Author: Amber Leab

Bitch Flicks’ First Anniversary

Today marks the first anniversary of our site, and of our first post. If you want to know what Bitch Flicks is all about, go back and read our manifesto. Things said a year ago still ring true, and the need for women to engage in conversation about film and feminism certainly hasn’t decreased.

A big thanks to readers who have linked to the site.

Continuing with the project is much easier when we know people are reading–and responding to–our ideas. If you’ve linked to us and we haven’t noticed, let us know who you are.

We’d love to hear more from our readers, and encourage lurkers to comment. More voices mean better conversations. We moderate, but only to weed out the trolls.

Ripley’s Pick: Happy-Go-Lucky


Happy-Go-Lucky. Starring Sally Hawkins, Alexis Zegerman, Kate O’Flynn, Sarah Niles, and Eddie Marsan. Written and directed by Mike Leigh.

Poppy Cross (Hawkins, who won a Golden Globe for her performance) is a 30-year-old primary school teacher in London. She shares her flat with her roommate of ten years and lives a life filled with happiness. What feels at first like an innocent, fluff-filled movie is actually an examination of the difficulty of living life with a goal of happiness.

Time after time, Poppy’s optimistic outlook on life is tested. A rude worker in a bookshop doesn’t respond to her small talk, someone steals her bicycle, she injures her back, and her new driving instructor (Marsan) has what you could call a serious dark streak. Instead of reacting cynically, Poppy struggles to stay positive and, what’s more, create moments of happiness in the lives of others.

Effective teaching is a major theme of the film. Scott (her driving instructor) talks about the necessity of repetition in teaching, we see multiple scenes of Poppy and Zoe interacting with their young students, and we see a fantastic scene with a flamenco instructor who channels her heartbreak into passionate instruction. If ever there was a profession that requires optimism, Poppy—with her bold, confident, and fearless personality—makes a great spokesperson.

Perhaps the greatest struggle Poppy faces is the force of the status quo. Her outlook on life, which she shares with her friends and one sister, is summed up nicely by friend and coworker Tash (Niles), who relates what she tells her prodding aunts:

“No, I haven’t got a boyfriend. No, I won’t be getting married soon, and, no, I won’t be investing in a property with a mortgage in the near future, thank you very much.”

Amen, sister. The movie actually spends little time on social forces driving women, particularly, to settle down (except for one visit to the ‘burbs), though this always lurks in the background. The bigger struggles are the everyday events that drag us down, which makes this a nice little slice-of-life movie, with a minimal plot, and a major focus on character. Female friendship is at its heart, without the stock shopping and food footage that most films use to represent how women bond. As we know, bonding over consumption of material objects (whether they be chocolate, sexual conquests, or clothing) forms the most shallow of relationships. Happy-Go-Lucky is a film that realizes this fact.

Once you adjust to Poppy’s infectious (or, I found, slightly grating) personality, you’ll see a female-centered movie that just leaves you feeling good. Oh, and you’ll forever have Enraha. You’ll understand if you’ve seen it; that one sticks with you.

Movies We Won’t Review: Miss March and I Love You, Man

It’s not that we have anything against male-centered movies, it’s just that we have better things to do. These two, in particular, inspire staying home and saving our money. Check out what other female critics have to say.

I Love You, Man

MaryAnn Johanson of FlickFilosopher: Conform, Man, Conform

Renee Scolaro Mora of PopMatters: Man dating.

Betsy Sharkey of L.A. Times: Paul Rudd and Jason Segel star in a bromantic comedy that leaves behind any hope for some heart.

Miss March

Stephanie Zacharek of Salon.com: The comedians behind “The Whitest Kids U’ Know” cram their film debut with boobs and poo jokes — but end up with a serious stinker.

MaryAnn Johanson of FlickFilosopher (again): Virgin/Whore: The Movie

Rachel Saltz of The New York Times: Centerfold Sentiments

A Big WTF to the NYT

Published in the New York Times on Saturday, March 20, “An Entourage of Their Own” by Deborah Schoeneman, highlights the friendship of four women writing in Hollywood today: Dana Fox, who wrote What Happens in Vegas and the screenplay for The Wedding Date; Diablo Cody, who wrote (and won the Oscar for) Juno, the upcoming Jennifer’s Body, and the Showtime series The United States of Tara; Liz Meriwether, who is beginning a screenwriting career after a successful run as a playwright in NYC; and Lorene Scafaria, wrote the screenplay for Nick and Nora’s Infinite Playlist.

Here’s what’s great about the article: In these writers, we have four talented women who give us a positive model of the power of female solidarity, especially in an industry not known for such behavior. In the mode of ‘all publicity is good publicity,’ the article brings attention to women working in Hollywood, and wants to be about how these women navigate life, work, and success in a deeply sexist industry.

