Fusion Film Festival 2022 Event Review –  We’re All Going to the World’s Fair

By Kenzie Packer

The lights dim and a teenage girl stares back at us through an expansive digital ether. With the dreaded words, “I want to go to the World’s Fair,” the real and unreal blend into one another, and we are thrown into the depths of an inescapable fictional horror game.

On April 8, 2022, Fusion Film Festival attendees were lucky enough to experience this mind-bending, digital horror and hear from the film’s masterful writer and director, Jane Schoenbrun (they/she). Steeped in the margins and peripheries of life, We’re All Going to the World’s Fair follows Casey (played by the captivating Anna Cobb) as she immerses herself in an online role-playing game, going to extremes to assert her own identity and exert power over the elusive JLB.

Immersed in a feeling of transition—something particularly important to Schoenbrun as their film was created in the midst of both a gender and an artistic transition, they said—Fusion attendees were swept up in a world of empty parking lots, loading screens, and long takes with eerie undertones evocative of the in-between. These transient spaces make the film unsettling at its core, welcoming the viewer into a world that deconstructs horror in order to reconstruct a hybrid genre. 

As Schoenbrun said during the post-film conversation, World’s Fair relies on its “nocturnal, dark aesthetic,” something in the realm of CreepyPasta and other such terror-inducing digital schemes of the early 2000s. For Schoenbrun, this new filmic genre relies on a lineage of horror films and the inherent comfort they bring to so many viewers (both Schoenbrun and Casey included), yet it deviates from the mainstream horror tropes we have become so accustomed to. Such conventions are, to Schoenbrun, “colors on a paintbrush, not the picture [they’re] painting.” World’s Fair epitomizes this wholly new style and form, and it speaks very deeply to a personal goal of Schoenbrun’s of capturing stories that do not passively entertain viewers but entrench them in unsettling and uncomfortable realities that they must reconcile with once the film has ended.

During the Q&A, Schoenbrun said that she draws upon a certain “magic” that can be found in the works she admires; whether it be film or music, visuals or harmonies, there are “abstract forces that drive people,” and those are the impetuses for her creativity. We “return to these worlds to swim in them,” they said, and that act of returning is something that defines much of Schoenbrun’s process as a whole. They described transitioning around the time they were making this film and how the internet—particularly, the internet of their youth—was a major source of inspiration. 

For Schoenbrun, the internet was always a formative yet invisible presence in their life, and we can see that reflected in the protagonist of World’s Fair, Casey. The internet (perhaps more aptly described as the ambiguous “digital realm”) is the means through which Casey can express the inexpressible, something Schoenbrun views very much as a trans experience. As a trans person, they said, there is a certain feeling of slippage and dreaminess, a “function of dysphoria,” that they felt and feel. World’s Fair is, they said, an “expression of [that] dysphoria through [the] metaphor of the screen.”

In many ways, trans film is a relatively new language in need of expansion—and World’s Fair takes the first steps towards doing so. Schoenbrun sees their film as a means of “disrupting binary assumptions about how we feel,” and instead allowing ourselves to exist in the gray areas and liminal spaces. It is here that the film resides, avoiding any investment in Casey’s school or family life because, Schoenbrun said, it would remove the authentic ambivalence of human experience. The closest we get, in fact, is Casey’s tour of her “high school”—a tour that begins and ends in a cemetery.

When asked by an audience member about the origin of the “World’s Fair” concept, Schoenbrun said that the World’s Fairs of old were about imagining futures—but, imagining futures that would often go unrealized. It raises the question, can we perhaps view the digital world as a World’s Fair of the modern human imagination? Schoenbrun did not provide a direct answer, nor did they provide a clear-cut answer for many interpretations because, for them, this kind of ambiguity is necessary for a successful filmgoing experience. The not-knowing, the uncertainty—those are the things that stick with the audience upon leaving the theater, and Schoenbrun seeks to capitalize on that by giving their audience the space to ruminate once Casey leaves the screen and the credits roll.

And there is no doubt that Fusion audience members did just that. Attendees of the event, myself included, were riveted by the film and entranced by what Schoenbrun had to say, and with the film currently playing in U.S. theaters as well as set for release on HBO Max later this month, there is no doubt that many of us will seek out a return to that liminal, digital world to share the space with Casey and Schoenbrun once again.

