Rape became a more serious, dramatic issue in film following the release of Jonathan Kaplan’s “The Accused” (1988). The rape-revenge legal drama follows Sarah (Jodie Foster) as she and her lawyer Kathryn (Kelly McGillis) fight to prosecute those who participated in and encouraged Sarah’s gang rape in the back room of a tavern. Inspired by the real-life 1983 case of Cheryl Araujo which took place in New Bedford, Massachusetts, this film gave mainstream credibility to the gravity of rape and thoughtfully portrayed a sympathetic “party girl” victim who was sexually interested in two of her attackers. Jodie Foster won her first Oscar for this role. Still, “The Accused” features an extensive gang rape scene whose graphic nature is reflected in problematic rape scenes of today.
Some rape scenes are absolutely unnecessary — hence the well-deserved criticism of “Game of Thrones.” These scenes are often thrown in for shock value and/or sexual titillation by male creators who claim obliviousness/subversion (“Looking for Mr. Goodbar,” “Last Tango in Paris,” “Horns,” “Under the Skin”) or as backstory builders when male screenwriters don’t know how to properly write women (“Watchmen,” “Sucker Punch,” “Black Snake Moan”). And then there are those rape scenes that audiences are meant to interpret as innocent love scenes (what’s up, “Blade Runner”?). I, and countless female and allied critics before and after me, would be perfectly happy to see scenes like this rot in the garbage where they belong. If the only rape scenes that existed in cinema were these bad apples, it would be difficult to make a case for any depictions of rape in film. Of course, art is more complicated than that.
Since it is such a universal female experience, sexual violence in films cannot be dismissed wholesale without censoring women’s lives. When a female character is well-written and interesting, it would be reductive and insulting to insist that rape or abuse cannot be a part of her past. I am not talking about those female characters whose principal traits are “rape victim” or “childhood sexual abuse survivor,” but instead about fully formed characters who have also been affected by sexual violence. There is a tangible difference between the two. Sarah in “The Accused,” for instance, is a bubbly woman with a neglectful mother and a penchant for astrology. Conversely, Amy Sumner of “Straw Dogs” is little more than a wife whose brutal rape allows her husband to prove his physical and intellectual superiority.
Despite whatever personal doubts I may have about them, I can’t wholeheartedly advocate for a world without “I Spit on Your Grave” or “Ms. 45.” To do so would mean advocating for a world without “The Accused,” “Monster,” or “Hard Candy.” Erasing the rape-revenge legacy would mean erasing any number of well-done films where women are assaulted or preyed upon, and that trauma becomes integral to their experience and the film’s plot. In fact, many of those latter films were likely made as an answer to the exploitation of the rape-revenge genre.
Not all of these narrative atrocities are committed by male filmmakers, but more often than not that is the case. This can lead to reports of actual sexual assault or harassment on set, as was the notorious case with Bernardo Bertolucci’s “Last Tango in Paris,” wherein Bertolucci and Marlon Brando “surprised” Maria Schneider with a rape scene. In an industry so disproportionately run by men, it comes as no surprise that film itself reflects the misogynistic interests of its creators. When Harvey Weinstein can enjoy success and acclaim for decades despite being a known predator, of course rape can be regurgitated on screen for no good reason. Hollywood is so complicit in the sexual violation of women, both real and fictional, that it has become a normalized part of our visual culture. It’s jarring to see Weinstein meet such backlash, when Roman Polanski recently enjoyed his return to Cannes.
It makes sense that men, as the demographic largely unaffected by rape, would be more easily able to write it off as a narrative firebrand, throwaway interaction, or artistic flourish. That dangerous ignorance has led to rape’s loaded -— and often violently offensive — on-screen reputation today. As such, rape scenes cannot exist in a vacuum, and even those that are integral to a film’s plot can toe the line of gratuitousness. “The Accused” drew feminist criticism for its gang rape scene, in which Jodie Foster’s nude chest is revealed and there are several close-ups on one of her attackers in sexual ecstasy. Though it is clinical and horrifying, some feared that certain viewers would read the scene as spectacular or even entertaining. Nearly 25 years later, “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo” offered a rape scene that paid undue attention to its victim’s naked form.
Rape scenes should be disturbing in and of themselves, but the sad reality is that directors filming rape scenes today need to understand any rape scene’s potential for entertainment or eroticism, and put in the extra work to avoid any such grotesque sensationalism. These filmmakers are, after all, combatting years of normalized sexual violence in our society and in the film industry, including rape scenes from films past that were treated as romantic interactions. As such, even films by female filmmakers exist which feature fleshed-out female rape survivors, but whose rape scenes I consider to border on exploitation. “White Girl” is an excellent example of such a film, wherein Elizabeth Wood directs her own screenplay about a reckless college student caught up in the world of drugs. The film features several explicit sex scenes and one rape scene, and little is done formally to separate the latter from the former. Like the film’s other sex scenes, the rape scene is filmed as if from around the corner of another room, adding an unnecessary layer of voyeurism.
As you’ll learn on your first day of any screenwriting class, cinema is a “show-don’t-tell” medium. That means that, if rape is integral to a film character’s background, there may be narrative justification for a rape scene in said film. However, it is possible to create a well-done survivor character without showing her rape, as Larry Abrahamson did in “Room” (written by Emma Donoghue) and Destin Daniel Cretton did with his own script for “Short Term 12.” Even when rape is shown on-screen, it is possible to do so in ways apropos to the subject matter. “The Handmaid’s Tale” refuses to downplay the clinical nature of Offred’s rapes (though the scenes do occasionally flirt with levity), and “Big Little Lies” crafted Jane’s rape scene in a muted, distant way befitting the formal representation of Jane’s trauma-fractured memory. While these two examples do come from TV, directors Reed Morano (“The Handmaid’s Tale”) and Jean-Marc Vallée (“Big Little Lies”) showcase their filmic origins on these projects. A sensitively written and depicted rape scene can be difficult to create, given the subject’s loaded on-screen history, but it’s hardly an impossible task.
I’m not asking any filmmakers to singlehandedly solve rape culture. I’m not even asking male filmmakers to intelligently portray rape in their projects, if they don’t want to. I would rather see a film completely devoid of women than a film where the only main female character is a poorly-concocted rape victim. I know that there are plenty of female filmmakers itching to properly tell women’s stories who merely need funding and support. Likewise, there are male filmmakers eager to create positive depictions of women and their experiences. These are the voices that should be amplified in film, unless we want to continue seeing one of the best artistic mediums on earth constantly misrepresent a universal aspect of female existence.
Poorly written and executed rape scenes in film are, at best, callously dismissive of one of the most harrowing aspects of all women’s lives. This cinematic trend is unfair to female filmgoers, actresses, and female film crew. The answer, however is not to get rid of all such content altogether. Instead we, as fans, critics of and workers in the film industry, need to learn how we can best encourage and perpetuate responsible depictions of rape in film. For now, this topic remains laden with a social burden which only time and thoughtful work can heal. I look forward to a future where creators instinctively treat their female characters — thus, viewers — with all due respect.