Ink-Stained Amazons and Cinematic Warriors

[After watching Cathy Gale in The Avengers] Women were leaving their homes, their kitchens and their crèches in droves and going out and starting to throw men over their shoulders, which they've been doing ever since. It was sheer luck that the women's movement was starting to get going then.

Myth is complicated; stories, images, and representations reflect cultural trends as well as influence them. Additionally, those that reach a mass audience are generally made, manipulated, and marketed by those in positions of power and are representative of a small, stereotyped, or even imaginary population.

For example, Mrs. June Cleaver, the sweet and patient homemaker of television's Leave It to Beaver—a late-1950s series that revolved around a stereotypical suburban nuclear family—continues to serve as an American symbol of that era's real or imagined family values and cultural ideas about roles for women. Advertisements of the time further reinforced the “perfect” woman: tiny waist, ironed apron, and glistening pearls. Mothers had perfectly manicured hands, though they did all the cooking and cleaning, and wives usually deferred to their husband's judgment. One could easily assume that the life of a suburban housewife like the aforementioned Mrs. Cleaver was the only proper lifestyle choice for women and that, in fact, it was something to aspire to. But social assumptions about what women were (and were not) capable of had been irrevocably shattered by female accomplishments during the war, and not every woman longed to be in the kitchen—though entertainment of the time did little to reflect this. As Susan J. Douglas writes in Where the Girls Are: Growing Up Female with the Mass Media, when mothers sat down “to relax in front of the TV after a twelve- to fifteen-hour day, they were surrounded by allegories about masculine heroism and the sanctity of male gonads.” Douglas adds, “Rarely, if ever, did they see any suggestion that the incessant, mundane, and often painful contortions of a woman's daily life might, in fact, be heroic too.”³

In 1963, the fallacy of the content suburban housewife was exposed by the publication of Betty Friedan's The Feminine Mystique, which claimed that women had (falsely) been led to believe that the only ways in which they could find fulfillment was through marriage and motherhood. The book appealed to university-educated, white, middle-class women who were feeling dissatisfied with their lives—a plague Friedan called “the problem with no name.” Women of color and working-class women had always worked both in and outside the home, so these feminist “revelations” often had little relevance to their lives; double shifts leave little time for the privilege of contemplating discontent, particularly when dealing with the very real issues of everyday survival.

But the 1960s were an era of many political movements, not just the Women's Liberation Movement (also called “The Second Wave of Feminism”⁴). The Civil Rights, Black Power, Youth (or Hippie), and Gay Rights Movements had all gained momentum during the 1960s and 1970s. Landmark events such as the assassinations of political and spiritual leaders Malcolm X and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and of John F. Kennedy and Robert Kennedy, the formation of the National Organization for Women (NOW), the three-day music festival at Woodstock, the moon landing, and the Stonewall riots forever altered the American cultural landscape. In the midst of this cultural whirlwind, the shifting and often subversive political temper of the Baby Boomer generation came to be expressed through entertainment media of the 1960s.

Hailing Frequencies Open

William Moulton Marston had used comic books and stories about his character, Wonder Woman, to influence societal ideas, but while it were comic books that had once held captive audiences of children and adults alike, television was the new and exciting medium that post-war audiences were engaged with. It was through this new storytelling medium that Gene Roddenberry infused a progressive humanist philosophy into his science fiction series Star Trek.

In 1966, television audiences were introduced to the racially diverse and species-rich crew of the starship Enterprise, who were on a five-year mission to explore deep space. The inclusion of Majel Barrett as Number One, the ship's first officer, in the original pilot, “The Cage,” did not sit well with network executives who weren't comfortable with depicting a woman so high in rank. Fearing Roddenberry's subversive approach would be offensive to audiences and advertisers, a second pilot was filmed, this time with both a new captain and a male first officer. Barrett, who would later marry Roddenberry, was now recast in a more feminine role as ship's nurse.

Nichelle Nichols was cast as one of the series's main characters, Lt. Nyota Uhura—a native of the United States of Africa and a top student at Starfleet Academy. In Nichols's autobiography, she writes that Uhura is derived from Uhuru, which is Swahili for “freedom” (as well as the title of a book she had been reading at her audition). She developed the biographical background for her character with Roddenberry—a friend, collaborator, and former lover. Contrary to how the character was actually presented, Nichols writes, “Uhura was far more than an intergalactic telephone operator. As head of Communications, she commanded a corps of largely unseen communications technicians, linguists, and other specialists who worked in the bowels of the Enterprise, in the ‘comm-center.'” She adds, “Many times throughout the years I've referred to Uhura as my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-granddaughter of the twenty-third century.”⁶

Gene created in Star Trek a multidimensional, multiracial, multipurpose metaphor through which he could express his personal, progressive ideals….⁷ More than anything else, Gene was a philosopher, a man who felt compelled to share his moral vision for the future of humanity with the world. In another time or place, he might have been a great teacher of history or philosophy. But in the mid-twentieth century he instinctively sought access to the most powerful communications medium in history: television.⁸

Roddenberry may have had a progressive vision of the future, let alone his present, but National Broadcasting Company (NBC) executives weren't keen on giving such a colorful crew what they considered to be excessive screen time. While promises were made that Sulu (George Takei), Uhura (Nichols), and Scotty (James Doohan) would feature prominently in future episodes, these turned out to be mere placations when the network stuck to a more familiar formula in which two or three men served as focus characters—in this case, Captain Kirk (William Shatner), Dr. McCoy (DeForest Kelley), and Mr. Spock (Leonard Nimoy).

Nichols, distressed over her increasingly diminished role and frustrated by the double whammy of sexism and racism she faced from network executives, decided to leave the series after the initial season. First drafts of scripts had displayed her character prominently, but by final cut, her lines were often limited to “Hailing frequencies open, Captain.” Fortunately, for the marginalized everywhere, a spiritual leader serendipitously stepped in and that line would empower generations to come.

