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I'm really not a film-goer, much less an enthusiast (although I do have a fair appreciation for the art), so it's unsurprising that I've never attended the Seattle International Film Festival before. And yet today I found myself at a theater for the third time in a month—which may be a record for me, seeing three different films at the theater in one month—and not just any theater, but the Harvard Exit art-house theater (for the first time), to attend a SIFF film (also for the first time). But then, when I happened to see a mention on Slog about The Punk Singer, a documentary about Kathleen Hanna of Bikini Kill and Le Tigre and the riot-grrrl movement fame, that would be playing twice at SIFF this year, I knew I had to attend.
I'm late in becoming a fan of Hanna. I became aware of the riot grrrl movement back when the mainstream media took notice in the mid-'90s, but I had no real feeling or opinion about it at the time. Being neither a punk rocker nor a woman, nor well-informed or thoughtful about the social issues faced by women, I didn't see any particular relevance to me, and it didn't catch my interest beyond a vague feeling it was cool that women were making themselves heard. By the time Le Tigre's third album, This Island, came out in 2004, I was aware of Bikini Kill and Le Tigre and had definitely heard a few of their songs, maybe even kind of liked a couple of them, but I can't even recall for sure; they just didn't have much presence in my mind. But as I heard the singles off This Island, and then heard the whole album when my younger sister bought it while visiting me, I realized the music was really good and I wanted the album for myself. It's remained a favorite, and since then I've also picked up their first, self-titled album, although for no good reason I still lack the middle one, Feminist Sweepstakes.
Even so, I feel it's only been in the past couple years that I've really started to have a better idea of who Hanna is, to appreciate how important she was not just to the riot grrrl movement but to modern music in general. I've felt a growing admiration and yet still didn't know her story that well. That's why I was excited to see The Punk Singer, and it did not disappoint. It spends the bulk of its 80 minutes on her growth from proto-feminist spoken-word artist to de facto leader of the riot grrrl movement by way of her band Bikini Kill—she was advised by a college professor to start a band because "nobody listens to spoken word"—and I felt it gave me a good understanding of how and why she became such a prime mover. The film has less to say about Le Tigre than I'd hoped, perhaps in part simply because that project has had less impact than Bikini Kill, but also definitely because of the curious, unexpected twist in Hanna's story, a twist I wasn't even aware of until I'd read the film's synopsis. The film asks the question, "Do you know why Hanna stopped performing in 2005?", which was a question I hadn't even known to ask; I knew Le Tigre had gone on hiatus, but hadn't realized Hanna had ever made statements about quitting music. It turns out that at the time, she'd been struggling with chronic illness for over a year while on tour, bad enough that she felt she couldn't continue performing until she could get better. And then, it took another five years to discover that she had—and still has—advanced Lyme disease, which not only causes pervasive and continuous difficulties but also apparently gets worse in effect when treatment finally begins. So, the final part of the film talks about her ongoing struggle to cope with and overcome the disease. The film takes on an elegiac quality, even though it offers the hopeful ending that with treatment under way, Hanna has returned to music with her project The Julie Ruin.
Throughout, the film does an excellent job of capturing the passion and power of Hanna. Her determination to make a stand for women's rights, within the punk-rock scene and from there to the world at large, is really inspiring. Simply watching her performances, listening to her songs and words onstage in archival footage, was enough to make me feel I had to do something, myself. Not even necessarily become politically active, although helping support equal (and positive!) treatment for all was part of it, but just to do something creative: get out my violin and make music, or write some stuff and put out a zine again, like I'd helped my friend Jason do so back around the turn of the century. The present-day interview segments with Hanna and her friends, collaborators, and other rock icons such as Joan Jett and Kim Gordon, not only fill out her image but also help ground her as a full person; I said "rock icons" but she and they become iconic by being true to themselves onstage and off, pursuing their vision and not taking shit from anyone. Why did I have a growing admiration for Hanna in the past couple years even without knowing her story well? Perhaps because I could sense her sincerity, her authenticity, and her passion through her music. Perhaps because I could sense she was a kindred spirit to people I do know, musicians who are also pursuing their own paths without regard for popularity, just for their personal vision. Either way, I feel I have a better understanding of and appreciation for what she's done, and I'm glad this film exists to help us know her story, know her, better.
