Comedy – Page 25 – Bitch Flicks

Ripley’s Rebuke: ‘Whitney’ versus Whitney

Even the promo shots for Whitney attempt retro, but come off as regressive.

After the season premiere of Parks and Recreation (Knope 2012!) and The Office last Thursday night, I left the TV on and caught the series premiere of Whitney, the new sitcom created by and starring comic Whitney Cummings.

I was first taken aback by the retro format of Whitney: it had a laugh track. To be more accurate, the show is taped in front of a live studio audience, but the frequency and monotonous tone of the laughter reminded me of nothing but a LAUGH sign flashing in front of the audience, and everyone there dutifully following the director’s cue.

What was far worse than the studio audience laugh track was the actual content of the show. Before I start sounding like a hater–a comedy created by and starring a woman is progress, right?!–let me say that I do sincerely hope the show gets better. Much, much better, and quick, or else I fear it may be canceled. Which may or may not be a good thing.

Warning: there are spoilers here if you haven’t seen the pilot yet, but I’m not going to ruin anything good, I promise.

Here’s the basic premise of the pilot: Whitney and her long-term boyfriend live together, and we see that familiarity in their relationship (she shaves her upper lip in front of him) has put a damper on their sex life. She tries “Spicing Things Up” (the title of the episode) with a little role playing. She finds a naughty nurse costume and, when the intended ravaging doesn’t take place, spends the rest of the episode still wearing the costume. Some other things happen, physical comedy, conversations between women in which other women are bashed, blah blah blah.

The show is a run of cliches. The episode kicks off with a wedding. The romance is gone between Whitney and her man, and it’s up to her to excite him (lest he run out and get it somewhere else, which is immediately presented as an option for him). A black woman appears as an emergency room nurse and is deemed “scary” by the star. A racist mother is played for laughs and deemed “eccentric.” There’s a joke about online stalking. And blackface.

The race fail cannot be ignored and is, unfortunately, par for the course on network television. Whitney is another show focusing on privileged white people, with a minority character or two thrown in for ‘flavor,’ but not featuring a person of color as a major character. The repetition of this scenario in show after show reminds us that institutional racism is far from a thing of the past.

There’s a lot more I could say on the previous point, but I want to focus on the contradictions of a show created by and starring a woman that participates in misogyny and sexism. Romance fades in relationships and people try to bring it back, and there’s ample room for comedy in that scenario. What bothers me most about the pilot of Whitney is that she wears the nurse costume for the entire second half of the episode, after taking her boyfriend to the hospital (I won’t tell you why he goes–it was the only thing that made me laugh). Was it to keep men watching the show? “Oh, we’ll trick MEN into watching by keeping the star in a humiliating skimpy costume! Brilliant! Hahahaha!” Was is supposed to be funny, showing us how silly and hapless Whitney is? It wasn’t funny, it was distracting. All I kept thinking was how I’d at least throw some sweatpants on before leaving the house.

This self-objectification (assuming Cummings has creative power in her show and chose to wear the costume) is nothing but enlightened sexism and does not, as the episode would likely have us believe, show that we’re post-feminist. Self-objectification is still objectification. Even if Whitney took the lead in going out to find a costume for role-playing, her body is on display–even if it’s part of a joke–for viewers to consume.

But here’s the kicker. The content of the pilot directly comes from Cummings’ standup–except it reverses her comedy. Here’s a clip of her bit on role playing, and how ridiculous it is for women to wear costumes to please men (warning: not safe for work):

Here, Cummings makes fun of the concept of role playing, whereas her character in the show willingly participates in it. I wonder if this reversal is supposed to show us how clueless the character Whitney is, how unenlightened she is, how willing to demean herself. This kind reading (giving the show the benefit of the doubt, hoping that it’s not THAT blatantly misogynist) doesn’t do the show any favors, either. Sure, take a cliche as the premise–but turn it on its head. Make us want to watch. Do something different.
I can’t say I have high hopes for the show to improve. Visit the show’s official website, and you’re greeted with a large picture of Cummings, with an open-mouthed smile, and if you click to another page, you’re greeted with more open-mouthed pictures. You can watch the full pilot here, if you’re interested in seeing a scantily-clad skinny white woman be objectified/objectify herself while failing to be funny.
Isn’t it time to move beyond this type of depiction of women? It’s not funny, and I won’t watch again.