The day after she had given Roddenberry her resignation, Nichols attended a fundraising event for the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP), where she was approached by a fan of Star Trek, and of Uhura. The fan was none other than civil rights activist and leader Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Though honored by his praise, Nichols informed him of her decision to leave the show. Dr. King replied:

You cannot and you must not. Don't you realize how important your presence, your character is? Don't you realize this gift this man [Roddenberry] has given the world? Men and women of all races going forth in peaceful exploration, living as equals. You listen to me: Don't you see? This is not a Black role, and this is not a female role. You have the first nonstereotypical role on television, male or female. You have broken ground.⁹

He acknowledged that her decision was likely the result of having suffered prejudice, but that her role as Uhura had “changed the face of television forever.” Because Nichols had portrayed a “character of dignity and grace and beauty and intelligence,” she was a role model not just for Black children, but for everyone.¹⁰

Nichols stayed with the series and indeed became a role model for many, including actress Whoopi Goldberg, who had a recurring role on Star Trek: The Next Generation, and astronaut Dr. Mae Jemison, who was the first African American woman in space.¹¹

Invisible Girls

Invisible Girl, first and perhaps most famous of Marvel's dazzling damsels. (Stan Lee¹²)

The Invisible Girl was as wimpy as the weakest of comic book sidekicks. (Trina Robbins¹³)

Though the 1960s comics industry touted women as equals, they were still consistently depicted in lesser positions, with weaker powers, or in roles more traditionally “suitable” to women. The maternal figure was embodied by Sue Storm of The Fantastic Four—a family team-up of superheroes. Jean Grey was another token female and the sex symbol desired by her male colleagues, the X-Men. Wonder Woman was stripped of her supernatural powers altogether, leaving behind her Amazonian heritage to become the owner of a clothing boutique and the protégée of a male mentor. But at least she was the proprietress of her business, and not just a shop girl. Thank Goddess for small favors.

In The Super Women of Marvel, a 1977 trade paperback collection of comics featuring the “fabulous females of Marvel,” Stan Lee writes introductions to about a dozen stories—as well as a preface in which he states with unconvincing enthusiasm:

We have been, we are, and we shall continue to make the strongest possible effort to bestow the cultural blessings of superherodom upon male and female alike. Let chauvinism be eschewed. Let equality prevail. Let historians of the future look back upon this era and proudly declare, “ ‘Twas Marvel that led the way! …” For too many years the females have been relegated to mere supporting roles. We think it's time to change all that. It's time for the Super Women!¹⁴

Invisible Girl, a.k.a. Sue Storm, perfectly illustrates the tensions inherent in cultural responses to the second wave of feminism. She was a contradiction—a superwoman whose power is the ability to be unseen. She premiered alongside the rest of the Fantastic Four in November of 1961 (Fantastic Four #1), when Stan Lee and artist Jack Kirby were tasked with the creation of Marvel's first superhero team—a response to the success of DC Comics's team-up book, Justice League of America (JLA).

According to Lee, Sue was a revelation, “After dreaming up the three male characters who'd provide the brawn for the ol' F.F., our next task was to make sure that the obligatory female was included on the team.”¹⁵ This “three guys and a girl” formula was typical of Marvel at the time, though Lee appears to believe that with Sue he was taking a radical departure from depictions of previous superwomen.

What few heroines there were all seemed to follow the same pattern. They weren't actually heroines at all; they were just the heroes' girlfriends. They worried when their man went off to fight the ferocious foe, and they usually spent the rest of the time tearfully imploring him to give up his dangerous calling … Well, right at the outset I determined to do all I could to change that pattern, to alter the formula. There must be a better way—or, at least a different way. And that's where little Susie comes in.¹⁶

Lee goes on to praise Marvel for not making her a clueless girlfriend, bossy, or an otherwise “pretty little pest.” Instead of making Sue a girlfriend, they made her a fiancée. And not just that, but the fiancée of “the intellectual leader of the group.”

“Did you get that?” Stan the man asks, in awe of their bold progressiveness, “Fiancée! She was actually engaged to Reed! They were gonna be married! And married they were, a few years later.”¹⁷

Well, whoopee for Sue. Now that she's married, she can finally become the Invisible Woman, a.k.a. Mrs. Intellectual Leader Richards.

Over the years there have been varied interpretations of the symbolism of Sue's invisibility. One reading is that she illustrates the invisibility of women—a point explored with poignancy in James Sturm's 2003 graphic novel, Fantastic Four: Unstable Molecules.¹⁸ For many readers, the passivity of being unseen diminished her contribution to the group by virtue of not being a proactive power. Sue later gained the ability to project limited force fields, although even that was often too much for her to physically handle. As Trina Robbins notes, Sue also “had a habit of fainting, becoming hysterical, or bursting into tears.”¹⁹ She conformed to other traditional norms as well; according to one letters column, her hobbies included “fashion, cooking, cosmetics and reading romance novels.²⁰

To be fair to Lee, it's clear he had the best of intentions. He believed Sue participated as a full-fledged, equal member of the Fantastic Four. And at least she wasn't just a girlfriend.

Spy Girls

Meanwhile, in Britain, even before the Bond Phenomenon was ignited by film adaptations of Ian Fleming's novels about a rakish secret government agent, a spy-fi woman was dishing out judo chops on television and another was kicking ass in a daily news strip. Both dealt in espionage, but neither worked in an official capacity, preferring instead to handle matters on their own terms.

One was the extraordinary Modesty Blaise, who debuted in 1963 and starred in an eponymous panel strip written by Peter O'Donnell for The Evening Standard.

Modesty—a survivor, a force of nature, and a loyal friend—was formerly the leader of a global crime syndicate before retiring in her mid-20s. Along with her right-hand man, but never her romantic interest, Willie Garvin, she leads a life of leisure surrounded by the luxury her former crimes secured. But every now and then the unusual pair crave a good caper. Fortunately for their adventurous spirits trouble inevitably rears its head and they are once again destroying criminals and saving friends.

Modesty—highly trained, resourceful, and compassionate—remains one of the coolest, most complex, and intriguing superwomen of all time. She was a groundbreaking and progressive character that rivaled other spy-fi icons she was so often compared to—most notably and erroneously, James Bond. And though her continuing adventures were printed in The Evening Standard for over 40 years and she featured in 11 novels and two collections of short stories, all penned by O'Donnell, the name Modesty Blaise remains practically unknown to an American audience—and is increasingly unrecognized by a British one.²¹

But in 1960s Britain, popular culture must have been primed for female adventurers of complexity, independence, and sexual sophistication, because as Modesty Blaise was being envisioned, so was Cathy Gale—the first lead female character featured on The Avengers (1961–9).