So, what’s next for Jane?

We’re All Going to the World’s Fair is the first film in Schoenbrun’s “Screen Trilogy,” as they have coined it. Next for Schoenbrun is part two, or I Saw the TV Glow, a story about 90s kids growing up entrenched in the cartoonish, suburban world of television, and the dissociation that results. Shooting this summer, the film will be produced by Emma Stone and made in conjunction with A24.

The Revolution of Period Dramas

By Illia Solano

Imagine a world where you wake up to the rays of sunshine pouring in through your window. You hear livestock awakening from their slumber as well. It’s a new day for you to go  about your  life in a small village filled with drama at every corner. Or perhaps you are a young girl wearing an elaborate dress, perched on the window, waiting for a suitor to come. Ah, what a time to be alive! This is how most period dramas usually play out.

Period dramas are pieces of media that are set during past time periods. They let viewers into a world that doesn’t exist anymore, giving the audience a window into a different reality. At the moment, several shows are circulating, such as  Downton Abbey, The Crown, Bridegerton, The Nevers, and many others. To an extent, the portrayal of female characters needs to be historically accurate. However, what catches my eye is when the characterization of women subverts the stereotype of ‘fragile girls who need someone else to keep on living.’ The most entertaining and impactful show that depicts this idea is, in my opinion, Dickison.

Dickinson is an Apple TV+ show created by Alena Smith, starring Hailee Steinfeld (yes, that one girl from Pitch Perfect) as American poet Emily Dickinson. Now, I’m not just advertising this show (even though it is really good). Throughout the seasons, a young Emily Dickinson struggles to find her voice as a poet. Words pour out of her in a torrent and are scribbled furiously on paper by Emily. Viewers feel and see these words as they fade into the screen ever so slowly. The audience is caught in the moment of Dickinson’s creative process. But this creative process is not always met with acceptance. For many women in the 1800s, extensive thinking and writing was often considered improper, and the primary expectation of them was to marry 一 but Emily wanted to write. This made her a “wild” woman, which meant that she wasn’t seen as marriage material. Emily risked being seen as “weird” to others by straying away from the normal 1800s woman. Even more so, she is a constant disappointment to her family, specifically her mother.  Pursuing writing made Emily an undesirable woman which means she had less marriage prospects, which threatened the Dickinson’s social standing in their town. In spite of this, she continually embraces her outsider persona and proves she doesn’t care. All from disguising herself as a man to attend a lecture at a college to attending a dinner party with just her nightgown on.

This type of protagonist is not something that is seen in many period dramas. Being as they are from the female point of view, the characters and the storylines feel more relatable and realistic in the sense that she isn’t the pretty damsel in distress. Emily is a woman with thoughts and goals that isn’t heavily influenced by the concept of marriage and fulfilling her womanly duties. She is seen as a radical because her goals are not related to men or social status. She is radical because she chooses to focus on her writing rather than what is best for her social image. Other’s opinions about her aren’t enough to deter her from succeeding in doing what she does best. 

Aside from this, the show is unapologetic when it comes to portraying the histories of these characters. For example, it displays the relationship that this character has with her close companion, Emily’s number one supporter, Sue Gilbert. Dickinson doesn’t play with the idea that “they were close friends.” History knew that they were more than that. The show makes it clear that Emily Dickinson’s story will be told in full, and what is so beautiful is that  it portrays all the complexities of this relationship as any other relationship. It isn’t a one-and-done relationship or a relationship that ends in tragedy. Dickinson is one of the few shows that has positive LGBTQ+ representation. This is a big deal since most period dramas usually portray heterosexual relationships in their stories. But gay, lesbian, asexual, and other queer people existed in the 1800s, they just weren’t out in the world. The industry doesn’t like to address this. This is why Dickinson is such a groundbreaking show.The dramatization of this story, including Emily’s love interest, is what makes this period drama so accessible for many people today. Personally, it is the most modern period drama out there. People who enjoy strong female protagonists, period dramas, and complex characters and storylines should definitely check this show out. As period dramas rise in popularity they need to be as accessible. As entertaining as period dramas are, I find them more interesting when they include characters and stories that resonate with modern society, and Dickinson is an inspiring example of this.

