- Who Will Remember You?: “The Secret Agent” and the Humanities as Resistance (March 6, 2026)
It’s 1977, a “time of great mischief” in Brazil, and in the opening minutes of Kleber Mendonça Filho‘s “The Secret Agent,” Marcelo (Wagner Moura) appears to be on the run. He drives in the blazing heat, a raucous hint of Carnaval at the fringes—and the imminent threat of violence. A dead body outside of a gas station has been cooking in the sun for days, anonymized by a shot to the face, a sheet of cardboard covering it, and the police’s total disinterest in its existence. Marcelo, on the other hand, draws their interest almost immediately, and we can sense that he isn’t keen on the attention. Is he a dissident? A criminal? A spy? A communist? Truthfully, the federal police don’t really care, as long as he submits a donation to the “police Carnival fund.” He’s just another person to intimidate.
Our protagonist’s interest never abandons the gas station corpse, though. Even as the station attendant assures it has nothing to do with him, something about Marcelo’s gaze tells us it does. The corrupt cops are one thing, but this blatant, cruel disposability of life is a signal that in this moment in Brazil’s history, the ultimate punishment isn’t just your death, but the eradication of your existence.
Subsequent events in “The Secret Agent” throttle us into the throwback paranoid political thriller its title suggests. The familiar but colorful genre conventions are abundant: A corrupt civil police chief Euclides (Robério Diógenes) and his skull-cracking sons; bodies disposed of in the river under the cover of night; payphones and bugged telephone lines; forged passports; hitmen; sensational newspaper headlines; and split diopter shots as characters anxiously look over their shoulder.
And then, around the halfway point, something shifts, because these trademarks of intrigue are not the story of “The Secret Agent.” Marcelo—whose real name is Armando—is not the story, either. Not exactly. Midway through, we are abruptly introduced to a present-day university archivist, Flavia (Laura Lufési), who is trying to understand the past from what little memory remains. Slowly, “The Secret Agent” becomes Flavia’s story.
Filho’s filmmaking career is a lifelong interrogation of memory, an interest that is most explicit in “The Secret Agent’s” dramaturgical predecessor, “Pictures of Ghosts.” The essay film documents the history of Recife (the capital of Pernambuco, Brazil) and its movie palaces as an elegy to the infrastructure of memory. For Mendonça Filho, this is personal; the home featured in so many of his films is a document of his mother, an abolitionist historian who literally altered the apartment’s shape over decades. Mendonça Filho’s neighbors appear as extras in his films, and the streets of Recife often make up his settings. Recife is where “The Secret Agent” takes place, and the movie is rife with the city’s history and culture (the soundtrack, for example, includes several tracks from Recife musician Lula Côrtes’ 1975 album “Paêbirú”).
“The Secret Agent” is also mired in the dictatorship that ruled Brazil from 1964 to 1985, seldom directly acknowledged, but constant in the depiction of the era’s emboldened state-sanctioned violence. This movie is Mendonça Filho’s attempt to prevent his country—and the world—from forgetting this period of history. But the movie is much more than an exercise in recall. “The Secret Agent,” more pointedly, is a movie about authoritarianism’s methodic persecution of the humanities as a field that documents, preserves, and deciphers collective memory.
Holding Objects of Memory
Nearly every facet of the humanities touches Armando: He is a researcher at a public university, the widower of a teacher, the son-in-law of a projectionist, a recipient of public funds, a subject of yellow (practically bile-colored) journalism, and briefly, a municipal record room employee. History won’t remember him as a freedom fighter against the Brazilian military dictatorship—so why is he being hunted like one?
The incident that leads to Armando’s persecution is an altercation years prior with Henrique Ghirotti, an energy executive who stands to benefit from the regime as the state pursues its business and development agendas. Ghirotti’s violence starts as bureaucratic. He drains university funding and lures researchers to private corporations until there are no remnants of Armando and his colleagues’ work. But what is implied to cost Armando’s wife, Fatima (Alice Carvalho), her life (and will eventually cost Armando his) is that they are witnesses to this abuse of power, and they will not submit to Ghirotti’s narrative. If it weren’t for the archived recordings of one wealthy resister (Elza, portrayed by Maria Fernanda Cândido), Armando’s honest memory wouldn’t exist at all.
Those tapes are just an example of the tangible objects of memory that texture the movie. At every turn, characters are interacting with photographs, records, newspapers, and written notes. Memory exists in the DNA of these objects. A photo is imprinted with the light that reflected from Fatima while she was alive. A vinyl record possesses within its grooves every little sound that makes up the rich melancholy of “Retiro: Tema de Amor Número 3” (something you can hold onto, unlike the crackling radio waves projecting Chicago’s “If You Leave Me Now”). The films projected by Sr. Alexandre (Carlos Francisco) at the Cinema São Luiz possess a millisecond of life in a single frame (and, if you’re one of the hysterical audience members watching “The Omen,” you may even think they possess the Devil).
These are also the objects that can be manipulated and destroyed, an erasure as tangible as the item that held the memory. One of the most sensational sequences in “The Secret Agent” is based on a real-life Recife urban legend—”the Hairy Leg.” But while “the Hairy Leg” may have been obvious code for police misconduct, in the film, the sensationalism is all that is needed to turn violence against queer communities into an entertaining vision of a phantom leg terrorizing cruisers. “The Hairy Leg” becomes the story that lives on, whether true or not.
