Editorials
The Hidden Curriculum: Microaggressions and Resistance in ‘MASTER’ (2022)
“You can’t get away from it Jasmine. It’ll follow you, believe me, I know.”
If there’s anything more certain than the sun, it’s the irreverent notion that a person of color is not only not qualified, but they should also feel lucky to be within the spaces they reside when “allowed”.
As of late, during this tumultuous election year, we’ve gotten used to (not really) the term “diversity hire”. In the 80s, it was the great disdain for Affirmative Action acts from the 60s. In the 50s, it was the civil rights movement. We’re 30 years shy of a century of oppression, adversity and undertow in academic institutions, and it permeates everything we can possibly think to be involved in, appointed to or admired for. In the 2022 film Master by Mariama Diallo, we explore cultural depth and neverending societal issues with race, microaggressions, and othering in the academic world.
The film opens with Gail Bishop (Regina Hall), the first Black Master of House at Ancaster University, a predominantly white collegiate atmosphere that’s almost as old as the country. She works to settle in as best she can in a home rife with pictures of old white men and cookie jars in the shape of derogatory Black effigies, but we’ll get to that later. At the same time, an eager and hopeful Jasmine Moore (Zoe Renee) arrives at Ancaster. Jasmine is given her assignment, room 302, the haunted room. Oooooh!
Well, she’s not even told that it’s haunted. It’s alluded to quite haughtily by the Welcome Crew.
It’s a shame the steep spiral downward in trauma this film takes because these experiences, save for most of the supernatural pieces, are true to life. The wonder of starting new, being a part of something that sparks joy. Being the first Black anything academically is always seen as a how-did-they-get-that-couldn’t-be-because-they’ve-earned-it, and it’s a mountain on top of a mountain. For Jasmine and Gail, the hike is just beginning.
A Live One:
Jasmine takes to the haunted room, and realizes, quite startlingly, that she has a roommate, Amelia (Talia Ryder). Amelia and Jasmine hit it off nicely when it’s just the two of them, but when they are joined by Amelia’s more affluent, more snotty (and also white) friends Cressida (Ella Hunt) and Katie (Noa Fisher), the tables turn out of Jasmine’s favor. She’s constantly interrupted when she shares her own stories in order for them to tell their own. She is picked on, cornered, and subjected to soft-handed bullying at the hands of these girls’ possible paramours as well. It’s a common situation for any person of color in a predominantly white space. The period of adjustment takes longer because the goalposts keep changing. And the game of making you and keeping you ill-adjusted is an ongoing sport.
Now, the haunted room theory permeates Jasmine’s waning emotional and mental state as she begins to have hellish nightmares: losing time, waking up believing she’s being attacked by an entity or treated like a specimen to be studied. Jasmine uncovers the death of the first Black student who resided in that room, and from that point on, the thinly veiled and petty racist cracks become less subdued.
Jasmine’s struggles with belonging and the doubt of her aptitude begin externally. A valedictorian, a brilliant mind, and a bubbly personality squashed into a shell of Blackness. The Black lunch staff is all smiles with the white students but when Jasmine comes through the line, she’s treated brusquely, silently as if to say, you think you’re something special by being on that side of the aisle. It’s such a visceral scene because society has made its perpetuated caste system for so long, there’s bound to be some internal issues that folks struggle with. Sometimes it causes anger, jealousy or shame. In this scene, it’s a mix of it all and cuts deep in less than 120 seconds.
In light of being a suspect, she’s investigated when an alarm sensor goes off in the library. When it’s revealed that Jasmine has nothing belonging to the library, the urge is to check her bag. The accusatory tone of the librarian and the growing crowd behind her only adds to the humiliation. Guilty until proven innocent. During a class with the only other person of color, her instructor, Dr. Liv Beckham, discussed color usage in The Scarlet Letter. Jasmine believes that using the color white so often points to Hester’s daughter Pearl’s innocence, but you can tell she wants to dive deeper than that – much deeper. When white student Cressida chimes up that the white points to white people of that time and their ignorance and disdain for color or non-conforming women. Listen.
