In the recently restored and
re-released feminist cult classic Born in
Flames, director Lizzie Borden’s do-it-yourself dystopian, radical and
still incendiary docudrama plays less like the Jack Hill directed tales of
female empowerment, instead finding itself in league with the infinitely more
talented but equally incendiary mockumentary filmmaker Peter Watkins. Dubbed by Borden herself as a science fiction
fable, the film is a defiant call to arms that dares to advocate terrorism as a
means to combat misogyny including but not limited to a now deeply unsettling
image of a bomb exploding atop the World Trade Center. Concerning a “future” still dogged by a kind
of fascist regime after a socialist revolution failed to change much for the
populous, the film concerns an underground pirate radio operation dead set on
combatting the totalitarian government oppressive women.
As a historical artifact ala Sweet Sweetback’s Baadassss Song!, it remains an important chapter in film history. As is, Born in Flames is a mishmash of ideological monologues directed at the camera interspersed with cinema verite footage of it’s aptly named Women’s Army occasionally rescuing helpless women from rapists while mostly spouting off an endless torrent of anti-male rhetoric via pirate radio. Some of it is startlingly relevant in today’s political climate with radical third wave feminism at the forefront of college campuses. Most of the rest is simply redundant with many of the same punk rock songs on the soundtrack repeated ad nauseam and the same anarchic ideologies recited as gospel.
As a historical artifact ala Sweet Sweetback’s Baadassss Song!, it remains an important chapter in film history. As is, Born in Flames is a mishmash of ideological monologues directed at the camera interspersed with cinema verite footage of it’s aptly named Women’s Army occasionally rescuing helpless women from rapists while mostly spouting off an endless torrent of anti-male rhetoric via pirate radio. Some of it is startlingly relevant in today’s political climate with radical third wave feminism at the forefront of college campuses. Most of the rest is simply redundant with many of the same punk rock songs on the soundtrack repeated ad nauseam and the same anarchic ideologies recited as gospel.
Despite the anti-Patriarchal
leanings which still hold just as true for the director today as it did for her
when she completed the film in 1983, I found myself drawn into the fractured
narrative initially before it became a bit repetitive around the second act. The production itself wears the indie roots
on it’s sleeve, shot over the course of five years whenever Lizzie Borden could
raise enough money to shoot a scene or two.
Less of a commercial enterprise than a homemade labor of love, Born in Flames wants to be in league
with the aforementioned Watkins and even Costa-Gavras’ incendiary political
dialogue but unfortunately doesn’t in summation say much more than ‘men are
bad’. While I don’t mind hearing the
other oppressed voice having a chance to speak, Born in Flames gives the viewer a heavier dose of radical feminism
than they’re likely to find at collegiate events, boring on for nearly ninety
minutes without taking a breath.
What I liked about Born in Flames was the editing, cutting together a stream of monologues, documentary newsreel footage and just enough voiceover narration to create a timeline free of the constraints of conventional plotline. Though it tends to meander and even drag at times with some shots that simply run on with little blocking or choreography behind it, there’s an identifiable personality behind the anarchy and the lead performance by Honey as a black lesbian ‘Phoenix Radio’ operator keeps the abstract narrative from getting too far off track. That said, for my incendiary political films, I’ll stick with Watkins and Gavras for having more to say about their topics. My friendly recommendation also is to seek out the works of Jack Hill, whose own The Swinging Cheerleaders and Pam Grier collaborations are among the most staunchly feminist works out there not made by a woman. As far as hearing an extended dialogue on how 'men are s**t', I'll stick to Frank T.J. Mackey's self-help program in Magnolia, thank you very much!
Score:
- Andrew Kotwicki