52 Films By Women: Point Break (1991)

Twentieth Century Fox

By Andrea Thompson

For all the bluster and male machismo on display in Kathryn Bigelow’s 1991 cult masterpiece “Point Break,” there’s a subtlety to it. Yes, behind the abs, the beaches, the surfing, the action sequences that include pit bulls being thrown around, airplane jumps, and robberies...there are some deep undercurrents.

The movie actually spent quite a few years in development, with various directors, casts, and titles attached and discarded by the time Bigelow came into the picture while she was still married to James Cameron, who is one of the producers. Both of them also apparently did quite a bit of rewriting on the script, even if they never received credit for it, and the result was a film that contains some of the best characters and action cinema has ever seen.

This rebirth of sorts accounts for much of the movie’s tone, which could be called outright ridiculous at times, even if it’s always enjoyable. “Point Break” is for all intents and purposes an 80s movie, and it has nearly all the staples of the decade’s cop dramas. There’s the loose cannon cop, the boss who takes every chance to eviscerate him, the ridiculous plot that includes surfers who rob banks to fund their totally awesome lifestyles, blustery banter, and its apparent embrace of all things machismo. Even our lead rookie cop Johnny Utah (oh, what a name), played by Keanu Reeves, is a former Rose Bowl-winning football quarterback.

Dig a little deeper though, and there’s much of the more progressive vibes that would come to define the 90s. Take the love interest, Tyler (Lori Petty). A name like that practically screams androgynous, and sure enough, Tyler is no unflappable blonde beach goddess in a bikini framed in a holo of light as she soaks up the California sun. When Utah first meets her, she’s dressed in a wetsuit, barely even framed as she scrambles in the chaos of the ocean to save Johnny from drowning after his disastrous attempt to learn how to surf. When he tells her his name, she shouts back, “Who cares!”

With her brunette pixie haircut and deeply 90s wardrobe, Tyler is feminine but not objectified. Her and Utah’s relationship, which eventually does become romantic, is far more equal than in most action movies. Tyler is the one who teaches Utah to surf, and her presence and framing itself is a commentary on the sexism of the genre. Bigelow literally films Tyler and Utah on the same level, rather than lingering lasciviously on Petty’s body, and Tyler constantly pushes back against the toxicity she encounters. When she is eventually, inevitably held hostage, that is when her wardrobe becomes far more traditionally feminine, with Bigelow dressing Tyler in a short white nightie.

Tyler is also the one to warn Utah about Bodhi (Patrick Swayze, RIP) one of the most iconically charismatic villains the movies have ever produced. From the start, Bodhi and Utah’s relationship has a deep undercurrent of homoeroticsm, with the kind of intense, love at first sight moments that’s typically framed as romantic, as Utah admires Bodhi’s surfing prowess as he is indeed framed and surrounded by the sunlit waves.

The late Swayze threw everything into this role, and it shows. He is entirely believable as a leader of a group of surfers so completely under his sway that they remain true believers even as they’re bleeding to death, a result of Bodhi chasing greater and greater highs.

Twentieth Century Fox

That is indeed what makes this, or rather his, group unique. They aren’t exactly robbing banks for the money, which they use to fund their surfing adventures. They justify it by a kind of spiritual philosophy, which Bodhi neatly sums up when he tells them, “We are here to show those guys that are inching their way on the freeways in their metal coffins that the human spirit is still alive.” It’s a grand statement, but then, junkies are pretty good at rationalizing their behavior. These guys risk their lives surfing the biggest waves, and their crime spree is little more than an extension of that same sickness. 

As Tyler points out in one of her many warnings to Utah, Bodhi can sense that Utah shares his sickness, and it’s no accident that Bodhi’s true toxicity is revealed via Tyler. He may wax sad about how he despises violence, but he sets up Tyler’s kidnapping so perfectly, Utah has no choice but to go with Bodhi’s demands and help him rob a bank. Bodhi may grieve when things go horribly wrong and the bodies start piling up, but he refuses to stop, even as he loses the rest of his team.

As Utah is pulled into circumstances that take him closer to, and eventually beyond the edge and he suffers his own losses, he in a sense becomes Bodhi’s final victim. He remains under his sway, even after he manages to track Bodhi down, overpower him, and subdue him. Ultimately, Utah can’t bear to see his wild man in a cage, and releases him so Bodhi can die doing what he loves: surfing the once-in-a-lifetime wave that will kill him, while Utah walks away and tosses his badge in the ocean.

Bigelow makes all this fun, tragic, and yes, deeply sexy without lingering too much on the bodies of the various surfers, male or female. It takes a hell of a director to get us to feel so much of the rush her characters feel, whether in the ocean, on a robbery, an iconic foot chase, or free falling through the air. You’d think it would’ve led to far more action films directed by women, but alas, change comes slow...until it doesn’t.