I'm late in becoming a fan of Hanna. I became aware of the riot grrrl movement back when the mainstream media took notice in the mid-'90s, but I had no real feeling or opinion about it at the time. Being neither a punk rocker nor a woman, nor well-informed or thoughtful about the social issues faced by women, I didn't see any particular relevance to me, and it didn't catch my interest beyond a vague feeling it was cool that women were making themselves heard. By the time Le Tigre's third album, This Island, came out in 2004, I was aware of Bikini Kill and Le Tigre and had definitely heard a few of their songs, maybe even kind of liked a couple of them, but I can't even recall for sure; they just didn't have much presence in my mind. But as I heard the singles off This Island, and then heard the whole album when my younger sister bought it while visiting me, I realized the music was really good and I wanted the album for myself. It's remained a favorite, and since then I've also picked up their first, self-titled album, although for no good reason I still lack the middle one, Feminist Sweepstakes.
Even so, I feel it's only been in the past couple years that I've really started to have a better idea of who Hanna is, to appreciate how important she was not just to the riot grrrl movement but to modern music in general. I've felt a growing admiration and yet still didn't know her story that well. That's why I was excited to see The Punk Singer, and it did not disappoint. It spends the bulk of its 80 minutes on her growth from proto-feminist spoken-word artist to de facto leader of the riot grrrl movement by way of her band Bikini Kill—she was advised by a college professor to start a band because "nobody listens to spoken word"—and I felt it gave me a good understanding of how and why she became such a prime mover. The film has less to say about Le Tigre than I'd hoped, perhaps in part simply because that project has had less impact than Bikini Kill, but also definitely because of the curious, unexpected twist in Hanna's story, a twist I wasn't even aware of until I'd read the film's synopsis. The film asks the question, "Do you know why Hanna stopped performing in 2005?", which was a question I hadn't even known to ask; I knew Le Tigre had gone on hiatus, but hadn't realized Hanna had ever made statements about quitting music. It turns out that at the time, she'd been struggling with chronic illness for over a year while on tour, bad enough that she felt she couldn't continue performing until she could get better. And then, it took another five years to discover that she had—and still has—advanced Lyme disease, which not only causes pervasive and continuous difficulties but also apparently gets worse in effect when treatment finally begins. So, the final part of the film talks about her ongoing struggle to cope with and overcome the disease. The film takes on an elegiac quality, even though it offers the hopeful ending that with treatment under way, Hanna has returned to music with her project The Julie Ruin.
Throughout, the film does an excellent job of capturing the passion and power of Hanna. Her determination to make a stand for women's rights, within the punk-rock scene and from there to the world at large, is really inspiring. Simply watching her performances, listening to her songs and words onstage in archival footage, was enough to make me feel I had to do something, myself. Not even necessarily become politically active, although helping support equal (and positive!) treatment for all was part of it, but just to do something creative: get out my violin and make music, or write some stuff and put out a zine again, like I'd helped my friend Jason do so back around the turn of the century. The present-day interview segments with Hanna and her friends, collaborators, and other rock icons such as Joan Jett and Kim Gordon, not only fill out her image but also help ground her as a full person; I said "rock icons" but she and they become iconic by being true to themselves onstage and off, pursuing their vision and not taking shit from anyone. Why did I have a growing admiration for Hanna in the past couple years even without knowing her story well? Perhaps because I could sense her sincerity, her authenticity, and her passion through her music. Perhaps because I could sense she was a kindred spirit to people I do know, musicians who are also pursuing their own paths without regard for popularity, just for their personal vision. Either way, I feel I have a better understanding of and appreciation for what she's done, and I'm glad this film exists to help us know her story, know her, better.
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