Women in Sci-fi: A Dismal Look Back and a Hopeful Gaze Forward

By Avery Hendrick

In 2015, The Force Awakens brought a resurgence of Star Wars fame and celebrities into pop culture. The recently Disney-ified brand was determined to step back into the market of sci-fi films, where it had been absent for ten years since the release of Revenge of the Sith, and to do so by making a statement: Star Wars was now for girls.

While the previous films had always featured female side characters, Rey was the first female lead in the cinematic universe.

However, while the third wave of films featured more female characters, as was seen in Rogue One and the additions of Rose and Admiral Holdo in The Last Jedi, it by no means meant that a female director or screenwriter would be added to the team. As it is, there are currently eleven live-action Star Wars films that have featured seven different directors, all of whom are male. Moreover, outside of the short-term addition of Leigh Brackett on The Empire Strikes Back before her death, there has never been a female screenwriter on any Star Wars movie.

Star Wars is not an anomaly. These abysmal statistics for female creators’ inclusion are seen across the board in the film industry and especially within science fiction, a genre known for its heavy gatekeeping both in the literary and motion picture scene. Science fiction is notoriously difficult to break into both as a creator and viewer, as the genre is marked by traditional classic stories that die-hard fans are hesitant to break away from. These fans often operate on the idea that if you are not an ultra-fan who writes about male protagonists too, then you shouldn’t be allowed to view science fiction. Unfortunately, these rules often apply exclusively to women trying to write, direct, and absorb the genre.

There have, however, been exceptions to the rules. Star Trek, for example, has always stood in contrast from Star Wars on the basis of diversity. Even though the two main characters of the original series were both white men, Star Trek has always included a diverse supporting cast, a rarity in the 1960s. Off-screen, D. C. Fontana worked as a writer and story editor throughout the duration of the original series and continued to edit and produce on The Next Generation and Deep Space Nine. In recent years, Kirsten Beyer has worked as a staff writer and novelist on Discovery while Hanelle Culpepper directed three episodes, including the series premiere, of Picard.

The Wachowski sisters have also made history in the science fiction genre and Hollywood as a whole as the directors and writers of the ultra-successful Matrix series and have a fourth Matrix film slated to hit theaters this December. The sisters are the first major Hollywood directors to come out as transgender and have stated that the original Matrix film stands as an allegorical representation of the personal and social struggles faced by members of the trans community (BBC). 

Even so, it is clear that women directors and writers in the science fiction genre have been overshadowed in the past, but it is the duty of modern audiences to support and notice where progress is being made.

The superhero genre, a subset of science fiction, has shown a step in the right direction, especially within the ever-growing universe of Marvel movies. In 2017, DC’s Wonder Woman, directed by Patty Jenkins, kicked off a wave of female-directed movies in the superhero genre. It was soon followed by co-director Anna Boden’s Captain Marvel and Birds of Prey, directed by Cathy Yan. Over the past year, Black Widow, Wonder Woman 1984, and The Eternals have all featured female directors, including Academy Award-winning Chloé Zhao. Both DC and Marvel also have films with female directors currently in development, a step which signals a major shift in the demographic for directors within the superhero genre and, potentially, even within science fiction as a whole. However, these movies are primarily focused on female characters, a note that suggests that while male directors are allowed to write about both men and women, female directors are pigeonholed into writing and directing exclusively female-focused films.

The indie movie scene presents another front of rising female directors within all genres, science fiction included. 2018’s High Life, directed by Claire Denis and starring Robert Pattinson, and 2015’s Advantageous, directed by Jennifer Phang, both had success in the film festival scene, debuting at Toronto International Film Festival and Sundance respectively. Female-lead horror films The Other Lamb and Saint Maud, directed by Malgorzata Szumowska and Rose Glass, have also reached wide audiences and gained positive critical reviews after independent production. Horror may not fall completely under the scope of science fiction, but it’s a genre that often intersects with sci-fi at a crossroads that has led to many cinematic successes. 

