Dick Flick (Movies)

United 93: The Impressions of a Former United Flight Attendant

2006-06-06T21:08:00.000-07:00

I was in NYC on September 11th. I watched my sunny Brooklyn morning turn foggy as the dust, smoke and debris left a gray swath over my neighborhood. I met with friends at noon and saw the still-in-shock faces of the survivors, who'd walked down the trade center stairs to safety and didn't remember how they'd gotten back to the neighborhood. Once the authorities reopned lower Manhattan, I went back to work at a retail showroom 3 blocks above Canal Street. Every day I would go out to run errands. And every day, in the still-hot and humid days of late summer, I would come back with that awful smell still sticking to my hair, my clothes. I was not, therefore, in the thick of the disaster, but close enough to its edges to feel the horror of that day.

So, I was more than a little emotionally invested in the story of Flight 93. Not to mention that my viewing companion was a United flight attendant, and had worked with a crew member who perished on that flight. She also knew the intimate details of the crew's lives, having worked for the same company for many years. So, when I asked her, after we'd had some time to digest the film, her impression of the flight attendants' behavior, she had a very illuminating perspective. The following is published with her permission.

"I thought the depiction of the flight attendants was rather lame. Cece Lyles, one of the African American flight
attendants, was a former police officer prior to joining United. Anyone with a police background and 9 weeks of airline emergency training would surely have been cast in a more favorable and visible light. Sandy Bradshaw, the blonde....was on record as calling her family to inform them that the crew was brewing hot water in all of the available coffee pots so as to
throw the scalding liquid on the hijackers when storming the cockpit. I think they overlooked the flight attendant emergency response.

"The movie even showed the male passengers barking orders and commands to the flight attendants. My airline experience has shown that in similar circumstances, it is usually the other way around. Some business guys and even some type A guys all of sudden shrink when a major life threatening crises occurs at 35,000 feet. United flight attendants in the movie were sitting in the passenger seats crying. The truth of the matter is that those flight attendants were REALLY on the phones to the operations departments and to their families keeping everyone abreast of the situation. This is one of the basics of airline emergency training--communication with specific details. I think the movie got this part wrong. I think it was made from a very priveleged white male perspective. Plus all of the flight attendants on that flight were veterans who would've
responded without hysterics.. Some mysogonistic biases crept right into this piece.."

There you have it. Much was made of the passenger response to the terrorists. And rightly so. When civilians take up arms against aggressors, it's a wonderous thing. Standing up to tyranny of any sort is an heroic act in my book.

I would have preferred it if the story had been balanced. Seems a shame to highlight the accomplishments of some and not all, especially when they ALL gave their lives in service of their country.

Previews: United 93, The Da Vinci Code and Freeway

2006-05-30T21:31:00.000-07:00

I've been viewing more than writing lately, so I've a backlog of dick flicks to discuss. Here's a quick run-down.

United 93

Why were all the trained female flight attendants at the back of the plane whimpering? Remember now, this is a fictionalized account of a story for which we'll never know the truth. Must remember to ask ex-flight attendant friend if she believed the depiction of these highly trained women.

The Da Vinci Code

As a reader of this blog might imagine, this film is very close to my heart. Any media that would deal with the sacred feminine is alright by me. But why, then, must the heroine of this film need so much leading around? She's a cop so she knows how to handle herself, sure. But there are no other significant female roles in this film, save Mary Magdalene but no actress plays her and her lines are read by a man.

Freeway

A friend has been wanting me to see this film for a long time. it is a fairy tale, based on Little Red Riding Hood, which as we all know is a parable about the perils of a young woman (young women?) exploring sexuality. Reese Witherspoon, who is not on my short list of actresses whose films I will likely see (I am blonde, you see, and have no sense of humor), was actually quite engaging in this film. OK, so I liked her in "Walk the Line," too. Keifer Sutherland was type-cast as the bad guy. Charlie Sheen would've done well in that role, too. But his presense in it would've killed the picture.

Expanded reviews to come...

Off Topic: Ramping Down

2006-05-19T23:07:00.000-07:00

I hadn't recalled hearing the term "ramp up" till this week. And now it is in plague form. I am a carrier--a PROUD carrier--when it comes to language viruses. But I am now officially tired of the term "ramp up." I will look on Wikipedia for the etymology. But I suspect this is some sort of L.A. speak related to entering freeways.

V for Vendetta: D for Disappointed

2006-03-30T22:24:00.000-08:00

I have never in my life been disappointed in a film's last 5 minutes the way this film disappointed me.

What ruined it for me? The last line uttered by Natalie Portman's character Evey: "Some people remember [the monumentally historic and world-changing events] of tonight. I remember the man."

In such a passionate film about absolute power and corruption in government, it is amazing that such a lame ending would suffice. Maybe that's why it got a March release and not a summer or fall. (Yes, the Critic's claws are showing.)

A man calling himeself "V" dresses up in a Guy Fawkes mask, a cape and goes around fighting for the innocent in the face of government corruption. And Evey is supposed to have some feelings of attraction for him?

OK, so he does have a really cool house--a cave really--that's decorated with outlawed works of art and antiquities that the government deems inappropriate for mass consumption. The mask is a bit freaky, frozen as it is in a premanent and eerie grin. But the cape and the rest of his suit are cool. Plus, he plays music on London's PA system when he blows stuff up. And he makes great eggs-in-a-basket. So what's not to like? I mean, what are the quirks that make this man a little more than an eccentric, a little less than a psychopath?

For one thing, he kidnaps Evey--twice! In each instance, he saves her. But he also tells her she can't leave. There isn't a lot out in the world for her at this point, now that she's been circumstantially linked as his accomplice. But she's not sure she wants to put her heart and soul on the line for this guy and his cause. She's not sure if he's sane enough to be the leader out of the darkness that is her country's current rule.

(CAUTION: SPOILERS AHEAD) The second time he kidnaps Evey, he makes her believe she has been kidnapped by the government. He tortures her. Let me say this again: HE TORTURES HER. He shaves her head and repeatedly asks, in the form of a suited and faceless (the lights are always bright on her face) interogater, where V can be found. She repeatedly says she doesn't know. The only thing that sustains her are letters from a woman in the next cell, written on toilet paper and slid through a crack in the wall. The woman is a lesbian, and had been a movie star. But she was arrested for being gay and, therefore we presume, a deviant in the eyes of the powerful. OK, this sounds inconsistent, I know. V finally releases Evey when she says she's ready to die, that she has accepted her fate. She wanders out of her "cell" and back into V's underworld.

