T. Palomino

Along with medics and police officers, lawyers are the most portrayed professionals in movies and TV shows. This portrayal, most of the time, is not very favorable because society at large sees lawyers as deceiving and cold-hearted. Professor Michael Asimov, who dedicated a great deal of research to the representation of lawyers in film, contends that lawyers in solo practice are usually depicted as more upright or honest than law firms, which are definitely seen as an “embodiment of evil.” After the final season of “Better Call Saul,” this affirmation is more likely to be demonstrated. As a solo practitioner lawyer, Jimmy McGill daily confronts the obstacles that his brother and his gigantic law firm put up for him. Kim Wexler also realizes that law firms are usually at the service of huge corporations and powerful people who systematically oppress and crush the poor and marginalized, so she decides to do solo practice. An analysis of this TV show’s takes on lawyers and law firms could definitely be something interesting, especially if it stays away from the habitual subjects that people associate with this show (drugs, cartels and crime).

Among the many motifs in Quentin Tarantino’s cinematography, food is one of the most important ones. It has been pointed out that the relation between food and power/domination is key to understanding the functionality of violence in his films. For example, when Jules bites some guy’s hamburger and drinks his soda (“Pulp Fiction”), he does it as a prelude to intimidate and kill. When Hans Landa forces Shosanna Dreyfus to try strudel with a glass of milk (“Inglourious Basterds”), he does it to let her know he knows who she really is. When Beatrix struggles with chopsticks and finally uses her hands to eat (“Kill Bill”), Pai Mei throws her food away and tells her that if she wanted to behave like an animal, she will be treated like an animal. These are just some examples of the many ways food is used to dominate and to impose over someone, and ultimately to exert violence. A study that analyzes this phenomenon in deep using one or two specific examples in Tarantino’s movies is something that has not been done yet. The goal of an article on this subject would be to delve into an aspect of Tarantino’s films that has not been fully explored, but it is evidently important to understand how this director’s mind works.

Nosferatu, Jason Voorhees, Freddy Krueger, Lex Luthor, Kingpin, Bane, The Penguin, Golum, Voldemort, Thanos, Red Skull, The Night King… They all are villains. And they all are bald. And the list can go on and on. Male baldness is often used in fiction to equate villainy. This works even better when the hero, in opposition, has lustrous and abundant hair (e.g., He-Man vs. Skeletor), since there is an ancient sociocultural belief that hair is a symbol of health, virility and virtue. However, in “Unbreakable” (2000), Shyamalan fools the audience by introducing a villain with a copious afro (Samuel L. Jackson) opposed to a hairless hero (Bruce Willis). The plot twist is undoubtedly perfect. What other examples of this unusual representation can be found in film? What could it mean to challenge the stereotypical trope? Why would it be worth exploring?

There are mainly four reasons women have their heads shaved in films: 1) toughness (“Alien 3”, “G.I. Jane”), 2) illness or scientific experimentation (“Life in a Year”, “Stranger Things”), 3) rebellion, counterculture or villainy (“Mad Max: Fury Road”, “Guardians of the Galaxy”) or 4) mysticism (“Dr. Strange”, “Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell no Tales”). Of course, some of these reasons may overlap, but usually bald women in film are depicted as an abnormality, as a product of trauma, as the result of an extraordinary and life-changing event that catapults the plot. Why is getting a buzz cut for a woman a decision that needs to be justified and have a deeper meaning or rationality? Why does society feel the need to point it out publicly, to joke about it? Why people tempt to question the sanity or sexuality of a woman who decides to wear short or no hair? Are women supposed to have long, silky hair in order to be beautiful, feminine or just not weird? But most importantly, how does the film industry handle it? The normalization of western beauty standards might be being reinforced (imposed) by the way bald women are often portrayed in movies.

In “Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl” (2003), the apple that Captain Sparrow bites in front of Barbosa does not serve alimentary purposes. This is done to humiliate the pirate because he is not able to taste any food due to his curse. This apple is, in a way, wasted food after one bite because Barbosa throws it away. However, Barbosa carries an apple with him to eat once the malediction is over. The movie ends with the uneaten (wasted) apple falling from his dying hand, but it appears again in the next movie, “Dead Man’s Chest” (2006), when he finally chomps on it with arrogance. An apple is a cinematic device to show the audience that the eater in question is an overconfident villain, a maverick badass or an arrogant person. Examples of this are Draco Malfoy in “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban” (2004), Jerry Dandrige in “Fright Night” (2011), or Ajax in “Deadpool” (2016). The trope of the bad guy eating an apple has been pointed out in movie analyses, but it would be more interesting to explore the idea of wasted food, apples being the favorite food characters bite only once and then throw them away. Lex Luthor does it in “Smallville” (S01E02), and also Professor Colan in “Transformers: The Revenge of the Fallen” (2009). Is there a consequential reason for this beyond the mere trope?

In Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Bruce Banner declares he has seven PhD degrees. In episode 7 of What If…? (2021), Jane Foster says she is “an astrophysicist with multiple PhDs.” With such statements, both characters try to assert their worth as scientists in contrast to superheroes with superpowers. However, holding multiple PhDs would be more of an educational disorder rather than a sign of academic achievement. PhD degrees are not medals or trophies that can be accumulated to show high intellect (the logic of “the more you have, the smarter you are” does not apply here). In a way, these films portray main characters whose value resides either in their intellectual capacity or their physical strength –climatically, in Avengers: Endgame (2019), we can see how Dr. Banner is able “to put the brains and brawn together.” Clearly, the MCU does not understand how academia and higher education work because imagining a scientist with seven PhDs is a more ridiculous idea than a super soldier or a man who can fly. What does this tell us about the concept of heroism that the MCU tries to sell? Is intelligence, in the form of a PhD degree, really another gimmick (like a suit of armor or a magic hammer) that can give proof of one’s value in the realm of superhero films? Why, in summation, are PhD holders so badly represented in superhero movies?