I know many people of color who viewed this film and felt everything Jasmine’s body language was showing. For real, Cressida?! If that statement had come out of Jasmine’s mouth, would she be seen as the angry Black woman? The race card thrower? The reverse racist? Surely, and not as the wise, forward-thinking, woke, and diversity-first crown-wearer like Cressida gets to be. And there’s another rub. Don’t be too smart, don’t be too confrontational, don’t question the system.
When Jasmine confronts Liv for giving her a poor grade in class and praising the white students, Liv construes that Jasmine was from an “inner city, poor graded school, things work differently here”. Jasmine has to fight to tell her she’s not a hard knock case, she’s from the suburbs, AND she was the valedictorian, to which Liv is like oh gee wilickers I didn’t know. The casual assumptions about her intelligence and background, especially from Liv, sting, in the same ways the attitudes from the lunch crew stung. Jasmine’s experience is compounded by the ingrained and institutional barriers that exist for Black and Brown students. She’s constantly having to prove herself academically and socially, play maid and errand runner, and in a coup de grace to further distance and isolate her from her roommate, she’s made into a pawn as Amelia’s crush. Tyler (Will Hochman) begins to flirt and make out with Jasmine in a “how scandalous is it that I’m hooking up with the Black girl” way, because that’s a scandal ‘round his parts! Extensive spiritual sigh.
She’s constantly reminded that she doesn’t belong and is some sort of bone of contention for many members of the school and faculty. It’s almost as if, even though all of our barrier-breaking, that these spaces are not designed for us to succeed, much like corporate and government spaces; the navigation of personal and racial bias has you exhausted before you even end your workday.
And Nothing Ever Changes:
Gail’s situation is less nuanced and much heavier in the “you should feel incredibly lucky we’ve decided to let you do this” vibe. There is not a person of color out there in an academic, corporate, or government setting (and let’s go further, a friend group) where they didn’t feel tokenized or like a box tick. As a tenured professor, Gail Bishop represents the more mature side of this coin for Black women in academia. Despite all her successes, she’s constantly countermanded and undermined, not to mention low-key chided by her colleagues with comments like, “Should we call her Obama?”. The microaggressions are more serrated for her, especially when her all-white board – mirroring Jasmine’s all-white “friend” group – cast doubt on her professional merit and her ability to be impartial when faced with a serious situation regarding another professor of color. She’s deemed unqualified and unsuited for the prestigious gift they’ve given her. It’s this type of structural inequity and institutional racism, not to mention gross lack of cultural awareness on the part of predominantly white institutions that create this caustic and hostile environment where stereotyping and discrimination often impact promotions, tenure opportunity and space for new Black and Brown professors. Is Gail as secure as she thinks she is? All signs point to no with conditions.
Despite all of her glossy ideals and sense of friendship and availability with her student, the lion’s share of the faculty at Ancaster have deep-seated racial bias that’s imbruing on the school through Jasmine and Gail’s experiences and not only are they none the wiser – they don’t seem fussed enough to care. When Jasmine is overcome by visions, nightmares, and just enough racism to push her over the edge and out of a window, Gail tells a recovering Jasmine not to let them drag her down. Fight.
“You can’t get away from it Jasmine. It’ll follow you, believe me, I know.”
Advice Gail should heed herself. As that tension between her and the faculty escalates after poor Jasmine’s suicide, Gail knows that even though they create shiny diversity programs and exude a semblance of a beacon for marginalized academics, they don’t truly care for Black or Brown students. The microscope will always be at full magnification, the scrutiny and judgment on eleven and the bias, sky high. Our experiences, knowledge, achievements, and mental prowess will always be viewed through a lens of skepticism.
By the end, Gail knows that she is merely that token, that box tick to get things done and having the public ignore their racist ways as long as a Black patsy is standing at the front of the line to prove they don’t see color. Nothing is ever going to change. Not for her, not for any other student of color, ever.
