The Suit Makes the Woman
A friend joined me for the first of many horror movies I watched this week, and it was one he'd only seen in bits and pieces: Hellraiser. And since I love sharing my favorites with the uninitiated, I was all excited to watch his reactions as much as the film itself - and that was when I noticed that one of the main characters continually drew him out of the movie's spell. He kept commenting on the way she looked, and I don't mean the expressions on her face. He couldn't understand how she was supposed to be a main object of desire with her carefully set, shorter red hair, her dark glasses, and her business suits and heels. Whereas I instinctively understood that she was meant to be a grown woman with an attractive remove and a sleek image because such a style was popular when I was a child.
They called it power-dressing for a reason. Women took hold of the business suit and made it their own so they would be respected, and so they could show off the latest in conspicuous consumption. (And, unlike the many trends that followed, the power suit was never intended for young girls or teenaged vixens; it was by women, for women, and it represented things only grown women could fully understand.) A whole mystique built up around these women; like a film of frost on a window pane, their haughty air of distance made them desirable and hinted that they could be cruel. They wore the uniform of authority, so they called the shots, and not just in the boardroom. Or at least that was the image as it was developed on television and in films, where characters used the suit to put men in their place.
And so it is that Julia's costume tells its own story and completes her character in Hellraiser. We meet her when her remove indicates real loneliness and when her facade has become a defense against intrusion, instead of an offensive weapon. She is clinging to the remnants of her power, but what she really wants is for control to be taken from her, and with some erotic force. So when she has the opportunity to be mastered completely by a corrupt and selfish man, the wealth and sophistication that her wardrobe represents becomes the lure for her victims. The audience understands that she will be ruthless to get what she wants when she stalks bars in crisp black skirts and seamed pantyhose, because that is part and parcel of the power suit. The men she meets understand what her clothing is meant to tell them - they follow the code to their doom, but at least they get the message.
If you can't understand why anyone would want the woman, then you miss out on a major facet of the story. My friend grew up in the 80's but missed that trend somehow. And how do you explain such a thing when a film is rolling and you just want to be entertained? I didn't bother and I got the impression he never fully submerged himself in the movie's milieu, either as a horror story or as an 80's story. He'll probably retain a lower opinion of the film because out it, without ever realizing what he missed.
Perhaps one of the reasons that many older films fall out of fashion is because they use many codes we haven't been taught and can't recognize. I felt this sort of cultural disconnection when I watched the original, Japanese version of The Ring. There were obviously major meanings that I was missing and try as I might, I wasn't able to participate in the horror being implied. An explanation might have helped a little, but would not have instilled that ingrained understanding that would have provided even more terror.
They called it power-dressing for a reason. Women took hold of the business suit and made it their own so they would be respected, and so they could show off the latest in conspicuous consumption. (And, unlike the many trends that followed, the power suit was never intended for young girls or teenaged vixens; it was by women, for women, and it represented things only grown women could fully understand.) A whole mystique built up around these women; like a film of frost on a window pane, their haughty air of distance made them desirable and hinted that they could be cruel. They wore the uniform of authority, so they called the shots, and not just in the boardroom. Or at least that was the image as it was developed on television and in films, where characters used the suit to put men in their place.
And so it is that Julia's costume tells its own story and completes her character in Hellraiser. We meet her when her remove indicates real loneliness and when her facade has become a defense against intrusion, instead of an offensive weapon. She is clinging to the remnants of her power, but what she really wants is for control to be taken from her, and with some erotic force. So when she has the opportunity to be mastered completely by a corrupt and selfish man, the wealth and sophistication that her wardrobe represents becomes the lure for her victims. The audience understands that she will be ruthless to get what she wants when she stalks bars in crisp black skirts and seamed pantyhose, because that is part and parcel of the power suit. The men she meets understand what her clothing is meant to tell them - they follow the code to their doom, but at least they get the message.
If you can't understand why anyone would want the woman, then you miss out on a major facet of the story. My friend grew up in the 80's but missed that trend somehow. And how do you explain such a thing when a film is rolling and you just want to be entertained? I didn't bother and I got the impression he never fully submerged himself in the movie's milieu, either as a horror story or as an 80's story. He'll probably retain a lower opinion of the film because out it, without ever realizing what he missed.
Perhaps one of the reasons that many older films fall out of fashion is because they use many codes we haven't been taught and can't recognize. I felt this sort of cultural disconnection when I watched the original, Japanese version of The Ring. There were obviously major meanings that I was missing and try as I might, I wasn't able to participate in the horror being implied. An explanation might have helped a little, but would not have instilled that ingrained understanding that would have provided even more terror.