The Stripper as Resisting Reader: Stripper Iconography and Sex Worker Feminism on The Sopranos
In an interview with The Sopranos' creator David Chase
in early March of this year, Terry Gross of NPR's Fresh Air asked
if any scene in the series had been particularly misinterpreted by the
public. His mind went immediately to "University" (episode 32) about the
murder of a young exotic dancer named Tracee. This answer does not
surprise me, as the episode about Tracee lingers in my own
mind—along with Dr. Melfi's rape and Janice's erotic play with
dominant and submissive roles—as an engaging and embattled
representation of contemporary womanhood. The series' creator and
writers are clearly aware of ongoing debates in feminism over sexuality
and power; in fact the show seems to make a knowing reference to the
history of the "feminist sex wars" when Carmela warns Janice that her
fiancé, Richie Aprile, will soon enough take a mistress. Janice
responds that she doubts any mistress will let Richie hold a gun to her
head while they have sex. Carmela gasps, "I thought you were a
feminist!" Janice clarifies, "He usually takes the clip out." Tracee,
like Janice, is a site of contestation over the ambiguous imprint of
feminism on filmic representations of the female body, especially in
contrast to network television's one-dimensional representation of
strippers (think Friends: Stripper stole the ring!) or
simple-minded blockbuster events like the films Striptease and
Showgirls. (Regina Barreca, in "Why I Like the Women in The
Sopranos Even Though I'm Not Supposed To"—exclaims "even the
whores are not your ordinary whores—they too have complicated
inner lives" [36]).
David Chase posits the episode about Tracee as heavily misunderstood
to be a simple exercise in misogyny. His background suggests that a
certain countercultural energy informs his approach to this series. He
regularly criticizes network television for selling a false reassurance
to the audience that Americans are good people, that authority figures
have our best interests at heart, that the family is a safe haven from a
harsh world, and that consumer capitalism is an appropriate mode of
bonding, recharging, and finding joy (Chase). He reminds us, "America
has really big serious problems that are continually papered over with
boosterism and escapism and money" (Kelly). His comments on "University"
redirect attention from the topic of violence against women to the
larger fields of cultural violence—capitalism and family
values—that encompass and entail this particular gendered
violence; by revealing these economic structures as inherently violent,
Chase makes a materialist feminist critique of patriarchy worthy of bell
hooks.[1] And by invoking hooks, I
mean to acknowledge the politically
committed work of reading against the grain of progressive filmmakers
(Spike Lee, Quentin Tarentino, Oliver Stone), while avoiding hooks's
stock answer ("it's not enough") and the "socialist-feminist realism" that
has been rightly criticized for lending itself more "to moralistic
denunciation than to building knowledge of complicated genres" (King and
McCaughey 15).
This episode will make you wince with the brutality of Tracee's
death, and its use of the pernicious visual cliché of the murdered
prostitute or punished fallen woman lends itself to easy feminist
denigrations, but any knee-jerk dismissal of the show as somehow going
too far (by murdering a woman) or not going far enough (by failing to
adopt a sex-positive image of the stripper as liberated lady) should be
categorized as what Judith Halberstam calls "a crisis of spectatorship."
She argues, "We simply do not know how to read imagined violences: all
too often representations of the pernicious effects of homophobia,
racism, and sexism are collapsed by the viewer into homophobia, racism,
and sexism themselves" (253). A film about sexism is, in other words,
often misread as a sexist film. This illiteracy may be behind readings
of Tracee's death as misogynist rather than as a critical comment
on the misogynist representations of violence against sexual women.
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