"Disclaimer": A Feminist Analysis

The series Disclaimer has been praised and panned, in about equal measure. I began watching without much idea of the plot. I admire the work of Mexican director Alfonso Cuarón and the cast is exceptional--with Cate Blanchett, Kevin Kline, Sacha Baron-Cohn in the leads. Although there are some gaps in the story, it's beautifully shot (by the brilliant cinematographer--also Mexican--Emmanuel Lubezki) and masterfully acted. That was enough to draw me in, Then I found it absolutely fascinating. I was still thinking about the series-and my own reactions- long after the 7th and final episode.

It's the plot that's haunting, and the particular way--often forced, but always challenging-- of telling Catherine's story. The script was written by Cuarón, based on the novel by Renée Knight. It's a deep reflection on stereotypes of women and the power of misogynist narratives. That may sound trite as a social commentary, but when you experience it, which you will unless you've completely succumbed to the patriarchal separation of intellect from emotion,  it's powerful. Some reviewers have called it "a failed feminist commentary" or "misguided feminist thriller" because it grapples with conflicting views of women's experience of sexual assault and as film seems contrived. But although they freely throw around the word "feminist" just because of the gender violence portrayed, not one attempts a feminist analysis or even a semi-serious discussion of the feminist issues raised in the series.

It's necessary, because Disclaimer's flaws as a television series are far less important than the issues it raises and our responses to them. 

The story

***Read on only if you've already watched Disclaimer, you don't intend to watch it, or you don't care if you know the entire plot beforehand***

Catharine Ravenscroft is a successful documentary producer with money, prestige, a husband and a son. The beginning shows her receiving a professional achievement award. At the ceremony, Christiane Amanpour as the presenter delivers a core message:

“Beware of narrative and form. Their power can bring us closer to the truth, but they can also be a weapon with a great power to manipulate. They can manipulate us only because of our own deeply held beliefs and the judgments we make, and in this way, Catherine reveals something more problematic and profound: our own complicity in some of today’s more toxic social sins.”

Returning home, Catharine opens a package she got in the mail that contains a book. She soon recognizes that it's a novel based on her experience at an Italian beach resort two decades ago. It portrays a married woman seducing a young man, Jonathan, on holiday. After a night of passion, the woman falls asleep on the beach, leaving her five-year old unattended. She awakes to find him far out in the ocean, floating in a dinghy as a storm comes up. Jonathan leaps into the ocean and saves the child. He drowns.

The narrative of the novel, ostensibly written by Jonathan's father under a pseudonym but actually written by his mother, dominates the story line. The scenes written by the grieving mother show Catharine using the naive Jonathan to satisfy her desire. He takes erotic photos of her as part of their bedroom play as her son sleeps in the next room. The day after, she hugs her rescued son, surrounded by the Italian lifeguards and a crowd of beach-goers, and doesn't tell anyone that Jonathan is still out there in the waves, struggling for his life. She's portrayed as the heartless villain. 

The other voice is Stephen, Jonathan's father. He describes how the parents traveled to Italy to identify the body of their son. The mother of the drowned boy, the author, lives out her life in grief and isolation and dies early of cancer. Stephen finds the hidden novel years later and publishes it as the centerstone of his obsessive campaign of vengeance against Catharine. This is basically the only version of events we get in the first five episodes.

Stephen delivers the book Catherine's husband, son and coworkers. He also sends the pictures to her son and husband. Almost every detail of the storytelling connives to convince us that the self-centered Catharine led the teenager on, prevented his rescue, and kept the secret as she built her successful life.  But there are signs--the warning about narratives, the furtive appearance of foxes, a phone call indicating that the boy's girlfriend left due to something awful he did, and a comment by Catharine in the argument with her husband--that indicate something below the story's surface. Throughout this set-up, Catherine is not heard, we don't know her side of it at all. Her life falls apart as everyone, including the viewer, assume she is the woman portrayed in the novel.

Finally, Catherine goes to Stephen's house where she makes him listen to what really happened: Jonathan entered her hotel room and brutally raped her at knife point, forcing her to pose for the photos. At first, Stephen is still determined to carry out his revenge plan by murdering Catherine's son, who is in the hospital. But there he has an epiphany and realizes that Catherine's version is true. He tells her husband she was raped, and admits the real nature of Jonathan as a sexual predator and of his wife as an enabler.

Conflicting narratives

The last-minute twist comes after such intricate measures to cover it up that I felt tricked rather than surprised. But I also felt guilty for my own willingness at first to buy the version of the evil Catharine. As a feminist, I have always and will always believe the woman, unless there is overwhelming evidence otherwise. I felt like I'd been caught in an elaborate trap. I had to go back and figure out why.