While it’s currently difficult to get a good look at the future of movies, the indie film circuit has shown larger strides of progress than the major studios. In a report done by the Center for the Study of Women in Television and Film at San Diego State University, it was revealed that women comprised 38% of directors in independent films in 2019-2020, a historic high. As audiences have begun to reenter theaters over the past few months after more than a year of closures and delays, science fiction has welcomed more than a few new names. A wave of female directors and writers is on the rise, especially in science fiction, and it’s time they receive the spotlight.

Works Cited

BBC. (2020, August 7). The Matrix is a ‘trans metaphor’, Lilly Wachowski says. BBC News.Retrieved November 14, 2021, from https://www.bbc.com/news/newsbeat-53692435.

A Movie Star for the Modern Feminist

By Kenzie Packer

“I was sitting at my kitchen counter with my suitemates when I found out RBG had died,” a friend of mine told me. “I just kept thinking about how she didn’t retire from her position even while she was battling pancreatic cancer. All to make sure a conservative judge wouldn’t be appointed to the court.” Another friend was working on a music video shoot: “Cameras stopped rolling, actors stopped chatting, and this strange veil of silence kind of overcame the set.” Another said nothing except that they “completely froze.”

On September 18, 2020 I shared these same fears and worries about what the future would look like without the 87-year-old female justice on the Supreme Court, but I knew these feelings extended well beyond my sphere of friends and family. There’s a strange comfort in feeling a bond with thousands of people over the death of a judicial figure, yet that bond simply proves the vast impact Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg had on the lives of men, women, and non-binary folks in America.

In lieu of leaving flowers outside of the Supreme Court building in D.C., I decided to watch the two most recent films made about her: Mimi Leder’s theatrical biopic On the Basis of Sex, and Betsy West and Julie Cohen’s documentary RBG. Though it was fascinating learning about how Ruth targeted physical United States laws in order to erase centuries-old myths about female inferiority, I was most transfixed by the two ways in which Ginsburg was represented. Individually, both films offered captivating depictions of different parts of her life. By the end, however, I felt that both films taken together created a deeply nuanced picture of Ginsburg that couldn’t have been captured by simply observing the judicial side of her life. 

On the Basis of Sex follows a young, beautiful Ginsburg as she navigates the shaky, male-dominant ground of her society; interestingly, director Mimi Leder felt that the film was “very much a love story, and a story about [Ruth and Martin Ginsburg’s] partnership” (Silverstein). To Leder, their marriage was “a metaphor for the film,” a physical manifestation of the equal representation Ginsburg was fighting for.

And this is perhaps the most fascinating aspect of Leder’s film. She chose to reflect on marriage and domesticity, on children and family dinners, on nightly disagreements and mother-daughter outings—all aspects of home life that some people might denounce as being proof of women upholding old, patriarchal ideologies. In spite of this (reductive) opinion, I am confident enough to argue that Leder’s Ginsburg is not a victim of a constraining, male-centric marriage. On the contrary, she is as much a mother and wife as she is a lawyer.

Not once during the film does Ginsburg let her home life overpower the work that she’s doing, and her husband plays an active role in preserving that balance. The very nature of their undoubtedly loving relationship is equity and fairness, and both parties do their part to prove that: when a child is in tears, they take turns offering advice; when it’s time for dinner, the husband takes his place in the kitchen to cook; and whenever possible, Martin involves his wife in his studies and work out of honest respect for her knowledge and capabilities. 

Leder doesn’t want us to wonder “Is she a mother or a lawyer?” because that kind of question reflects the restrictive representation of women under U.S. law that Ruth sought to change. She simply presents these two aspects of life side-by-side to normalize them, and to show us that they are not mutually-exclusive. 

In looking at the documentary RBG, however, we see a very different approach to the representation of Ginsburg. While directors Betsy West and Julie Cohen did delve into her early life struggles and successes, they chose to center their narrative primarily around the life of the much older and seasoned judicial figure we know today. Even so, their Ginsburg is not a woman ‘past her prime,’ but a woman in a different prime of her life. She stands, now, on the other side of justice, questioning lawyers and striving to preserve the very things she fought so hard for when she was younger. This petite woman who might blow away at the next gust of wind is, through the lens of Cohen and West, a deep-rooted force of opinion and action, unmoving in her beliefs. This is the beauty of their film: they capture the seemingly incongruous essence of the “Great Dissenter” (the name she earned by reading her opinions out loud when the right-leaning Court ruled contrary to her) as an older woman whose age is not her defining feature.