The show, which was the longest-running secret agent series of the 1960s, had begun as a story about Doctor David Keel (Ian Hendry) whose fiancée was murdered by drug dealers. Keel teams up with shady secret agent John Steed (Patrick Macnee) to avenge his wife's death and put an end to her killers. When actor Hendry left the series after 26 episodes to pursue a film career, Macnee became the star of the show, and a search began for someone new to fill the role of Steed's partner. Series co-producers Sydney Newman and Leonard White thought perhaps this new character should be a woman—a radical move in the early 1960s, but as Newman recalls:

Why shouldn't Hendry's role be played by a woman, I thought. God knows, women were, in life, doing incredible things…. A woman [on television] actively physical, attractive and demonstrating intelligence would certainly be fresh and different. Now, thinking about it, it was years ahead of the women's lib movement as recognized by the media today.²²

The result was Dr. Catherine Gale, a character based on a number of remarkable women, including Margaret Bourke-White—a photographer for Life magazine, the anthropologist Margaret Mead, and a woman Newman had seen featured on the nightly news detailing her experience of the Mau Mau uprisings in colonial Kenya in which her husband and two young sons were slaughtered.

Gale was played by Honor Blackman, and in a direct nod to Newman's inspirations was an anthropologist and a photographer, and her family had been killed by the Kenyan Mau Mau. She was, by necessity, proficient with firearms and also an expert in judo. The death of her family and the political uprisings in Kenya caused her to return home to London, where she began work as a curator at the British Museum. It was through this job that she became professionally involved with John Steed.

Cathy Gale was not, at least initially, an official employee of Steed's agency. But she was his equal, if not his moral and intellectual superior. At the time, Blackman said, “I'm a first for television. The first feminist to come into a television serial; the first woman to fight back. Cathy is all anthropologist, an academic, all brain and what she doesn't have in the way of brawn, she makes up for in motorbikes, black boots, leather combat suits and judo.”²³

But two years later in 1964, Honor Blackman left The Avengers to take on the role of Pussy Galore, the infamous lesbian leader of an all-female Harlem crime gang in the film adaptation of Ian Fleming's Goldfinger. Series producers were interested in finding another fabulous femme to play partner to Macnee's Steed, and Honor Blackman's kinky boots were soon filled by the lovely Diana Rigg.

The source of the new character's name is an oft-told story. Marie Donaldson, the studio's press officer, was brainstorming about how the character needed to have “man appeal” and wrote a shorthand notation that read “M. Appeal.” Thus was born Mrs. Emma Peel, a role model for liberated women, yet whose very name is an embodiment of her objectified sexuality.

And yet, Mrs. Peel was sexy, not just because Rigg was luminous, but because Emma was as witty and charming as Steed. She was a brilliant intellectual, could hold her own in a fight, and needed to be rescued only as often as her partner did. As Salon observed, even when Emma was put in a traditional damsel-in-distress situation, she responded without fear:

She treated each threat as a mere annoyance, as something essentially beneath her…. The genius of Rigg's portrayal was that she did what generations of male heroes had done: made sexiness inseparable from competence, confidence and professionalism. Emma does show fear in the course of the episodes where, separated from Steed, she's stranded with some maniac in a remote place. But those flashes of fright never seriously challenged her nerve or resolve.²⁴

Like Cathy, Emma was a widow; her test-pilot husband, Peter Peel, was missing in action and assumed deceased. Emma was at least a decade younger than her predecessor and provided contrast between herself and Steed; whereas he represented traditional notions of British identity, she was a symbol of the new mod style.

The Avengers, which had already influenced fashion with Gale's kinky, oiled, leather bodysuits, continued to be on the cutting edge of clothing design with Emma Peel's wardrobe. Her most famous outfit, the “Emmapeeler,” was a feminine and feline piece designed by Alun Hughes for the series's transition to color transmission. These action suits were fashioned out of stretch jersey and Crimplene and decorated with buckles, braiding, and links. The kit was completed by the addition of matching booties made out of the same material. Hughes described Emma in these suits as being like “a cat in the night, prowling silently on her secret assignments, ready to strike at anyone who challenges her.”²⁵

With their fabulous style, witty banter, and sexual innuendo, Steed and Peel are the most famous Avengers team.²⁶ Together they faced a host of affable British eccentrics, including an upper-class chimney sweep very properly named, Bertram Fortescue Winthrop Smith; a feline enthusiast for the fictional PURRR (the Philanthropic Union for the Rescue, Relief and Recuperation of Cats); and various diabolical masterminds played by renowned guest actors such as Peter Cushing and Donald Sutherland.

The Avengers itself was filled with kinky fun, fashion, and storylines that often bordered on the absurd. As James Chapman notes in Saints and Avengers, the elegance and style of the episodes made nonsense of the laws of probability.²⁷ Steed and Peel were miniaturized; they had their consciousness placed in different bodies; Emma fought an adversary suspended from the ceiling in gravity boots; and perhaps, most astoundingly, they drank gallons of champagne and never seemed drunk—even though they themselves were ever-intoxicating. Salon observed, the message Steed sent Peel at the beginning of most episodes, “Mrs. Peel, we're needed,” always in the most innovative and delightful way, “was an invitation to a party.”²⁸

Because the Cathy Gale episodes have never been broadcast in the USA, Emma Peel remains the definitive 1960s spy girl, and the partnership of Peel and Steed has come to be representative of modish London cool. The spy-fi series, and Emma Peel in particular, would inspire a radical change in a familiar American icon—one who was in danger of becoming obsolete.

The New Wonder Woman

In the late 1960s, Wonder Woman was a dying franchise, and efforts were made to revamp her for a modern audience. “The Diana Prince Era”—as it is now referred to—begins when the Amazons need to retreat in order to restore their mystic and sacred powers. As Steve Trevor is once again in danger, Diana feels she needs to stay in “Man's World” to aid her friend and love interest. To do so, she sacrifices her powers, her birthright, and her immortality, returning to America as human.

She's immediately recruited by a male mentor—a blind Asian martial arts expert named I Ching. Though now deprived of supernatural gifts, which include her costume and lasso of truth, she's still a well-trained athlete and quickly learns martial arts and other skills that enable her to continue fighting crime. Members of the team of writers and artists who worked on Wonder Woman during her spy-fi era (Issues 178–204) have acknowledged that Mrs. Peel's style was inspiration for the mod direction taken with the new Diana Prince, and this is most evident in her appearance, particularly her hairstyle and her Emmapeelers, but also in her partner I Ching's bowler and brolly, which mirrored John Steed.²⁹, ³⁰

DC felt this “new” Diana captured the tone of the women's movement, but she actually contradicted the values of the original Wonder Woman. She had no qualms about killing and wasn't sure she enjoyed the company of women.³¹ This drastic change of character alarmed a certain group of women, who would go on to make sure that Wonder Woman would always be seen as a champion of sisterhood.

