Jenny around without being seen. 'Privilege' is a crucial term in the film, a kind of prism through which all these issuesand techniquescan be observed.
At the end, you do an interesting thing with the credits, particularly given the line we see during the credits: 'UTOPIA: the more impossible it seems, the more necessary it becomes.' You intercut between the textual credits and what I assume is the wrap party for the film (you also include additional interview information). Do you see the party as a kind of momentary Utopia?
Yeah.
Is the process of making a film your attempt to model Utopian interaction?
Originally, the ending was going to be a dozen postmenopausal women in bright red lipstick and black leather jackets, pouring out of a bar, trying to zip up their jackets [laughter]. It was going to be some climactic moment attacking stereotypes: these raunchy, spunky women. And then I kind of abandoned that and thought, 'Oh, well maybe there'll be a dance.' I thought I'd show all these women dancing to 'Sounds of Soweto' or something, and then that seemed too corny. And finally, I decided, why not document what was already going to happen. I invited all the interviewees to the party. Only a few could come. Actually, Shirley Triest, the tall thin woman, flew from California: it was the first time in her life she's been out of California. I was very touched by that.
At the end of the film, just before we see the wrap party, Yvonne asks Jenny, 'So, did you ever make it with Brenda?' and Jenny says, 'Hell, no! I was terrified of women.' That, the two women in bed in the one dream, and a textual statement (it's quoted in one of the stills
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From Rainer's
(1990).
you made for
)'The most remarkable thing was the silence that emanated from friends and family regarding details of my single middleage. When I was younger, my sex life had been the object of all kinds of questioning, from prurient curiosity to solicitous concern. Now that I did not appear to be looking for a man, the state of my desires seemed of no interest to anyone'leads to my last question: What is the state of your desires?
I've become a lesbian.
Ah.
I mean I can only say that now because I'm deeply involved with someone. But for the last five years it's been on my mind. I've gone through these backbends to find some way of describing a state of nonactive, unrealized sexual identity. I did a lecture in Australia where I called myself 'a lapsed heterosexual' and an 'a- woman' and 'a political lesbian.' At the level of politics, and emotion, my empathy was with lesbians. But I was settling into a celibate life. I didn't know how to proceed.
That's something I want to learn more about in my next film. I want to interview lesbians who
lesbians in middle age. That's the stereotype: a woman is not wanted by men anymore; therefore, she turns to women.
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That's a stereotype I've not heard, actually.
Oh? It's in the culture. I don't think I invented it, and I really want to investigate it:
it a stereotype?
does raise all the stereotypes about desirability and women getting 'old' before men get 'old,' and the old maid stereotype.
I guess the stereotype I've heard is that old maids are lesbians whether they know it or notthough I'm certainly not in touch with the conventional stereotyping of lesbians.
What's very interesting to me is that the instant you get involved with someone of your own sex, it's like crossing the Rubicon! I mean, suddenly, I'm not a 'political lesbian' (well, I
a political lesbian), I'm lesbian. I felt I couldn't
that before, which was odd, because years ago, there was a time I couldn't say I was a feminist because I thought, 'Oh a feminist is a political
not just someone who makes art.' I got past that, and have been an avowed feminist for years.
You know, this is the first time I've uttered all this. No one has asked me directly.
