Mitchell's gaze

‘The male gaze often adheres to the satisfaction of the its supposed male audiences. It was men who ruled the economy, so naturally it went that men would be the ones who owned the theatres, film productions and box office premieres. Men made films for men and it was the women who were victims of this- how should we feel now? What do we want to do about it? I say we destroy this tyrannical patriarchy, we show the men that we will not be silenced, we use our strength using our minds and bodies and overcome this oppression! … Any questions? Essays are due a week on Monday, thanks everyone.’

The lecture hall slowly emptied, leaving Mitchell and Gemma amongst those who were in no rush to leave last.

‘Talk about a man hater, I didn’t make those films and I don’t think I’m exactly benefitting from those films being made either,’ said Mitchell. He picked up his bag and dragged himself up out of his seat.

‘The essay should be easy though. Men are trash and then throw in a few quotes from Judith Butler or Helen Lewis, you’ll be fine.’ Gemma seemed more blasé about the situation. She led the two of them out of the hall.

‘I didn’t sign up for this though. I chose film and media because I want to work in film, not because I want to be told how hopeless I am as a man.’ There was a disdain in Mitchell’s voice, a lack of belief and hope. ‘I might change majors you know?’

‘You can’t leave me!’ Gemma spun around. ‘Who am I going to sit with and discuss things with in seminars? I have no other mates!’

‘Alright alright, I’m just changing. If I told my parents then they’d probably push me to medicine or law again. I’d rather continue to disappoint them doing this out of all my options.

‘That’s the spirit. Coffee?’

‘Sure.’

Mitchell and Gemma had been good friends since the first day of University. They met at a freshers fair. There was a demonstration taking place on campus about the University’s pledge to be carbon neutral within 5 years. The protest argued that this wasn’t soon enough and demanded radical reform. Mitchell and Gemma were on the sidelines and bumped into one another as they watched a group throw eggs at the Vice Chancellors office window. They spoke took harmony in each other’s demeanour.

‘I don’t know man. I thought studying film was going to give me a leg up, some prospects you know? I just think I’m being told about everything that is wrong with film before anything else,’ said Mitchell. Gemma listened, she could sense in his voice that Mitchell was more fed up than usual today.

‘Well what are you going to do about it then?’ asked Gemma. She sipped her coffee and leant forward as if to invite Mitchell to think some more about his situation.

‘Well, I mean what can I do?’

‘Lots! It’s a free country Mitchell, why don’t you tell the course director or put it in an e-mail or something?’ Mitchell considered this. What if there was something positive he could do out of all of this? Surely he wasn’t the only one who felt this way? But what if he was? He felt doubtful, then hopeful and doubtful again.

‘I don’t think it will do my grades much good if I’m questioning the content.’

‘Eh, yeah but I mean everyone has a degree these days. I think you can get more out of university if you do what you came here to do in the first place, you know, like, expand your mind through a critical approach.’ Gemma was quoting the course director’s welcome speech. Expanding ones mind through a critical approach seemed exciting to Mitchell on the first day. Little did he know where this critical approach would take him.’

Later that night Mitchell wrote an extensive e-mail to the course director explaining his reasons for joining the course, his initial optimism and excitement and then his current attitudes and feelings towards the course. He toyed with the idea of quoting the course director himself by questioning the meaning of a ‘expanding ones mind through a critical approach’ but thought better of it. ‘Too much salt,’ Mitchell though.

The next morning Mitchell woke to see an e-mail on his phone.

‘Mitchell, Thank you for your e-mail. It is so pleasing to see an email with such passion and reflection for this course. If you would like to pop into my office for a chat today at 3pm, I would be more than happy to discuss this situation further. Kind regards, Susan.’

Mitchell was suddenly ecstatic. Hope. Jubilation. Success. He stood up, screenshotted the e-mail and sent it to Gemma. Gemma replied. ‘Go get ‘em x’. A kiss? He would think about that a little later.

Mitchell marched down to Susan’s office like a man of composure, solidity and self-belief. He knocked on the door 3 times, solid and firm.

‘Come in,’ he heard. He entered and was surprised at the layout of the office. A pink leather sofa, old-fashioned China tea cups which gave the impression of never being used. Two book shelves on either side of the room and a quaint desk which Susan sat behind with her dainty laptop and notepad. Mitchell walked forward and went to sit on the chair infront of the desk.

‘Please, let us sit on the sofa,’ said Susan. Mitchell picked up his bag and waited for Susan to sit first before sitting himself on the other side of the sofa. Susan looked into him deeply. She had her hair up, a style which Michael had not seen previously. Her fingernails were blue and her leggings were stripey and bright. She was renowned for her eccentric style and recognised by most about campus.

‘I thought your e-mail was very… loud,’ said Susan.

‘I tried to be both honest and polite.’

‘I’m glad you told me how you feel. Undergraduate students are slowly turning into high school students, in that they are told what is right and what they all should think and believe but I’m unsure that this is productive.’ Mitchell listened and decided to avoid going off the topic.

‘So what did you think about my overall point in the e-mail?’

‘I wholeheartedly disagree with your sentiments Mitchell.’ Mitchell suddenly froze, Susan’s eyes were piercing. Mitchell felt she could see through into his soul.

‘Well, why?’ Susan slapped her knees and rose up and suddenly took the commanding presence of a drill sergeant.

‘I’m glad you asked. For years and years the male existence has controlled, coerced and tyrannised all aspects of modern Britain. I have worked my backside off and had to work twice as hard to gain any respect from my colleagues and they still don’t seem to appreciate my work. I turn up everyday and deliver lectures, mark essays and design materials and I get nothing back. Who’s fault is it? Is it it mine Mitchell? I don’t think it is. I believe it’s because I’m thirty three years of age and I haven’t had a baby yet. They’re all waiting for me to cry ‘pregnant’ from the rooftops and give them more work to do. They don’t see me as a utility but rather a hinderance so forgive me for enlightening the young minds of our undergraduates with facts, facts, facts. Now I would like to ask you to leave.’

Mitchell stood up and picked up his bag. He left. He was finished.

He walked back towards the café where he thought he might find Gemma. He saw a tall man about his age sitting where he and Gemma usually sit. He walked slowly and felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned it was Gemma.

‘How did it go?’ asked Gemma ‘-wait, before you tell me, I’d like you to meet my new boyfriend, Miles’

‘Nice to meet you Miles,’ said Mitchell.

He listened to Gemma and Miles talk. The words weren’t registering. Mitchell turned and carried on walking in a long, straight, pointless line.