In early 1971, groups of activists and writers met several times to discuss the possibilities of a publication that would connect women, address the changing social landscape, as well as opportunities and resources for women, and hopefully generate income. They toyed with the idea of a newsletter, but decided that a national magazine created and controlled by women would better serve their purposes. They wanted their publication to “be as serious, outrageous, satisfying, funky, intimate, global, compassionate, and full of change as women's lives really are.”³²

After many meetings and many plans, the founders began to look for financial backing. Many responses deemed a “special interest” magazine to be a poor investment, and the future editors of Ms. were told that only a handful of women were interested in “changing women's status” anyway.³³

Fortunately, two publishers stepped up to help out. Katherine Graham, one of the few women publishers in the country at the time, bought stock in the yet-unproduced publication. Then Clay Felker, who worked at New York, got the magazine to financially back a one-shot sample issue that would be packaged with their year-end double issue. The women of Ms. had full editorial freedom, and New York took the full financial risk. The preview issue sold out all 300,000 copies in less than two weeks.³⁴

With the debut issue in July of 1972, Warner Communications became Ms. magazine's major investor. The initial collective of editors (there were no secretaries) ranged in age from 17 to 45. While some had received formal higher education, some hadn't. Still others had Ph.D.s. Some were mothers; some had never been married. Whether they were gay, straight, Black, White, Latino, urban, country, or male, “Ms.,” they wrote, “had tapped an emerging and deep cultural change that was happening to us, and happening to our sisters.”³⁵

To the editors of Ms., what had happened to one of their spiritual sisters and feminist inspirations was a travesty. That Diana, the Amazon Princess, had relinquished her supernatural powers was not a sign of liberation to them, but of disempowerment. According to activist Gloria Steinem, since “many of the founding editors [of Ms. magazine] had been rescued by Wonder Woman in their childhoods—they decided to rescue Wonder Woman in return,”³⁶ doing this in a number of ways. First, they featured an image of Wonder Woman in her original costume on their inaugural cover beneath a banner that read “Wonder Woman for President,” and Joanne Edgar wrote a feature on the history of the Amazon Princess for the issue. In 1972, Warner published a hardcover “Ms. Book” called Wonder Woman that featured a collection of 13 Marston-penned stories from the 1940s, best exemplifying the feminist values of sisterhood, collaboration, empowerment, and compassion. Steinem contributed an introduction in which she wrote of what the character meant to her:

All those doubts paled beside the relief, the sweet vengeance, the toe-wriggling pleasure of reading about a woman who was strong, beautiful and a fighter for social justice. A woman who strode forth, stopping wars and killing with one hand, distributing largesse and compassionate aid with the other. A Wonder Woman.³⁷

Feminist and psychotherapist Phyllis Chesler contributed an interpretive essay on Amazon mythology.³⁸ As a result of the campaign, the following year in issue 204 of the Wonder Woman comic, Princess Diana returned to her mythic origins. Additionally, the placement of Wonder Woman on that initial cover and her adoption as a representative of feminist values forever sealed her status as a symbol of female empowerment.³⁹

Marvel comics also latched onto the movement by marketing themselves as an equal opportunity employer of superheroines, as Stan Lee declared, “Even before women's lib became a household expression, I began to tire of the way some of our female characters were being depicted.”⁴⁰

Whether or not this sentiment extended to Sue Storm, Lee notes that he was determined to feature as many females as possible in the Marvel roster of headliners.⁴¹ A cynic could easily assume that since Ms. magazine was launched in 1972 and DC's Wonder Woman was relaunched in 1973, this desire was more about capitalizing on cultural trends and less about promoting equality. Trina Robbins has a more generous approach:

Stan Lee tried to reach a girls' market again by bringing superheroines back into comics. Lee, who had been responsible for the great superheroine girls' club of the late forties, was the right man for the job. During the sixties, he had tackled socially responsible subjects like ecology and racism. He had introduced several African American superheroes. And in 1972, he produced three comic books with female protagonists, all aimed at a female audience: a jungle adventure (Shanna, the She-Devil), an action-romance (Night Nurse), and a superheroine comic (The Cat).”⁴²

Beware the Claws of the Cat! was one of the more interesting attempts to create a superhero comic with feminist leanings; she was female friendly and captured the spirit of the movement. The Cat, also known as Greer Nelson, is a young widow rediscovering her identity during the second wave of feminism.

Though bright and curious, Greer had always been tended to by the men in her life and never had a chance to explore her potential. She'd had some college, but dropped out when she married. Essentially going from her father's house to her husband's, Greer was clearly a victim of “the feminine mystique.” When her husband, a police officer and the financial provider, dies in an off-duty incident, she is forced to hit the pavement to look for a job. But “Every interview was the same, and Women's Lib began to have new meaning for Greer.” She's told by potential employers, “It's obvious that you're intelligent and capable, but I see hundreds of girls like you every week” and is then offered a pedestrian secretarial position.⁴³

Greer is smart and determined, and while she once floated through the expected steps of a woman's life, the death of her husband, though grievous, provides her with liberatory opportunities. Serendipitously, Greer encounters one of her former college professors, Dr. Tumolo, a woman whom she'd greatly admired. In a rare depiction of female mentorship, Dr. Tumolo hires Greer to work at her lab. She includes the young widow in her experimental research and science projects, and spiritually supports Greer when she returns to college as an adult student. As Greer begins to gain confidence and self-awareness, she recognizes, “Dr. Tumolo really makes me proud to be a woman. I can't let her—or myself—down.”⁴⁴

Dr. Tumolo's ultimate experiment involves machine therapy that would “someday make it possible for any woman to totally fulfill her physical and mental potential—despite the handicaps that society places on her.”⁴⁵ While the message resonates with consciousness-raising politics of Women's Liberation in the 1970s, the method by which Dr. Tumolo wishes to empower women is problematic at best. Using a machine to amplify women's abilities excuses them from the responsibility of empowering themselves. (But, no matter. It's just bad comic book science that serves as a MacGuffin.)

