Look Both Ways and the Overturning of Roe V. Wade

BY DANIELLE NODELMAN

IN TIMES OF SOCIAL and political uncertainty, we often turn to films for entertainment and, perhaps, to gain a better understanding of the world around us. In them, we look for insight into contemporary questions, analyzing their impact on society and the ideals they uphold in the current social-political climate. We see movies reflecting real-life political movements and events–whether or not their creators intend for them to do so. The Netflix film Look Both Ways , directed by Wanuri Kahiu and starring Lili Reinhart, is no exception.

The film follows the story of Natalie, a twenty-two year old college senior who, after having sex with her friend, Gabe, takes a pregnancy test the night before graduation. At the moment her pregnancy test results are ready, the story splits into two parallel universes–one in which Natalie is pregnant and becomes a young mother, and another in which she is not pregnant and moves to Los Angeles to pursue a career in animation. Though the film was set to release on August 17th, I first watched the trailer in July–still reeling from the Supreme Court’s decision to overturn Roe v. Wade on June 24th just a few weeks earlier. Feeling the weight of the historical moment, I was immediately drawn to this story and wanted to know more. Intriguingly, the film tells a story about how carrying a pregnancy to term and raising a child can alter a life course, yet barely considers abortion as an option. In fact, the only (brief) mention of the possibility of abortion is in the positive pregnancy test storyline, when Natalie reveals to Gabe that she is pregnant, to which he responds, “I support you with whatever you choose… I’m pro-your-choice.” The decision to limit discussion about abortion in this movie is especially fascinating considering that the story takes place in Texas, a state that prohibits abortion unless the pregnant person’s life is at risk. Now that Roe v. Wade has been overturned, the film has a bit of a dystopian feel, as it would be immensely more difficult for Natalie to get an abortion today if she had decided to have one. Ultimately, she decides to keep the baby, telling her friend Cara “...it feels like this is something that I have to do. Like this is what was supposed to happen.”

Reinhart, who plays Natalie, is also one of the film’s executive producers. She is outspokenly feminist and prochoice, explaining that her shared vision with director Kahiu was to “make sure [their] film is a champion for women’s choices” (Variety). She goes on to say that “this isn’t an abortion story movie, but it is a movie about a woman who had the opportunity to make a choice” (Variety), affirming that this decision should be personal–and out of the government’s hands. The script, according to Reinhart, was written two years ago; therefore, the writers could not have possibly predicted this postRoe era emerging during the summer of the movie’s premiere. There has always been, however, a threat to women’s reproductive health rights, especially in states that tend to uphold pro-life policy such as Texas. Now, knowing the fate of the recent Roe v. Wade decision, it is almost impossible not to perceive Look Both Ways through a political lens.

Despite the thought, care, and feminist flare the creative team had worked to establish with this film, critics have been quick to judge their choices. Some have focused on the marketing of the film, which has been described as a rom-com, a dramedy, and a piece of social-political commentary.

Rodlyn-mae Banting, in her article “Netflix’s Look Both Ways Isn’t the Feminist Movie It Wanted To Be,” asserts that the film fails to pick a ‘lane,’ asking “So… which one is it? Is Look Both Ways just a simple feel good romcom or is it a commentary on the importance of choice?” (Portside). But why does it have to be just one or the other? Must the categories of rom-com, dramedy, and political commentary be mutually exclusive? I would push back against this notion and argue, on the contrary, that these genres, with all of their staples and predictable patterns, are even more powerful when used as a tool to express a deeper message–we’ve seen it before in films like Moxie , Hidden Figures , and Miss Congeniality . Banting continues by saying, “there’s a clear bias about Natalie’s life in LA being the preferable one, and a handful of tired sexist tropes are strengthened along the way” (Portside). This may be an unfair evaluation, as Banting’s definition of feminism appears to leave out the intrinsically feminist decision to not only choose motherhood–which is a decision included in the ‘choice’ aspect of pro-choice–but also to pursue a career while raising a child as Natalie does while raising her daughter, Rosie. The film also strategically focuses on her facing the challenges of each parallel universe, specifically parenting and beginning a career, rendering her ro - mantic endeavors with men secondary to her personal ambitions. They exist solely as a B-story. Highlighting Natalie’s autonomy in love and her career, all within the context of being a mother, seems pretty feminist to me.

In an interview with Variety, Reinhart discusses her process in selecting Kahiu to direct the project. She explains, “Because I myself am not a mother, we wanted to make sure our filmmaker would be a working director also balancing motherhood” (Variety). Like Natalie, Kahiu is a working mother. Her goal was to provide a story that “tells any young woman that regardless of which way your life goes, if you truly follow your heart, you’ll be good. You’re making the right decision for yourself” (Variety). Kahiu was born and raised in Kenya, a country where abortion is illegal unless emergency treatment is needed, or the life or health of the mother is in danger (Kenya Center for Reproductive Rights). Given that her mother was one of the first female pediatricians in her hometown and her aunt was an actress (Vogue Italia), it’s easy to see where Kahiu’s particular artistic and feminist drive comes from, and how they are translated into the film. Her background provides a unique perspective on motherhood where abortions are not readily accessible, which evidently influenced the direction of Natalie’s character in Look Both Ways . Though an abortion might have been accessible to Natalie if she had the means, Kahiu’s direction translates clearly onscreen, as we see the pressures and mental health struggles she faces as a young mother during pregnancy and in the first few years following her daughter’s birth.

