Thinking about Bertolucci, Brando, Schneider, and Feminism.

I sit at my computer thinking over Bernardo Bertolucci's recent disgusting admission about un-simulated rape in The Last Tango in Paris, and his subsequent panicked backtracking.  My mind drifts to Brando, and his now tainted body of work.  I think of Woody Allen, and Roman Polanski, and Bill Cosby.  I think about all the times that I've been willing to overlook an artist's behavior because of the art.  

I think about my six month old daughter.  I think about her future and the world in which she will grow up.  I think about the inevitable inequality and sexism she has yet to experience.  I think about her mother, my beautiful amazing wife.  I think about my mother and my two sisters, my mother-in-law and sisters-in-law.  I think of my aunts and cousins, and grandmothers.  On and on, I think of them and I think how truly unqualified I am to comment on this subject.  

I think about how much I haven't experienced.  I think about catcalls and unwanted advances.  I think about sexism and the wage gap.  I think about rape culture and the men who deny it.  I think about President-elect Trump.  I think about all of this and I fill with anger and sadness.  I think about how emotion is a dirty word.  I think about the subtle minimizing sexism of words like emotional, naggy, bossy, hysterical, over-sensitive, or shrill.  I think about the overt sexism of words like feminazi or slut.  I think about the power of language and the times I've used many of those words without thinking deeply enough about their implications.  And I think about how much still needs to be done.

But then, I think about the thoughtful women, the genius women.  I think about Susan B. Anthony and Harriet Tubman.  I think about Eleanor Roosevelt and Hillary Clinton and Michelle Obama.  I think about Marie Curie, and Amelia Earhart.  I think about Billie Holiday, Marilyn Monroe, Ingrid Bergman, Katherine Hepburn, and Julia Child.  I think about breaking boundaries and making the world a better place.  I think about hope.

I think about the strength of the women around me, and the wonderful life they have given me.  I think about what is yet to come, and yes, I worry, but thinking about their courage, I worry a little less.  Ultimately, I think of Maria Schneider, and the heights women like her have reached in the face of overwhelming adversity.  And so, I find myself not thinking much of Bertolucci or Brando, because I am thinking about the women.  Maybe everyone should start thinking more profoundly about women.