‘The topic for discussion this evening is a dialogue on women’s liberation.’

I recently watched ‘Town Bloody Hall’, a documentary film of a 1971 panel debate between four feminist intellectuals: Jacqueline Ceballos, Germaine Greer, Jill Johnston and Diana Trilling. The event is chaired by the writer Norman Mailer. 

‘Norman, I will define accuracy for myself. I don’t need you.’

It’s an unruly, combative affair. The speakers are articulate, funny, thoughtful and committed. And Mailer is not a neutral chairman. He is opinionated and outspoken, and likes to hog the microphone. Emotions run high. Audience members cheer and applaud, heckle and harangue, shout and storm out. Film-maker DA Pennebaker necessarily pursues a loose ‘run-and-gun’ style, and editor Chris Hegedus lets the material flow naturally, without commentary or explanation. It all makes for compelling viewing.

‘Just so I can defend myself against hecklers in the Town bloody Hall.’

Earlier in 1971 Harper’s Bazaar published Mailer’s essay ‘The Prisoner of Sex,’ a polemic aimed at the women’s movement. In introducing the event, Mailer anticipates that we’ll be in for both cerebral discourse and passionate protest.

‘Two enormous intellectual currents that have been going on in New York for many years are finally reaching their flood waters. One of them is that peculiar spirit of revolution which enquires further and further and further into the nature of men, women and society; and the other is of course that blessed spirit of nihilism which will rip everything apart, including free speech and assembly. I suspect we will have elements of both before the night is out.’

Mailer invites each of the panellists to speak for 10 minutes. 

First up is Jacqueline Ceballos, the President of the New York chapter of the National Organisation for Women. She argues that women are ‘underpaid and overworked with no chance of advancement anywhere.’ Her organisation helps women fight discriminatory work practices and campaigns for paid housework.

‘As far as the image of women is concerned we’re attacking the advertising industry. You know that the woman as portrayed on television, all over in the media, is a stupid senile creature. She gets an orgasm when gets a shiny floor.’

Next is Australian writer and academic Germaine Greer. Her theme is the patriarchal nature of the art establishment through history.

‘For me the significance of this moment is that I’m having to confront one of the most powerful figures in my imagination, the being I think most privileged in male elitist society, namely the masculine artist, the pinnacle of the masculine elite… I am caught in a basic conflict between inculcated cultural values and my own deep conception of an injustice.’

Greer cuts a striking figure in long black dress, fox fur and weighty Venus-symbol necklace. Her argument is lucid and articulate.

‘We broke our hearts trying to keep our aprons clean.’

Now columnist Jill Johnston takes the podium. Long-haired, laughing and clad in patched denim, she removes her shades and delivers a radical free-flowing poem that is both funny and challenging.

‘All women are lesbians except those who don’t know it, naturally.’

‘This is the body that Jill built.’

‘We should invite one of them to dinner.’
‘One of what, dear?’

Some way into her poem, Johnston is joined on-stage by her girlfriend and another woman. They embrace and roll about on the floor together. Now losing control, an irate Mailer complains that Johnston has exceeded her time-limit.

‘C’mon, either play with the team or pick up your marbles and get lost… C’mon Jill, be a lady.’

Johnston and her friends exit stage left, not to be seen again.

Mailer is an irascible figure throughout. He insists on referring to all the panellists as ‘ladies.’ He frowns and fidgets, sulks and swears. He revels in his muscular masculinity and enjoys picking fights.

‘We’ll take a vote, but I’m going to do the counting.’

‘You’re asking for a dialogue. Here it is. This is my half of the dialogue. You can counter.’

‘As usual you don’t understand what I’m talking about.’

‘You are all singularly without wit.’

Finally the literary critic Diana Trilling takes the stand. She argues for diversity of thought and action.

‘I can’t let all women be spokesmen for me. Because I’m not for their programmes necessarily. I have a great deal of loyalty to my sex and I’ve had it for a very long time. But that doesn’t mean I can be indiscriminate about the positions that I subscribe to just because they’re put forward by other women. That would seem to me to be an abdication of intelligence.’

Trilling provokes Greer by criticising her quotation of Sigmund Freud. Greer will have none of it. 

‘One of the characteristics of oppressed people is that they always fight among themselves.’

Greer revels in the sparring. She sighs, scowls, laughs and looks at the ceiling. She is a magnetic presence.

‘Town Bloody Hall’ is a time capsule. It captures a particularly vibrant period of feminism, when there were radically different perspectives on the movement and how it should proceed. It’s noticeable that wealth inequality and gay rights are dealt with at the margins. And racial discrimination doesn’t get a look in. 

The documentary stands as a testament to the power of spirited dialogue and vigorous discussion. This was a time when writers and public intellectuals were respected, when free speech and open debate were cherished. It’s bracing stuff: provocative, funny, confusing, inspiring, exasperating. And infinitely preferable to an era of cancelling and no-platforming.

The final questioner asks Greer to imagine the world for women after liberation. When she refuses to deal in hypotheticals, he persists:

‘I tried to make my question non-polemical.’
‘Balls you did.’
‘I really don’t know what women are asking for. Now suppose I wanted to give it to them.’
Greer leans into the microphone:
‘Listen. You may as well relax, because whatever it is they’re asking for, honey, it’s not for you!’

 (The American documentary filmmaker DA Pennebaker passed away last year, aged 94. His work included ‘Don’t Look Back’, ‘Monterey Pop’, ‘Primary’ and ‘Ziggy Stardust.’)

'Typical girls get upset too quickly.
Typical girls can't control themselves.
Typical girls are so confusing.
Typical girls - you can always tell.
Typical girls don't think too clearly.
Typical girls are unpredictable (predictable).
Who invented the typical girl?
Who's bringing out the new improved model?
And there's another marketing ploy.
Typical girl gets the typical boy.’

The Slits, ’Typical Girls’ (A Forster / P McLardy / T Pollitt / V Albertine)

No. 274