Here’s the trouble: “An Entourage of Their Own” appears in the Fashion & Style section.

Why are we reading a fashion article about these women? Especially when there’s very little discussion of fashion or personal style?

Okay, so the four women—who happen to be screenwriters in an industry hostile (at the very least) to powerful women—have a certain kind of style that is more hipster than glam…we guess. Fine. But the way the (female!) writer depicts these women, using the language of submissive sexuality, is atrocious.

Take the opening paragraph:

Cross-legged in one director’s chair was Lorene Scafaria — black pants, brown high heels, amused gaze — leaning in to ask the next question. Waiting to answer, cross-legged in another, was Diablo Cody, struggling to keep her short blue dress from riding up.

This is a style piece (and lifestyle, to be more exact), but why the need to immediately objectify—and sexualize—the women, particularly Cody, with her near-exposure? The first four paragraphs include “cross-legged,” “crossed legs,” “gaze,” “leaning in,” “struggling,” “short blue dress,” “riding up,” “gorgeous,” “naked,” “plunged,” “revealing,” “intimate glimpse,” and “nudity.” At this point, readers are not thinking about fashion or style–much less what they’re interested in writing about–we’re thinking about these women as sexualized objects.

The writer is quick to remind us how hard they work, and how few women can achieve their level of success (!) in Hollywood, and how that success can’t be attributed to their looks, but, just as quickly, she undermines their hard work by quoting men in the biz.

“When you read a screenplay, it doesn’t come with a picture on the cover,” said Adam Siegel, president of Marc Platt Productions, a producer who is friends with all four women and has worked with all except Ms. Cody. “I know a few beautiful women, but none of them write like Dana, Liz, Lorene or Diablo.”

What, exactly, does beauty have to do with writing? If their success cannot be attributed to their good looks, why the incessant need to talk about it? Why is coverage of female filmmakers relegated to the style section of the paper? Finally, if we’re going to have a style piece about the “Fempire,” how about some discussion of their personal style and the way it reflects their confidence, or how it differs from other women who have achieved a similar level of success and power in Hollywood?

Reminder

Tune into your local PBS station tonight for the premiere of ARUSI Persian Wedding on Independent Lens.

Description from Women Make Movies:

For filmmaker Marjan Tehrani and her brother Alex, growing up Iranian-American has always meant being caught between two worlds. With unique perspective, intimate storytelling, and rich historical footage, Tehrani brings to life a compelling examination of U.S.-Iranian relations through the personal journey of her brother Alex and his fiancée Heather’s trip to Iran to hold a traditional Persian wedding. The young couple embark on an amazing trip, set against a fascinating history, in this heartfelt film that reveals a rare glimpse of Iran and its people beyond politics.

Update: My local PBS stations aren’t airing this tonight. If you can’t watch tonight, check tomorrow (Wednesday). If you do catch it tonight, leave your thoughts in the comments section.

Rachel Getting Married: A Response

Last October, Stephanie reviewed Rachel Getting Married after seeing it in the theater. After rereading her post, I’d like to offer my response.


First, the poster is a poor representation of the film. While you could argue that Kym (Hathaway) is the main character, the movie is really about her and her sister, Rachel (DeWitt). The background of the movie is much more in the foreground, unlike the poster. All the characters in the film are complicated, conflicted, and ultimately complicit in the family tragedy. What Stephanie said about the anger and guilt rings true, as well as the unsentimental nature of the story. Each character behaves in cruel, selfish ways; Kym’s narcissistic, inappropriate speeches counter Rachel’s bratty outbursts of jealousy. Yet there are some weak points in an otherwise very, very good movie.

The mother, Abby (Winger), always stays on the periphery of the story, with both sisters desiring her comfort and love. Her inability to give her daughters what they want is realistic, but in a film where the two main characters change over the course of a weekend, and grow to accept each other in subtle ways, an unchanging, hard mother stands out and takes on the role of the ‘responsible party’ in the family’s tragedy. Her coldness and distance, compared to the father’s overbearing nurturing of his daughters (he’s constantly stroking faces and fixing food), makes her an easy target for blame. The reversal of stereotypical gender-based reactions to tragedy is particularly interesting, but I wonder if the flip is too complete, too easy. In other words, does the mother simply become the father? What kind of love are the sisters looking for from their mother? Do they need something from their father? If so, what?

Aside from what I see as the incomplete characterization of the mother, something that really bothered me is something I simultaneously love: the lack of back story. While it makes us more present in the film, it endlessly thwarts attempts at a reading. The documentary-style filming, too, frustrates viewers by hiding as much as it reveals. The family trauma is made abundantly clear, maybe too much so. In the first scene, we learn from a fellow rehab patient that Kym killed someone with a car. Once she gets home and stands for a moment in an empty child’s room, we can guess what has happened. We get several additional scenes that explain every detail of the accident. Yet, that’s not the source of her addiction. Kym was some sort of teen model, gracing the cover of Seventeen magazine while blasted on horse tranquilizers, and her family had the kind of money (whether it was hers or not) to send her to the premium rehab facilities.

