Gender in π
Written November 21, 2004

“Personal note: when I was a little kid, my mother told me not to stare into the sun. So once when I was six, I did.” And thus begins the story of mathematician Max Cohen, the protagonist of Darren Aranofsky’s critically acclaimed film π. π is a cinematic text filled with narrative themes and systems, a hotbed of meaning. However, even as Max claims that “there are patterns everywhere in nature,” patterns emerge in π which extend beyond the film’s core premises and into the realm of social construction as seen in popular cinema: specifically gender issues. While π breaks ground in exploring spirituality and concepts of ultimate truth, several underlying narratives serve to reinforce societal definitions of gender roles and relations. From the very moment that Max cites disobedience of his mother as the cause of his migraine affliction and mathematical abilities at the beginning of the film, π begins the process of gender signification. The film frequently places females in ‘support roles’ for males – sidekicks in the search for greatness. This dialogue is directly contrasted with the narrative structure of women as a hindrance to male achievement, ultimately solidifying women in a social framework that is only given meaning through its relation to the activities of men. Max’s penchant for privacy also leads to scopophiliac tendencies in the film’s visual perspective, placing women into the context of powerless images for the one-way observation of males. While these gender-based narratives are clearly not the focal point of the film, their underlying message implicates π as an example of popular cinema’s contribution to the formulation and maintenance of underlying gender discrepancies prevalent within Western society.

In “Woman as Sign”, Elizabeth Cowie wrestles with the role of cinema as a device for social representation, drawing the conclusion that “film as a system of representation is a point of production of definitions” (Cowie 49). Cowie’s conviction forms the basis of this examination of gender and female characters and roles in π, posing the claim that cinema, while merely a visual and often fictional representation of society, is still responsible for producing and maintaining a coherent framework of meaning and social definition. Narratives in film can be seen as representative of the culture in which they were formulated and also as an influential signifier for shaping social perspectives and definitions – a mirror that talks back to its audience, however subtly. Cowie later goes on to discuss the notion of women as signs, as cinematic signifiers communicated and controlled by men (Cowie 50). Within this context of control, gender representation in π can be explored in a very systematic and deliberate manner, as a form of social reproduction with a biased agenda and significant implications.

A prevailing gender narrative which courses throughout π is that of woman as a kind of inadvertent assistant, a catalyst for males seeking and achieving greatness. This is most clearly illustrated during the film where Max has two major breakthroughs in his computerized quest to discover “the number.” In each instance, the audible moans of his female neighbor, Devi, having sex affect his procedure and, in each instance, he meets with a breakthrough. The corollary between the moans and Max’s actions is made clear through the film’s cinematography: in one scene, his finger hovers over the Enter key while in another, he paces frantically as he listens. In both scenes, the female moaning is the predominant sound, placing it in a position of narrative prominence. This link between Max’s achievements and Devi displays two key points. Firstly, she is integral to his success, although unknowingly. Secondly, her role in the process is reduced to that of a sexualized object – her value to Max is wrapped into a purely sexual capacity. This scenario is a cinematic reflection of a predominant narrative in popular Western culture which displays females as an icon of physical sexuality. It is important to note that the neighbor’s attempts to assist Max on an interpersonal basis, which would better illustrate her worth as an individual, are consistently rebuffed. At one point, Max borrows her iodine to stain a slide, but refuses to disclose his purpose. As Devi attempts to include herself in the creative process – “Ahh, science. The pursuit of knowledge” – Max’s face assumes a look of positive disgust before dismissing her and returning to his apartment. Once again, the neighbor is an unknowing female aid in Max’s discoveries. This narrative progresses through Max’s friend Sol, who relates a story about the philosopher Archemedes, who was beset by a theoretical problem. Archemedes’ wife, upset by his frustration, urges him to take a bath which ultimately provides him with the solution to his problem. This story further solidifies females in an essential, yet uninformed, role in context with male achievement and thought. While this narrative recognizes the social importance of females, it also serves as a gender signifier which ultimately places women in a position of intellectual inferiority to men – suggesting that while women may be involved in success, they never succeed themselves. This balance of gender superiority/inferiority is a predominant issue which modern feminists are constantly challenging, yet π textually reflects this social narrative without challenging it at all.

In direct contrast to the notion of women as unaware assistants is the reoccurring theme of women as a distraction or impediment. Kaja Silverman’s text “Male Subjectivity and the Celestial Suture” examines the ways in which male characters in cinema, specifically the protagonist of It’s a Beautiful Life, are “hailed” into their cultural narratives indirectly, through the significations of external circumstances and characters (Silverman 108-109). This concept can be applied to Max in π in the various ways in which his interactions with other characters develop his role as a reclusive, single-minded man of great intellectual importance. A vast amount of this task is intertwined with gender issues, as Max is constructed as a subject through his relationships with females. The primary example of this narrative rests in the character of Marcy Dawson, who represents corporate interest. Marcy harasses Max constantly via phone and forces her attention on him numerous times, defining his role as a source of external interest and highlighting his antisocial nature. Marcy initially represents a fairly strong female character, as her attempts at coercing Max become more and more intrusive. However, it is interesting to note that her final threat to his work comes only with the benefit of males – Marcy requires her two henchmen to physically hold Max back while she holds a gun (a phallic symbol) to his face. This scene undercuts all of her previously construed power, suggesting that women ultimately require masculine strength and symbolism to achieve their goals. It is also relevant to note that Marcy, as the lone woman of any power in the film, is portrayed as greedy and unscrupulous – at one point, Max berates her: “I’m looking for a way to understand our world. I don’t deal with petty materialists like you.” Marcy is effectively demonized by her interference with Max’s work and forms the film’s negative archetype for powerful women. Much like π’s narrative of women as man’s helper, this constructed character serves as a form of social commentary which effectively communicates a message of stratified gender – because Marcy is in a position of dominance, a role which is socially construed as male, her actions are clearly portrayed in a negative and twisted light.