Just as with Leder’s film, RBG shows audiences the duality of this feminist Justice. Leder gives us the young, spry lawyer whose family life doesn’t inhibit her fight for female autonomy; Cohen and West give us the older Justice whose revolutionary actions continue to astound the country. In spite of the differences in these representations, all three directors clearly share an adoration for this strong, resilient, and determined woman. More importantly, their films remind us that, without the efforts of the very woman they are portraying, these female-made biographies would have hit the gendered glass ceiling long before their ideas could have gotten off the ground. 

With that in mind, I think the ending of On the Basis of Sex deserves a final moment of consideration. We watch young Ginsburg ascend the steps of the Supreme Court, but by the time she reaches the summit she’s been transformed into the 87-year-old woman we know today. This artistic choice brings our viewing experience to a close, reminding us that in spite of this dramatization of her life, Ginsburg and her work are by no means fictional. As the real Ginsburg walks into the court building, we are encouraged to recognize that she isn’t done fighting—and, upon watching this film after her death, it serves as an even more crucial reminder that we are all responsible for taking up her stead and keeping that fight for equality alive. 

Works Cited

Silverstein, Melissa, “On the Basis of Sex” Director Mimi Leder on Finding Inspiration and Common Ground with RBG. 11 January 2019. https://womenandhollywood.com/on-the-basis-of-sex-director-mimi-leder-on-finding-inspiration-and-common-ground-with-rbg/. Accessed 14 Oct. 2020.

Finding Your Pocket: Janicza Bravo Masterclass

By Andrea Nguyen

Fresh off of a spirited screening for her sophomore feature film, director Janicza Bravo took her seat at the front of a basement theater in Tisch, with guests lining the walls in anticipation of the afternoon’s Q+A segment. Before introductions were through, Fusion’s Woman of the Year had charmed the audience with her frank humor and steady irreverence for formal proceedings. Like Zola, a breathless ride through the social media-infused landscape of modern Florida, Bravo has an unrivaled ability to suspend her viewers in an unbroken state of rapt attention.

While Bravo’s charm certainly feels effortless, her filmic journey has been a function hard-earned expertise and a healthy dose of moxie. Originally intent on becoming an actor, Bravo studied her craft as a Theatre major at NYU and a member of Playwrights Horizons. To her surprise, Bravo found her initial reluctance to venture beyond acting erode as she discovered and subsequently embraced her identity as a director.

Post graduation, Bravo worked as a stylist for college friend Jon Watts, of MCU acclaim, and steadily branched out to collaborate with other film directors. Bravo understood that costume design could be a creative entry point, a way to soak up experience on set. Over the next few years, she transitioned to writing and directing several of her own short films, going on to helm her first feature, Lemon (2017), which screened at Sundance and opened the International Film Festival Rotterdam.
With reference to carving out your own lane as a filmmaker, Bravo offered the room the same advice a friend had given her: “if the door’s just a little bit ajar, you just kind of wedge your foot in and then you put your mattress down.” When Bravo caught wind of A’ziah “Zola” King’s viral Twitter thread, she knew she’d found her open door, the story that would become her second feature film. There was, however, one hitch: James Franco was slated to direct the adaptation. Ever-determined, Bravo wrote to Killer Films, one of two producing entities attached to the film, and threw her hat in the ring on the off chance that Franco left the project.

Fast forward two years. Bravo – in bed and fully ready to pass out – received a call from her friend, actor Jodie Turner-Smith. Adopting an English accent in her reenactment of the conversation, Bravo delivers Turner-Smith’s revelation over the phone that night: “I’m with James. He’s not doing Zola. It’s yours, babe.” Without hesitation, Bravo leapt at the opportunity, put herself back into the running, and emerged as Zola’s director, propelling us in