The machine is commandeered by Dr. Tumolo's benefactor (a man!), who proceeds to test it on a Stepfordesque blonde. But in a radical act (and everyday rebellion), the doctor conducts tests on her willing protégée as well. The scientific data confirms that “attitude” either aids or inhibits the effect of the results, and Greer's curiosity allows the machine to magnify her innate abilities. She is able to consume and process vast quantities of information, her athleticism is enhanced, and “Her intensified perceptions were like an embodiment of that mythical quality known as woman's intuition.”⁴⁶

But in the final panel, Greer reflects on her unease with changing gender roles—and her path for the future: “All our plans for the betterment of womankind—! I did what I set out to do, and I did it well—But have I misused my powers? Have I become a stronger woman—only to become a poorer human being?” The letters page of The Cat mimics this unease, as a reader inspired by Greer captures the need for complex superwomen:

I have always felt the lack of, and rather wistfully longed for a superhero with whom I could identify more completely than I have been able to with, say, Sue Richards or Wanda or the Wasp: I was wishing for a smartypants, wise-cracking, strong, brave-courageous-and-bold, bouncebackable WOMAN; and, in the Cat, I think we see the beginnings of her. The idea of a strip where a woman is the hero, not the love-interest, and action is the main focus, completely boggles my human mind.⁴⁷

Another reader is less comfortable with shifting cultural norms and writes: “Dear Stan, CLAWS OF THE CAT #1 proved to me that Marvel is turning into a bunch of radicals. Sure, it was a good story, but it was burdened down by Communistic phrases put out by Women's Lib.”⁴⁸

The author of this particular letter goes on to say that Women's Lib is a communist plot to overthrow the country by destroying family values. Marvel, in a true effort to reflect a brave new world, responds that they are making “an attempt to portray some of the real injustices and, indignities suffered by women in the context of a fast-paced action story.” They don't claim to be socially conscious and remind the reader that the prime purpose of comics “is entertainment. If we can also educate, that's even better.”

Another letter begins with praise: “Dear Stan, THE CLAWS OF THE CAT was well-written, well-drawn, well-inked, well-lettered, and well-colored,” but takes an antagonistic approach when the writer concludes that the magazine will be “ruined by Women's Lib sayings.” The writer, who does not give their real name, goes on: “Equal pay for equal work is fair and just, and it's the right way. But all that stuff about, ‘male chauvinist pigs' and women being ‘sex objects' is a lotta (CENSORED). Anyway, what's wrong with being a sex object?”⁴⁹

Whatever Marvel's intentions and however well they did, or didn't, succeed in presenting social justice and civil rights issues, their response to this letter is truly laudable:

Apparently, you've never been whistled and leered at on a streetcorner. Or had a sensitive extremity pinched in an elevator car. Or been treated with disdain because you dared to show some grain of intelligence. Or been refused a job because you might become pregnant.

But those are the things that are wrong with being a “sex object.” And the whole point is … people shouldn't be treated as any kind of object! We don't consume human beings the way we do noodle soup. Or at least …we're not supposed to. Think of it.⁵⁰

The title lasted only four issues. Perhaps the failure was a symptom of reader response, or lack of sales. Or perhaps it was simply that the artists and writers were too busy with other projects. The first two issues had been drawn by Marie Severin, but when she took over as head of the coloring department, she had no more time for The Cat. Linda Fite, who had written all four issues, married another employee of Marvel, and in a very un-Cat move, “left the ranks of Marveldom for the brave new world of Motherhood!”⁵¹

The Cat could have been a complex representative of superwomen, and an inspirational role model. Stan Lee praises the way the series captured an “awareness of the new spirit” and “the new mood of independence of women.” But her potential was quashed, barely before it began. Girls and women alike would find their role model in another comic book superwoman, albeit in a new form.

Fighting for Your Rights, in Your Satin Tights

All the world is waiting for you … and the powers you possess. (Wonder Woman Theme Song)

Just as the Wonder Woman comic empowered a generation of girls in the 1940s, Wonder Woman the television show (1975–9) did the same for children in the 1970s.⁵² The title character was embodied with perfection by the endearing Lynda Carter and had enormous influence on a generation of girls, who, through her, saw the potential in themselves.

An animated Wonder Woman had been featured on Hanna-Barbera's Super Friends (1973) series, and two early attempts to translate Wonder Woman to prime-time television had failed. The first was a 1967 spoofy pilot called “Who's Afraid of Diana Prince?” written by Stan Hart and Larry Siegel. William Dozier, executive producer of the Batman television series, had commissioned the script and served as the producer. Less than five minutes of the script was filmed, and it was never broadcast.

The second attempt occurred in 1974 when Cathy Lee Crosby, playing a blonde Wonder Woman, starred in a made-for-television movie, simply titled Wonder Woman, that wasn't well received. Fortunately for those in need of a superwoman, the next year ABC broadcast a new pilot, The New Original Wonder Woman,starring Lynda Carter. The former Miss World USA was statuesque, lovely, and had the dark tresses of a Greek. Her poise and temper secured her status as the definitive incarnation of the Amazon Princess.⁵³

Wonder Woman writer and artist, Phil Jimenez, has said of Lynda Carter that “She is the living, physical, embodiment of this character” and that what he took from her “was a sense of grace and style and dignity.”⁵⁴ Artist Alex Ross observed that even in a costume that resembled a swimming suit, Carter was able to take Wonder Woman and make her what the character essentially is, “an object of energy in motion, not … of corrupted sexuality or … something that is just for the boys.”⁵⁵ Indeed, Carter's combination of kindness and power inspired countless girls to imitate her; donning the stars, stripes, and tiara come Halloween, and also during evenings at home, when they played less formal versions of pretend in their jammies and Underoos.⁵⁶ And Wonder Woman was just cool. She had a groovy theme song that accompanied her adventures and emphasized her awesomeness. She could lift and carry the weight of a grown man, throw a perfect lasso, and compel people to tell the truth. She was powerful without sacrificing compassion, and “wonder” didn't even begin to describe the feeling of watching, or imitating, her.

Though the show began in October 1976, storylines in the first season drew from the comics of the Second World War era and retained Marston's feminist message. Wonder Woman adopted the secret identity of Yeoman Diana Prince at the military base where Steve Trevor (Lyle Waggoner) was stationed. She frequently rescued Steve, even though he was a war hero. And she always appealed to a villainess's intelligence and womanhood in an attempt to rehabilitate her—a feminist play on the male hero's desire to “save” the femme fatale with romance.