Max’s subjectivity is further formed by a bevy of minor female characters: his neighbor, a little girl, his landlord and, interestingly enough, his mother. Max’s opening monologue, in which he reveals that his unique circumstances came as a result of his direct disobedience to his mother, demonstrates a fundamental gender opposition to his intellectual capacity – if he hadn’t pushed past her (reasonable) request, Max wouldn’t have acquired “the number” and the film’s plot would be negated. The little girl Jenna, with her calculator, serves as a means of demonstrating Max’s mathematical proficiency at the beginning of the film and the freedom given by his lost abilities at the conclusion. However, she also illustrates his reclusive nature by disturbing him midway through the film, prompting him to snap “not now, Jenna!” and slam the door in her face. Max’s neighbor Devi reveals his aversion to physical contact when she tries to smooth his hair and examine his hand at various points and he recoils. When Max snaps at her and his landlord, he demonstrates his anger at their invasion of his valuable privacy. However, while all of these interactions serve to formulate Max’s status as a subject, they also serve as examples of female impediments to his work, continuing the narrative of female intrusion begun by Marcy. Max’s negative behaviour towards all of these women is thusly justified in the film by his single-minded dedication, but as an example of gender relations, his abuse can be construed within a framework of passive/aggressive signification.

However, it is essential to note the difference between these intrusions and those of Lenny and the Hasidic men. Initially, Max distrusts Lenny as much as everybody else. Later in the film, he chooses to go with the Jewish men rather than Marcy and from that point onwards, he can communicate with them in a much more rewarding manner than any of the brusque conversations he has with females. For example, the Hasidim provide him with valuable religious context for his consuming problem while Marcy, a female, can only offer the technology he needs indirectly through her company – a contribution which has nothing to do with her abilities as an individual or as a female. The contrast is notable. Within the all-male framework of the Max-Hasidim conversation, it is also interesting to note that patriarchal values are indirectly promoted: “Only one man was allowed to enter this holy of holies.” Max’s dialogue with men is productive while his interactions with females are on a basis of necessity and accompanied by generally harsh behaviour. His subjectivity within the film is constructed specifically within gender-centric interactions and the contrasting roles which men and women play in interrupting or furthering his work demonstrates a fundamental split along the gender divide. As a set of signifiers, this gender split works to define women in an underprivileged role and, when combined with the narrative of women as male sidekicks, effectively carries a theme which binds women and their worth entirely to the activities and needs of men.

Finally, π contains distinct examples of male-oriented scopophilia. Laura Mulvey’s concept of the ‘gaze,’ which defines the tendency of cinema to create situations which encourage viewers to examine women as visual spectacles through a one-way masculine perspective, is predominantly applicable here. Mulvey states “Going far beyond highlighting a woman’s to-be-looked-at-ness, cinema builds the way she is to be looked at into the spectacle itself” (Mulvey 847). In the case of π, this is accomplished through Max’s constant surveillance of the hallway through his peephole. The cinematography encloses the image within a circular frame, encouraging us to identify with Max and what he sees outside. At various points throughout the film, Max gazes at his landlord sweeping (an appropriately stereotyped female task), his neighbor Devi and two men dropping off a package for him. Predictably enough, the image of attractive Devi lingers far longer than any other peephole gazes, despite Max’s apparent disinterest in her. Perhaps the audience is being invited to fantasize about their alternate actions in a similar situation? Regardless, film viewers are invited to view the spectacle of an attractive female who is unaware of the gaze – a distinctly gendered choice in cinematography. It is important to note that when Max is looking through his peephole at men, there are two present, diffusing the voyeuristic sexual tension ordinarily present between Max/viewer and the unaware singular subject outside the door. While this element of scopophilia is not a major narrative of π, it is still relevant in that it demonstrates π’s adherence to a prevailing gendered technique used in much of popular cinema and categorically identified by Laura Mulvey.

π is not a film centred around gender relations, whether balanced or not. π isn’t even particularly bad as far as gender representation is concerned, compared to a vast majority of popular films. However, π serves as an illustration of the unbalanced narratives which slip into pop culture, both as a reflection of our societal frameworks and as a set of signifiers which serve to subtly influence and shape the ideologies of those watching the film. Elizabeth Cowie’s claim that cinema acts as a production of definitions is heavily implicational – unless we understand the gravity of the gender significations which appear in our films, how can we hope to balance and equalize the gender definitions which comprise our societal makeup? π may contain elements of scopophilia and narratives which depict women as tied to the actions and needs of men, either as inadvertent helpers, tools of subjectivity characterization or unwelcome intrusions, but rather than demonizing the film for its subtexts and underscored agendas, we must learn from these examples and harness the medium of cinema to create new narratives which introduce and promote improved, inclusive ideologies across Western society and, more specifically, popular culture.

Works Cited

Cowie, Elizabeth. “Woman as Sign” in Feminism and Film. NY: OUP, 2000. Pp. 48-65.

Mulvey, Laura. “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema” in Film Theory and Criticism. NY: OUP, 2004. Pp. 837-848.

Silverman, Kaja. “Male Subjectivity and Celestial Suture” in Feminism and Film. NY: OUP, 2000. Pp. 100-117.