I Don’t Know How She Does It: Most Misogynistic Film Reviews Ever


I Don’t Know How She Does It, starring Sarah Jessica Parker

I have no doubt that the recently released romantic comedy I Don’t Know How She Does It, starring Sarah Jessica Parker, reeks of the same sexist and misogynistic tropes that exist in most romantic comedies. However, the film probably at least attempts to make a complicated argument regarding how women with high-powered careers and a family struggle to balance both of them, especially in a society that still doesn’t offer pay equity, doesn’t insist on equal sharing of responsibilities in the domestic sphere (as evidenced by every study ever), and doesn’t fully embrace nontraditional roles in child-rearing (e.g. stay-at-home dads). Some reviewers even argue that this particular kind of film doesn’t matter anymore; we’re so far past this; it’s such an 80s issue. Because we’re so postfeminist, right? Um, wrong. The fact is, women in the workforce still, in 2011, contend with these issues. We’re asked to sacrifice our family for our career … or our career for our family … in a way that men have never been asked to do or, more importantly perhaps, have never been labeled Worst Father Ever for doing so.

I haven’t seen the film, so I can’t comment on how successfully or unsuccessfully it tackles these issues, or whether it ultimately validates the dominant ideology that women shouldn’t sacrifice family for career, or whether it works to move past its showcasing of upper-class privilege in an economic climate that certainly makes the career/family balancing act an important issue for all women. Unfortunately, I can, however, comment on how successfully or unsuccessfully film reviewers have discussed the film. Just reading the brief snippets of reviews on Rotten Tomatoes pissed me off. (You’ve been warned.) But two reviews in particular—Stephen Holden’s in the New York Times and David Cox’s in the Guardian—sent me over the fucking edge.

Holden begins his review by talking about Sarah Jessica Parker’s plague of “post-Carrie Parkeritis” and describes it as a curse “in which a star finds herself condemned to eke out the last drops of freshness from the role … that made her world famous eons ago.” He then goes on to compare Sarah Jessica Parker’s Sex and the City problem with Julia Roberts’ Pretty Woman problem, which he dubs “The Roberts Syndrome.” This is seriously problematic. Julia Roberts, since her role in Pretty Woman twenty years ago, has won an Oscar, has been nominated for several Oscars, has won several Golden Globes, has been nominated for two Critics’ Choice Awards (and won the Best Actress category), has been nominated for an Emmy and an Independent Spirit Award, has won about a million People’s Choice Awards, and is generally considered one of the most popular and talented actresses on the planet.

You don’t get to compare Julia Roberts’ entire career to Sarah Jessica Parker’s entire career just because they’re both women who became famous for playing a character the audience connected with. If we’re being honest about identifying a problem “in which a star [is] condemned to eke out the last drops of freshness from the role … [made] famous eons ago,” a more apt comparison might involve, oh, say … any successful male action star who keeps making the same action movies over and over and over and will only, forever, in his entire career, continue to make the same incessant action movies. Comparing one famous film star who has a vagina with another famous film star who has a vagina doesn’t make the comparison fucking true.

But it gets worse. Holden employs the most sexist language I’ve ever read in a New York Times film review. I’ll just pull some quotes, for starters, with the offending passages in bold:

“Although the movie is chock-full of smart one-liners, and Ms. Parker’s maniacally giddy Kate wages a full-scale charm offensive, the movie inadvertently makes Kate’s supposedly golden life look like a living hell.”

***

“The jittery momentum of the movie, directed by Douglas McGrath (“Emma,” “Infamous”), mirrors Kate’s frazzled state all too well.”

***

“But more often than not, Ms. Parker’s straining to be funny comes across as desperation to please.”

***

“Mr. Kinnear’s Richard is a near-cipher who reacts to Kate’s hysteria with mild exasperation, only raising his voice once (and not very loud).”

***

“A calm, enlightened, impossibly courtly, unattached widower who tolerates Kate’s every quirk and begins to fall in love with her, he is the polar opposite of a driven financial kingpin like Richard Fuld, the final former chief executive of Lehman Brothers.”

