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For Women’s History Month, artist Saskia Takens-Milne invites us to step into a world where silence is shattered, and voices—often unheard—take centre stage. Scream-Along, her latest immersive video installation, transforms the basement of The Bohemians salon in Deptford into a speakeasy-style karaoke bar with a twist. Instead of singing, visitors are encouraged to scream alongside iconic cinematic screams, but with the original audio stripped away. The result? A raw, visceral experience that challenges how we see, hear, and internalise women’s voices in film and culture.

In this interview, Takens-Milne discusses the inspiration behind Scream-Along, how we all got the Stockholm Syndrome wrong, and why sometimes the best thing to do is just scream.

What inspired you to create Scream-Along? 

I see my work as a form of feminist philosophy. Before Scream-Along, I spent over a decade creating a film that explored how dominant ideology seeps out of cinema—by focusing on the ‘gaps’ in films, those moments of stillness and absence where no people are present. That deep, forensic way of watching films has inspired many of my projects: Untitled 1.1. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment Scream-Along was conceived, but it feels like a natural evolution from that earlier work.

Many people might initially see Scream-Along as playful or even humorous. How do you navigate the balance between entertainment and critique in your work and what would you say to someone who dismisses the exhibition as just ‘overanalysing movies’ or ‘reading too much into entertainment’? 

Two very interesting questions. I think humour is a great way to hook people into more serious subjects - like the Shakespearean fool who entertains while revealing uncomfortable truths.  I think the humour and the horror make for a very uncomfortable experience, which makes the work so powerful.  However, the humour quickly dissipates as visitors become immersed in the work. 

The work can be experienced in various ways, bringing out different nuances:  Watching the film alone is an intense and almost suffocating experience—seeing women scream with no sound is like that nightmare where you try to scream but nothing comes out. It becomes a powerful metaphor for the suffering of women that so often goes unheard and ignored. Participating in the installation by screaming along is both cathartic and thought-provoking. In that moment, I am giving them back their voice, transforming passive observation into an act of solidarity—a counterbalance to how mainstream media conditions us to be desensitised to women’s pain. Watching others participate adds another layer of complexity. The raw sound of distress triggers a visceral reaction—discomfort, unease, and a confrontation with the unsettling reality of how we process and respond to suffering.

As for the idea of ‘overanalysing’ movies, I’d argue that, given the epidemic levels of violence against women and girls, we can’t afford to dismiss media’s role in shaping attitudes.  The academic research accompanying the exhibition also gives alarming insight into the consequences of sexist media. There is a very direct connection between dehumanising media representations of women and violence against women and girls.

The absence of the actual violence in the clips shifts the focus solely to women’s screams. What do you hope visitors take away from this experience?

The absence of violence is a deliberate choice. I didn’t want to simply reproduce media that posed a risk to women—I wanted to shift the focus to something more revealing. There are two main ways the screams can be seen: they highlight women’s suffering and cinema’s role in commodifying it, but they also expose how narrow and repetitive the portrayal of women in film is. 

While I’ve included some screams that don’t fit this pattern—I didn’t want the work to feel purely illustrative—the majority reinforce the same trope: women as weak, helpless, and in need of saving. It’s a subtle yet powerful way media naturalises restrictive gender roles, and I hope visitors leave questioning what they’ve been conditioned to accept.

What would you say makes this particular piece feminist? Would you describe all your art as feminist? 

Absolutely. All my work is feminist, though it’s rare for me to create something as overtly feminist as Scream-Along. I approach feminism through a Marxist lens, so most of my work comes from a Capitalist Realist perspective (as theorised by Mark Fisher).  My work is usually much more ambiguous. The Arts Council funding has meant that I have had to define the meaning of this piece perhaps more than I would typically want to, but I hope that visitors can still derive their own meaning from it.

What drives you to take a feminist approach to your art? 

It’s so fundamental to my perspective that I almost don’t know how to answer—it’s just the air I breathe. Feminism has always been central to my work, even back in art school. It’s not something I consciously ‘decided’ to incorporate; it’s simply the lens through which I see and create.

The piece highlights the ubiquity of women’s agony in cinema. What patterns did you notice when researching the screams used in the exhibition?

I noticed two key patterns. First, there are rigid conventions about ‘the sort of woman’ people are assumed to want to see being hurt/frightened, and second, women’s screams in moments of crisis perpetuate the stereotype that they are irrational or overly emotional, often positioning them as needing male protection. 