As we jump ahead in time, we come to understand that Flavia and her peer, Daniela, are the generation left to reckon with the implications of the dictatorship’s attacks on the humanities. The powers that be took control of Armando’s narrative. Prior to the recovery of Elza’s tapes, the sole remnant of Armando’s preserved existence was a newspaper clipping painting him as a corrupt researcher who hemorrhaged public funds. Beside the story is a graphic photo of his slain body. The memory of Armando the state preserved was a false one.
It is only through the processes of archiving and preservation—possible in this case through wealth—that allows a sliver of Armando’s honest existence to end up in Flavia’s possession. Elza’s donated archive of tapes documents the violent mischief of those days in Recife. Flavia and Daniela may have the thankless job of transcribing these tapes, but they also become the carriers of history. Naturally, then, Brazil’s politics of memory must intervene. The tapes are deemed “too sensitive,” abruptly withdrawn, and the transcription project is shut down. Decades later, the humanities remain a threat to power.
History Can’t Die With Us
Memory will always survive in some capacity through oral tradition. Sebastiana (Tânia Maria) may as well be a lockbox full of undocumented memory. Her tenants are all under persecution in one way or another and thus anonymized for protection. Their names cannot live on safely. Though the situations of some characters are evident—Thereza Vitória and Antonio (Isabél Zuaa and Licínio Januário) are Angolan Civil War refugees, for example—it is mostly unclear what brought these characters to the same place at the same point in time. The sole torchbearer of their existence is Sebastiana, just as she carries silent testimony from witnessing the war in Italy. But without some kind of preservation, these memories will eventually become warped, fuzzy, and faded.
Very early in “The Secret Agent,” Armando has a chance to spend time alone with his young Fernando. They talk about Fatima and what it means for someone to die. Though it is just the two of them in the car, Armando reminds his child that she is there with them because they carry her memory. Heartbreakingly, this does not stop his son from admitting days later that he is beginning to forget her.
As Flavia learns, the adult Fernando (Moura) has forgotten his father, too. Whatever tools Ghirotti and his conspirators used to erase Armando’s existence were successful as far as his son is concerned. He can’t fill in the gaps between the tapes and the papers. He shares with Flavia the closest thing he has to a memory of his father: Alexandre had once described how Fernando waited for his Armando to return the day he was killed. This isn’t really a part of Fernando’s recollection, but he says that by having someone else describe what happened, “you create a memory.”
Armando’s search for a record of his mother, who was physically and financially exploited by his father and grandparents, is an attempt to forge a memory of her that was withheld from him. Whether it is because of her implied indigeneity or a general attitude toward women as disposable, a record is unlikely to exist, yet Armando still searches for a single object bearing her name.
Perhaps Flavia’s attachment to Armando is through the memories she created from the few archives of his life—memories that had been withheld from Fernando until Flavia hands over a USB of the pirated archived recordings. These memories, like these, are incomplete, shaded by the perspective of whoever recounts them. Regardless, Flavia is defying the story Brazil would wish to tell about Armando. It is a small gesture that ensures Armando’s memory survives.
Preservation Pre- and Post-Google
“The Secret Agent’s” infrequent (but critical) jumps to the present day might feel alienating against its pulpy beats, but those genre-inflected scenes are representative of how one might try to make sense of an incomplete understanding of history with the limited artifacts that remain—cinematic flourishes by way of 1970s neo-noirs and Steven Spielberg’s “Jaws.” Armando and Flavia’s arcs are ultimately one and the same. Even if the threats they face feel considerably different in scale, these threats are outgrowths of the same authoritarian core.
In times of social and political strife, we often proclaim, “History will not look upon this moment kindly.” But how will history remember us if the historians are executed? Will Google remember you and me? (Daniela admits that she eventually stopped looking into Armando’s story because it is “pre-Google.”) Who will control our memories? Will we control them ourselves, or will they be in the hands of whoever has the privilege of rewriting them?
“The Secret Agent” is Mendonça Filho’s effort to prevent Brazil and the world from erasing people like Armando, who were tortured and killed for any perceived opposition to the dictatorship. But the movie is also a metatextual exploration of the relationship to memory that is central to his career. Cinema, as a narrative and visual art form, is inevitably a factor in memory. Even (and perhaps especially) when it is dishonest, incomplete, or speculative, it shapes the truth.
The arts and humanities are an essential vanguard of resistance because they threaten the total and complete control authoritarianism demands, and that is why they become targets of attack through funding, censorship, and eradication. As the question of art’s involvement in politics (and vice versa) continues to plague filmmakers, Mendonça Filho is unflinching in his belief that the two can’t be separated.
In the world of the movie and throughout all of Mendonça Filho’s filmography, remembrance is an act of resistance as much as it is an act of love. To remember the lives lost to your home’s dark history is to love your home enough to want better for the future—to ensure that those who were lost are part of the prevailing collective memory of what makes up your home’s identity. Preservation differs from nostalgia. To remember is not to yearn for an idealism of the past. It is to walk with reverence amongst the ghosts that inhabit the present.