Also, it’s impossible to ignore the multicultural cast of friends and family. We don’t know how a Connecticut WASP family came to be part of such a rockin’ crew, or how the bride and groom’s families all became so comfortable with each other on their very first meeting. While I admire the post-racial aspirations of the film, and thoroughly enjoyed the music, the actors seem more like Jonathan Demme’s crew than two families joining for the first time. The mixing of cultures (Caribbean and Hindu, specifically, with those intimate with “Connecticut’s complicated tax structure”) plays naturally in the movie, and never feels like a co-optation, but compared with the stark realism of the primary relationships, leaves viewers asking questions, testing our willing suspension of disbelief. I’d love to read the screenplay (written by Jenny Lumet), and see how my issues with the film manifest in the (original) script, and how much is Demme’s indulgence.

While this may seem like a negative review, the preceding are really my only complaints. I watched the movie twice, and liked it even better the second time around. I haven’t seen such a realistic family drama, with women who break common decency while ultimately remaining sympathetic characters. Further, I’m fascinated by stories that deal with the aftermath of the worst kinds of traumas, and that explore how we come to deal with the unfathomable, the unforgivable, and the unforgettable.

Documentary Preview: Arusi Persian Wedding

From the Independent Lens website:

When the Tehranis are finally granted their Iranian passports, Alex, a photographer, and his American bride, Heather, an art gallery administrator, decide to make a trip from New York City to Iran to have a Persian wedding—just as Alex’s own Iranian father and American mother did in 1968, when Iran and the U.S. were still allies. But traveling to Iran is complicated. As the couple prepares to leave, they must face the mixed reactions of their parents and friends, reports of war in the Middle East, bureaucratic headaches and their own nerves. In ARUSI PERSIAN WEDDING, Marjan accompanies Alex and Heather and documents their journey on film.

From Women Make Movies, see the premiere of Arusi Persian Wedding on PBS’s Independent Lens on Tuesday, March 17th. Check your local listings.

Ripley’s Rebuke: Vicky Cristina Barcelona

Welcome to the first installment of Ripley’s Rebuke, a series of reviews of films that pass Ripley’s Rule while remaining essentially misogynistic.
Written and directed by Woody Allen; starring Rebecca Hall, Scarlett Johansson, Javier Bardem, and Penelope Cruz.

I like Woody Allen, while admitting that his best work is (long) behind him. With all the accolades Vicky Cristina Barcelona has received, I decided to give it a shot.

Vicky (Hall) and Cristina (Johansson) are privileged college students spending two months of their summer in Barcelona; Vicky plans to study for her thesis on Catalan identity (despite not speaking a lick of Spanish), and Cristina tags along, hoping to find something about herself and art, after she devoted six months to making a 12-minute film she now hates (a humorous and revealing detail). Both young women fall for the same Spanish artist/lothario (Bardem), and a contemplation on the nature of love follows.

Vicky and Cristina represent the stereotypical blonde/brunette duo in film: the brunette is repressed, practical to a fault, cautious, and afraid; the blonde is adventurous, sexual, open, and fun. It’s almost as if these characters represent two halves of the same person. Vicky has a responsible businessman fiance back home in New York, while Cristina jumps into bed with the first Spanish man she meets–not knowing, of course, that Vicky is also hot for him. The three of them spend a weekend together, and a convenient little plot device ensures that Vicky will actually sleep with the artist first, but is soon left behind for the more sexually attractive (and less neurotic) Cristina.

Soon, Cristina moves in with Juan Antonio, and his ex-wife unexpectedly comes into the picture, providing the film some much-needed energy, and also its low point. Penelope Cruz as the seriously unstable Maria Elana barrels, shrieks, and smokes her way into a menage-a-trois relationship with Cristina and Juan Antonio. While the scenario sparks precious few laughs (in a film almost devoid of humor), a question haunts Cruz’s every scene: why did she win so much praise for this role? (For the record, Cruz won a Best Supporting Actress Academy Award, a Best Supporting Actress BAFTA Film Award, a Best Supporting Female Independent Spirit Award, Best Supporting Actress SAG Award, among others. The film also won Allen a Best Screenplay Independent Spirit Award and a Best Picture Golden Globe Award, along with numerous other nominations and wins.) Maria Elana’s hysteria is epic, almost nineteenth-century in its intensity, as she tries to commit suicide and murder during her limited screen time. We’re told she’s a better artist than her ex-husband (it’s worth noting that she accuses Juan Antonio of stealing her style, and he is the one who lives in the house they shared and who has artistic success), but also that she falls apart without him–and with him, until Cristina creates the triangularity that allows the relationship to work. And, yes boys, you get to see a brief scene of Scarlett Johansson and Penelope Cruz getting it on.