52 Films By Women: To Wong Foo, Thanks For Everything! Julie Newmar (1995)

Universal Pictures

By Andrea Thompson

Critics may not have been ready for “To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar,” but a lot of other people sure as hell were. A comedy about three drag queens driving from New York to compete in a drag beauty pageant in L.A., the film received such mixed reviews that Rotten Tomatoes disgraced itself by giving it a rating of 39%. It clearly made an impression on audiences though, since it was the top grossing movie at the box office for two weeks.

The title refers to a signed photo by Julie Newmar that Vida (Patrick Swayze), the most maternal of the trio, steals as a kind of good luck charm on their journey. It seems to have done the trick, seeing as how Newmar makes a cameo as herself in the film. 

It also seems to have worked its magic on the remainder of the film as well, which remains charming, even if the ending veers too far into wish fulfillment. “To Wong Foo” doesn’t just take the concerns of Vida, her friend Noxeema (Wesley Snipes), and Chi-Chi (John Leguizamo), the newcomer they take under their wing, seriously, it reslishes their passionate appreciation of glamorous femininity.

Nor were any of these ladies defined by their oppression, or what so many outside of their tight-knit community and surrogate family thought of them. Aside from a brief glimpse of Vida’s disapproving mother from afar, Noxeema, Vida, and Chi-Chi are wholly themselves, with no need of validation from said family who are typically the focus, even as they constantly rejected those they deemed outsiders, only to tearfully embrace their choices by the end. 

Perhaps critics also expected the film to at least mention the AIDS crisis, which was the leading cause of death for adults aged 25 to 44 at the time, according to The Advocate. While suffering seems to be the industry’s go-to strategy to build compassion for the marginalized, “To Wong Foo” immerses us in the drag community from the beginning. It’s not only aware of the tough guy/heartthrob personas of Swayze and Snipes, it plays on them, both in the original trailers, and from the moment the film kicks off, with an objectified Patrick Swayze stepping out of the shower in all his swoonworthy, abtastic glory, only to objectify him in much different way as he begins to put on his feminine persona.

How this process is portrayed sets the tone. Just four years prior in “The Silence of the Lambs,” a man feminizing himself was depicted as the ultimate horror, but as the central characters delightedly, carefully adorn themselves with makeup, wigs, stockings and all around style, director Beeban Kidron likewise relishes their joy and the care that goes into it. It’s indicative of the movie’s respect, not just for femininity, but women in general.

Critics might have accused “To Wong Foo” of timidity, political correctness, and a lack of originality in terms of plot, and they weren’t completely wrong. There’s a certain suspension of disbelief required, not just for the over-the-top, utopian ending, but that almost none of the residents of Snydersville, the small town Noxeema, Vida, and Chi-Chi become stranded in, recognize them as men in drag. 

No, “To Wong Foo” couldn’t be accused of diving too deep. But it does mostly accomplish what it set out to do, which is be funny as hell. Snipes, Swayze, and Leguizamo are all in top form, and it’s not only the jokes that land perfectly, it’s the banter, which ranges from tough love to outright animosity, and finally, to camaraderie. 

It’s also not as if the movie is unaware of the very real danger these three face on a daily basis. They only become stranded in Snydersville in the first place because a sheriff attempts to assault Vida one night after he pulls them over. She fights him off, but believes she kills him in the process rather than merely knocking him out, causing all of them to flee in terror. That terror is also present from the moment their encounter with him begins, when Sheriff Dollard pulls them over while they’re driving in a remote area at night. As he comes up to them with his hand firmly on his gun we know is going to be unpleasant at the very least. The only question is whether it will also be horrific.

Thank goodness not all small towns are completely hellish, because while Snydersville proves to have the kinds of characters who benefit from the trio’s presence, it has its share of dangers as well. At one point, Chi-Chi gets harassed from a group of male rednecks in an encounter that threatened to become a gang rape, only to be saved by a nice local boy who actually becomes her love interest. 

One of them also gets his comeuppance from Noxeema in a scene that’s become both iconic and queer canon, and deeply reflective in how the women of Snydersville become stronger and more confident thanks to the three, who literally brighten up a place which initially appears as drab and almost colorless, only to become awash in a sea of red as Noxeema, Vida, and Chi-Chi decide to participate in the town Strawberry Social. By the time the despicable Sheriff Dollard tracks them down, the stage is literally set for a fabulous Western standoff that involves literally running the toxic men in their midst out of town. 

Interestingly though, one of the most difficult tasks wasn’t finding the movie’s leads, it was finding a director. Swayze, Snipes, and Leguizamo eagerly signed on, but practically every male director passed, with Beeban Kidron getting the gig, it seems, more out of desperation than any appreciation for her very considerable skills. 

The ending is also more bittersweet than intended, what with Dollard’s rant about how the Constitution doesn’t apply to such “deviants,” amidst the resurgence of an alt right determined to roll back every hard fought gain progressives have made, including recent court rulings. But at least he gets the clap back he deserves, and “To Wong Foo” also remains an unapologetic celebration of its leads and queer culture, (with cameos from icons that include Ru Paul) paving the way for much more to come.