In some sense, yes, she is free. She has been willing to die for something. And there is a great strength in that for her. Perhaps now Evey understands that her parents' deaths weren't in vain, having died for what they believed in. But at some point, Evey realizes that she can make a difference. This revelation, sadly, seems linked to her feelings for V. Stockholm syndrome is the well-known temporary condition which makes prisoners identify and sympathize with their captors. Was this a factor for Evey, or did she finally see her ruthless and corrupt rulers for what they are?

Whatever the case, she decides to help V bring down the government.

My companion at the film later called V an idea. So, why oh why if this whole movie is about the idea that the people are more powerful than their government, should the main female character tell us that she remembers the man? Why does she think of the man more than the idea? Was it the cape?

Herein is a fundamental issue I have with Dick Flicks: That an extremely powerful political message must be flavored with the spice of romance. Without it, whould I be any less touched by the film's humanity? No. Would I be less able to identify with the main characters? No. I don't want to believe that Evey's motivation was her love for V. I want to believe that she had to do what was right. Instead, Hollywood has relegated her to a ghetto in which only love and women reside, and in which only men must be admired for their courage. We saw that V was fallable and human and vengeful, and yet despite all of that, Evey thinks of him, the messenger, and not the message.

Of course, this is one of my fundamental problems with religion, too, that people are worshipped as much as the ideas that they bring.

OK then, I must be having a post-stoner moment: is V Christ?

Absent Too Long: The Critic Regrets

2006-03-30T20:47:00.000-08:00

It's been quite a while. And though I've continued to see films and have feelings and opinions about them, it's been difficult to set aside the time to write about them. Why? I don't know. Maybe I was too shell shocked after Munich. Or maybe it's tiring reviewing films from the Dick Flick perspective. Honestly, it's like I'm always looking for something wrong or bad to say about films when I review them for this purpose.

Then again, I want to remember that there's a reason for this. There's a reason I was passionate about this topic, am still passionate about it. That's because the rampant sexism is still just that in the culture I see around me. Hollywood is still just as much a promoter of this reality as any other mass media. I couldn't possibly catch enough of what floats on America's airwaves to make a critical dent. So film is what I focus on. As misguided and as off-base and out of touch as Hollywood often is, even the worst films ("Honey" for instance, starring the Up-and-Coming-It-Girl Jessica Alba, was a-bys-mal) reach someone. Sadly, it's usually the least sophisticated viewer who would likely benefit from having their mind stretched a bit. I bet they'd like it, too. Imagine if your whole life someone was lying to you about what reality was, about your place in the world. Wouldn't you be as thirsty for the other side of the story as you could be?

I hope that continues to be my role here in movie-review land. I will do my best.

Munich: An Unsubtle Jackhammer

2006-02-05T16:00:00.000-08:00

Though Tony Kushner co-wrote the screenplay--and it was excellent--this film is as manipulative as any Steven Spielberg has directed. On the Dick Flick scale (0 being lowest Dick Flick quotient and 10 being highest), I give it a 9.

Men are not solely responsible for war. Queens have sent men to war as much as kings (though if you go way back to the pre-Christian matriarchal belly cults, wars were infrequent). But war is where men go. Women have only begun fighting it onscreen very recently. And offscreen, women's experiences in the field are rarerly talked about, Teen P.O.W. Jessica Lynch's story notwithstanding.(Didn't that turn out to be another U.S. Army fiction, anyway?) So here is another film about what happens to men who believe in something and go fight for it.

Avner is a good man, formerly Israeli Army, son of an Israeli hero (who, like most heroes, is deeply flawed). Like father like son. Avner is tapped by no less than Golda Meir to avenge the brutal killings of Israeli Olympic Team members who perished at the Munich games. They were killed by Palestinians. And so the Prime Minister says that Israel must show the world it won't be pushed around.

Avner signs a form that makes him a spook: he no longer has health insurance, a pension, a salary or an official identity. His source of income now materializes in a box in a Swiss bank, though the Israeli government kindly sends his wife $1000 a month. He must also give up his family. This is a high cost, as his wife is 7 months pregnant. 'Cause, you know, if it was just his wife it wouldn't be any problem. But he's got a kid on the way, too. He sneaks away to israel for the birth. While in the hospital waiting room, he has a meaningful conversation with his mother about his father and how the patriarch abandoned the family. Just as Avner is doing. But it's for a good cause, right?

Avner and his team set out to assasinate all the men who were involved in the Munich killings. As they do so, they become more and more acquainted not only with one another, but with the true meaning of their assignment. Slowly, they reveal themselves as killers just as cold-blooded as those they hunt. The film becomes a morality play then. Whose morality is unblemished by the need for power or land, money or piety or patriotism? In this film, no one's is.

With the possible exception of Golda Meir, a classic Dick Flick characteristic is revealed: Women's characters are miner and minimal, two dimensional. The wife is a saint, apparently. We never see her get impatient about the fact that her husband has all but abandoned her. There is no hint that she might want to move on to a man who is more available, who actually shows up for their presumably new marriage (though, to be fair, if she did get this inkling, popular culture would relocate the film into chick flick territory). Most poignant is the first time they have sex once Avner returns. He seems to have a psychotic episode while he's in coitus with his wife, as though he is pounding out his anger on the inside of her womb. The most disturbing aspect of this is the moment after he climaxes and slowly returned to reality. She reaches up to touch his face and says, "I love you." There is no hint of horror in her voice, no pleading, no sense that she has just been treated like a blow-up doll, the sexual recepticle for his supressed rage. No, she is all patience and understanding. Excuse me, but this begs the questions: WHAT THE FUCK?

Avner's mother is a similarly flat character. She only knows she is proud of her son. He is horrified at what he has done, but his mother--perhaps the symbol of the Israeli government mindset--is only pleased. She's enjoying the sausage, never wanting to know how it was made. I understand this as a narrative tool, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. It points up the cultural falacy of man as protector of woman. Her "oh, that's man talk" reluctance to understand the toll of this protection is a fiction far worse, in my opinion, than most spun by Mr. Spielberg's movie hit machine.