- Dwight Cleveland on What Lobby Cards Tell Us About Film History (March 6, 2026)
In the earliest days of movie history, women played key roles on screen and behind the scenes. Dwight Cleveland, author of Cinema On Paper: The Graphic Genius of Movie Posters (Assouline) is helping to document their contributions with a curated collection of lobby cards, circulated by the filmmakers to promote the movies.
In an interview with RogerEbert.com, Cleveland discussed his collection and the women who made the movies of the silent era.
Who were some of the women who played important roles as directors and screenwriters in the silent film era, and what films should people see to get to know them?
Alice Guy-Blaché was the first woman to direct a film (“La Fée aux Choux” in 1896). Lois Weber was the first American woman auteur and the most important producer, director, screenwriter, and actress in early cinema. Dorothy Arzner was the first woman to direct a talking picture, “The Wild Party” (1929). Frances Marion, one of the most prolific screenwriters during the 1920s and 30s and the first writer to win two Academy Awards (“The Big House,” 1930, and “The Champ,” 1931). Ruth Roland was a powerhouse serial producer and actress who performed her own stunts during the 19-teens and 20s. Anita Loos was the first female staff screenwriter in Hollywood and the author of “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes” in 1925. Frederica Sagor Maas was the youngest Head of Story Editing at a major film studio (Universal) in 1923. There are over 1,000 remarkable women behind the camera represented in my collection.
Where were these films made, and who produced them?
Edison was located in West Orange, NY and his early competitors started out in nearby Fort Lee, NJ. There was an initial migration to Florida to address the need for reliable lighting, and then to California to escape Edison’s crippling efforts to protect his patents. Everything was unregulated in those days, and the early pioneers were making it up as they went along. This was a boon for women because if you could deliver in any capacity in the filmmaking process, you were hired. Women played a literary role (screenwriting, adaptation, continuity, titles) in 75 percent of the films represented in my collection.
What are lobby cards, and what role did they play in letting ticket-buyers know what to expect?
They generally came in sets of 8 and measure 11″ x 14″ (some very early silents were 8″ x 10″). These were meant to be viewed up close and were displayed in cases or on easels in theatre lobbies. One is a Title card, and seven are Scene cards, and they gave patrons a visual taste of what the film was about.
What do they tell us about film history?
85 percent of silent films are lost due to their nitrate film stock, which was highly combustible, so, in most cases, my lobby cards are the only tangible evidence that the films ever existed. And the Scene cards are the only photographic evidence of the narrative itself. I envision a new A.I. endeavor in which all the data collected on these films in which women played a role behind the camera can teach us more about the female gaze during the nascent years of cinema. Given how prolific these women were, there are countless untold stories and patterns to discover.
How did you get interested in them, and where do you find them?
After 40 years of collecting, I stumbled on Dorothy Arzner’s name while researching my book, Cinema on Paper: The Graphic Genius of Movie Posters. That was in 2018. So, Covid-19 was a blessing for me, affording me the uninterrupted time to go deeper and then to purchase the three largest known collections and merge them with my own. I assembled 25,000 silent-film lobby cards and distilled them down to 10,000 today, in which women played leadership roles beyond acting.
Do you have one or two that you considered “eureka” finds, unexpected sources, near-impossible rare examples?
Most of these are one-of-a-kind because of their frailty, uselessness after serving their purpose of advertising, and their miraculous survival of paper drives during WWI & WWII. I’ve always loved the color saturation of early film paper, so here are a few examples.
Do you try to see all the movies promoted by the cards?
Yes! Turner Classic Movies and The Criterion Collection are easily accessible online. My favorite in-person venues are: the gold-standard Le Giornate del Cinema Muto in Pordenone, Italy; The Nitrate Picture Show at the George Eastman Museum; and the San Francisco Silent Film Festival.
- Milestones of 1956: Looking Back at Hollywood 70 Years Ago (March 6, 2026)
Seventy years ago, the Hollywood studio system was in slow decline, with constant reshuffling in corporate suites and reduced attendance spurred by the rise of television. By the 1955–56 season, the number of US households with television access had risen to 71 percent, up from just 9 percent a mere five years earlier.
Once the world’s biggest moviemaker, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer was weakened by corporate warfare and on the brink of collapse. Shortly after Joseph Vogel became the studio’s third president in just two years, a Time magazine article summed up the situation as “A Gunfight at the M-G-M Corral.”
Early in 1956, Arthur B. Krim and Robert Benjamin took complete ownership of United Artists after acquiring Mary Pickford’s U.A. interest for $3 million. In July, two of the three Warner Brothers stepped aside after Harry and Albert sold their stock in Warner Bros., leaving Jack L. Warner as president.
On the positive side, Cecil B. de Mille’s “The Ten Commandments,” which would be the director’s last film, opened in cinemas on Oct. 5. Despite its then-astronomical cost of $13 million, it went on to become one of the most successful and popular films ever, now ranking at No. 8 on the list of all-time greatest moneymakers (when adjusted for inflation). Meanwhile, Elvis Presley’s first film, “Love Me Tender,” a Civil War–era romance, opened on Nov. 15 and made back its $1 million production cost on its opening weekend.
