Rachel Maclean- Make Me Up
The film begins with the exterior of a brutalist, concrete building that morphs into a candy coloured dream house. A presenter appears onscreen with the wealthy English male voice of authority that we comfortably expect in quintessential BBC documentaries. He approaches the shiny pink, festive statue of a sexualised girl and awakes the person encrusted within. The girl, representative of the frilly, silly childishness women are taught to embody, submissive so not to threaten, joins her fellow dolls and is made to perform tasks for the authority figure. These needless, subservient tasks parody famous stereotypes of art history, social history, and the role of a good women. An undercurrent of fear and violence is palpable…(familier?) The losers of the game are withheld food despite their rumbling stomachs and the winner can only eat out of necessity and under supervision.
The names of the girls (Siri, Alexa) minic the acceptable objectification that we often celebrate- cars, technology, guitars are lovingly referred to with exclusively female names. Objects to be proud of, played with and used. Siri’s short lived friendship with Alexa ends in betrayal, Siri losing her nerve and sacrificing Alexa to a cannibalistic fate. As there is only room at the top for one woman and taking down the competition is easier than changing the patriarchy. The back-stabbing, bitchy drama that gives comfort to the patriarchy is reinforced- we are divided and conquered. If we eat ourselves alive is the onus on us, rather than the oppressors?
When alone in her bedroom Siri discovers that the cameras that keep them under constant surveillance can be tricked by drawing extra eyes on her face with makeup, confusing the facial recognition programming. Although this seems like a potential tool for freedom, she is still abiding by the rules of the game- there is strict distinctions of what is pretty, and makeup and changing ourselves is vital to exist. Are we too far gone, culture too internalised to escape this way of thinking? With Siri’s new found tactic she is free to creep around the pastel pink facility. In her little girl clothes and obvious fear the situation is reminiscent of any institution, tapping in to the primal fear of unknown places and people. We are scared of judgement when starting new schools or jobs however are supported by the safe social conventions of politeness that are absent online and do not protect our most vulnerable thoughts and feelings from trolls. Around the building and in her nightmares of plastic surgery there are glimpses of a middle aged white man, formally dressed and very similar to the accused from the Me Too movement, and every young girl’s uncomfortable experiences in the local pub, or bus to school.
The films concludes in a bloodbath of chopping limbs and the disparate overlapping of disjointed speech. The women struggle, and finally defeat the men but the arguments that follow lead to questions about whether emancipation can actually be reached, and should it? The final scene shows Alexa in the abandoned ruins of the building, still embodying a classical pose alone. Siri returns to her and they kiss. Siri, although fatter than before (now she is allowed to eat) still has the artificial face achieved through surgery and makeup. A last remaining camera spys their kiss that is then broadcast to the world. This shows again that the only love existing between a women is for a man’s sexual gratification, and still we are festishised pawns serving the will of the patriarchy.