My last annoyance with this film was its closing shot: A long, static frame of the World Trade Center standing sentry over the park in which Avner and his government nemesis have their last exchange. In typical Spielberg fashion, the point is not just driven home, but pounded into the skull with jackhammer insistence. I GET IT! I GET IT! When is it enough? When have there been enough eyes for eyes? I may not know the answer to that, but I do know that a jackhammer is an unsubtle way to deliver a message.

War of the Worlds: The Dickiest Flick

2006-01-27T22:30:00.000-08:00

Let me first clarify something. I do not like Tom Cruise as a person. After his horrifying display of ignorance about the issue of post-partum depression and depressive disorders in general, I can honestly say I think he is a jerk. A big jerk. The only reason I saw this movie is because my video store owner, the lovely Mia @ Mission Video, gave me a free rental.

OK, to be honest, I really did want to see the film. Not because I thought I'd enjoy it, but because I couldn't wait to tear it--and Tom Cruise--apart. But what I find extremely annoying about him is that, despite my intense personal dislike, I still think he's a good actor. He is in the skin of the characters he plays and that takes talent and tenacity. If only he were like DeNiro, mute about the rest of the world and the rest of his life.

In WOTW, he plays a divorced dad, all into his own thing: his flashy classic Mustang, his looks. He is conceited and unthinking. (Cue music)...and it is the struggle for survival that brings him face to face with the things he loves most. Sniff. I know, I know! That Speilberg's a rutting genius.

First, let's get the hackneyed symbolism out of the way, shall we? See, it's not just War of the Worlds as in aliens-have-come-down-here-to-kick-our-asses. Oh, no. It's also about the war between like, Tom Cruise's character and his kids (who have no reason to trust their father) and the father and mother. She's all about stability, he's not. But in the end, his struggle for survival brings him face to face with the thing--yeah, OK, OK, you get the drift.

OK, here's a few more things...

1. Tim Robbins plays a disturbed man holed up in his home. As near as I can tell, he did a repeat of his "Mystic River" character, in voice if not in every other nuance. Like the disturbed man who grew from a kidnapped and molested kid in MR, Robbins' character this time is a deranged shut-in. He has ideas of using shot guns to protect the basement--into which he has invited Cruise and Cruise's daughter (flawless in the form of Dakota Fanning)--from the aliens (who have impenetrable force fields around their attacking tripods). But we quickly understand that he's not all there. I didn't really dig this section of the film. It seemed to drag on and on and all I kept thinking about was "Mystic River."

2. Dakota Fanning is the emotional center of the film (naturally, because she possesses a uterus--isn't that how Hollywood reasons?) But she does a great job. She is claustrophobic and depends on her brother to take care of her when they visit their father. As her brother decides to follow the army in their fight against the aliens she screams, "WHO'S GONNA TAKE CARE OF ME??!!" Clearly, it's not going to be her father. Way too self-involved. But when this girl cries, I totally believe it. Of course, it's pretty gut-wrenching to see an 11 or 12 year old girl cry.

3. OK, sure, Cruise's character redeems himself. But not through any fault of his character's own. More like because this cataclysmic event made it a necessity. Not really Cruise's fault. That one I can blame on Spielberg.

What makes this so intensely a dick flick is centering on Cruise's character, in this case, the arch-typical anti-hero. But it's just so much blah-blah-blah when it comes to having to escape from the aliens, having to protect his children. Once again, the story of a man is cast as universal. How do I know? Morgan Freeman's narration at the start and end of the film refers to "Man" and not "Humanity" or "People."

Of course, it could be that that section of the script is the only thing taken directly from the original radio play. If there was one thing they had to keep, why's it gotta be the sexist crap? I can just hear them now, Oh, we wanted to stay true to the original, but also make it very timely. That's how we chose to do it.

I guess, in that world, sexism is always in style.

Rize: The Ghetto Folk Dance

2006-01-21T23:58:00.000-08:00

Documentaries are difficult to quantify as dick flicks. without Hollywood's cliche-machine pumping words out of mouths, there is much more humanity. So this review isn't about a dick flick. It's just about a film.

I cannot recommend David LaChappelle's "Rize" highly enough. It is the story of a dance called Clowning. My father, a modern dance pioneer, used to tell me that he loved break dancing because it was a true American folk dance. The same can be said of Clowning. It is born out of the African-America ghettos in Los Angeles, created first as an entertainment by Thomas Johnson (a.k.a.Tommy the Clown). He started by going onto the streets, pumping hip-hop out of the back of his car, and dancing in a clown suit. When folks would come out to watch, he'd hand them cards and tell them he was available for parties. Groups of kids began to follow him, and dance with him.

Eventually, as they grew, some of the kids branched off and created their own brand of clowning called Krumping. It became an outlet for anger in an urban landscape where gangs, drugs and death are all part of daily life. Krumping looks confrontational and sometimes violent. But according to the dancers, fighting is the last thing on their minds.

Because I grew up dancing, I understand how important it is as a form of self expression and release. But I also understand how important it is as a means of finding self. Though a career in dance was not to be, I will always appreciate the hours and hours devoted to class and rehearsals as a time when I was at my most creative and playful and happy. These things are the essence of childhood and not something easily found in inner cities. (Most of the schools in Watts, etc, stress athletics as a way out of the ghetto). But how else can you be creative and playful when your life is otherwise riddled with trauma? It is amazing what human beings can do with their anger and oppression. I wish the oppression wasn't there, but I am grateful that it finds such life-affirming outlets.

Wouldn't it be amazing if every person were encouraged to dance, to move freely and create with their bodies? At last experiencing a true emancipation of the mind, heart and spirit.

See Rize. Then go dance.

Brokeback Mountain: Standing What I Can't Fix

2006-01-11T09:00:00.000-08:00

Once again a story of men is being cast as universal truth. I call Dick Flick! First the story, then why I think it's a Dick Flick.

Anyone who has ever loved when it was inconvenient--or seemingly impossible--will be moved by Brokeback Mountain. The film beautifully illustrates how isolated these two men are. There is no one in their world, absolutely no one, who would be accepting and sympathetic of Ennis Del Mar and Jack Twist's relationship. They are in emotional territory as stark and barren as the rocky hills that surround their intimacy. And they are both equally clueless as to how to cope with this reality.