With that, here are some other cinematic firsts and lasts, with a focus on female filmmakers, for 1956:
The comeback of Ingrid Bergman: After being exiled for almost seven years, cinema icon returned to Hollywood to make “Anastasia” (1956); she had been banished for having an affair with director Roberto Rossellini and for having their child. She won her second Best Actress Oscar for this role as an amnesia victim who tries to pass herself off as the Grand Duchess Anastasia of Russia.
One and done: Bergman bested Nancy Kelly, nominated in the same year for “The Bad Seed” (1956), and who had won a Best Actress Tony for her role in the Broadway production. “The Bad Seed” also served as Kelly’s last theatrical film, and only Oscar nomination; though her film career stretched back to the silent era, when she was a child actress, she made only TV movies and series, and concentrated on Broadway afterward.
Also receiving an Oscar nomination, in the supporting actress category, was Eileen Heckart, as Hortense Daigle, the distraught mother of Claude, a victim in “The Bad Seed.” The year 1956 also marked Heckart’s screen debut, with roles in four films: “Miracle in the Rain,” “Somebody Up There Likes Me,” “The Bad Seed,” and “Bus Stop.”
Another “Bad Seed” footnote: Although stage actress Joan Croydon, as the headmistress Miss Fern, made a few television appearances, “The Bad Seed” was her only film role.
Swan song for Grace Kelly: Hollywood’s princess, who claimed her crown when she won the Best Actress Oscar for “The Country Girl” the year before, became royalty for real when she married Prince Rainier of Monaco on April 18, 1956. MGM arranged to have her penultimate film, “The Swan,” with its art-imitates-life storyline, released on April 18. Her last film, “High Society,” a musical adaptation of “The Philadelphia Story,” starring Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra, came out in July.
Despite attempts to lure her back to Hollywood, Kelly never made another film. Coincidentally, she became the first actress to appear on a USPS postage stamp, jointly issued by the United States and Monaco on March 24, 1993.
The ripening of two tomatoes: Two talents came fresh off the vine in 1956: Brigitte Bardot and Jayne Mansfield.
Shot in September and rushed into theaters in time for Christmas, writer-director Frank Tashlin’s “The Girl Can’t Help It” cemented the sexpot status of Jayne Mansfield, a classically trained violinist who spoke five languages. (Her daughter, Mariska Hargitay, star of the long-running series “Law and Order SUV,” explores the star’s complex legacy in her 2025 documentary “My Mom Jayne.”)
Although Brigitte Bardot, the so-called Princess of Pout, had small roles in several earlier films, “And God Created Woman” (1956) transformed her into an international movie star and sex symbol. Shot in Saint Tropez in spring 1956 by her then-husband, cinematic flesh peddler Roger Vadim, “And God Created Woman” brought in $12 million (nearly $145 million in 2026) on a $300,000 budget. Bardot, who died on Dec. 28, 2025, at age 91, tarnished her legacy over time with her right-wing views; a tribute to her at this year’s César Awards (the French Oscars) on Feb. 26 was booed.
Goodbye, Norma Jean: Speaking of sirens, Norma Jeane Mortenson legally changed her name to Marilyn Monroe on Feb. 23.
A rose blooms: Italian sensation Anna Magnani took on her first English-language portrayal in a Hollywood film: “The Rose Tattoo” (1955). Tennessee Williams had written the role of Serafina with her in mind, but she declined the part on Broadway, worried over her lack of fluency in English. Magnani’s film performance was widely acclaimed, and she won the 1956 Oscar for Best Actress, becoming the first Italian to win an Academy Award for acting.
A pathfinder: Magnani paved the way for fellow Italians such as Sophia Loren, who, for her American film debut, chose “A Boy on a Dolphin,” which was shot in 1956 but released in April 1957. It was the initial production of Loren’s four-picture deal with 20th Century Fox.
More Debuts
Other actresses, ranging from future stars to supporting talents, made their film debuts in 1956, including:
Cicely Tyson: The future Oscar nominee (for “Sounder,” 1972) made her film debut in the indie movie “Carib Gold” as Dottie, a member of a bunch of shrimpers searching for treasure.
Diana Sands: This actress, who costarred in the movie version of “A Raisin in the Sun,” also made her feature film debut in “Carib Gold.”
Angie Dickinson: After a series of supporting roles on TV,the future “Police Woman” advanced her film career with her first credited roles in the 1956 Westerns “Hidden Guns,” “Tension at Table Rock,” and “Gun the Man Down.”
Carroll Baker: Following a string of uncredited parts, she scored her leading-role debut in “Baby Doll,” for which she earned an Academy Award nomination for Best Actress.
Patty McCormack: Reprising her Broadway role as the murderous Rhoda Penmark in the film version of “The Bad Seed” (1956), she received a Supporting Actress Oscar nomination, marking one of the first times that a child had been nominated for an actual Academy Award. Before the 1950s, child and teenage stars such as Judy Garland, Mickey Rooney, and Margaret O’Brien received honorary juvenile Oscars.
Decades later, McCormack returned to the franchise, performing in a 2018 TV version and its 2022 sequel, “Bad Seed Returns,” as the killer child’s psychiatrist.
Births of 1956
Joan Allen: (Born Aug. 20) A founding member of Chicago’s Steppenwolf Theatre, she is a three-time Oscar nominee: Best Actress for “The Contender” (2000), and Supporting Actress for “The Crucible” (1996) and “Nixon” (1995).
