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Don’t pity Tommy Wiseau for not getting a word in at the Golden Globes, both him and Franco are celebrated for nothing more than being overconfident assholes.

By Nicole Froio Once you’re awake, you can’t ever truly enjoy a movie again. That’s the conclusion I got to watching James Franco’s “The Disaster Artist”, a comedy about the production of the worst film ever made turned cult classic “The Room”. Franco, who won a Golden Globe for Best Actor in a Musical and Comedy, set out to tell the bizarre story of Tommy Wiseau, a quirky-looking, strange-acting man whose dream was to be a Hollywood actor, and his quest to write and film his ‘masterpiece’. However, given the continuous revelations of sexual assault and harassment in the last four months and the practices of abuse of power that seem to be pervasive in Hollywood, Franco’s “The Disaster Artist” shows how white male privilege is uplifted in society—even if the ‘artist’ in question is essentially a failure.  The fact that Franco’s movie is billed as a comedy shows how he thinks white male privilege and the abuse that often comes with it is a huge joke. Franco himself was caught trying to pick up a minor in 2014, and is now being accused of taking advantage of actress Sarah Tither-Kaplan. No wonder he made a movie that essentially celebrates white male incompetence and abuse. When Wiseau and his friend Greg Sestero move to LA to try their luck in Hollywood, it is obvious that they are both painfully, objectively untalented. While Sestero can rely on his good looks and youth, Wiseau’s frighteningly pale skin, long greasy black hair and creepy demeanor puts him in an extreme disadvantage when auditioning for parts. His Eastern European accent would perhaps be forgiven if it wasn’t for his insistence that he is 100% American and from New Orleans. From the very moment anyone meets Wiseau, it’s evident that something is off; yet, his strange behavior is forgiven as quirky and eccentric by Sestero.
Related: THE GOLDEN AGE OF TV DOESN’T BEGIN OR END WITH WHITE MEN

Films glamorizing illness are downright dangerous because they put out a false projection of what people like me deal with on a daily basis.

By Jazmine Joyner The "sick girl" genre of film is a name I gave to movies that feature stories around sick women and girls (predominantly white sick women and girls) and about how they flew into a  male character's life and within a short amount of time they teach him how to live, as they die. Movies like "A Fault in Our Stars" (this is the reverse, it's a manic pixie dream boy, refreshing!) , "A Walk to Remember", " I Miss You Already", "Now is Good", "Me, Earl, and The Dying Girl", and "Me Before You"  are prime examples of films that use illness as an inspirational tool to serve white able-bodied people.   I am borrowing the Manic Pixie Dream Girl trope, which is a term coined by film critic Nathan Rabin that is defined as "That bubbly, shallow cinematic creature that exists solely in the fevered imaginations of sensitive writer-directors to teach broodingly soulful young men to embrace life and its infinite mysteries and adventures." This definition fits these characters to a tee. In "A Walk To Remember" Mandy Moore's sick and soulful character Jamie Sullivan teaches Shane West's bad boy going down the wrong tracks, Landon Carter, about love and being an upstanding human, even finding the time in-between chemotherapies to reunite Landon and his father. Jamie's illness even inspires Landon to go into medicine. All while our girl Jamie is this stagnant character that solely lives to be loved by Landon. She needs nothing else, craves nothing, and then dies. She is a perfect manic pixie sick girl.   Films like "A Walk To Remember" are harmful because of how they represent sickness and those who are living with illnesses every day. Every film mentioned above is used not to show a real person dealing with chronic disease and having a good life despite their diagnosis. But make the sick person a prop to their abled counterpart. They are a life lesson or some inspirational figure there to only further the abled characters development. In these films you see glamorous frail white girls laying in bed pining for love. Because you know love can heal, naturally.  These depictions not only are boring but are completely unoriginal.  
Related: ‘MARSHALL’ IS YET ANOTHER WHITE SAVIOR FILM

I'm pleased to finally meet the flawed, yet whole Nola Darling, both through her and the women who love her.

I remember when I first met Nola Darling in 2007 during a university film class. Yes, she was alluring and sexy and like other people who had seemingly wandered into her path, I desperately wanted to get to know her. But I only saw glimpses of Nola through the eyes of those who wished to possess her. Who was she as an artist? How did she regain a sense of herself whenever she experienced abuse or mistreatment? Hell, did she have any real friends who didn't wish to sleep with her, aside from Clorinda?   Spike Lee's inaugural She's Gotta Have It is as much the mark of an immature filmmaker as it is a cinematic staple. While the 1986 film about a free-spirited, polyamorous woman may have cemented his career, its poor treatment of her left so much to be desired. One of Lee's more egregious missteps showed in the way Nola was denied any opportunity to process her varied moments of potential trauma — from her verbally abusive relationship with international playboy Greer Childs, to her own brutal rape by Jamie Overstreet. Even in the face of predatory behavior (from the only LGBTQIA character, mind you — another notable mistake) she is unflappable, the perfectly uncomplicated object of the vintage male gaze. Nola is mysterious, self-assured, sexy, and strong-willed, but she never feels whole. 31 years later, Spike Lee has revisited She's Gotta Have It for Netflix, and the episodic do-over is welcomed for a number of reasons. Nola (DeWanda Wise) and the men in her life — Childs (Cleo Anthony), seasoned, the now professional Overstreet (Lyriq Bent), and the iconic, charismatic Mars Blackmon (Anthony Ramos) — are fleshed out beyond their original caricatures. Nola is openly queer and involved with business owner and mother Opal Gilstrap (Ilfenesh Hadera). Best of all, Nola experiences trauma that isn't gratuitous, but relatable while allowing her to maintain her power. And when the time arrives for her to process her pain, she has a number of women to whom she can turn.
Related: TNT’S “CLAWS” CELEBRATES BLACK WOMEN’S SEXUALITY

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