While all of Cristina’s sexy artistic madness happens, Vicky studies and regrets her choice of lifemate, Doug, who, despite his romantic gesture of flying to Barcelona for an impromptu marriage (with the promise of a lavish wedding back home, as previously planned), turns out to be a closed-minded dork. Vicky pines for Juan Antonio, endeared by his poet father and her surprise at perhaps (perhaps!) judging him too harshly. (Certainly there are no other sexy artists in Barcelona she could use to convince herself not to marry the man who planted that rock on her finger.)

In contrast to Penelope Cruz’s entire presence in the film, the high point, for me, comes at the end, when Cristina and Vicky head home, both resuming the lives they left behind, having come to no epiphany about the nature of love, having experienced no real growth or change of character. It’s bleak, it’s not funny, but it’s perhaps the most real and true moment of the entire film.

As for the need for a rebuke of this film, it (barely) passes the Bechdel Test, but does more to exploit its women than allow them to be full human beings. There are more than two named female characters, and they talk to each other, though almost every conversation is about men. There may be a brief line or two between Cristina and Maria Elana about photography, but soon after the conversation they kiss. And there’s nothing at all offensive about the kiss; it’s that there’s no believable passion–it seems like an act strictly performed for a male (ahem, Woody Allen) gaze. Further, Maria Elana objectifies herself for Cristina’s photography, posing as a prostitute in what passes for a rough part of town, mirroring the actual prostitutes that Cristina photographs while out with Juan Antonio.

Penelope Cruz deserved the Oscar for her role in Volver, not for her turn as a sexy shrieking cartoon character. The film deserves a rebuke for its pseudo-intellectualism about the meaning of love, and for the trite way it uses art and place. It deserves a rebuke for the flightiness and uncertainty of all of its female characters (including a weak turn from Patricia Clarkson, playing the ghost of Vicky’s future), while creating only confident, bold, male characters. Juan Antonio never seems to long for answers about love; he simply takes his conquests in stride, collecting lovers without thought. Women here don’t know what they want, and seem pathologically incapable of enjoying what they have or going after what they want.

Oscar Winners & Thoughts

Here’s a selection of Sunday night’s Academy Award winners.

Best Picture: Slumdog Millionaire

Best Original Screenplay: Dustin Lance Black for Milk

Best Adapted Screenplay: Simon Beaufoy for Slumdog Millionaire

Best Actress: Kate Winslet in The Reader (While many think Winslet won for the wrong role, I’m glad to see her win. She’s a phenomenal actress. Stay tuned for a review of Revolutionary Road, the movie that should have earned her the Oscar.)

Best Actor: Sean Penn in Milk

Best Supporting Actress: Penelope Cruz in Vicky Cristina Barcelona (Ms. Cruz is better than this role. The film earns our first Ripley’s Rebuke; stay tuned for the review.)

Best Supporting Actor: Heath Ledger in The Dark Knight

Best Director: Danny Boyle for Slumdog Millionaire

Best Foreign Film: Departures

Best Documentary: Man on Wire

I enjoyed last night’s show, which I do every year, on a subjective level. I liked the quirkiness, and think Hugh Jackman provided for a lot of laughs. The acting awards were presented well; I enjoyed the format of each actor’s performance introduced by a previous winner–a much more personal and substantial format than the usual movie clips. However, this style of presentation really highlights the way we (unfairly) privilege acting above all else in film. An actor, no matter how great his or her performance, would have nothing without an excellent character in a well-written story. I was happy to see the writing awards so early in the production, as the “technical” awards were presented in the order in which they actually happen in film (writing first, editing last). Let’s hope the producers can find a way to revamp the technical awards to puts emphasize the art of categories like writing and editing. Especially on the art of the screenplay.

Now that award season has come to an end, here’s to getting back to movies–and getting to some of those winning or nominated movies I’ve yet to see.

2008 Razzie Awards


Just for fun: The Golden Raspberry Awards for the worst films of 2008.

Worst Picture: The Love Guru

Worst Actor: Mike Myers in The Love Guru

Worst Actress: Paris Hilton in The Hottie and the Nottie

Worst Supporting Actor: Pierce Brosnan in Mamma Mia!

Worst Supporting Actress: Paris Hilton in Repo! The Genetic Opera

Worst Screen Couple: Paris Hilton & either Christine Lakin or Jorel David Moore

Worst Prequel, Sequel, Remake, or Rip-Off: Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull

Worst Director: Uwe Boll for Tunnel Rats, In the Name of the King, A Dungeon Siege, and Postal

Worst Screenplay: Mike Myers & Graham Gordy for The Love Guru

Worst Career Achievement: Uwe Boll