Adam Arkin: (Born Aug. 19) An actor-director-producer and the son of Alan Arkin, Adam is best known for his roles on the series “Chicago Hope” and “Northern Exposure,” and the Coen Brothers’ “A Serious Man” (2009).
Steven Bauer: (Born Dec. 3) The Cuban-American actor-producer won a SAG award for best performance by the cast of a theatrical motion picture for “Traffic” (2000).
Michael Biehn: (Born July 31): The action-movie stalwart remains best known as Kyle Reese in “The Terminator” franchise.
Danny Boyle: (Born Oct. 20) The British filmmaker won a Best Director Oscar for “Slumdog Millionaire” (2008), along with DGA, BAFTA, and Golden Globe honors for the same title.
Kim Cattrall: (Born Aug. 21) The future “Sex and the City” costar had early roles in Otto Preminger’s “Rosebud” (1975) and “Tribute” (1980).
Leslie Cheung: (Born Sept. 12) A native of Hong Kong, the actor made his breakthrough in John Woo’s “A Better Tomorrow” (1986). He died in 2003.
Bryan Cranston: (Born March 7): A seven-time Emmy winner for the series “Breaking Bad” (which he also produced), he received a Best Actor Oscar nomination as blacklisted screenwriter Dalton Trumbo in “Trumbo” (2015).
Geena Davis: (Born Jan. 21) The “Thelma & Louise” costar (and Best Actress Oscar nominee for this film) won a Best Supporting Actress Oscar for “The Accidental Tourist” (1987) and won the 2020 Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award Oscar.
Bo Derek: (Born Nov. 20) American actress best known for her breakout role as Dudley Moore’s object of desire in “10” (1979).
Carrie Fisher: (Born Oct. 21) Daughter of Debbie Reynolds and Eddie Fisher, she introduced the role of Princess Leia in the “Star Wars” (1977) original trilogy, wrote best-selling novels, acclaimed screenplays, and was a script doctor. She died in 2016.
Andy Garcia: (Born April 12) The Cuban-American actor-director-producer received a supporting actor nomination for “The Godfather, Part III” (1990) and has won two ALMAs, for best supporting actor in “Ocean’s Eleven” (2001) and the 2006 Anthony Quinn Achievement Award in Motion Pictures.
Mel Gibson: (Born Jan. 3) The actor-director-producer won two Oscars (best picture and director) for “Braveheart” (1995).
Linda Hamilton: (Born Sept. 26) Best known as Sarah Connor in the “Terminator” franchise.
Tom Hanks: (Born July 9) Actor-director-producer, a two-time Best Actor Oscar winner for “Philadelphia” (1993) and “Forrest Gump” (1994), he’s also the recipient of the 2002 Lifetime Achievement Award from the American Film Institute.
Nicholas Hytner: (Born May 7) The British-born director of “The Madness of King George” (1994), he’s a BAFTA winner of the Alexander Korda Award for Best British Film 1995.
Nathan Lane: (Born Feb. 3) The Broadway mainstay made his movie breakthrough as the voice of Timon the meerkat in Disney’s “The Lion King” (1994), followed by Albert in “The Birdcage” (1996).
Guy Maddin: (Born Feb. 28) The Canadian-born filmmaker is best known for directing “The Saddest Music in the World” (2003) and “My Winnipeg” (2007).
Lesley Manville: (Born March 12) British actress known for her work with director Mike Leigh was a supporting actress nominee for “The Phantom Thread” (1997).
Eric Roberts: (Born April 18) American actor, brother of Julia Roberts, he was a best supporting actor nominee for “Runaway Train” (1985).
Mimi Rogers: (Born Jan. 27) The American actress-producer broke through with “Someone to Watch Over Me” (1987).
Christoph Waltz: (Born Oct. 4) The Austrian-German actor-producer has won two supporting actor Oscars, both for Quentin Tarantino films: “Inglourious Basterds” (2009) and “Django Unchained” (2012).
Rita Wilson: (Born Oct. 26) Actress-producer (and second wife of Tom Hanks), she arranged a movie deal for Nia Vardalos’ “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” (2002), one of the top-grossing independent film hits of all time.
Deaths of 1956
Anne Crawford: (Died Oct. 17) The Scottish actress, best known for MGM’s “Knights of the Round Table” (1953), succumbed to leukemia at age 33.
Jehanne D’Alcy: (Died Oct. 14) Best known as the mistress and eventual wife of French cinema pioneer Georges Méliès, D’Alcy acted in Méliès’ “Le Manoir du diable” (1896), “Jeanne d’Arc” (1900), and “Le Voyage dans la lune” (1902). In Martin Scorsese’s “Hugo” (2011), D’Alcy is portrayed by actress Helen McCrory.
Marie Doro: (Died Oct. 9) The American actress of the early silent film era (“The Heart of Nora Flynn,” “The White Pearl”) was known for her beauty and performances both on Broadway and in early cinema. One of the most popular actresses of the Edwardian era, she segued from the stage to silent films between 1915 and 1924.
Ruth Draper (Died Dec. 30): The American actress and dramatist, regarded as the mother of the monologue, was best known for “The Italian Lesson,” a day-in-the-life of a wealthy matron during the Jazz Age.