Jack wants them to be together. But Ennis is afraid. When Ennis was a boy, his father showed him what is done to "queers." One of the men on their ranch, long the companion of another man, was beaten and pulled around by his penis till dead. So, Ennis has a healthy fear of being killed for being gay. Jack on the other hand, selfish and proud, feels certain they could find a place together. But Ennis can't commit.

Turns out Ennis can't commit anywhere in his life. Sure he got married. He had to get married. In 1963 Wyoming, I'm sure it was a moral imperative. Yet, he can't commit to his wife, his children or a job. He is constantly moving from one job to the next. Though he loves his wife and children, he puts work before them (except when he spends time with Jack). It takes him away from everything. Ennis is the runner, the one who seems most uncomfortable in his skin. He is generally quiet, as talking seems too much of a connection to time or place.

Jack on the other hand wants to be noticed. He rides broncos in the rodeo. He also tries to pick up men in bars. But because the bars he frequents are located in Texas in the early '60's, failure and rejection dog him.

I am astounded that Jake Gyllenhaal is quoted as saying he thinks his character is straight. It's his character, Jack, who initiates the physical relationship. It's Jack who, after a disappointing visit with Ennis, goes to Mexico to have anonymous sex with men. And it is also Jack who, when faced with a beautiful rodeo gal making eyes at him across a crowded bar, fails to act. My theory: Gay.

However, Rodeo Gal's father owns a big farm machinery company so Jack marries her and goes to work for the old man. But he is constantly treated as a second class citizen. Even in his own house on Thanksgiving Day, Jack and his father-in-law battle over whether the TV should be on or off. Jack is concerned that his son not watch football, since the boy's mother spent 3 hours cooking the meal. His father in-law, on the other hand, thinks his grandson should watch the game so he grows up to be a real man. Subtext: Not like his daddy. It's Jack's anger at this subtle calling-out of his secret life that prompts him to stand up to the old man for the first time. Jack knows the danger of being thought of as queer. So, he threatens his father-in-law to prove the old man wrong. Jack's trying desperately to fit his square self into a round world.

Many consider the Stonewall Uprising as the inaugural event in the gay rights movement. It was in June of 1969, New York City, Christopher Street. This was a world away from the likes of Jack and Ennis. Not only had they no hope of any such movement touching their lives, they seemed too caught by their own emotional circumstances to notice. it's no wonder that Jack stares into the distance of Brokeback Mountain, grudgingly admitting his frustration: "I wish I knew how to quit you." But Ennis is much more resigned to his pain: "If you can't fix it you gotta stand it."

I enjoyed this film and I recommend it. But here's why i call this a Dick Flick. If this story were about two women going through exactly the same thing, it would be dubbed a chick flick. The sex would not be portrayed as brash and desperate, which would be the reality for such women, had they the same experience as Brokeback's main characters, but as something very sensual. 'Cause let's face it, Americans are much more comfortable with women being sexual together than they are with men. So, if women were the main characters, we'd see fire light, hear soft music. Or if it had to be gritty, one of the women would have to be a prostitute. Then it would be okay for them to be less than physical sexual ideals. It would be a different film.

Oh, how I wish that, as a women, my experience was not considered gender specific.

Preview - War of the Worlds: The Dickiest Flick

2006-01-07T00:02:00.000-08:00

Could it be Tom Cruise's mere presence on the screen? Or is it perhaps the ancient and obviously not updated prose of H.G. Wells' original book? Either way, the dick was flyin' and the flick was dyin'.

More to come after I've had some sleep.

The 40 Year Old Virgin: A Storm of Inexperience

2006-01-01T01:45:00.000-08:00

I resisted seeing "The 40 Year Old Virgin." I assumed it would be filled with frat boy humor and aesthetics, male sexism at its most low-brow. After seeing it, I find that I am correct. But it also features Steve Carell's character Andy Stitzer, played with all the grace, naivite and earnestness of a virgin.

Andy works as a stock clerk at the electronics store SmarTech (kudos to the film makers for not making an easy product-placement buck by setting it in a real electronics store). He is not particularly liked by his co-workers, as they find him rather strange. One day, however, they are short a fourth for poker and reluctantly invite him to play. It is there that he stuns and amazes his co-workers with the revelation that he is a virgin. Cal, who works with Andy in the stock room says, "That makes so much sense!" Then further elaborates, "I thought you were like a serial killer or something." Andy is sure Cal is kidding, but Cal assures Andy he is serious.

Being a virgin for a man is presented as not just unacceptable, but incomprehensible. It certainly goes against everything I have learned on TV about male sexuality. Men always want sex. At their core, it is what is most sought after. Right? Because they are wired to spread their seed in as much fertile ground as they can find. Right? And women are, if I am to believe most of what I see in American culture, a tool for a man to express his manness. If not, then why the increasingly microscopic focus on the love lives of men and the highly-maintained beauty of the women they love (or used to love)? Don't believe me? Let's count the cover stories about Brad and Angelina, Jen and Vince, Nick and Jessica, Ben and Jennifer.

At the poker game, Andy's SmarTech cohorts reveal themelves as the Greek Chorus of charicatured male sexuality. First, there's love addicted David, played by Paul Rudd. David had a 2 month relationship with a woman. He is stuck in the stasis of romantic obsession, believing beyond a shadow of a doubt, though the relationship ended 2 years ago, that she is The One. Then there's Cal. He is sloppy, easy-going and always getting laid. His willingness to hook up with women is matched only by his indifference about who these women are. Then there's Jay. As the African American male, he is, naturally, the one who is cheating on his girlfriend non-stop. (Must white culture always mythologize the sexual appetites of African-American men? It is an outmoded and racist habit. Can we stop that now?) It is also Jay who says to Andy, "We're gonna get you laid. From now on, your dick is my dick."

Each of the men try to school Andy with their brand of sexuality. And yes, hilarity ensues. Andy is a cleverly written and beautifully acted character. Fish out of water stories can be a comic boon, and this film is a sterling example of such a formula going very right.

It is refreshing that, finally, Andy finds his way to the bedroom on his own terms. Catherine Keener's Trish is a surprisingly well-rounded character. She is both a sexually experienced woman (with three children and a grandchild), and a very vulnerable real-life person with quirks and insecurities and talents and charms. It is clear that she is kind and accepting of Andy, but is not a Hollywood arm charm who will love him no matter what. There are issues. And Andy and Trish deal with them with all the awkwardness that is real life.

