mum reads it, but because I value events like SQIFF, and my experience of the festival is positive. I also value the opening up of the conversation around pornography (it is not going to disappear and take away all of the problems around it (guilt, exploitation, commodification of desire, the imposition of fantasies onto women and men, trans-gendered men and women, ethinic groups et cetera...)). 

Feminist porn and queer porn seem like a good idea. This discussion is important. Even my halting opinions have a value. 

Coming Soon: Thoughts on Trans Porn and the Use of the word Queer (and why SQIFF have got it right, in my opinion).