That's the point. The plot carefully constructs antipathy towards Catherine using classic patriarchal prejudices. Catharine is a successful journalist in a society that censures women for prioritizing career over childrearing--a choice men are not expected to make at all.  When Catherine calls herself "a shitty mom", it is viewed as a blanket condemnation of her moral character, while "shitty" or absent fathers are considered normal, and negligent fatherhood does not reflect on men's characters or social standing. 

Society also censures women for expressing the kind of sexual desire vividly shown in the scenes of supposedly consensual sex between Catherine and Jonathan, adding yet another negative stereotype to the case against Catherine. And since Catherine's character defies the conciliatory and self-deprecating manners associated with femininity, her strength and anger manifest as narcissistic arrogance. 

The prejudices and stereotypes pile up against her so when she begs to explain her side to her husband, we see it as a plea to accept what we already think she did. Imagery conspires with other peoples' visions of reality and the patriarchal "deeply held beliefs" mentioned at the outset to seal judgement. 

This is Cuarón's intention and while some people comment that they figured it out from the outset, it's fair to say many, like me, did not. Cuarón said in an interview with the Hollywood Reporter that he talked to audiences and found that “Almost everyone has created a judgment of Catherine that is completely different from the ending that we reveal.” He added, “It was a way for audiences to confront their own judgments.”

The director describes the development of the narratives — Stephen's inner voice, the novel through graphic visual reenactment, Catherine's in a third-person voice (the most criticized aspect of the series and rightly so) and the narrative the audience builds as they watch. When asked if the critique of narratives has special relevance after the US elections, Cuarón replies: "I believe the reason of the results [the election of Trump] is nothing but a manipulation of narratives. And the danger [is] that we’re living in this world that is overpopulated by narratives... we’re invaded by these conflicting narratives all the time. The one that hits emotional cords is going to hit the strongest."

The story also uses society's lack of understanding and empathy for sexual assault victims as a tool to build the case against Catherine. It doesn't occur to us that she's a victim of an attack because she hasn't said so for twenty years. Why would Catherine remain silent for so long, even as her life is being viciously destroyed?

First, why didn't she report the rape in Italy? At the end, Catherine explains to Stephen that after being sexually assaulted she collected evidence (photos of bruises, semen) and weighed going to the police. She dreaded the consequences for herself and for her family. She went to the beach with her son in the morning and before she had made a decision, her attacker drowned. She felt like she could move on without going through months or even years of renewed trauma. 

Cuarón notes that the Mexican feminist journalist Lydia Cacho, who has specialized in sex trafficking, femicide and trauma from sexual abuse, served as a consultant and confirmed that Catherine's behavior is  is very common. The Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network (RAINN) estimates that less than 1 out of every 3 sexual assaults are reported, with some estimates as low as 5%. The reasons include revictimization as the victim's past and current behavior are placed under scrutiny, stigmatization, consequences for loved ones and a lack of faith in the justice system. 

Then why didn't she say something when Stephen went after her? Disclaimer makes the point that she tried to, but nobody listened. This is also common. The prospect of re-opening a trauma to share it with people who even then might refuse to believe you can be daunting, as thousands of testimonies of rape victims prove. Often even after making the difficult decision to talk, victims are shut up and shut down, even by those closest to them.

You also can't expect trauma victims to act in ways that seem logical to someone who hasn't experienced what they've lived through, much less blame them. A victim's silence, whether for days or years, should never be construed as guilt. And yet, in the early episodes of Disclaimer we are shockingly easily convinced to do just that. 

Reflections 

Not everything makes sense in the plot. There are missteps and cheats to lead us into the trap and the resolution at the end feels incomplete. But I still couldn't shake the disturbing question of how as a feminist I leapt to conclusions based mostly on the same patriarchal norms I work against. Why was I so quick to condemn the woman? What made me so susceptible to believing that Catharine was the villain for so long? Where are my blind spots?

In my daily life I work against the same stereotypes employed in the ruse. I have experienced sexual assault and told no one. Yet I saw, at first anyway, a manipulative woman who watched her lover die. Part of it is that the first episodes don't offer two conflicting versions of reality--the woman's and the man's-- as usually happens in real life. We see only Jonathan's parents' version, with a few clues that there is a different story (although some viewers claim to have read the trigger warning on "sexual violence" as a tip-off). The script employs a sanctimonious third-person narration to offer insights into Catherine in damage control mode without revealing the rape.  It is often purposely misleading in order to build up to the surprise ending.

So what we see is Catherine as a self-centered climber who manipulates those around her for her own interests. Again, this is a criticism that is typically leveled against women. The same traits in men are considered positive; "ambition", "motivation" and "drive" are the hallmarks of successful men and signs of ruthlessness in women.