Diallo’s film was released with mixed reviews, and I understand it’s a polarizing film. It’s a stark look at what it’s like to be a Black woman in higher education, and I don’t think people were ready for the “Are we the baddies?” conversation. Thinking back to my college days, I was met with millions of microaggressions at the time that I didn’t know weren’t just part of life. Majoring in Business, we were asked to make a business plan for a business we’d like to create someday. I chose a bookstore/record shop, basically a small-town Borders. When I presented it to my professor I was met with, and I quote, “Oh wow! I was expecting like a hair salon, weaves and nails and stuff.” Hmm. Even having the highest GPA in the course, I was constantly asked to further cite my sources as the reports were “just a little too clean”, something my white counterparts were never asked to do.
It’s hell representing yourself and all you’ve accomplished, and in just a few months, that light is dulled, diminished, and, in Jasmine’s case, snuffed out far too soon.
Master’s prestigious Ancaster is more than just a setting, it’s a symbol of a broader societal issue with race, privilege, and power. Black and Brown academics are devalued by design. It’s a vacuumed microcosm of a society that promotes diversity and meritocracy, all the while creating and perpetuating systemic barriers that prevent Black and Brown groups from thriving without mobilizing or leaving all together. Master keenly explores how microaggressions add up. Assumptions about intelligence, qualifications or the capacity to succeed, reveal a deep unspoken bias that infiltrates marginalized women beyond the classroom.
Most of my early happy memories are of being released by my mother, free to wander the video store. I was at my happiest roaming the aisles when it was my turn, but I always walked a little faster going through the horror section, as this was before my love affair with the genre started. There was one VHS cover that particularly scared me, so I always avoided making eye contact with the sinister face on the front of Child’s Play.
A Video Store Recommendation That Changed Everything
Many years later, as I would return to the video store on my own as a teen, I was on a mission to watch as many horror movies as possible. I was also a closeted queer teen harboring a massive crush on the girl who worked the counter, who happened to like horror, and I took any chance I could to talk to her. One night, feeling brave and definitely not overwhelmed by gay feelings, I worked up the courage to ask for her any recommendations.
“Hey! I have a three-day weekend coming up, and was wondering if you had any suggestions for some movies I can just dive into all weekend. Horror preferred.”
“Do you like slashers?”
“Love them! Michael, Jason, Freddie. The classics.”
“Well, and of course Chucky.”
“The talking doll?”
Her eyes widened, and she walked around from the counter, making me realize I had never seen her from the waist down before. She grabbed my wrist and dragged me into the horror section.
“Your homework for the weekend is to watch Child’s Play 1 through 5. The first three are great, but Bride of Chucky is really where it’s at. You’ll see what I mean when you get there. If you make it to Seed of Chucky, we’ll talk.”
With a wink, she left me to do my homework assignment, and of course, I wanted to be a good student, so I picked up the DVDs, grabbed some Whoppers and a popcorn, and went home to study.
Discovering the Child’s Play Franchise as a Queer Teen
Child’s Play was instantly a hit for me. Maybe it was my childhood fear of Chucky, or maybe it was Don Mancini’s anticapitalist take on a killer in the form of something much smaller and cuter than the hulking slashers I was accustomed to, but I had to see how they would bring back my new favorite guy. While I have love and affection for 2 and 3 (I later named my cat Kyle after Andy’s foster sister), I rushed my first watch because I wanted to get to Bride of Chucky to see exactly what Video Store Girl was talking about.
Bride of Chucky was like Dorothy going from sepia to full-spectrum color for me. Having seen Bound at a very formative time for me, Jennifer Tilly was worshipped as queer royalty in my heart. She was instantly magnetic as Tiffany Valentine. The sheer camp of it all, combined with the fact that it had one of the first gay characters I’ve ever seen that was just a “normal” gay person, captured my heart. I dreaded the death David would face for the horrible crime of being a gay man on screen, but to my surprise and delight, he wasn’t punished for it. He was dispatched in the same gruesome manner as any of Chucky and Tiffany’s other villains.
