Directed By Women: We Grown Now (2023)

They say it takes a village to raise a child, but it takes that and more to get them the hell out of poverty.

Much like “The Florida Project,” there’s a certain lightness in the fact that we are seeing an impoverished setting through the eyes of a child, even if things are a lot less grim in Minhal Baig’s “We Grown Now.” Nostalgia can be a convenient cover, and unlike the transient nature of the budget hotel in “The Florida Project,” there’s a retro setting of 1992, and the fact that the community which very much existed in the Cabrini-Green public housing complex no longer does.

But that kind of purging is unimaginable as the film begins, especially to the ten-year-old besties Malik (Blake Cameron James) and Eric (Gian Knight Ramirez) as they simply live their lives and find the fun and joy that kids tend to do, at least before the pubescent angst kicks in.

Malik is the one who quickly emerges as the film’s star and central character, and it’s pretty clear he’s going to be a force to be reckoned with one way or another. He’s being raised in a household of women, which consists of his grandmother Anita (S. Epatha Merkerson), older sister Amber, and his mother Dolores (Jurnee Smollett). Malik moves among them with ease, effortlessly charming them all into fits of laughter, a sign of potential danger to come if there ever was one IMO.

This trio is far more likely to influence Malik for the better the way they also effortlessly impart their history and the ability to see beyond their immediate surroundings. Much like Detroit, Cabrini-Green has long been a symbol of decline, a setting for much of the ills plaguing American society. You know the drill: drugs, poverty, the breaking down of the family, all segregated in a fashion which would allow whiteness to dismiss a place and the people in it.

Minhal Baig, who also wrote the film, likewise hails from Chicago, having grown up in Rogers Park to Pakistani parents, a far cry from the setting she tenderly chronicles here. For “We Grown Now,” Baig conducted multiple interviews with former residents of Cabrini-Green’s high-rise apartments, and she clearly got a great deal of personal connection out of it in the way the film warmly depicts Malik’s residence as more than a living space.

It’s clearly a home, with pictures on the wall, the beauty of the mundane which makes use of lighting and a haunting score in a fashion will inevitably draw comparisons to “Moonlight.” “We Grown Now” certainly has its own link to the American South, with Anita’s stories of life in Tupelo Mississippi, which has a kind of living talisman in the sewing machine she brought north with her, as well as the belief she imparts to her family about seeing the poetry in everything.

So it feels like a violation when a tragedy rocks the neighborhood and the powers that be decide to do all the wrong things about it, bringing in the police to invade the neighborhood and homes to such a degree that they feel like an occupying force. Malik and Eric can scream that they exist at the top of their lungs, they can play hooky and experience more of what Chicago has to offer, such as the Art Institute, but Malik’s mother Dolores also has the clear-eyed vision of a woman who can see some of what her neighborhood is going to come to. And the family has saved up just enough to allow her to take an opportunity to better their lives by her taking a job and new home in the suburbs.

If “We Grown Now” was from her perspective, this would likely feel more akin to a gentle rebirth, but Malik mainly feels the pain of the impending separation from his friend Eric, whose lack of maternal presence in his own home where he lives with his sister and single father Jason (Lil Rel Howery) feels like being stripped of his ability to dream. We mourn with them too, as Malik and his family leave a place that always was far more than its worst aspects.

What is home, or any place really, but the people? Even if Malik and his family made the most of an opportunity just in time, “We Grown Now” allows us to see the bittersweet nature of making a new home and better life, especially when it means leaving behind a community that seemed as if nothing on Earth could match it for its resiliency. Until of course, forces beyond their control did.

52 Films By Women: Writing With Fire (2021)

By Andrea Thompson

I might be accused of bias in my appreciation for the remarkable documentary “Writing With Fire,” especially given that Film Girl Film is a Community Partner for it via the Milwaukee Film Festival, where it’s currently streaming.

But I had absolutely no problem enjoying “Writing With Fire” during my first viewing when it premiered at the Sundance Film Festival, and audiences and jurors seemed to agree, with the doc winning both the Audience Award and a Special Jury Award for Impact for Change. 

The magnitude of just what directors Sushmit Ghosh and Rintu Thomas accomplish is partly a testament to the power of timing. They began following Khabar Lahariya, the only newspaper in India which is run entirely by women, just as they were shifting to digital, and more chillingly, as nationalism and religious extremism was rising to greater heights.

The pen is mightier than the sword it’s been said, and the power of the written, or for our modern context, the typed word is allowing the female journalists behind Khabar Lahariya to write their way out of a prison imposed on them by gender, tradition, and most suffocatingly, caste. Many, if not all, of the women are Dalits, or untouchables, who are entirely excluded from the caste system in India, and thus barred from participation in many aspects of life. Most have husbands and families who are less than supportive, and pressure them to quit working.