What I found completely disappointing was Andy's reason for staying a virgin. He tells Trish, after finally confessing to her his horrible truth (horrible because he was shamed by everyone around him for never having had intercourse with a woman), that he must have been waiting for her. Yes, we see him in a series of flash-backs having a clumsy and difficult time with the women he's dated. He seems accident prone around sex. But my disbelief suspension mechanism is challenged by the assertion that not one of these women was kind and compassionate enough to weather his storm of inexperience. Indeed, his previous partners are depicted as man-eating sex fiends. Another staple of the Hollywood stereotype diet: The Madonna-Whore. In this case, Andy's sexual forays were marred by a propensity for choosing unforgiving, sex-starved/crazed women.

I loved the ending of this film. It put an absurdity-wrought period at the end of the virgin sentence. It played with New Age gender roles in a wonderfully irreverent way. And it punctuated a great and utterly absent concept for a Hollywood rom-com: That real relationships are based on patience, love and acceptance. And that process can be incredibly funny.

"The 40 Year Old Virgin" was also one of the top 5 grossing movies of the summer, and perhaps the year.

Universal Gender

2005-12-31T12:29:00.000-08:00

From an article in the New York Times about the lack of women directors on Broadway:

ROBYN GOODMAN
Ms. Goodman is a producer whose plays include "Avenue Q" and the forthcoming "Barefoot in the Park."

"Perhaps we should be asking why female playwrights are still marginalized and why their plays are considered to be gender specific while men's plays are considered to be universal."

And this attitude is clearly present in Hollywood, as well. Robyn Goodman, you are my heroine! If there is only one point I hope to communicate in this blog, it is the above sentiment exactly.

Review of the 40 Year Old Virgin is still to come.

The 40-Year-Old Virgin

2005-12-16T22:19:00.000-08:00

Review is coming. As I'm about to leave for a winter wonderland back east, I'm hoping I have lots of "cabin" time.

Off-Topic: Eminem

2005-12-12T21:00:00.000-08:00

I think they'll be coming any minute, the Feminist Re-education Coalition. They'll bust down my door just as I'm blasting "Lose Yourself" from my new Eminem CD. Calmly, gently, they'll wrap me in a blanet, as though a babe lost in the wilds of the Urban Cold. And I will sit with them for a week or so, listening to Bitch and Animal's "Pussy Manifesto" ("I'm tired of my genitalia being used to put people down!" "That was so pussy of you to help me move.") and reading old issues of Ms. magazine.

You know...or not.

I avoided watching "8 Mile" or buying any of Eminem's music for a long time because of his lyrics about women. To call his words objectifying would be in the class of understatement akin to "the U.S. government likes to spend money on guns." Why the change of heart? He went to rehab and then wrote a song called "When I'm Gone." It is both self-reflective and self-depricating, a seeming window into his personal tortures that few artists allow. I think this might be the most honest thing he's ever written. Granted, I haven't listened to all of his CDs. I bought "Curtain Call" a greatest hits package. And I may buy his future CDs, depending on how things go.

Old fans say he's lost his edge. I say he's getting conscious, coming closer to the insights of "Lose Yourself" and "Sing for the Moment." But I am, no doubt, an anamoly of an Eminem fan. I'm not in my teens or 20's. I don't listen to much gansta rap. And I don't have the patience to look past the sexism that shrouds nearly every hip-hop artist's repertoire. But I am forgiving. I am willing to open up when someone looks as though they're doing something different. And I think Eminem is doing something different. But we'll see. I mean, you can't just cast aside the kind of aggression he's got and expect to live happily divorced from it forever. Maybe he'll take up boxing.

Mr. & Mrs. Smith

2005-12-04T14:30:00.000-08:00

Action figures domesticated for your amusement.

I don't think it's a good sign, when watching a film, to imagine what the pitch meeting sounded like. "O.K., we've seen action stars do all kinds of things. But what would they be like," significant pause during which I image Simon Kinberg raised his eyebrows with a look of knowing revelation, "at home?" the formula-brained screen writer might've rhetorically asked from the visitor's chair. He's the writer of "X-Men 3" (in production) and--not a big surprise--"XXX: State of the Union." Though the latter didn't star Vin Diesel (Ice Cube carried on the name), I have a hard time believing the script would stray much from the Dick-heavy formula of its predecessor. Therefore, I am not much surprised by the Dick Flickness of "Mr. & Mrs. Smith."

The film begins with the title characters in marriage counseling. Immediately, we understand that they are two people living very separate lives, with no idea that the other is also a spy. The therapist asks, "How often do you have sex?" And Jolie deadpans, "I don't understand the question."

So, the first job we see each of them do establishes who they are and how they manage their careers and, by extension, their lives. Naturally, it's imperative that we see Angelina Jolie's Jane Smith posing as a Dominitrix in order to get her mark. She is dressed in fishnets, over the knee spikey heeled vinyl boots w/matching strapless mini-dress--all black. Her swarthy victim is delighted to see her. She asks him, while she strikes him with a riding crop, if he's been a bad boy...snore...And then says, "Have you been been selling guns to the bad guys?" Twist, snap! She breaks his neck, makes a speady and flashy getaway. Lowering herself on a pully 20 or 30 stories down, her pink-lined black shiny coat billows around her waist. See, the pink lining is so we know that even though she looks cold and calculating on the outside, she's really just a soft, feminine woman like the rest of us. She's just dying to let that pink lining come out from the black exterior of her heart. Inside, she just wants to be a girl!

Brad Pitt's John Smith is a seeming bungler. His first on-screen hit begins when he stumbles into the lair of the as-yet-absent Lucky and convinces Lucky's cronies that he, John Smith, is nothing more than a dumb guy, overloaded on liquid courage. The silliness ensues; we see a montage of him playing with the cronies, betting with them, drinking with them. But when Lucky walks in, outraged that someone is in his seat, John Smith the Assasin turns on and quickly kills his poker buddies and Lucky.

First unfortunate dynamic: She's cold and calculating and always in control, he's play-by-instinct, slightly hair-brained and seems always favored by luck as much as skill. When their paths cross on the same job, this is exactly what we see. While relieving himself in the desert-scene of this anonymous-to-them confrontation, he sees he has inadvertentely peed on himself. She witnesses this and it helps her identify him as her adversary. She meanwhile is confidently holed up in a make-shift bunker surrounded by surveillance equipment and computers. He's in a sand buggy and carrying a rocket launcher. Sophisticated vs. Simple. Can the emasculation be far behind? He just needs to find his masculinity and he'll be fine.