Even when the villainess cannot be redeemed, Wonder Woman refuses to give up hope. For example, when she fails to convince the Baroness Von Gunther that freedom and democracy are causes more worthy of her intelligence than the Nazi agenda, she still believes the Baroness can learn from her experience and become a better person. Steve is impressed with Diana's understanding, compassion, and belief that people can change. “Yes,” she says, “Where I was raised, we were taught that good must triumph over evil; and that women, and men, can learn.”⁵⁷

ABC dropped the series after the first season, and CBS picked it up for two more, moving the narrative to a more contemporary 1970s. The immortal Wonder Woman had not physically aged, and she once again left Paradise Island for America where she now aided Steve Trevor's son (in what was essentially the same character, and again played by Waggoner).

In a 2004 interview with Wonder Woman expert Andy Mangels, Carter said of the character she embodied so enchantingly that she intentionally infused Diana with altruism, compassion, and a deep sense of humanity. She wanted Wonder Woman to represent “kindness and goodness and hope and dreams and all the wonderful, human yearnings that we all have. To do the right thing and to have a happy life. She wanted everyone to have that.”⁵⁸

When asked by Mangels what she thinks her legacy of playing Wonder Woman is, Carter responds gracefully:

I'd like to think that Wonder Woman had something to do with part of the change in terms of affecting a generation of young people and how they viewed women, and how women viewed themselves. You know, I certainly hear it often enough.⁵⁹

Wonder Woman certainly was a superwoman who helped others believe in themselves. Indeed, in the true spirit of Wonder Woman, Carter says, “You know that if you can affect one person's life in your entire lifetime in a positive way that your life is worth living?”⁶⁰

Charlie's Angels

Television series in the mid-to-late 1970s attempted to capitalize on the feminist movement, and several shows featured women in genre roles that were strong in spirit, if stereotypically feminine in appearance. This meant devising a way to appeal to the changing social consciousness of women viewers while not alienating men. The solution was The Kick-Ass Babe— a talented and capable woman whose beauty deflected the focus from her otherwise transgressive acts. Women could identify with—or aspire to be— these lovely ladies, while men would not be threatened by depictions of female independence, as they would instead be focused on the eye candy. Charlie's Angels (1976–81) is the perfect example of a series that successfully managed to walk this line. While less charged than Marston's creation and political agenda, the Angels nevertheless serve as a critical bridge from the progressive 1960s to the backlash of the 1980s.

Aaron Spelling had already produced a show featuring a superwoman in the 1965–6 run of Honey West—a series loosely based on the detective novels by the husband-and-wife team, Gloria and Forest Fickling, under the pseudonym G.G. Fickling, and starring Anne Francis. In 1976, the same year that saw the emergence of Wonder Woman and The Bionic Woman,he produced a show with not one, but three extraordinary women.

And whether or not you were a teenage girl in America in the 1970s, you can probably recite the story:

Once upon a time there were three little girls who went to the police academy— two in Los Angeles, the other in San Francisco and they were each assigned very hazardous duties. But I took them away from all that, and now they work for me. My name is Charlie.

Sabrina Duncan (Kate Jackson), Jill Munroe (Farrah Fawcett), and Kelly Garrett (Jaclyn Smith) were the original three women chosen by Charles Townsend (voiced by John Forsythe) to work in his private detective agency as his operatives, or “Angels.” When an Angel left, the character was replaced so that they were always a trio, and so through the years, Kris Munroe (Cheryl Ladd), Tiffany Wells (Shelly Hack), and Julie Rogers (Tanya Roberts) all took an angelic turn.

Though labeled by the media as “jiggle TV”—a derisive term used to describe the physical attributes of the sexy young stars—such a critique is reductive and ignores the possibility of substance or merit within the program. For example, in subsequent years, women, reconciling their own pleasure of experiencing a show with three generally autonomous women, with the objectification of those very women, have cautiously, yet also passionately, praised Charlie's Angels for its positive depictions of intelligent women working together. Douglas writes, “It was watching this—women working together to solve a problem and capture, and sometimes kill, really awful, sadistic men, while having great hairdos and clothes—that engaged [us].”⁶¹

The show's popularity was always based more on the sexual appeal of the actresses who played the Angels than on the intricacy of its plots⁶² … The Angels did much of their own footwork to solve their cases, they were nearly always more intelligent than their male colleagues and opponents, and, despite the fact that the show was produced by a man and many of the writers were men, the Angels were not completely controlled by men. Though they had a subordinate relationship to their boss, Charlie, the Angels were generally free to pursue their own plans because Charlie was only a disembodied voice … We need to remember that in the 1970s the Angels represented a step forward for women.⁶³

Elyce Rae Helford, editor of the anthology Fantasy Girls: Gender in the New Universe of Science Fiction and Fantasy Television, takes a more cautious approach when she writes that even though:

Charlie's Angels offered strong female role models to young, white, middle-class '70s girls, for example, it also limited how we could think about the relationship between power and attractiveness to men and about the importance of fitting cultural expectations of age, race, class, and sexual orientation if we wanted to push the boundaries of feminine behavioral norms.⁶⁴

While the Angels provided assistance to women from all walks of life, their core group never included any women of color. To find such diversity, we have to look in an unexpected genre, but first, one more beautiful blonde.

Na-na-na-na-na-na-na …

There has been some debate over whether or not Jaime Sommers (Lindsay Wagner) cost as much as Steve Austin (Lee Majors)—-a bionically enhanced man with the decidedly famous price tag of 6 million dollars. In the opening credits to The Bionic Woman, her cost is listed as “Classified,” and in the pilot “Welcome Home Jaime,” she suggests to Oscar Goldman—head of the Office of Scientific Intelligence (OSI)—that she must have cost as much as Steve. Goldman replies, “Well, not quite”; he smiles and adds gently, “The parts are smaller, after all.”⁶⁵

Jaime first appeared on The Six Million Dollar Man (1974–8). After the death of her parents when she was 16, Steve Austin's parents, Helen and Jim, became her legal guardians. Jaime and Steve were high school sweethearts, but they parted ways when Steve left to join the space program. On a return visit home to Ojai, California, they rekindled their romance and Steve proposed. At this point, Steve had already been in the accident that would lead him to be bionic and to work for the OSI. When Jaime is critically injured in a skydiving accident, Steve convinces Oscar Goldman to save her. Both of her legs, her right ear, and her right arm were replaced. At first, the couple work together on missions for the OSI, but soon Jaime's body begins to reject the bionics. After a death and revival, Jaime eventually adjusts to her new body, though unfortunately she suffers from amnesia. Any memory of her previous life causes crippling headaches that ultimately require more surgical procedures. Finally, her memory is restored, all but her life with Steve.⁶⁶

Jaime, like the Angels, illustrates many of the contradictions inherent in mythic depictions of superwomen during the second wave of feminism. She's blonde, athletic (at 27 years of age, she was a tennis professional with enough skill to beat Billie Jean King), and beautiful—all qualities that reinforce normative standards for women. On the flip side, she's almost 30, single and happy that way. She's also a professional, teaching sixth, seventh, and eighth graders with discipline problems at a local military base in Ojai.