And yet they persist, to use a newish cliche, despite not only this opposition, but the fact that many of them have barely touched a smartphone, have never used email, and a few don’t even have electricity in their homes.  

Why they persist in the face of such obstacles isn’t exactly explored, but shown, as many experience a newfound sense of confidence in shaping not only their own destinies, but helping to change the lives of others for the better. And “Writing With Fire” wastes little time answering just what drives them, opening with chief reporter Meera interviewing a traumatized woman who has been repeatedly raped, then confronting police about why they have done virtually nothing to prevent these attacks or punish the perpetrators.

She and her colleagues also confront other powerful entrenched interests, such as mining groups running dangerous and illegal mining operations, and spotlight families who have yet to benefit from promised government reforms. And their efforts make a real difference, with rapists being arrested and charged, electricity and infrastructure being brought to some villages without it, and the women themselves outright refusing to be patronized by not only police and government officials, but male journalists.

Even as the profile of Khabar Lahariya begins to rise, with support, views, and impact increasing, the film also doesn’t-and can’t-ignore the other, more regressive forces that are also growing (partly thanks to populist support and social media), that of nationalist and religious extremists who are not only thriving, but winning elections. 

The questions the women routinely ask (and far too many media outlets don’t), such as why these men and their lackeys focus so much on protecting Hinduism rather than education, healthcare, and employment seem extremely prescient now given the horrifically botched response of many of India’s leaders to the COVID crisis (although they’re certainly not alone in that), and Meera and many of her colleagues clearly see journalism as a means to get answers and hold leaders accountable. This documentary might just be a part of that process for them, with the filmmakers being granted access to not just the end results, but the journey, which includes editorial meetings, work retreats, and the home lives of many subjects, where they must often continually justify themselves to husbands and parents.

Needless to say, none of these women are victims, but the directors also ensure that none of them fall into the Strong Female Character trope, with many freely admitting their weariness and even giving in to pressure occasionally and marrying to shield their families from the social consequences of having an unwed daughter.

If “Writing With Fire” leaves out many details, such as just how the paper was founded and the impetus behind it, what it does share is a testament to just what the journey to empowerment looks like, exhausting late nights and all.

Film Girl Film Festival Goes Virtual

It can hardly be a surprise, but this year it’s either go virtual or go home. Or rather, stay home. Remember when we all thought this would be done in a few weeks? Then a few months? Then the fall? Well, those hopes have long since died, and we’ve accepted that there were two routes we could take for our upcoming fifth year…cancel the festival or have it take place online.

So we’ve chosen to go virtual. We’ll have more details later, but much will remain the same. Festival dates are still Nov. 13-15, and most importantly, we're still committed to bringing women's stories to the screens!

We're also still accepting submissions until August 23! To enter a feature or short for consideration, go to https://filmfreeway.com/FilmGirlFilmFestival.

Women Discuss Horror At The Milwaukee Twisted Dreams Film Festival

By Andrea Thompson

Well, the Twisted Dreams Film Festival, Milwaukee's own film fest for horror movie fans, is over. This is a film fest I enjoy, and not just because I do some communications work on their behalf. The fest is now in its third year, and the men behind it, Stephen Milek and Chris House, have made a habit of showcasing at least a few films that put women front and center. This year, they got even more inclusive by not only featuring an entire shorts block devoted to female directors, but also a panel discussion on women in horror. I found it quite interesting, sometimes in a depressing way.

The panel consisted Susan Kerns, a professor at Columbia and one of the co-directors of the Chicago Feminist Film Festival, Wendy Keeling, a writer, director and actress, Theda de Sade, a burlesque dancer, actress, and writer, and panel moderator Josephine Yanasak-Leszczynski, a film critic and author.

Some of what they had to say was pretty positive. The mindset really is changing, with everyone on the panel describing how there was less hoarding of opportunity. Women apparently no longer feel they have to fight for the one place traditionally allotted to a female filmmaker, and they described a more helpful, supportive environment.

There was also a discussion of those issues which are especially relevant to the horror genre: the violence routinely inflicted on female characters. The panel described how most of the brutality seemed less about trying to tell a story or even deliver frights than just some guy trying to see how much he could get away with, or worse, fulfilling his fantasies. One of the women described how she heard an actor brag that he got to rape a woman.

It was a disturbing point that led to what they called the “50 Shades effect.” For Theda de Sade, it meant many people assuming she likes being hit since she's a “goth girl.” All of them also talked about how “50 Shades” and the subsequent mainstreaming of BDSM has led to more exploitative stories. Kerns mentioned that the Chicago Feminist Film Festival has gotten a lot more rape revenge films, since people seem to think these kinds of films are feminist as long as there's a revenge element. Really, when will people learn it takes more than that?

