Still Jenny From the Block: In Defence of J.Lo and Her Personal Mythology
The first instalment of the Cleo from 24 to 7 column on J.Lo's public and private persona - plus, a T.O. Rep Rec on Bleeding Edge Movies.
Cleo from 24 to 7
A column by Cleo Sood for the chronically online in a culture that never sleeps.
Still Jenny From the Block: In Defence of J.Lo and Her Personal Mythology
by Cleo Sood
If I were J.Lo, I’d probably act like that, too. I’d stroll through my old neighbourhood with a camera crew, walk over to a private residence, approach a stranger on his porch, and announce, “I used to live here!” I’d star in and self-fund a $20 million vanity project wherein I examine myself and my life.
J.Lo’s three-part multimedia vanity project includes This Is Me… Now, a studio album, This Is Me… Now: A Love Story, a genre-spanning movie musical serving as a visual accompaniment to the album, and The Greatest Love Story Never Told, a documentary showcasing the making of the album and the movie musical. While these projects received mostly favourable critical reception, everyone—critics, audiences, lovers, and haters—seemed genuinely bewildered by the endeavour. A live tour would’ve been the perfect conclusion to this J.Lo Fest, until J.Lo cancelled the tour, citing that she needed “time off to be with her children, family, and close friends.” However, the public speculates that poor ticket sales were the real reason. If I were J.Lo, I’d lie too.
And if I pulled a look that was so hot, the sheer volume of people searching for my picture prompted the creation of Google Images, then I’d probably talk about that green Versace dress more often than J.Lo does. I’m not like the other Jenny from the block. I’m worse!
My introduction to J.Lo was via my mother’s DVD collection, the song “On The Floor” ft. Pitbull which played at every middle school dance I attended, and through tabloids displayed next to the grocery store checkout. I saw J.Lo as a plucky rom-com heroine, a surprise pop sensation, and a constant cover story. J.Lo remains booked, busy, and the butt of countless jokes.
There’s an obvious sexist undertone to the J.Lo bashing—even if she is corny, vocally challenged and narcissistic, it’s not like she’s R. Kelly. Aside from accusations of auto-tune, what criminal offence has J. Lo been convicted? Rather, J.Lo is a casual victim of the thing that happens when the masses decide a woman is no longer cool/sexy/likeable. The public perception of this woman flips to the unfavourable and we collectively renounce America’s Former Sweetheart until we inevitably recognize our misogynistic mistake, and reconcile by championing her comeback. #FreeBritney. #LetLopezLive! Meanwhile, countless men in the industry remain out of touch and out of prison despite their nefarious charges.
Hollywood types operate on a slightly sociopathic scale. I’m not completely clued into a conspiracy, but I’ll bet the plot involves demonic soul contracts and non-disclosure agreements. All I know for certain is that your personality must skew towards sociopathy when you’re somebody like J.Lo. Celebrities are surrounded by yes-men and handlers—people to satisfy their every whim and fancy. This is not to say I condone J.Lo’s refusal to make eye contact with staffers or tip well to servers. I am simply suggesting that someone like J.Lo has an exacerbated ego and an enormous sense of entitlement which is further enabled by fawning fans and a team operating at her beck and call. I’m not surprised J.Lo’s got a reputation for being a little bitchy. It would be more alarming if she weren’t a bitch.
Hollywood needs divas. Gay men need divas. Our pendulum-swinging court of public opinion needs divas. The culture needs glamour, camp, sizzling scandal, a woman-shaped monolith we love to hate and meme fodder. Divas need to be difficult. Divas deserve to be difficult.
But it’s not the diva allegations, not the curse of overexposure, not the multimillion-dollar vanity project that’s the driving force of this J.Lo hate. It appears that J.Lo’s biggest crime is being inauthentic.
By now, J.Lo’s lived in California longer than she ever lived in New York, and her Boston-born beau, a white man named Ben Affleck, speaks better Spanish than her. Still, J.Lo called her production company Nuyorican Productions, because she’s “a Puerto Rican from New York.” She wears her hair in a bun—“a monito”—gold hoop earrings, nameplate necklaces, Timberlands, and Adidas sneakers because she says “the urban streetwear thing feels like me; it feels like the Bronx; it feels like little Jenny.”
I think it’s funny when an interviewer asks J.Lo, “What’s something else that real New Yorkers say?” and she flips off the camera with both hands and shouts, “Fuck you!” I also think it’s funny when the entire population of the Bronx unites on the Internet to mock and dispute J.Lo’s bodega order—“ham and cheese on a roll with an orange drink if you know, you know, and a small bag of chips.” But some people are as annoyed as they are entertained. The animosity is at an all-time high.