Edith Edwards: (Died March 6) The German-born actress was known for “The Love Pirate” (1925), produced by Germany’s UFA, with Rudolph Maté as one of its three cinematographers.
Marion Leonard: (Died Jan. 9) The silent film star was known for the Biograph Studios’ production of “In Old California” (1910), the first movie ever filmed in Hollywood. Leonard and Florence Auer were the first leading ladies of Biograph, working regularly for D.W. Griffith. With her husband, writer-director Stanner E.V. Taylor, Leonard started her own production company.
Katherine MacDonald: (Died June 4) A big box office attraction for First National Pictures during the silent era, the American star was one of the first actresses to set up her own production company, Katherine MacDonald Pictures (1919–1921).
Mary Mersch: (Died Feb. 26) Actress known for “The Rainbow Trail” (1918) and “Riders of the Purple Sage” (1918).
Mistinguett: (Died Jan. 5) Born as Jeanne Florentine Bourgeois, the French actress-singer was best known for her time at the Moulin Rouge, the Paris cabaret founded in 1889. But she made several movies, starting in the silent era, when she portrayed Éponine in a version of “Les Misérables” (1913).
Mary Warren: (Died Aug. 4) The silent era actress was married to fellow actor Lee Phelps, who, with 600 confirmed roles over 35 years, is among Hollywood’s most prolific but virtually unknown supporting players.
Margaret Wycherly: (Died June 6) The English actress had roles on Broadway and in Hollywood, most notably as Ma Jarrett in “White Heat” (1949), immortalized with the dying words of son Cody Jarrett (James Cagney): “Made it, Ma! Top of the world!”
- Monstrous Women: From Medusa to the Bride and Rumi Too (March 6, 2026)
Have you ever heard a recording of your voice and been surprised? It isn’t the same as the one in your head, and you realize the voice others hear isn’t necessarily yours. How you’re perceived can diverge drastically from who you are. That makes me wonder what the siren hears. Does she know she’s infamous? Did she earn the terror behind her legend? Or perhaps someone decided her voice is dangerous and they spun a tale to bury her truth beneath fear.
Not much is stronger or more lasting than stories. Cautionary or campfire tales, oral and written histories, myths, and legends passed down again and again take on a kind of mercurial immortality. We’ve heard history belongs to the victors, but lasting victory goes to the storytellers. They are the ones with the power to turn a win into a loss, failure into success, a shortcoming into a skill, or gifts into liabilities.
“All human societies have a conception of the monstrous-feminine, of what it is about woman that is shocking, terrifying, horrific, abject.”—Barbara Creed, from “The Monstrous-Feminine: Film, Feminism, Psychoanalysis”
LABELED A MONSTER
Questions like those tend to rumble into rapids or tumble over like waterfalls. In that way, I’m wondering: How often does a lie need to be repeated before it becomes a belief (without ever being true)? In the old world, no one questioned the intent of the “monstrous-feminine,” a term coined by Barbara Creed in 1993. We simply blamed monstrous women for everything.
From “messy” bodies or minds as explored by Elizabeth Sankey in “Witches.” For the refusal to conform like Elphaba in “Wicked” or the in-theaters “The Bride!” from writer/director Maggie Gyllenhaal. Or for attacks against their bodies, as seen in the tales of Medusa and Circe, myths that are beautifully but devastatingly reclaimed in I, Medusa by Ayana Gray and Circe by Madeliene Miller. From the fall from grace to birthing legions of demons to the reasons the crops wouldn’t grow, women have forcibly shouldered the blame.
In defining monstrous women, Ayana Gray shared her keen insight with me, “In most cases, I think a ‘monstrous’ woman is simply a misunderstood woman, someone who hasn’t been given a voice or opportunity to tell her own story. In the world we live in, it’s much easier to vilify feminine rage than examine it or question the systemic power structures that intentionally disenfranchise certain groups of people and drive them to desperation. To be ‘monstrous’ is to be disruptive, someone who refuses to go along with the status quo.” That says it all.
THE PARADOX OF BEING “EDITED”
Here’s the paradox of a society that wants us to believe women should be silenced or feared: Every significant advancement in humankind had women at the forefront. But let’s stick to the arts. Viola Lawrence and others like her were the original film editors until the men in Old Hollywood and on Wall Street realized these women might influence the narrative. Women were just as plentiful as men at the dawning of hip-hop; they were producers, writers, and journalists. Even in the art of computer sciences, women like Ada Lovelace helped lead the way, as they did in science fiction. You’re probably thinking of Mary Shelley, but there’s also Margaret Cavendish, who wrote The Blazing World.
“When I made ‘The Lost Daughter’ I noticed that telling the truth about something—something a little bit taboo—hit a nerve. And I wondered after that experience, what would happen if I tried to tell the truth about something else and do it in a big, pop way? Would that hit a nerve? What kind of nerve? And so, in this case, it was on my mind, the monstrous aspects inside of every single one of us. I see it in myself. I see it in other people. And I thought, what if we really got down to it and told the truth … but did it in a way that’s hot? … to be able to hold the monstrous in a way that lets us look at it and go yeah, okay … there are parts of me [with] that kind of rage.”