I wonder what a third storyline, split with another parallel universe in which Natalie decides to have an abortion, might have looked like if it were added to the film. In line with the creative team’s wish to convey that there is no right or wrong path, I think it would be important to show a non-judgemental and shame-free process in which she is provided with support and resources. Perhaps this version of the story would lead her down a different path in her animation career and love life. Driven by the idea of using the film as a tool for political change, the audience could be exposed to what dangers Natalie or her child could have dealt with had she not been able to have the abortion. But even without this hypothetical third parallel universe, the film certainly does raise questions about what contemporary feminism can look like, especially in this post-Roe era, while celebrating women in leadership positions in and outside of the story–a small victory and an important step in the fight for a more just, inclusive film industry.

Bibliography

“Abortion in Texas.” ACLU of Texas , 28 Sept. 2022.

Banting, Rodlyn-mae. “Netflix’s ‘Look Both Ways’ Isn’t the Feminist Movie It Wanted to Be.” Portside , 23 Aug. 2022.

Frigerio, Barbara. “Wanuri Kahiu.” Vogue Italia , 16 June 2010.

“Kenya’s Abortion Provisions.” Center for Reproductive Rights .

Shafer, Ellise. “Lili Reinhart on Her First Netflix Film ‘Look Both Ways,’ Playing a Pregnant Woman and ‘Riverdale’ Ending.” Variety , 17 Aug. 2022.

Shafer, Ellise. “‘Rafiki’ Director Wanuri Kahiu Talks Making Her Hollywood Debut with Netflix’s Lili Reinhart Dramedy ‘Look Both Ways’.” Variety , 15 Aug. 2022.

SiriusXM. “Lili Reinhart on Roe v. Wade and proChoice Message of ‘Look Both Ways’.” YouTube , 22 Aug. 2022.

House of the Dragon: A Worthy Sequel?

BY LEWIS WOLOCH

GAME OF THRONES is a special show, debatably more universally adored than its fantastical counterparts of Harry Potter , Lord of the Rings , and Avatar . I missed the hype, however, when it first came out, settling for three months of binging the series my first semester at Wesleyan in my friend’s dorm room. I wasn’t sure why he agreed to watch the entire series again (and narrate, and answer all my questions) until I actually saw the first few episodes. GOT , like the other greats of our generation, is a TV show that can be mercilessly replayed without any consequences. The world created first by George RR Martin, and then brought to life by the showrunners, is so complex and vast that it’s impossible to comprehend every single detail deployed throughout each episode. When I heard about a potential prequel this past summer, titled House of the Dragon , I was overcome with excitement.

When I came to Buenos Aires, Argentina a few months ago, it felt incredibly fitting that once again, I would be saturated with the lore of Westeros. When my host brother turned on the television, and I heard the familiar theme song, I felt like I was back as a wee freshman in that tiny, dark dorm room. This time though, I’d be watching with Spanish subtitles and saying “Ni en pedooooo!” instead of “No fucking way!” I was entranced and impressed by that first episode. There was that quintessential Westeros feel to the characters, plot, and atmosphere right off the bat, as the table was set for a series full of familial quarrels, betrayal, and violence. The scene where Queen Aemma dies in an unnecessarily brutal depiction of death during childbirth is a bit overkill, but the point came across: this prequel series was aiming to match its predecessor in terms of gore and shock factor.

I was reeling after this first episode, having been unassumingly thrown back into the world that gave me such a cathartic escape during my freshman year. But then, after the next Sunday, and the Sunday after that, I was filled with a deafening disappointment. There are staunch differences be - tween Game of Thrones and House of the Dragon . The former was blessed with an enormous ensemble cast, spanning different Houses, climates, and seas, while our new show relies on essentially one intermixed family full of drama. There’s also the fact that every episode skips ahead 5 years before you can even get used to the characters. It’s harder to see the future of House of the Dragon , harder to wonder where the characters might finally cross paths because they all seem to know each other from the get-go, and the future is thrown in your face. There’s no White Walkers, no Wall, and no Dothraki. It’s more a bloody, medieval Succession , which sounded perfectly enjoyable to me, but soon proved to be nothing more than a soap opera by episodes 2 and 3. Nearly every other scene consisted of lame squabbling at the council over who should be heir, and I felt like the younger version of Rhaenyra Targaryen was barely feasible as a character that could dominate the storylines like Daenerys had. I was almost waiting for time to jump (which the end-of-episode pre - views spoiled), just so I could see if the producers had nailed the older version of Rhaenyra. Then there was the marriage of King Viserys and Lady Alicent, uncomfortably thrown in our faces as if seeing a 15-year-old girl seduce an old man would captivate the audience’s attention.