Why must it be that her power diminishes his own? What about an even footing? I know, I know...that's not entertaining. I'm sure the filmmakers would call them archtypes. I call them cliches, stereotypes, only because the film industry has been using them for so long.

And it's at this point that Vince Vaughn's Eddie notes, "You had your ass handed to you by a girl?" Happily, John Smith is not so incredulous as his partner. Nor so transparently sexist.

Why do women have to be called girls in action movies? Even in "Contact" with Jodie Foster, James Woods' character refers to her at the end as "the girl". The girl? The fucking girl? SHE JUST FACILITATED THE DISCOVERY OF ANOTHER LIFE FORM IN THE UNIVERSE AND SHE'S A GIRL???? Obviously, I am not a fan of this. Now, culturally, I don't think women being called girl is necessarily always a bad thing. I call myself and my friends girls from time to time. But it describes another aspect of my personality, and is not ever, as in the example above, diminutive. It's kind of like black folks. They can use a racial epithet to refer to one another and it's OK; but white folks just can't say that word. I'm afraid I feel the same way about men saying "girl."

I suppose one blessing in this is that the woman, at least, isn't the one who is action-challenged (When they first fight together, and he hands her a gun she says, "Why do I get the girl gun?") And John Smith isn't really clueless. He's just got a frat-boy vibe. His secret HQ is in a dilapidated looking warehouse. An old and unattractive motherly woman (den mother?) hands him his papers from her cluttered desk. Jane's hide-out is on the 50th floor of a Lexington Avenue office building. Her company's front is I-Temp Technology Staffing and her office is peopled exclusively with beautiful women who are carbon copies of Jane. They all wear form-fitting clothes which are black and white. Their office is sleek, shiny and extremely high-tech.

Yada, yada, yada...they find out they've been hired to kill each other. Sparring ensues. As they fight, they realize that they actually really love each other and the fighting turns them on and is followed by the ultimate make-up sex. They finally talk about work, what they've been doing, who they've been killing, etc. Sadly, the rest of the world wants them dead. So they must unite against a common enemy.

I think this is where the Dick Flick veers into Chick Flick territory for a moment. During a chase scene, they talk about their relationship in between firing at the bad guys.

The final showdown happens at a home store, a symbol that what they're really fighting for is the same thing that any married couple fights for: hearth and home, stability and companionship. See? They're just like us! There's this really dumb bit of action choreography where they're firing at the bad guys, and are sort of hugging each other as they do so. I guess it's meant to show us their growing love.

The film ends with them back in the marriage counselor's ofice, happy and glowing. Her hair is not pulled back in a tight bun as at the film's start, but frames her face in cascading curls. Her skirt is very short. Pitt's John Smith says, "Ask us the sex question again." To which the therapist stumbles over his words.

So, it all worked out because she was willing to be more feminine and he was willing to be more masculine. Just like in the real world.

Ali G. Indahouse

2005-11-29T20:33:00.000-08:00

Um, no eugenics for now.

Ali G. began as a character on Britain's "The 11 O'Clock Show." Ali G. was the "voice of the youth" sent out to interview people about significant current events. Apparently, he had such a knack for this, that he was given his own show in 2000. He would interview very well-known and important people and then engage them in absolutely ridiculous discussions. Though I haven't seen the show, I admire the idea of interview blasphemy.

Sacha Baron Cohen stars as "Ali G." a character he has played for two successful T.V. shows, first in the U.K. and now here in the U.S. His vibe? He's a wanna-be gangsta. He speaks in the patois of "Brit-hop," is covered in blinged out clothes and requisite gold and ice. His car's windshiled is labeled: "Ali G." over the top of the driver's side and "Ma bitch" over the top of the passenger's side. He is obsessed with his penis, is a clumsy but persistent "player," and seems utterly clueless and out of the "reality loop." And that leads me to my first difficult question: Who, exactly, is Sacha Baron Cohen lampooning in his portrayal of Ali G.? White kids who wanna be black? Suburban kids who want to be urban? Black American hip-hop culture? English culture?

I think the answer to that question is: All of us. Anyone who ever takes television seriously, who believes that out culture isn't as sick as it just may be. Because what he does is truly grotesque. But it's also funny.

Is it a Dick Flick? Yes.

(1) Created for a male audience? Yes. I have never known women to be quite so tickled by penis humor as are men. In the opening dream sequence, we see his body's silhouette on a wall--after he has faced down a gang of 20 L.A. gangsters firing automatic weapons--made out of the bullet holes. Utterly unscathed, he steps away from the wall to reveal that his profile inclues a 2 foot schlong.

He then "liberates" a couple of "ho's" from an evil pimp. He first admonishes the pimp's sexist treatment of the women. When the pimp is scared away by Ali G.'s dream-induced fierceness, the women join Ali G. in his low rider and proceed to give him a blow job, naturally noting that his size will demand both their attention. He wakes up to find his dog, Tupac, liking his crotch. "Wha' evah," Ali G. shrugs sheepishly.

(2) Catering to and reinforcing male and female stereotypes? Uh-huh. His grandmother is an overly cheerful clueless individual who walks into his room and urges him out of bed as though he were a child. Ali G.'s girlfriend, whom he calls "Me Julie" is a nurse. Though she's tough, she also stays with a guy whom she constantly witnesses scamming on other women. And for the occassion of a state dinner, she wears a horribly inappropriate dress which Ali G. bought for her. Final tipping point, she stands by her man. Lastly, there is the beautiful but power hungry Kate Hedges, assistant to the evil Deputy Prime Minister. It's her change of heart that saves the day. But when she gets into a monologue about her transformation, she is unceremoniously interupted by Ali G. who covers his ears and declares, "Boring!"

For the men, Ali G. himself is one big stereotype. The character's a white kid who wants to be a gangsta. He wants to be tough and wants to sleep with any woman he desires. He is an oversexed, braincell deficient stoner.

The Prime Minister in the story is a bit of an idiot and easily manipulated by his second-in-command, the deputy Prime Minister (and if I'm not clear on Parliamentary hierarchy, please forgive me). Ali G. travels with a posse as clueless as he is. They feign the same gangsta cred, but are equally bankrupt. Getting stoned and watching porn is their heaven.