Jaime's intelligence and humor make her one of the more complex of 1970s television superwomen. When it's determined that she has only partial memory recovery, her response to her doctors is gracious, brave, and pragmatic: “I'll simply have to take the life, and limbs, that you two gave me and live one day at a time.”⁶⁷ Her loyalty is an asset as well. When Oscar wonders if it's fair to continue to use Jaime in service of the OSI, considering she'd already been through so much, Jaime insists:

Oscar: Okay, I'll tell you what. When you get settled up in Ojai, we'll decide then.

Jaime: Oscar, if I don't get an assignment from you very soon, I'm just going to show up and I'm gonna kick your door down.

Oscar: Ah, you're just the one who can do it.

Jaime: And don't you forget it.⁶⁸

Oscar and Jaime's relationship is grounded in mutual respect and admiration, and though they are employer and employee (as well as friends), Jaime never allows Goldman to treat her paternalistically. When it appears that Jaime might be in danger, Oscar tries to convince her to move to a location where she may be safer. But Jaime is resolute, “Sooner or later I'm going to have to make a stand for myself.”

B-Movie Vixens: Superwomen Belted, Buckled, and Booted

Oh, you're cute … like a velvet glove cast in iron. (Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! )

There are a handful of female action characters that appeared in the 1960s and 1970s that aren't superwomen per se, but who have served as non-traditional antecedents. The villainesses, covert operatives, assassins, and street-fighting foxy mamas of B-movies provided bad-girl alternatives to the admittedly jiggly, though intelligent, blondes of Bionic Woman and Charlie's Angels.

For example, within seconds of watching Tura Satana's portrayal of Varla in the 1965 Russ Meyer classic “ode to the violence in women,” Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!, it's difficult not to be mesmerized; her thrall is uncanny.⁶⁹ Satana is uniquely beautiful, an unexpected mix of Japanese, Cheyenne, and Scots-Irish. Her curves are kickin', her cleavage unparalleled, and her stare arresting; Satana could steal the show simply with her formidable presence. But it's so much more that makes her role as the vicious Varla memorable.

The movie begins with a wacky pseudo-beatnik/pseudo–Rod Serling introduction over an Outer Limits–esque screen:

Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Violence. The word and the act. While violence cloaks itself in a plethora of disguises, its favorite mantle still remains—sex. Violence devours all it touches, its voracious appetite rarely fulfilled. Yet violence doesn't only destroy. It creates and moulds as well. Let's examine closely then this dangerously evil creation, this new breed encased and contained within the supple skin of woman. The softness is there, the unmistakable smell of female. The surface shiny and silken. The body yielding yet wanton. But a word of caution: handle with care and don't drop your guard. This rapacious new breed prowls both alone and in packs. Operating at any level, at any time, anywhere and with anybody. Who are they? One might be your secretary, your doctor's receptionist, or a dancer in a go-go club!⁷⁰

And the go-go dancing commences. Odd-angled camera shots show closeups of Varla, Rosie, and Billie (Satana, Haji, and Lori Williams, respectively) shimmying with fervor. Satana's contortions are especially remarkable, but of course, this former burlesque dancer is the woman who claims to have taught Elvis how to gyrate and grind.

After work, entertainment for the grrrls consists of driving Porsches at top speeds in the Mojave desert, playing chicken, bisexuality (or as one character calls it, an “AM/FM” sexuality), skinny dipping, smokes, and booze.

Varla is icy cool and wildly psychotic. She's the unspoken leader of this gang of go-go dancers, one of whom describes her as being “like a velvet glove cast in iron.” Varla's sexuality and hard personality are an intimidating intoxication that allows her to easily manipulate others.

While taking a break from joy riding in the desert, the women come across a cocky young man named Tommy and his annoying, bikini-clad girlfriend, Linda (Susan Bernard). Tommy's a member of a driving club and wants to do some timing out on the flats. Perky Linda is prepared with a stopwatch, but Varla goads Tommy into a race by letting him know that she's a better driver than he could ever be: “I don't beat clocks, just people.”

A gauntlet is thrown, and Varla wins the race. Tommy, feeling emasculated, attempts to beat her another way—with his fists—-but he chose to mess with a woman who could more than take care of herself. Varla breaks his back and kidnaps his girlfriend. (And that's just the first 20 minutes of Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! )

From a contemporary perspective, it's as if Quentin Tarantino, John Waters, and Ed Wood had made a film together. It's exploitative to the max, yet also oddly and mildly empowering—without ever really intending to be. The clothes are fabulous, as is the wickedly bad dialogue. The delivery is delicious too. All of Varla's lines are shouted—a ludicrous technique that Waters would incorporate into some of his own work. Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! is offensive and thrilling; a bad grrrl Thelma and Louise meets Kill Bill meets Priscilla Queen of the Desert meets Glen or Glenda; with lots of camera angles swiped from Orson Wells' Citizen Kane. As writer David Schmader has said of Showgirls, another awesomely awful film, and it's a fitting commentary here too, “The subtext is staggering until you notice there is no subtext.”⁷¹

Writer/director Russ Meyer—famous for his depictions of full-figured women—has said, “I personally prefer the aggressive female … the super-woman.”⁷² As with William Moulton Marston, creator of Wonder Woman, his desire is not to experience a heroic woman but a dominant one. Because there's essentialism in the work of both these men, their belief that women are the superior sex makes for a difficult feminist interpretation. Conversely, just because Marston and Meyer had fetishistic leanings (bondage and breasts, respectively), it doesn't mean that feminist potential can't be found in their works—women are able to find inspiration in Wonder Woman's altruism and empowerment in Varla's karate chops.

Here, though, in the world of the Pussycats, the deepest message about gender (and female bodies) is that women have just as much potential for selfish and evil behavior as men. What is unique, or at least was in 1965, was to see a woman who was capable of defending herself.

Tura Satana featured in another pseudo-feminist B-film that needs mentioning, Ted V. Mikels's The Doll Squad (1973)—an enjoyable mess of a low-budget production about an undercover group of female commandoes that like Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! is unexpectedly deserving of a positive feminist interpretation.