Seed of Chucky and the First Time I Felt Seen
I was excited to get to Seed of Chucky, both because by this point I had fallen in love with the franchise, but also because I wanted to do a good job and impress Video Store Girl. What I didn’t expect was to have my core shattered in a way that I couldn’t fully express until I was an adult. Seed of Chucky is about a doll, first named Shitface by a cruel ventriloquist, that realizes Chucky and Tiffany may be their parents. Throughout most of the movie, Chucky and Tiffany argue over the gender of their child, whom they named Glen/Glenda. The name itself is a reference to the classic Ed Wood movie about a character that we would now likely call genderfluid, who likes to wear men’s and women’s clothing. At the end of the film, it’s clear that for Glen/Glenda, they are two souls inhabiting one body.
“Sometimes I feel like a boy. Sometimes I feel like a girl. Can’t I be both?”
Those words felt like someone was skipping rocks across my heart. It felt like a secret I wasn’t supposed to know, but it was the answer to a question I had never thought to ask. Gender fluidity wasn’t something that was discussed in my conservative home of Orange County. Did Video Store Girl see something in me that I wasn’t hiding as well as I could be? I loved my weekend watching the Child’s Play franchise, but I asked my mom to return the movies for me, as I couldn’t face someone who had seen me so clearly just yet.
Rewatching Seed of Chucky as an Adult
Seed of Chucky, a script that had been rejected by Universal for being “too gay” came to me again as an adult upon rewatch. Where I had found questions, I could not find the answer to in Glen/Glenda, I found acceptance through an unlikely character: Chucky. It’s in Seed of Chucky that our main character, Chucky, gives up the ghost and decides, for once and all, that he no longer wishes to be human. He loves himself exactly as he is for the form he chose for himself, a doll. If a psychopathic killer doll could love himself exactly as he was in a body that he chose to present himself in, why couldn’t I?
Don Mancini and Queer Voices in Horror
One of the best parts of having the same writer at the helm for every entry into the same franchise is that, unlike other typical slasher villains, Chucky gets to experience character development and growth. And because Don Mancini himself is gay, his voice behind the experience has been an authentic beacon of hope for queer audiences. “It has really been nice for me, again, as a gay man, to have a lot of gay, queer, and trans fans say that movie meant a lot to them, and that those characters meant a lot to them as queer kids.” He says in an article by Rue Morgue.
Why Chucky Remains a Queer Icon
One of my greatest joys was watching all three seasons of the cancelled too soon series, Chucky. Jake (Zacary Arthur), the show’s new gay protagonist, goes from clashing with his homophobic father (who is quickly dispatched by Chucky) to his first love and found family. Chucky with his own found family in Tiffany, G.G. (formerly Glen/Glenda), Caroline, and Wendell (John Waters). While the show has ended, I hope this won’t be the last we see of him, and I’m excited to see where Don Mancini takes the character for future queer audiences. One standout moment from the series is when Jake sits with Chucky and talks about G.G.
“You know, I have a queer kid…genderfluid”
“And you’re cool with it?”
“I’m not a monster Jake.”
If a killer doll could love his genderfluid child, I expect nothing less from the rest of society. Growing up feeling the way I felt about my gender and sexuality, I didn’t have peers to rely on to learn about myself.
But what I did have was Chucky. My friend til’ the end.
Horror Press’ exploration of catharsis this month lends itself naturally to the topic of satisfying horror movie deaths. While murdering people who vex you in real life is rightly frowned upon, horror allows us to explore our darker sides. Fiction gives us the catharsis and relief to allow us to survive that ineradicable pox that is other people. To that end, here are the 10 most satisfying deaths in horror movies.
PS: It goes without saying that this article contains a few SPOILERS.