In contrast, men in Western cinema don’t typically scream in fear; they roar in pain. If a man does scream in fright, it’s usually played for comedy, as if fear ‘unmans’ him. I’ve included the few women roaring in pain that I could find—like Suzette Llewellyn’s agonizing scream in Welcome II The Terrordome—to show that a broader portrayal is possible.

You reference Žižek and Lacan’s theories on cinema and ideology. How do you see Scream-Along exposing or disrupting the ways film manipulates our perception of gender and violence?

By placing hundreds of clips side by side, Scream-Along exposes just how relentlessly Hollywood recycles the motif of the helpless woman. It makes it impossible to see film as simply ‘reflecting reality’—it is not ideologically neutral. The femininity in peril trope depends on rigid gender binaries: men can only perform masculinity and be heroes if women submit to the role of helpless victims.  

It reminds me of Kristin Enmark, the hostage for whom they coined the phrase Stockholm Syndrome. She was diagnosed with this newly minted psychological disorder because she refused to play this ideal victim and helplessly wait for the police to rescue her, despite the police (and the Prime Minister!) clearly signalling they had very little interest in her safety. 

While female directors are challenging these norms, cinema’s traditional visual language—its lighting, camera angles, and framing—was built on a foundation of sexism. Creating truly feminist film requires dismantling these conventions from the ground up.

This is much more than a tired plot issue. These sexist stereotypes (and the general lack of complexity in female characters) have real-world consequences. Many men who hurt women do so because they do not view them as fully human, which is exacerbated by one-dimensional portrayals of women in media. At the same time, the narrow constraints of masculinity teach men to suppress all emotions except anger, leading to an emotional repression that often erupts into violence. 

You mention the lack of diversity in the scream clips due to film industry conventions. How does Scream-Along engage with broader issues of race, class, and representation in media?

I intentionally highlighted the lack of diversity in these scream clips, hoping visitors would reflect on what that erasure signifies. Who gets to be seen as a victim? Whose fear is centred? These choices in casting and storytelling reveal deep biases in the film industry.

Interestingly, while researching strong Black female leads, I noticed that many—like Alexa Woods in Alien vs. Predator or Jeryline in Tales from the Crypt: Demon Knight—don’t scream. By breaking conventions with more representative casting, these films may have also pushed directors to reconsider how they portray women. It suggests that changing who gets to lead a story can disrupt not just racial stereotypes, but gendered ones as well.

What’s next for you after Scream-Along?

Right now, my focus is entirely on touring Scream-Along, but after dedicating 18 months exclusively to this piece, I’m looking forward to a more peaceful phase when there is time to create short, impulsive works. However, I do have another couple of large scale projects ready to go, so very soon I will be back to funding applications…

You can still experience Scream-Along until 31st March at The Bohemians Space—entry through The Bohemians Hair Salon, 53 Deptford Broadway, Deptford, London, SE8 4PH. Don’t miss this powerful and immersive installation!

My Takeaways from the Fawcett Society Conference 2025: A Feminist Future

I had the opportunity to represent Fawcett East London at the Fawcett Society Conference 2025. Held at Mary Ward House in London on Saturday, February 8th, it was a dynamic gathering of activists, academics, and everyday feminists, all eager to discuss the critical issues facing women and girls today and, more importantly, strategize for a more equitable tomorrow.

As part of the day was focused on AI, I will readily admit that this is a generative AI translation of my notes from the day and these are my views only! 

Tackling Populism and Reclaiming the Narrative

One of the most compelling discussions revolved around the rise of populism and its impact on gender equality. Baroness Harriet Harman powerfully highlighted the erosion of the feminist consensus we've worked so hard to build over decades, thanks to an increasing misogynistic onslaught. But it wasn't all doom and gloom! Heejung Chung, from the Global Institute for Women's Leadership, reminded us that, despite the noise, most people still believe in feminist ideals. Amima Hersi, Head of Gender Rights & Justice Advocacy & Campaigns, Oxfam International, offered a thought-provoking perspective, linking the rise of populism to extractive capitalism and inequality. Her call to shift the narrative, focusing on a caring economy and addressing wealth inequality, really resonated with me.