One thing the panelists all strongly agreed on was having different kinds of people on set. One thing I've noticed is that when people who aren't straight white men talk about diversity is that these discussions tend to take on a greater sense of urgency. To these women, having different kinds of people on a film set wasn't just a business or even a moral issue. It helped improve their work and their lives. They talked about how the quality of the movie itself improved by having such a range of experiences, and how it helped everyone feel safer. For them, this wasn't an afterthought; it was essential.

But then, they opened it up for questions. There were a lot of men in the audience, and it actually made the talks more depressing rather than uplifting. The very first comment involved a guy talking about how many of their problems seemed to more revolve around being an independent filmmaker rather than being a woman. Another guy remarked that he didn't care about whether the movie he saw was directed by a woman or a man, he just wanted it to be good. Problems with funding was much discussed. Really, were these men not listening? The first more seemed to be another instance of a guy telling women what their problems were, the other seemed to be more of a case of something that should be positive coming off as another male fan patting himself on the back for not being “that kind of guy.”

In the end, the impression I got was the same one I tend to get when I go to a lot of these kinds of events. I loved how far we've apparently come, but it was VERY clear just how far we have to go, especially once it became clear how a large portion of audiences still viewed these women and themselves.

On International Women's Day, A Few Thoughts On How Far I've Come, And How Far I Still Have To Go

It's International Women's Day, so it's a good time to reflect on how the Film Girl Film Festival has grown over the years. Granted, this is only my third year, but still.

First off? Let's just say ignorance is bliss. Generally, I'm not a huge fan of not knowing what's coming, but I'm kind of glad I didn't know just how much I was going to go through that first time. I had almost no guidance. I started the film festival myself, with no organizational backing. To comprehend just what I'd gotten myself into (and the times I wondered that was more than I could count), consider I had no experience in putting on such a massive event like this, and I also had no staff. Sure, I had plenty of people who were willing to help, especially once they saw I was serious. But mostly, it was just me writing press releases and keeping the media informed, watching and choosing the films, determining the schedule, getting sponsors, raising money, building and updating the website, finding the location, arranging the opening night party festivities, coordinating volunteers, running the festival equipment during the fest itself, and finally, setting up and taking everything down.

Needless to say, by the time it was all over, I needed a day off to lie around on the couch, which I happily took. Actually, more than one. It wasn't too hard, since the day job I had, or rather, stayed stuck in for years let me go about a month or two before the fest. Why? Because I'd gotten a 94.91 instead of a 95 on an assessment after being there for...well, years. I truly wish I could say I'd left rather than getting fired, like so many others had. But when I walked out, I felt freed rather than bitter. It may not have been the best timing, but it felt like I was finally making the necessary changes.

I hope all this makes it easier to understand just why I wasn't sure I wanted to put on the festival again. Just the thought of going through everything again exhausted me. But then the 2016 election happened. And that decided things. Sure, the fest was a relatively small thing, but I felt like I needed to do it again. This would be my own way of saying that not only would I not shut up, I'd do my part to make sure other women were heard too. Once I committed to it, things happened quickly. I found that new problems quickly sprang up to replace the old, but for once I was happy to have them. When your issues are due to growth, that's a lot easier to handle.

The big thing was I met the two women who would work with me. One was Crystal Schreiner, who would help me build the Film Girl Film Festival into not just an event, but a brand, with a new site and logo. The other was Kenlei, who would help me fundraise and find new sponsors. Interestingly enough, I met them both at the coffee shop I would go to, the Pleasant Kafe. It's since changed owners, but thankfully it's still there. Local coffee shops really are the best for all purposes, including networking.

But the biggest change came from being awarded a grant from the Women's Fund of Greater Milwaukee. Hell, I didn't even apply for it. Money changes things, and having spare cash that I could use to spend on the fest changed everything. Suddenly, my profile was bigger, people were taking me more seriously, and I learned even more about how to make best use of funds. (Like paying Crystal and Kenlei, although that was more of a given.) And it had results. For my second year, I learned about how to build a brand, give the festival a higher profile, and get even more people to attend.

So for 2018, there was never even a question of whether I would do it again. For the third year, I changed the name to the Film Girl Film Festival, and decided to try and make it an official nonprofit. I set up a GoFundMe, opened the fest for submissions, and made the move to Chicago (don't worry, fest is still staying in Milwaukee!) for more professional opportunities. To get a sense of just how much things have progressed in just a few years, here's the essay I wrote after my first year, with my old logo: https://www.theyoungfolks.com/review/85918/six-things-i-learned-from-starting-a-film-festival/. But if you wanna skip the read, here's the logo from my first year:

For the second year, here's my new logo:

And the current one:

So what comes next? I'm still in uncharted territory, but I'm happy to say at the very least, a really great event celebrating women in film.

The Film Girl Film Festival will occur from Oct. 12-14 at the Underground Collaborative in Milwaukee, WI. To donate to the fest, click here. To submit, click here.