Responding to a threat made by the requisite villain, a senator and his assistant type the vital details of what will become an imperative, yet dangerous, mission into a computer that then determines the right group of individuals to handle the job. The computer suggests as most capable the Doll Squad, under the leadership of Sabrina Kincaid. Sabrina, played by Francine York, is a savvy redhead—smart and professional—but in her mid-riff tops and blazers, she looks more like a madame than a government employee. She assembles her team of “Dolls” from several disparate places, both likely and unusual: a dojo, a library, a laboratory, a swim club, and a burlesque club.⁷³ In a rarity for a youth-obsessed culture, not a single woman in the Doll Squad appears to be under 30. In fact, in 1973, York was 35 and Satana was 38.

The Dolls must stop the villain—who turns out to be Sabrina's ex-lover—from releasing a strain of the bubonic plague through rats systematically released around the globe—a diabolical plan ensuring world domination by an elite few who have been properly inoculated. As one Internet Movie Database commenter so elegantly puts it, the film is “marvelous crap.”⁷⁴

The “crap” should be clear from the description of the plot, but what's surprisingly marvelous is the respect afforded to Sabrina and the autonomy she receives from the men who hire her services as a strategist, an agent, and an assassin. Her opinion and expertise are considered essential from the start. Indeed, the senator's assistant informs his boss, “Unless she asks for help—it's her ballgame down to the last inning.” A decidedly male analogy—but Sabrina is granted the authority to handle the situation without interference, and without concern for her gender.

Taking no prisoners, ruthless with a knife, and proficient with various weaponry and fighting arts, the Dolls—Sabrina, Lavelle, Liz, Sharon, and Kim—overtake the compound and save the world.⁷⁵

A Whole Lotta Woman

Nowhere are the tensions between empowerment and exploitation more exaggerated than in the Blaxploitation films of the 1970s, particularly those that starred the extraordinary Pam Grier. While on the one hand the genre's depiction of pimps, whores, drug pushers, drug addicts, and easy women reinforced negative stereotypes about African Americans, Greer's roles also presented a tough, independent woman who worked (albeit above the law) to protect her community. The actress's ability to make an impression, with generally weak material, sealed her status as one of the premiere action heroines of film, and certainly, outside of martial arts cinema, one of the only ones of color.

Greer's ability to make an impression is what landed her a movie role in the first place. Initially, she was a receptionist for American International Pictures (AIP), a film production company famous for its low-budget features. But Grier ultimately starred in a series of films for them, beginning with Coffy in 1973. The whole of the film involves the eponymous character seeking to destroy the network of drug pushers that led her younger sister to be a recovering junkie in a juvenile rehabilitation center. Stereotypes about the Black community are laid thick; not only is Coffy's baby sister a recovering addict—her older sister is a “hustler” and her brother is an addict as well. Additionally, there are an absurd number of gratuitous breast shots, which are titillating or distressing, depending on your opinion.

The concerns of those who criticized Blaxploitation for its emphasis on racial stereotypes, sex, and violence were certainly not without merit. But on the other hand, Grier's characters also presented a type of Black woman that hadn't really been seen on screen before. Before her, roles for African American women were generally limited to the often racist character types of Mammy, Jezebel, and Aunt Jemima roles.⁷⁶ Whether the characters portrayed by Grier (or any of her contemporaries, such as Tamara Dobson of Cleopatra Jones fame) simply replaced one stereotype for another is debatable. What is clear, as Yvonne D. Sims points out is that

Before the 1960s, African American actresses dominated [the aforementioned] categories and were rarely seen in complex, multi-faceted roles. Blaxploitation films changed that by showing tough, no-nonsense women who were capable of holding their own among men and using justifiable violence to achieve their ultimate objective.⁷⁷

One example of this takes place in the aforementioned Coffy, in which our superwoman's mission is clear from the very first scene. The film opens with Coffy fooling around with a man in bed. Her breasts are exposed over the top of her dress, and as he fondles her, she stops him and asks to have a hit of smack first. He calls out to a man in the other room, who is busy preparing the drug, to hurry up. Coffy has her bedmate get up to turn off the light; he does so thinking he's about to get real lucky, only to turn back around and see Coffy standing in shadow with a shotgun pointed right at his head. “This is the end of your life you rotten motherfuckin' dope pusher!” she proclaims before blowing his brains out. She then moves on to his partner with the gun and a syringe filled with an overdose of heroin. “My name is Coffy,” she tells him, further explaining, “LuBelle Coffin's my little sister. Shooting smack at 11 and you got her on it you dirty shake! Her whole life is gone, she can never get it back, and you're living real good. That ain't right. It ain't right!”

Coffy, a nurse turned vigilante, has by the end of the movie murdered or maimed the system of dope pushers and mobsters that contributed to her sister's condition, telling one, in fact, as she shoots him that the bullet is a gift from her baby sister.⁷⁸

Pam Grier is proud of the roles she created, and scoffs at any controversy concerning them. In 1979, she told Essence magazine, “I created a new kind of screen woman, physically strong and active, she was able to look after herself and others. If you think about it, you'll see she was the prototype for the more recent and very popular white Bionic and Wonder Women.”⁷⁹ With conviction she added:

I make no apologies for the women I created. Actually, I recreated. When I grew up I knew a certain kind of Black woman who was the sole support of her family and who would, if you disrespected her, beat you into the cement. She was the glue that held her family together, got them through. I admired her greatly. I still do. And she still exists. I brought that lady to the screen—played her to the bone.⁸⁰

Jamaica Kincaid wrote in a 1975 cover story for Ms. that although Grier “can so effortlessly dominate a scene everything and everyone else in it become incidental …[Coffy, Foxy Brown, Sheba, Baby, and Friday Foster] are mostly simplistic, sensational, violent, and technically faulty.”⁸¹ But Kincaid also praises them for being “the only films to come out of Hollywood in a long time to show us a woman who is independent, resourceful, self-confident, strong, and courageous. Above all, they are the only films to show us a woman who triumphs!”⁸²

The B-movie vixens made famous by actresses Tura Satana and Pam Grier would pave the way for more mainstream female action heroes, but these latter women would time and again conform to more normative stands of beauty.

As Sherrie Inness notes, popular media has the “power to present images of women that have the potential to change social reality.”⁸³ As we'll see in Chapter 4, there are many women and men who grew up with the superwomen of the 1960s and 1970s and positively internalized the images they saw. In turn, they have worked to inspire, create, and be heroic themselves.