Entering the Matrix: Creating Feminist AI

For me, the discussions around AI were some of the most eye-opening. As technology rapidly advances, it's crucial that women are "in the room" shaping these systems from the ground up. Speakers Rachel Coldicutt and Erin Lorelie Young underscored the importance of creating feminist AI and ensuring women's involvement in every stage of its development. I loved the idea of AI toolkits or scorecards to track women's participation in STEM – practical solutions are what we need! However, as important as AI's negative impacts could be, I also think it can be a red herring when focusing on how it could be applied to all areas of services, especially when most pressing issues are yet to be addressed and some areas like the NHS are barely digitised anyway. This perspective reminds us to balance our focus between future technological challenges and current, fundamental issues in our public services.

Ensuring Dignity and Safety in Public Services

The conference didn't shy away from addressing the systemic issues within public services. Discussions around policing, healthcare, and especially maternal care were powerful reminders of the work that still needs to be done. I appreciated the emphasis on amplifying the voices and work of various organizations already fighting for change in these areas. I also found really inspiring Jess Phillips’ admission that this is a long-term, detailed work, looking at all the points of access that women use to access those services. 

Key takeaways

Harriet Harman’s introductory speech is actually also a great summary of the day and a few points stood out. 

The misogynistic attacks on our hard-won feminist consensus are alarming. But with a Labour government full of powerful women, Fawcett has an opportunity to push for real change – both supporting and challenging them.

 Regarding AI, women need to be at the forefront of the AI revolution, not letting men dominate and shape the narrative.  

And finally, where are the male allies? We need them to step up and be visible role models in this fight for equality. Her words were a call to action, reminding us to stay vigilant, seize opportunities, and demand allyship.

A few days ago, I stumbled upon a headline on the BBC: 'Nadal - the son every mum would love to have'. I knew who Nadal was, but as someone who’s not much of a tennis fan, the title didn’t exactly excite me. I was simply curious to see what good deeds had earned him such praise, so I clicked half-heartedly only to find myself wading through a hagiographic account of his career—his enduring friendship with Federer, the sheer grind of his athleticism, and, yes, his success in balancing it all. And that was it—no mention of anything else to justify the title, aside from the fact that someone had arbitrarily decided it. The article casually dropped the claim at the end without any explanation. 

It turned out the title was just another piece of clickbait, as many are these days, and without further ado, I moved on with my day. Or I thought I did because, in the end, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Those words got me thinking: who would be the son every mum would love to have? Would it really be Nadal? And what, exactly, makes a man that? Is it, as the BBC seemed to suggest, the kind of gruelling, hyper-disciplined life required of a top-tier athlete? A life lived under the spotlight, with the immense pressure of global expectations, the constant threat, or better yet, the constant certainty of injury? Could it possibly be Nadal—or anyone like him, for that matter? Or perhaps it’s someone else entirely. A son who’s content to live a quieter life, maybe in a quaint little town with a modest teaching gig, stopping by his mother’s for tea on Sundays. A man not chasing glory, but stability, grounded in the comforting routines of an everyday existence. The kind of son who is present.

I got back to the article and read it again. Of course, it was a man who said that, speaking for all mothers out there.  It was a man, as so many before him, telling women what their happiness, their sense of fulfilment as mothers should look like. And it looks like the BBC had no problem with it because, as it happens, the author of the article was also male. In fact, he put it right in the title, exposing this aberration to millions of readers and perpetuating a false ideal for mothers everywhere. And isn’t that telling? It wasn’t the first time I’d seen this strange phenomenon, where male writers assume a maternal voice to project their ideals of manhood. Literature and history are full of examples. A mother’s fervent wish for her son to die heroically in battle—how often that sentiment has been trotted out, only for it to later emerge that those words were placed in her mouth by a male poet or writer, whom we are taught to revere in school. It’s a convenient tool, turning a woman’s love into a vehicle for male ambition, for narratives of bravery or martyrdom. What a tidy trick, to wrap up an idea in the package of motherly love, giving it a kind of unquestionable authority.

And this, of course, raised in me another question. When will we finally start to ask actual mothers what they want? When will men stop defining women’s hopes and dreams on their behalf? Because mothers have been speaking up about what they need for a long time now: affordable childcare, support in their careers, recognition for the unpaid work that sustains families and communities alike. Yet these voices are rarely amplified, often drowned out by the very men who claim to know their hearts so well.

Imagine, instead, if we lived in a world where we actually listened to those mothers. What if, instead of idolising some far-off ideal, we focused on real issues, one son at a time? That, to me, would be an article worth reading—a story about a man who, instead of performing greatness on a world stage, simply turned his attention to the problems that so many women, so many mothers actually care about. Now that, I think, would be the kind of son any mum would love to have.