I haven't seen the movie yet, but the hype surrounding the new Cameron Diaz film "The Sweetest Thing" is already making me puke. Billed as a female kick-ass answer to "American Pie" and the other gross-out comedies, it has writers for USA Today squeezing out breathless nuggets like "a no-holds-barred, shock-'em-till-they-scream comedy," with headlines suggesting that we have entered a whole new realm for women in Hollywood. Further proof is offered in the guise of "Bridget Jones' Diary" and "Kissing Jessica Stein," two movies that allegedly possess characters that "forget about Mr. Right and go for Mr. Right Now," which is such an unbelievable clich that I'm amazed it is still accepted as humor currency.
Obviously USA Today is no hotbed for cultural bellwethers, either past or present, and I've been subjected to the schlocky editors that force their minions to come up with pieces like this. However even putting aside that "Kissing Jessica Stein" and "Bridget Jones' Diary" had nothing to do with a woman's emancipation from priggishness, the mere mention of "The Sweetest Thing" as some sort of victory for women has got to make even casual feminists blind with rage. From what I can gather, hijinks ensue from some actress or another getting stuck mid-fellatio, and then some sperm ends up on someone's dress, and, well, whatever. The point is, these things are now happening to women in movies, and we're all supposed to be psyched that chicks are finally getting to be trashy, promiscuous and uncaring in their sexual conquests, a la "Sex in the City" (cited as a major influence by every actor/writer in the piece).
Producer Cathy Konrad said that the girls they met during auditions all squealed, "Oh my God, this is how my girlfriend and I are when we hang out and we're having a really nice night!" which is a quote about as disturbing as it is confusing. I don't suppose it occurred to Ms. Konrad that the dim-bulb morons they were auditioning for parts in this hunk of shit would have said just about anything to get a role; hell, we had forty of New York's finest stage actors tell us the same thing just to get into "The Pink House."
It's just that I don't see any equality in a rash of new movies that portray women as being purveyors of trash rather than just victims of it; in the final analysis, the actresses get the parts because they're hot and wear pants that show the crack of their asses. These movies also do nothing to quell the radically unfair ratio of men vs. women in movies females make up 51% of humanity, and yet movies are 85% about males. What's worse, movies about liberated sexual women have been around since the 1940s, leading me to believe that the collective memory of America's media is about 7 years. I mean, has anyone at USA Today seen "Looking for Mr. Goodbar," for fuck's sake? Diane Keaton blazed through more men in that movie in 1975 than Christina Applegate will know in her lifetime.
If feminism and artistic representation have been reduced to this bullshit, then our nation's women are really in trouble. I think if I have a daughter, I'm going to wire her with a listening device so I can hear if any of her vapid friends start swaying her in the wrong direction. I will have an IQ test for anyone entering my front door, and if they sleep over, they will be quizzed at breakfast. I am going to be Creepy Dad but she will thank me for it when she is president of NPR.
Speaking of white endeavors, Tessa and I played croquet on Meadowood's official lawn today, with instruction from Jerry Stark, ranked 17th in the world in this rarified sport. I wonder if he has a blood feud with David Goacher, the wily Brit ranked 16th. I know I would.
The Celextant, April 12, 2002
Took the pill around noon today, per Tessa's instruction to move it closer to morning apparently the pill made her a little wired. Still no effect. I'm beginning to tire of the difference between the English words "effect" and "affect." I hope to affect change in this matter. One of the effects of SSRIs like Celexa is to give the patient a "flat affect," which means that he/she doesn't feel much of anything for anybody. I hope the smaller dose affects this effect.
God, I'm clever. I wonder what SSRIs do for "tired sarcasm"
Posted by at April 13, 2002 01:53 AM