(3) Often pandering to male fantasies including but not limited to, women, power and sports? As the above illustrates, yes. A thousand times yes. I've got three words: Two Foot Penis!! I think this relates to the power fantasy. As for women, I think it's a fantasy that a self-respecting woman would wear the dress "Me Julie" wore to the state dinner (basically, it was an intricate series of gold chains over a hot pink two piece bathing suit, and included a matching feather boa). And of course, Ali G. gets respect in Parliament. Though I'm sure if he'd been mocking the House of Representatives, I'd be laughing a bit harder.

Now, I understand how all of the above could be taken as me having no sense of humor. Not so. I found the movie very funny, at times. I think my favorite laugh was the dog crotch licking scene, especially Ali G.'s tentative, Wha'evah. There's no doubt that this movie did not try to be any more than it was: crude humor appealing to the 10 year old in all of us.

I just wish seeing women half-naked and submissive wasn't a necessary plot device. Sacha Baron Cohen was on his way to a Ph.D when he was redirected by acting's pull. I wonder if this film could have been smarter, more inventive and less pandering if he'd actually gotten his doctorate. Yeah...no, I don't think so either.

Happy Tryptophan Overload Day!

2005-11-24T23:26:00.000-08:00

I hope everyone enjoyed the holiday. I'll be writing more this weekend. Need to do some research on eugenics, however, to write about "Ali G. Indahouse."

Yes, I'll explain...

Elektra

2005-11-23T22:56:00.000-08:00

Color me surprised. I was ready for Jennifer Garner's Elektra to be a fleshy heroine, full of pout and working her feminine wiles a la Sydney Bristow under cover. Such was not the case. Despite the Dick Flick-esque scantily clad clothing during fighting scenes--and really, all we saw were a little bit of cleavage and some belly: exceedingly tame for the likes of a comic book based production--she was sensibly dressed, an appropriately cagey and troubled serial killer. And all the things American directors have learned from Asian cinema were present: Wire work, of course, the requisite band of evil ninjas (The Hand), an arch enemy (SPOILER) who killed her mother. Let's not forget all of the kicking and martial arts and all the cool settings for a fight. My favorite was the large, balconied room in which the arch enemy sets aloft and billowing all the white furniture covers.

So, where are the subtle and not-so-subtle stereotypes? Of course, the evil band had to be Asian--cunning and supernatural. The savior/father figure in the film? An old white guy. He's blind, which begs the question: To what is he blind? Human suffering? The needs of others? Perhaps he is blind to personality, availing his senses only of a person's essence? He is the ultimate sensei, teaches Elektra and (SPOILER) the 13-year-old girl whom Elektra would save. But he also forces Elektra out of his school so she can find out for herself how to use her power for good, to claim power in a way that will not compromise but rather feed her own heart. Why must a man be the catalyst for this? Why could not it be a woman? To heal the punishing way her father treated her in her youth? "Push, push, push!" Dad shouts at her in the pool when she's a young girl.

But I still don't understand why female warriors always have to dress in such sexy gear. I realize that this is a comic book tradition, but what does it do for the story? I am not, I'm afraid, very well schooled in that medium. Therefore, I don't understand drawing women with figures that resemble Barbie Dolls (a toy quite rigorously marketed to young girls). Perhaps the creators of such comic books, usually men? would have their young male audience believe that this is how a brave woman dresses when she is being brave. That is one sick joke to play on a culture.

Now, we did have a Vixen character (Typhoid?) who swept in in long, dark hair, black sways of a long, open silk robe, hotpants, plunging neckline, knee boots, a sickly green manicure and a snarl. Her skill? Stuff dies when she touches it and if she blows on you or kisses you (why the women warriors gotta kiss? You sure as hell aren't gonna see that when the opponents are men), you could die or at least get really sick and your face gets all veiny. She is evil, therefore she must dress in such garb. Right? Right? I mean, it simply wouldn't do for her to have the green manicure, long, dark hair and wear--I don't know--some pants? Hell, at least turn the hot pants into a long billowy skirt. We don't see her use her legs to fight, so it's not like fish net legs are part of her strategy.

One of the things I love about Jennifer Garner is that she is a curvey woman. She's got a butt and powerful ab muscles, maybe a bit of swayed back that keeps her stomach from being concave. She is not an Angelina Jolie stick figure with outsized breats. This is very refreshing. So, on her a little bit of cling goes a long way. I'm glad the film makers and costumers recognized that. All I'm saying is, it could have been much worse (see Halle Berry in Catwoman).

As for her role, I was very heartened to see that her awkwardness and vulnerability were not belied by a skimpy wardrobe. Frankly, she dressed as I would--sensibly in form fitting jeans and a nice t-shirt (though she can buy much nicer t-shirts than me on my blogger's salary). It became very clear very early on why she felt compelled to fight and kill. First, as she says to her protege, it's what she's good at. And second, it's what fate seemed to hand her. But what was so lovely and human about her character is that she redeemed herself and her life in a wonderful way. She set right what she could in the present, instead of continuing to live in the anger of the past. This is a very human struggle, and not one designated for only a man or a woman.

So, this is where the gender neutrality comes. And at just the right moment. She finds the power in herself to heal, and can therefore heal another, who need not follow in her violent footsteps.

Sick Dick Flicking

2005-11-22T22:13:00.000-08:00

Yes, it's true. Only three posts in and your critic has fallen ill. No matter. I have a video store membership! And it's right across the street.

Tonight rented: "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban," "Elektra," and "Ali G Indahouse." I saw Sacha Baron Cohen (a.ka. Ali G.) interviewed on the Daily Show. He seemed a bit stunned by what he gets away with. I took that as humility, and I liked it. My concern, having passed over renting the film many times for the scantily clad women on the cover, is that he will disappoint. By that I mean: He will make an absolutely wonderful satire of modern mores, lampooning racism, classism, materialism, conservativism and completely miss sexism. I am not surprised by this anymore.