The 10 Most Satisfying Deaths in Horror Movies
#10 Franklin, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre
I ranked this death from the original Texas Chain Saw Massacre lowest for two reasons. First, I think Franklin’s whole vibe is a perfect fit for the unnerving, overwhelming atmosphere of Tobe Hooper’s masterpiece. Second, I think it’s important for representation that onscreen characters from marginalized groups be allowed to have flaws. That said, Franklin Hardesty is one of the most goddamn annoying characters in the history of cinema. Endless shrieking and raspberry-blowing will do that for ya. His death via chainsaw comes as a profound relief. His sister Sally spends the next 40 minutes or so screaming nonstop, and that’s considerably more peaceful.
#9 Lori, Happy Death Day
This is less about the character herself and more about Tree’s journey. After watching her time-loop for so long, being thwarted at every turn, Lori’s poison cupcake is a real gut-punch. Tree’s vengeance allows her to break out of the time loop once and for all (until the sequel). It also allows us to rejoice in the fact that her work to improve herself hasn’t been for naught.
#8 Billy, Scream (1996)
There are a hell of a lot of satisfying kills perpetrated upon Ghostfaces in the Scream franchise. However, the original still takes the cake. Sidney Prescott curtly refuses to allow a killer to plug a sequel at the end of her survival story. Instead, she plugs him in the head, saying, “Not in my movie.” It’s not just a great ending to a horror movie. It’s a big middle finger to sleazy teenage boyfriends the world over.
#7 Crispian, You’re Next
Ooh, when Erin finds out that this rotten man has knowingly brought her along to a home invasion… His attempt to charm (and bribe) her might have won over a weaker person. But in addition to putting her in danger, he has willingly had his family slaughtered for money. Erin won’t stand for that, and her takedown of yet another Toxic Horror Boyfriend is cause for celebration.
#6 Charles, Friday the 13th Part VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan
Charles McCulloch might be one of the nastiest characters in film history. While school administrators are hardly any student’s best friend, his cold cruelty is downright abnormal. How he manages to be simultaneously overbearing and wicked to his niece, Rennie, I’ll never know. But thankfully, Jason Voorhees drowns him in a vat of toxic waste, removing the need to solve that mystery. Not all heroes wear capes. Sometimes they wear hockey masks.
#5 Tyler, The Menu
Up next on the tasting tray of cinema’s worst boyfriends, we have Tyler. He’s not technically Margot’s boyfriend, because she’s an escort he invited to a fancy dinner. But he should still land in the hall of fame. That’s because he brought her despite knowing ahead of time that nobody was meant to leave the restaurant alive. Thankfully, he gets one of the best Bad Boyfriend deaths of them all. He dies at his own hands. By hanging. After being thoroughly humiliated with proof that all the mansplaining in the world can’t make someone a good chef. Delectable.
#4 The Baby, Immaculate
You may remember this kill from my Top 10 Child Deaths article. The ending of Immaculate is (there’s no other word for it) immaculate. Shortly after Sister Cecilia learns that she has been unwillingly impregnated with the son of Christ, she gives birth. Instead of letting the church manipulate her further after violating her body, she smashes that godforsaken thing with a rock. In the process, she sheds years of ingrained doctrine and sets herself free once and for all. This is the ending that Antichrist movies have historically been too cowardly to give us. The fact that this character is a potential messiah makes it that much more cathartic.
#3 Carter, The Final Destination
I mean, come on. This guy is literally credited as “Racist” at the end of the movie. Pretty much every Final Destination movie has an asshole character who you crave to see die. But this epithet-spewing, cross-burning bigot is by far the worst of the bunch.
#2 Dean, Get Out
Racism comes in many forms, as Jordan Peele’s Get Out highlights. The Armitage family’s microaggressions quickly become macroaggressions, more than justifying Chris’ revenge slayings. While this whole portion of the movie is immensely satisfying, Dean’s death might just be the most cathartic. This is because he is killed via the antlers of a stuffed deer head. Chris uses the family’s penchant for laying claim to their prey’s bodies against them with this perfectly violent metaphor.
#1 Adrian, The Invisible Man (2020)
Here we have the final boss of Toxic Horror Boyfriends. This man is so heinously abusive that he fakes his own death in order to torment his ex even more. Cee using his own invisibility suit against him to stage his death by suicide is perfectly fitting revenge.
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