The most damning fact is really the only confirmed fact the two versions share and one we have early on: Catherine watched the young man drown after saving her son and did nothing to save him. I work with women who have lost children, mostly sons, to disappearance and violence. I lost a son. I wrongly sided with the grieving mother. This moral issue is explained, but not resolved, by the rape.

The discussion

The reviews offered little insight into what it means to confront the judgments we are taught to make about women. Although many reviewers acknowledged the feminist subject matter, they chose not to engage with it--a typical response of mainstream media to gender violence. Instead they wrote glib and simplistic "thumbs-up" or "thumbs down" reviews. Most reflect the annoying hubris that seems to be a job requirement for commercial media film reviewers. One reviewer (The Spectator) wrote and published a negative review in which he admitted that he did not watch the full series. Another (The New Yorker) used the words "vacuity" and "dreck" to describe the series in a brief and substanceless review that exemplified vacuity and dreck. 

So I turned to social media to find out what other regular people (well, regular people who compulsively share their opinions on Reddit) had to say. I hardly ever delve into the discussions, threads and debates that thrive in that world. I find it a compelling rabbit hole, but foreign and a little bit scary. I was immediately impressed by the vitality and the depth of the debate on Disclaimer. 

These are just a few of the comments: 

One person wrote skeptical of the idea that Catherine didn't say anything sooner. "In a post-metoo world, she’s wielding a tactical nuke against a creepy old man. It’s utterly ridiculous."

I had also questioned why she didn't come out with the truth earlier. Long ago, I didn't tell anyone about an attempted rape. But I was only 14 and it was the seventies. The commenter, I found out they're called "subs", is right in pointing out that one gain of feminist movements is that women have more tools to identify and respond to sexual assault and can often find more support.

But I also agree to some extent with this writer, and her example is hard to argue with:

"Metoo is a farce. In reality no one believes you or cares more than they did before. This week's results are evidence of that - 25 accusations against a man found liable in court last year for sexual abuse, and its not only tolerated but rewarded, lifting him to the highest position in society in a country."

Other comments, clearly from women, also give context to Catherine's silence: 

"The price a victim has to pay to receive any empathy, let alone justice, is too high and drains whatever mental capacity they might have left, if any. Just risking being told you might have caused or deserved it, can permanently ruin whatever's left from your mental sanity. Could she have been sure that he would have believed her? And could a rape survivor really use that traumatic experience to defend herself against accusations of an affair?"

"You don’t necessarily need to have been raped as a woman to relate to Catherine’s character. There are countless situations where women are outright villainized and retraumatized all over without anyone even asking for the facts. It’s a cognitive shortcut, bias, that people have when it comes to women. I wish I could someday live in a world where I'm not defined by those biases and I could be seen just as a person. Until then, we will never know what life without these fears feels like, the way men experience it" 

"The part where she explains her relief for Jonathan’s death and says at least she 'didn’t have to prove her innocence' just hurt. It is not innocence that must be proved. And it should not be her scrambling to be believed nor needing to justify herself. Yet that is the way many of these instances go."   

"Gut wrenching. The strength it takes to become gentle and live a life of “truth telling” or whatever she was getting an award for in the beginning, after being raped and violated- this is a strength like no other. They were sucessful in make me dislike her in the beginning. Fucc."

"This series meant the world to me as a survivor of multiple rapes: how it effects relationships; how a person just wants to move on and not speak of what happened; and how the victim's external posture in the world is almost always misinterpreted."

Another Reddit sub called TruckWash Channel writes a lengthy commentary comparing the series to the book and criticizing the resolution in the final episode after Stephen realizes his son's monstrous crime. They quote a line from Stephen in the book, which could have added more depth to the theme of the power of narratives, and that we see what we are programmed to see:

"The photographs in the hotel room are different. There is nothing natural about them. They are posed, I see that now. And as I look at them, horror is added to my shock. I see something I had chosen to miss before. It is fear."

TruckWash argues that the twist should have been revealed beforehand, and that the series glorifies Catherine's right to determine when, if and how to tell her story even as her life is torn apart by false narratives. I don't agree though that it glorifies or blames her silence. And from a feminist perspective, that's positive, because that's a destructive judgment any way you look at it. 

I agree that for Disclaimer to be a more effective social commentary, the series could have worked less hard to cover up its tracks and harder to create coherency. The audience probably could have used more time after the climax to validate and support the truth that Catherine finally reveals. The ending feels rushed, incomplete and unconvincing--instead of getting something like her day in court, Catherine has merely convinced a deranged man and a deeply insecure and insensitive husband. When the pieces of the puzzle finally fit together, we don't have enough time or background to fully reassemble it. But in the end, we the viewers discover the truth of the story, and some truths about ourselves and our society. And life's lessons are rarely tied up neatly with a bow.