A Question of Silence Reviewed by Linda Lopez McAlister For The Women's Show, WMNF-FM, Tampa, FL Inspired by Mary Daly, you decide to go down to your neighborhood video store and rent a radical feminist movie to see tonight. Impossible, you say? Not at all. There actually is an unabashedly political feminist separatist film sitting on the shelves of your local Blockbuster or Blockbuster clone. It's called A Question of Silence and you'll find it in the foreign film section. It is the first feature film of Dutch feminist filmmaker Marlene Gorris. It was made in 1981 and was shown in international film festivals, including the New York Film Festival, and had a very limited commercial run in this country (though, through the efforts of a feminist film distribution collective in England it ran there for many months). This is a film I'm very fond of, for its courage, its honesty, and its power. It reveals the oppressive nature of gender relationships across class lines in contemporary Western societies and goes on to suggest the direction women must move in to discover their own voices and escape from patriarchal domination of our very categories of thought. What's more, it manages to convey all this intensely theoretical and political content through a plot structure that creates riveting drama and even a certain amount of suspense. The story centers around three very ordinary Dutch women, a housewife and mother, a secretary and a waitress who, though strangers to each other, happen by chance to be in the same boutique at the same time one day when the combined pressures of their oppressive lives have built to such a pitch that they take it out on the unctuous store manager and beat him to death. They are arrested and put in the prison ward of a mental hospital for observation, and a Yuppified female psychiatrist is assigned to report to the court at a sanity hearing to determine whether they should stand trial for their crime. The male authorities cannot comprehend that three sane women could have killed a man they didn't know (though men kill unknown women on a daily basis), and assume the psychiatrist will find them not responsible for their actions by reason of insanity. To her credit she finds that it's not such a simple matter to understand these three women. Having been silenced throughout their lives, they choose silence in the face of her probing--one, literally does not speak, another talks incessantly but says nothing, and the third toys with her and lies to her. When the psychiatrist, a woman who has ostensibly "made it" in a man's world, finally begins to see that she is just as unheard and unseen as the women are when she tries to say anything that contradicts patriarchal reality, that is when she comes to see them as full human beings and sisters, not just as clients. And that is when she begins to understand the power of the choice not to speak in male terms. Since the conclusion of this film is a truly remarkable one, and one that would be hard to describe adequately, I won't spoil it for you. There is absolutely no doubt about Marlene Gorris's political stance and she uses this film as a means of trying to convince viewers to think and feel likewise. As a result the film is highly controversial and polarizing. Many men and some women find its sympathetic portrayal of these murderous women morally reprehensible. In Gorris's defense she does not suggest that these women should not be punished for the murder--in fact the conclusion she pushes for is that they are sane and should be held morally and legally responsible for their crime. Radical feminists like it a lot, particularly for the way in which it unmasks the tenuous position of the liberal feminists who think they're liberated because they have superficially equal marriages and are allowed token participation in patriarchal institutions. It's a good film for a group of women to rent and then have a good discussion about afterward. Include men, too, if you want, but be prepared for a fight if you do. For the WMNF Women's Show this is Linda Lopez McAlister on Women and Film.