GATEWAY FILM CENTER—While signing up for Introduction to Film to fulfill a Gen Ed requirement, I never expected to be a fervent participant. I’m just a simple girl from a small Southern town who would lay down my life for Lindsay Ellis if I had the chance. However, on my first day of class, I awoke to the horror that the majority of my classmates, while plotted on the A24~Quentin Tarantino Spectrum, fall staunchly at Taxi Driver (1976). During the second class, a TA brought up that Johnny Depp beat his wife, and an eruption of “ALLEGEDLY” spewed across the lecture like hot masculine lava. In other words, unless I intervened swiftly, there would be no women talking in this class anytime soon.
I understood why so few women who spoke in class. Gateway House 1 was packed to the brim with cinematically inclined men who participated so exquisitely. Take for instance, Craig Clemons, who so astutely stated during our Pulp Fiction discussion, “Did you know that they say fuck 182 times in this movie and that’s where Blink-182 got its name from I bet you didn’t know that Mr. Professor didn’t you.” His take was so profound that Mr. Professor indeed, did not know that.
With such bright company, one would understand why I’d be hesitant to raise my hand. But as my desire for the larynx of a woman to vibrate the words “mise-en-scene” grew, so did my extended hand when posed a broad discussion question. Soon enough I had gained a reputation as “competent” and “a little chatterbox, aren’t you ;)”
There is something absolutely magical about hearing a woman speak in class. The muted rumblings of her fellow students not listening to her. The pointed asking for her to speak up. Or even the less frequent, but all the more daring, “hold on guys, we’ve gotta hear this.” The subtle rebuttal of her point by a prof in front of 100 pupils. It’s just such a magical process, and I feel as if it’s my duty to make sure that my high-frequency mouth noises resound among a sea of celluloid incels.
Written by Emmy Pratt, Co-President