—Maggie Gyllenhaal, via press conference, on the creation of “The Bride!”
Why aren’t those women as heavily credited as pioneers as men? It all comes back to controlling the narrative. Someone flipped the script, spreading gossip that they were too silly and emotional to edit films. Women became too objectified to lead in hip-hop and were relegated to visuals in verses and videos, or were thought of as not quite smart enough for sciences or science fiction. Despite women already being at the forefront of these fields and working successfully, the story became one of unworthiness and usurpation. Lies and propaganda, but it worked. Thus, the villainizing struck again—as it does in so many stories—flipping control of the narrative to one side again.
IS IT MY STORY OR NOT?
Storytelling is one of the most effective tools of power, but it is also a mirror for the storyteller, taking on their beats, rhythms, beliefs, and culture. The Romans reshaped the Greek and Egyptian gods. They made pagan festivals holy. If that isn’t force worthy of capricious pantheons, you’ll have to tell me what is. Believe me, I’m listening, because the spread of the monstrous-feminine tells you whose tongue has been whispering the narrative.
“Are people born wicked, or do they have wickedness thrust upon them?”
—Glinda, “Wicked”
When I asked the people around me about monstrous women, examples varied as much as the cultures: Medusa, Circe, Lilith, sirens, witches, Cleopatra, Kali, Kuchisakka-onna, Queen Gudit, ale wives, Brunhild, Joan of Arc, Medea, La Llorona, Lamia, the soucouyant (my mum’s favorite), Baba Yaga, and so many more. My eyes widened and watered while researching these stories, mythical, legendary, or real, but I began to see parallels in the women of myth and the feminine rage of current films. Shall we explore the pairings?
A couple of things to note. Myths are cumulative works, consistently reshaped by time and imagination. The following references are based on the most common versions of legends in our current collective consciousness. For example, sirens are akin to harpies. They traditionally have wings and/or various bird parts, but have been reimagined as carnivorous mermaids. Likewise, any mentioned followed by “-reclaimed” speaks to modern versions that have been largely reframed as monstrous-feminine icons.
THE BRIDE x THE LEGEND OF BILLIE JEAN: Unchained and Unstoppable
Maggie Gyllenhaal’s “The Bride!” will be compared to “Bonnie & Clyde”(1967), “Wild at Heart” (1990), and a 1930s punk rock “Chicago”—just as Gyllenhaal intended. But allow me to pull another blonde rebel-girl into the conversation: “The Legend of Billie Jean.”
Blazing through 1980s Texas like Joan of Arc, Billie Jean refuses to be blamed, shamed, or sidetracked from her pursuit of justice, becoming an outlaw and igniting a revolution with every act of defiance. In the original “Bride of Frankenstein,” the Bride was more plot bunny than character. Other than that infamous scream, she had nothing to say. The Bride-reclaimed doesn’t have that problem. As Jessie Buckley recently said, “She’s got a mind and body that is reinvigorated in a way that she doesn’t even expect herself. Like it’s so alive, it’s so monstrous in the most kind of wild, brilliant, like a laser beam kind of way.”
Both the Bride and Billie Jean are reconfigured by acts of violence that steal one’s life and the other’s peace. They each go to the police for help but are left disillusioned by detectives more concerned with the status quo. Instead of backing down, the girls go lawless, becoming icons of rebellion and giving voice to the rage inside other women. With battle cries of “fair is fair” and “brain attack!” Billie Jean and the Bride demand justice or else, and they’re monstrous enough to take it by force.
LINDA LIDDLE x MEDUSA: The Monster Mirrored
Hear me out with this pairing. It’s Linda Liddle from “Send Help” and Medusa. They begin as victims. Linda is dismissed and demeaned by a mediocre male boss at work. In some stories, Medusa is punished for breaking a vow of chastity, and in others for the violence inflicted on her. Both women are subsequently transformed by trauma into figures society deems monstrous. Their “monstrosity” is not their own, but forged by systemic abuse and their refusal to remain powerless. Linda weaponizes her rage and survival instincts against her oppressor. Medusa’s stone-cold gaze becomes a defense against further attacks. By turning the figurative gaze back on those who would obliterate them, Linda and Medusa challenge audiences to reconsider who is truly the monster, reframing monstrosity as determination rather than mislabeled evil or failing to fall in line. Their stories expose the hypocrisy of being made “monstrous” by daring to survive.
However, unlike the Medusa-reclaimed inspired by Ovid and expanded by Gray, Linda loses us by murdering innocents. Thus, she turns triumph into a downward spiral, continuing the transformation from monstrous feminine into monster. She crosses the line, and there’s no justifying that.
ELPHABA x ARACHNE: Fear of her Power
This is a juicy one, and I’m not just talking about whatever toxic cocktail the Wizard was sipping. Neither Elphaba’s nor Arachne’s “monstrosity” is inherent, although it might be perceived in their appearances. Their “monstrous-feminine” is born from social constructs bent on punishing their refusal to conform or misuse their extraordinary gifts: Elphaba’s potent magic and Arachne’s unrivaled artistry in weaving. Both are justice-driven, challenging corrupt authority figures.