Little Jenny’s former classmates doubt her allegiance to the Bronx; they accuse J.Lo of fabricating her identity. One woman addressed J.Lo through TikTok: “I’m a Puerto Rican woman from the Bronx who went to the same high school as you, and you’re lying. I saw your high school photo, you did not have hair like that. And we also both attended an all-girls Catholic high school in an Irish and Italian neighbourhood, so you weren’t running up and down the block. You know damn well you were sitting next to Megan Farley and Christine Marketti in class. Why are you lying? Please stop using us to look human. We are sick of you … we are not all ‘running up and down the block.’”
There’s a moment in J.Lo’s behind-the-scenes documentary, The Greatest Love Story Never Told, where Ben Affleck says, “Jen felt emotionally neglected as a child.” He notes, “I don’t think there’s enough followers or movies or records or any of that stuff to still that part in you that still feels a longing and pain.” Behind the absurd actions of a Hollywood diva are the motivations of a wounded girl.
Jennifer Lynn Lopez was born and raised in the Bronx and that’s where she still is—at least, in her head. While Jennifer Lynn Lopez is currently Jennifer Lynn Affleck, she’s more commonly known as J.Lo and is forever “Jenny from the Block” because “the Block” isn’t just a place in New York City; it’s a place in J.Lo’s heart. The Block is a prison of J.Lo’s own device and when it comes to prisons of our device, we remain caged from the streets of Castle Hill to Beverly Hills.
I will likely never be an A-list multihyphenate strolling around with a camera crew, self-funding multimillion-dollar vanity projects, wearing red-carpet looks that launch 1,000 Google image search results, but I’ve got a prison of my own device too. I am also a wounded girl forever crying in school bathroom stalls, rebelling against my parents, longing to be loved, hoping to be accepted. Maybe you’ve got a block/stall/cage of your own. Maybe the real orange drink (if you know, you know) is the burden of our past which we carry into our present. Maybe everyone’s bodega order is an attachment to our respective childhoods and formative traumas—and suddenly, a slightly sociopathic, out-of-touch starlet resonates as little Jenny and appears a little less loathable.
#LetLopezLive
Cleo Sood is a Toronto-based writer and stand-up comedian that hates writing and loves sitting down.
T.O. REP REC: Bleeding Edge Fest
by In The Mood Editors
Anyone paying attention to Toronto’s rep scene would be forgiven for feeling a little anxious right now. After the summer closure and uncertain future of Hot Docs theatre, the almost-eviction of The Revue Cinema, and the persistent difficulty in snagging tickets for a TIFF Cinematheque screening, even our most reliable institutions are feeling precarious. But this column is about what’s exciting in the scene, and one of the most exciting presences is Bleeding Edge.
What started two years ago as a showcase of new short films, Bleeding Edge now hosts frequently sold-out screenings of underground and indie films that might not have made it to Toronto including Dogleg (2023, Al Warren), Salamander Days (2023, KJ Rothweiler and Rebekah Sherman-Myntti) and What Doesn’t Float (2023, Luca Balser).
This weekend, Bleeding Edge celebrates its anniversary with a two-night festival at The Paradise Theatre. BE Fest will screen three features, The Becomers (2023, Zach Clark), Berman’s March (2023, Jordan Tetewsky and Joshua Pikovsky) and The Pee Pee Poo Poo Man (2024, Braden Sitter Sr.), a program of short films, and host an opening night party at Houndstooth Bar. We check in with Bleeding Edge (Alan Jones and Ethan Vestby) before the fest.
Why did you start Bleeding Edge?
It’s hard to give a complete, thorough answer, but I’d say that we saw a bit of a gap in what films were shown and celebrated. Certainly, there were platforms for shorts and indie features, but what seemed increasingly favoured was a kind of safe brand of humanist or arthouse cinema that hit certain aesthetic requirements. We wanted to expand what could be shown in the city. We also just knew a lot of filmmakers.
How do you pick your films?
It’s often a mixture of submissions from others and pursuits on our end, but we look to things that we know our audience will likely enjoy or be enlightened by in some regard. Having done this for two years, we have an increasingly better idea of our audience, but it's also grown to a degree that it can’t be totally pinned down. So it’s actually one of the most exciting elements to consider.
What's a favourite memory from one of your screenings/events?
Our friend David walking on stage during the Q&A for Happy Life (2011, Michael M. Bilandic) and remarking out loud, “These guys are weird”, about the filmmakers.
How would you define Toronto’s rep film world? What are some ways you think it has changed in the last few years/what are changes you hope to see?
I’ll say that tickets are definitely more... expensive. We try to keep things reasonable or afford promo codes to make sure it’s not too bad for people on a budget. While their rep programming is limited I suppose, I’ve been encouraged by the Carlton Cinema recently lowering their prices. I hope to see other theatres do that and not just rely on memberships.
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