Sadly, Not the Last

“What was the last word I chose?” Fred asked, having determined it was his turn to pick a random word to blog about.

“Butter,” answered John. There was a murmur among the group.

“I don’t think I wrote butter.”

“I don’t remember, butter.”

“Did I do butter?”

I hadn’t been part of the group the last time Fred chose a word, but all this butter uttering brought a different image to mind. Not the dairy product, but a movie I’d seen years ago. What was it called? Brando and some young French actress. Had I seen her in anything else? No. I wouldn’t have seen her in anything else. The movie had ruined her.

I didn’t like the movie. Didn’t get it. That scene, particularly, made me feel uncomfortable. Sick.

I read later that Brando and the director, oh what was his name, dreamed up the scene over breakfast when a waiter brought butter and a baguette to their table. Apparently, they just looked at each other, and the butter and the baguette, and decided without speaking that, “this movie needs a rape scene!”

What’s-his-name said later he wanted her humiliation and rage to be “real,” which is why Maria Schneider wasn’t consulted and what was done to her, with cameras rolling, was tantamount to rape. She was 19 years old. She later suffered a mental break down and tried to kill herself. She was an actress who wasn’t allowed to act because men in power didn’t see her as a professional or even a person. They saw her as an orifice.

The movie was made in 1972. Now, nearly 50 years later, women still struggle to be defined by their achievements rather than their body parts. A very powerful man suggests a certain part is up for grabs. A whole “hashtag movement” has formed to convince us to believe the people who’ve been abused by powerful men.

This coming Sunday, the Oscars will celebrate excellence in the film industry. According to Forbes Magazine,[1] a year ago, the average salary of the top 10 highest paid actors was nearly three times the average salary of the 10 top earning actresses. Of the eight movies up for best picture this year, male producers outnumber women six to one and not a single woman is nominated in the best director category.

What was the name of that 1972 movie? It was on the tip of my tongue.

“I’ve got it!” said Fred.

Something about Paris, I mused to myself. The last something. The last …

Putting on his coat, Fred threw his arm forward with a delightful flourish and declared: “Tango!”

[1] https://www.forbes.com/sites/natalierobehmed/2017/08/22/the-worlds-highest-paid-actors-2017-mark-wahlberg-leads-with-68-million/#50270cba3f92

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