While Elphaba takes on the Wizard’s regime, Arachne goes up against the goddess Athena. Their audacity costs them. Branded as destructive monsters for daring to wield power beyond the grasp of the powers that be, Arachne and Elphaba are demonized as a warning to other young women who might dare to be too great. Each is transformed—one into a spider and the other into the Wicked Witch of the West—yet, if we listen, their stories reclaim monstrosity as a badge of resistance. Cheers to the women who refuse to dim their light and instead set the world on fire.
RUMI x SIRENS: Voices that Cannot Be Silenced
“KPop Demon Hunters” and the trio known as HUNTR/X still have us in a chokehold. If storytelling is the power to write and edit history, then voice is its pen. Rumi and Sirens-reclaimed—like Bianca in “Wednesday”—embody the symbolism of using our voices to make change, to heal, and to protect. These are voices that both shield and seduce. The Sirens—whose hybrid forms and enchanting songs are feared for their ability to lure and destroy—are a parallel for Rumi’s half-demon, half-human identity and the supernatural talents that position her as both protector and potential threat.
Both Rumi and Sirens exist in the in-between. Rumi navigates the dual worlds of idol and demon hunter. Shame and empowerment. Meanwhile, the Sirens dwell at the threshold of who they were as protectors of Persephone and the aftermath of failing to keep her away from Hades. He’s the problem; they get the blame. The Sirens must deal with Demeter’s wrath, while Rumi deals with the shame her mentor, Celine, forced her to internalize.
There’s a long history of women being called monsters because their voices carry weight, but what makes Rumi “monstrous” is also what makes her heroic. She was tricked into believing something was wrong with part of her identity. Yet by hiding her demon half, she stifled herself, causing her to lose her voice. It isn’t until she embraces her “monstrous-feminine” that she breaks the silence and comes into the fullness of her power alongside her friends. Rumi and Sirens-reclaimed (“Sirens,” “Tidelands” or “Wednesday”) are hybrid heroines challenging prejudices and the old guard, turning the curse of otherness into a crown of agency. By going from silent shame to unapologetic loudness, Rumi and reclaimed Sirens redefine the monstrous as a symbol of autonomy.
TRUTH BY YOUR OWN DEFINITION
To close it out, here’s more from Ayana Gray: “What I hope is that I, Medusa starts conversations. I hope it encourages people not to accept presented truths without thinking critically about who holds power in this world and who benefits from certain truths.”
That, lovelies, is how the “monstrous-feminine” speaks truth to power. If storytelling is a mirror and a victory for the tellers, women cannot see ourselves in someone else’s reflection or hear ourselves in someone else’s theme song—not without becoming monstrous enough to claw our way to our truest selves.
- Women Writers Week 2026: Table of Contents (March 5, 2026)
FILM REVIEWS
Hoppers review: Pixar’s latest doubles down on “friends not food” by Nell Minow
Andre Is An Idiot review: Irreverent biodoc urges you to get your colon checked by Marya E. Gates
The Bride! review: Maggie Gyllenhaal pieces together a fantastical creature feature by Tomris Laffly
TV REVIEWS
Vladimir by Sherin Nicole
“RJ Decker” Successfully Brings Whimsy to Network Procedural by Cristina Escobar
A Case of Identity Crisis: “Young Sherlock” Suffers From Too Many Ideas by Nandini Balial
Apple TV’s Tedious “The Hunt” Should Have Stayed on the Shelf by Lacy Baugher
HBO’s “Rooster” is Almost an Endearing Comedy by Jen Chaney
FEATURES
Introduction to Women Writers Week 2026 by Nell Minow & Chaz Ebert
Joan Cusack: Best Supporting Energy by Jen Johans
“The Bronze” at 10: How a Washed-Up Gymnast Became a Cult Antihero by Kristen Lopez
“Hush” is the Best Horror Movie You Probably Haven’t Seen by Scarlett Harris
The Artistic Exploration & Wit of Charli xcx by Cortlyn Kelly
Reflections on Nuremberg: Lessons on Evil by Anna Katz
Long Live Bonnie Bennett, the Real Star of “The Vampire Diaries” by Danielle Mathias
Skill and Dedication: Nelson Pressley on Fonda on Film: The Political Movies of Jane Fonda by Nell Minow
An Anatomy of a Fleece: Why “Heated Rivalry” Fans Have Latched Onto its Very Canadian Jacket by Michelle Jaworski
The Mysteries of Dorothy Vallens: On Isabella Rossellini in “Blue Velvet” by Willow MacLay
How “The Testament of Ann Lee” Subverts Cinema’s Lineage of Cult Leaders by Miriam Balenscu
Across 50 Seasons, “Survivor” Reflects Evolving Views of American Women by Esther Rosenfield
Female Filmmakers in Focus: Grace Glowicki on “Dead Lover” by Marya E. Gates
All the Days of My Life: On Elaine May’s “A New Leaf” by Katie Rife
A New Cup of Tea: The Best Murder Mysteries You Haven’t Seen by Mira Singer
I’ve Started Seeing Somebody: The Monstrous-Masculine in Larry Fessenden’s “Habit” by Alisha Mughal
Whatever You Think of “Wuthering Heights,” We Need More Filmmakers Like Emerald Fennell by Lacy Baugher
To the Film Industry in Crisis, A Look Back At Hollywood In 1926 by Marya E. Gates
