APPETITES AND ANXIETIES: FOOD, FILM, AND THE POLITICS OF REPRESENTATION

Abstract

APPETITES AND ANXIETIES: FOOD, FILM, AND THE POLITICS OF REPRESENTATION Cynthia Baron, Diane Carson, and Mark Bernard. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 2014. 334 pp."Films depend on food." This seemingly absurd statement, which begins the introduction to Appetites and Anxieties: Food, Film, and the Politics of Representation, by Cynthia Baron, Diane Carson, and Mark Bernard, will be news to those who love films for the artistry of the writers, directors, actors, and cinematographers (1). The authors, however, quickly crafttheir argument, reminding the reader that "Slapstick comedies need pie-throwing scenes that escalate into brawls. To build their resolve, tough guys in western and actions films down shots of cheap liquor. Gangsters talk with their mouths full. Noir detectives drink alone. Comradeship leads soldiers and officers to share food and drink. Melodramas require disastrous, sometimes heart-warming family dinners. Romantic comedies benefit from chocolates" (1).Chapter 1, "Foodways as an Ideological Approach," furthers this point, defining "foodways" as, quoting Yvonne Lockwood, "the entire complex of ideas and behaviors associated with food" and adding that "the concept entered academic discourse in the early 1970s when folklorist Don Yoder used the term 'foodways' in his article 'Folk Cookery'" (25). Along with the introduction, chapter 1 gives fullness to the authors' proposition, moving beyond food in an obvious context, in movies such as Big Night and Like Water for Chocolate, to contexts where "food does not nourish or heal," nor does it "establish beneficial communities or encourage supportive individual relationship"; the authors cite Soylent Green (1973), The Man Who Fell to Earth (1976), and The Hunger Games (2012) as examples (108).Unfortunately, rather than build upon this well-structured reasoning in chapter 2, the writers submit a dizzying jumble of facts and notes about film's unbridled relationship with corporations and government regulators, stating, "Representations of food are thus one of many filmic elements impacted by co-production arrangements" (54). The authors have a particular disdain for use of food tie-ins (e.g., Iron Man eating a Burger King cheeseburger) by Hollywood "blockbusters" (54). Of course, food and corporate coproductions have been part of radio and television since their inception. "Soap operas" were so named because they were sponsored coproductions with soap companies, and television was once filled with stars endorsing cigarettes.In turning to government regulators and censorship, the authors fail to associate government regulation with perceived (real or imagined) threat to America. Likewise, they state plainly that "topics that disrupt the pleasure of film entertainment, such as the toxicity of diets infused with corn syrup, the economic downside of 'cheap food,' and the problem of food insecurity even in leading food exporting countries like the United States and Brazil, have been consistently 'ignored or hidden from view'" (59). Why? "The power of food and beverage giants helps to explain this practice" (59). Although the reader may know examples that run counter to this position, the authors present only one side of the issue. The rest of the chapter moves this way: set up a straw man, shoot down the straw man, and offer no counterpoint.Thankfully, they leave their personal politics out of the next few chapters, which continue promisingly. In chapter 4, they use The Man Who Fell to Earth, Soylent Green, and The Hunger Games to skillfully demonstrate a new subgenre of sci-fi: films that show "foodways representation to explore the problem of increasingly scarce resources." The heart of these dystopian worlds "is a critical food or water shortage" (108). The title character in The Man Who Fell to Earth "seeks water for his family on a dying planet" (108). …