(An aside here: When I refer to sexism, I am referring to both male and female stereotypes. For instance, Sacha Baron Cohen appears to be playing a gangsta-wannabe, replete with not only the objectification of the women around him, but also himself. This stereotype seems to cast itself as having an uncontrolable and uncontrolled libido, and are "made" to do things by women. How sad is it that, on both sides of the gender grass, no one seems able to take responsibility for their actions toward the opposite sex, or to claim their power? What, as a culture, have we done? And I'm not talking about the kind of power where a person forces themselves on another, or is manipulative. I'm talking about the real power that comes from being truly responsible for ones actions, and compassionate towards others.)

Even on The Daily Show, arguably the best show on television (I sold my TV and TiVo rig, etc, because I could no longer justify allocating such resources for the sake of one program), that boys-will-be-boys-objectifying-women mentality still seems righteously intact. I plan on asking Jon Stewart about it the next time I go to NYC and am an audience member.

At any rate, I think I'm pulling a Bob Dole here. Wasn't he the one during his campaign against Clinton who reviewed films he hadn't seen? So, I will wait to give the full report.

Upcoming:
"Indahouse" Impressions
Why Harry Potter films are neutral
Why the "Charlie's Angels" franchise is Dick Flicks in Disguise

Till then, I'll be resting.

XXX: Covered in Tattoos and Rap Sheets

2005-11-21T21:47:00.000-08:00

I go through phases where all I do is watch the films of one actor until I've seen all of their movies. Sometimes I don't get to see all of them. But I will argue that in seeing the most popular of their films, I am getting the best idea of an actor's affect on the culture. A lot of Nicholas Cage's movies made me want to do something really goofy or really moral. After viewing the most-available in Vin Diesel's ouvre, I really wanted to drive fast cars and have sex with men who were covered in tattoos and rap sheets. (Happily, this urge faded quickly). Interestingly, I didn't have such a strong reaction to the films of Daniel Day Lewis. After seeing his movies, mostly I just wanted to sit and think or talk with a friend about what I'd seen. Although, I can't negate the strong urge to drink tea while engaging in one of the aforementioned post-viewing activities.

Let's begin our Dick Flick investigation with a film that, I'm sure we'll all agree, smacks of dick and flick. I'm speaking, of course, of Vin Diesel as "XXX." I knew I would never see the film when I watched the previews. Knew it not only wasn't for me, but it would make me angry when I saw the scantily clad, 1 dimensional women hanging on the arms of rippling-muscled, 2 dimensional men. When I did finally see this movie, knowing I would eventually write about it, I was taken with Vin Diesel's sex appeal. He's got plenty of it filling out his t-shirts and growling out his lines like a sated lion. XXX is an action sports star who consistently breaks the law doing unbelievable stunts. Early in the film we see his character steal a politician's red corvette and drive it off a bridge. The car--and Mr. Diesel's character--plummet toward the rocky terrain far below. The car's crash becomes the exclaimation point to XXX's tirade against the politician. Mr. Diesel, however, is wearing a parachute and glides to the safety of his waiting posse. In the next scene this same posse, made up entirely of young white men, greet him with all the urban street slang I would expect in a DMX vehicle.

Sadly, the woman in the film, though tough, ends up being the stereotype of hooker with a heart of gold. She works for Russian intelligence. But she's apparently so patriotic that she's been sleeping with a terrorist for two years, even though Russian intelligence has abandoned her. So, Vin Diesel, now working undercover for U.S. intelligence, needs to save her. And, naturally, doing so also means kissing her and eventually sleeping with her. Oh, what the hell! She's pretty, she's always wearing tight revealing clothes (she is sleeping with a Russian terrorist, after all) and she neeeeeeds him.

Meanwhile, as he gets in good with the Russian terrorists, they give him a surprise in his room. When he opens the door, he sees the room glowing with candles and a woman gyrating on a post of his large, red-velvet-bedecked canopy bed. He takes off his shirt (this is where all the women in the audience want to be with him and all the men want to be him) and, following the woman onto the bed smirks, "The things I'm gonna do for my country."

Yada, yada, yada...He saves the day. He just had to be a guy who got in trouble with the law for being too clever and daring a criminal, know a lot about cars (to get in good with the terrorists) and be willing to sleep with any woman who presented herself to him. And it just so happens that all the women in the movie were thin and pretty and stylish and two were willing to have sex with a man they didn't know. Huh. I don't know about you, but I smell a fantasy.

I realize that a lot of films are now based on comic books--excuse me--grahic novels. But need the characters be 2 dimensional, like so many colored newsprint pages?

Why Dick Flick?

2005-11-21T14:00:00.000-08:00

It was a chilly March Manhattan night, when the term Chick Flick first stung me. I had just left the engagement party of a close friend, and fellow party-goers and I were all happily tired and rather stuffed from the legendary restaurant's fine Italian food. I had asked one guy, Have you seen the movie --? He hadn't. And then another guy in our party, Matt, said seemingly as an explaination of the film's substance and why it was easily missed, "Chick flick." I shot Matt a disbelieving look.

It was then I realized, that even really cool, sweet guys like Matt could be blinded by a cultural shorthand like Chick Flick, and not connect with it's dismissiveness.

From Wikipedia: The term chick flick is slang, sometimes slightly derisive, for a movie which is designed or considered to appeal mainly to women, and generally focusing more on romance or relationships. Many romantic comedies or films with a lot of female characters are likely to be put in this category.

Yup, derisive. That about sums it up. it was after that sidewalk revelation that I started thinking to myself, well, then what's a Dick Flick? It was an interior monologue for a long time, never shared with others for fear of being labled "man hater." But I assume that men who talk about Chick Flicks are not labeled "women haters." Just realists, yes? And as a friend of mine noted, "It's also much more socially acceptable to call a woman a chick than to call a man a dick."

Since beginning my Dick Flick research in earnest over the past year, I have realzed why the term Chick Flick came into being: Because the vast majority of films are geared towards male audiences.Chick Flick, therefore, describes an anomally in the film world. But I would argue that the majority of other films are indeed gender specific. And maybe the American female movie going populace have grown so used to this that it doesn't cross their minds. Scanning the movie times online, the charicatures of feminiity are so deeply ingrained that they hardly register anymore.

Sadly, this is also true of the charicatures of masculinity. But we are so consistently served up this shorthand for our culture and society that it makes absolutely no impression. It is written in invisible ink.

So, in this blog, I intend to explore the elements of Dick Flickness inherent in film today. And I very much look forward to your comments, complaints, queries and tirades. For having inspired this in you, gentle reader, I will have gotten you thinking about it.

Yours,

The Critic