I longed for the battle-driven Ned Stark, the mystical presence of Daenerys Targaryen, and the bone-chilling catch phrase “Winter is coming.” I saw flashes, like a potential romance between Rhaenyra and her soon-to-be knight

Criston Cole, but this was all but forgotten in the third episode. Then there was the promising conflict in the Stepstones, highlighted by the terrifying Crabfeeder, who fails to capitalize on the emotions of the audience, instead delivering a few dark scenes full of crabs nibbling on corpses. All I wanted was that damn Crabfeeder to speak! But he never did, and was killed in an anticlimactic battle when Daemon Targaryen defeated so many soldiers that it seemed like he was playing a video game set to Rookie mode. Where was the incest, hand-to-hand combat, magical prescenses, and otherwordly beings that made the world fall in love with Westeros? What set Game of Thrones apart, in my opinion, from any other show was its surprise factor, mainly consisting of its willingness to kill off main characters and end episodes with gnarly cliffhangers. I wanted to be shocked and surprised as I watched House of the Dragon , but it hadn’t happened since the first episode. But then, finally, the fourth episode came along and slapped me in the face. It all began when Dameon took Rhaenyra beyond the walls of the castle, symbolically leaving the boring politics behind and opening up a world of brothels, alcohol, and rule-breaking. And then all of a sudden Dameon is seducing Rhaenyra, and then right after that, Rhaenyra is seducing her knight Cole! Within 15 minutes, my attention had been fully grabbed and I was feeling that Game of Thrones -esque excitement. Shit was going down. Dameon’s character takes off from this point in a full exploration of his degeneracy, cruelty, and rashness, a theme which is slammed home when he murders his wife at the beginning of episode 5. It was giving me the same vibe of the most tortured characters of Game of Thrones : a mix of Jamie Lannister’s incestual, twisted desires; Ramsey Bolton’s insanity; and Joffery’s vanity. Part of the excitement of Game of Thrones was the shock factor of the death, violence, and overall chaos, and House of the Dragon stepped up in this regard during and after episode 5, which ended with Criston Cole brutally beating Laenor Valeyron’s lover to death. In the episodes to follow, there was nothing like when the Stark family is massacred in Game of Thrones at their dinner table, but a suicide by dragon and a beheading in front of the Iron Throne provided enough excitement.

I enjoyed each of the last five episodes, appreciating the more Game of Thrones -esque violence and storylines, but nothing really knocked my socks off. And since the rest of the world and I will probably have to wait nearly two years for another season, I’ll have a lot of time to dwell on what kind of expectations I have going forward. I know House of the Dragon probably won’t be able to ever top Game of Thrones , but I’m thoroughly convinced that it played the role of the dutiful sequel and did set itself apart from its predecessor in a few distinct ways. The eighth episode basically followed the entire family together during a few days in the castle, allowing the audience to experience the characters’ relationships with one another all around one dinner table. The episode was slower, but still maintained a level of drama that was specific to the themes of familial strife that characterized House of the Dragon . This episode, as well as the time jumps and emphasis on generational feuds between the families, gave the prequel its own flavor. The constant switching of actors could feel irritating at times, but overall, by the tenth episode, there was a definite sense of identity with House of the Dragon

While the violence and drama escalated, my biggest knock on the show was that there weren’t too many characters who truly captivated the audience like so many Game of Thrones favorites did. Again, this was hard to achieve because of the many time jumps, but strong, developed characters are vital to any TV show wanting to shock the world.

In House of the Dragon , we mainly just see the stereotypes of a king trying to hold his family together (Viserys), or a gay prince who isn’t allowed to express his true sexuality (Laenor), or the King’s son who doesn’t want any royal responsibility (Aegon). I had seen these tropes before in Game of Thrones , and felt bored by them. The one exception is Prince Aemond, whose villainous journey begins when his teenage self sneaks into the Dragon chamber and basically steals the dragon Vhagar (by claiming it) right from under his cousin’s nose. The transformation of Aemond 6 years later is hardly believable, as the actor seems to have aged at least 15 years, but his character has developed from an overlooked and bullied, but resilient boy to a fearsome man touting a menacing eyepatch. The last scene of the tenth episode, where Aemond’s now enormous dragon Vhagar devours his cousin Arrax right out of the sky, was a brilliant conclusion to one the most exciting characters of the series. And the cliffhanger of the whole incident, while agonizing for those impatient fans, was reminiscent of similar stunts pulled by the writers of Game of Thrones . I felt truly satisfied as the final credits rolled through.

House of the Dragon’s greatest success as its first season came to a close was being able to bring the entire cast together in the final two episodes, creating a “war-is-coming” fervor that pleased the eager palates of the audience. The show’s storylines, which felt boring and repetitive during the first few episodes, were strengthened by the middle of the show as the kingdom began to fall apart and enemies began to form. Even without many truly incredible characters, the familial alliances, bonds, and betrayals were enough to raise the stakes and capture the audience’s attention. While incomparable to Game of Thrones’s patented “Winter is coming,” complete with the Wall, White Walkers, and the general threat of freezing cold, the ensuing downfall of a once peaceful kingdom was good enough for me. ·