***

“The movie’s one unalloyed delight is Olivia Munn’s portrayal of Kate’s poker-faced assistant, Momo, a spiritual first cousin of Anna Kendrick’s Natalie Keener in “Up in the Air,” but icier and more robotic. Beneath Momo’s composure lurks a terror that leaks out when she learns she is pregnant.”

***

“Carrie Bradshaw flirted her way into mass consciousness in the late ’90s, when Ms. Parker was in her early 30s, and well before Sept. 11, two wars and a major recession dampened American exuberance. If Kate’s hyperkinetic cheer and shrill self-absorption are Carrie trademarks, 13 years after “Sex and the City” first appeared on television, their appeal has all but evaporated.”

Maniacally giddy. Full-scale charm offensive. Frazzled state. Desperation to please. Kate’s hysteria. Kate’s every quirk. A terror that leaks out when she learns she is pregnant. Icier and more robotic. Flirted her way into mass consciousness. Hyperkinetic cheer and shrill self-absorption. Straining to be funny. (Nice channeling of the douchebag Hitchens here.) Holden’s review employs sexist language—words and phrases traditionally used to define and identify the behavior of women—and unapologetically does so. Hysteria? Quirky? Frazzled? Shrill? No. Some people will inevitably argue (or silently think) that this isn’t a big deal. Make no mistake—these supposed “little” issues provide a fucking breeding ground for the “bigger,” more important issues women face daily. That’s just how it works.

It’s no secret that I lost a significant amount of respect for the New York Times when its botched coverage of a sexual assault did nothing more than condone rape and rape culture. In this case, Holden’s review perpetuates sexism and sexist attitudes in a much more subtle but no less significant way. I expect more than this from a supposedly progressive media organization such as the New York Times. (Sort of.) I also expect more from the fucking Guardian. What the hell, David Cox? If Holden’s sexism was subtle … Cox’s sexism is a full-frontal attack on women in the workforce:

“The family and the job keep making annoying demands, all of which she pluckily tries to meet.”

***

“He’s [Kate’s husband] trying to pursue a career of his own, but when junior falls down the stairs it’s Dad who has to take him to hospital, since Mom’s away on business yet again.”

***

“Hubby comes to appreciate that he’s got to do more of the housework. This surely is the way things ought to be …

It’s not only Kate who thinks so. Highly advantaged women often seem to assume they’re entitled to total fulfilment both at work and at home … If they don’t get it, they’ve been robbed.”

***

“Ambitious mums can try to turn their partners into house-husbands, but it would be only fair to tell them what they’re in for. Instead of expecting childless colleagues to cover for them, they could admit that mumps and nativity plays will come first, and accept the consequences, however unwelcome.”

***

“It’s like this, Kate. If you want to have it all, it’s your job to work out how to do it. If you can’t, give something up. But don’t expect the rest of us to underwrite your bliss.”

Wow. Instead of analyzing this completely misogynistic, mean-spirited, and resentment-filled mess of a film “review,” I’ll do something that will blow your fucking mind. Pretend you’re browsing the internet. You’re interested in a new film that’s come out about how difficult it is for men to juggle both their families and their careers. (Don’t laugh.) You stumble upon a review in the Guardian. It looks something like this:

“The family and the job keep making annoying demands, all of which he pluckily tries to meet.”

***

“She’s [his wife] trying to pursue a career of her own, but when junior falls down the stairs it’s Mom who has to take him to hospital, since Dad’s away on business yet again.”

***

“Wifey comes to appreciate that she’s got to do more of the housework. This surely is the way things ought to be …

It’s not only her husband who thinks so. Highly advantaged men often seem to assume they’re entitled to total fulfilment both at work and at home … If they don’t get it, they’ve been robbed.”

***

“Ambitious dads can try to turn their partners into house-wives, but it would be only fair to tell them what they’re in for. Instead of expecting childless colleagues to cover for them, they could admit that mumps and nativity plays will come first, and accept the consequences, however unwelcome.”

***

“It’s like this, Man. If you want to have it all, it’s your job to work out how to do it. If you can’t, give something up. But don’t expect the rest of us to underwrite your bliss.”

This version of the “review” is funny, ridiculous, difficult to follow (not to mention imagine), and sad. It illustrates the fact that men don’t have to “assume they’re entitled to total fulfillment both at work and at home” because our society says they’re entitled to it. Ambitious dads don’t have to “try to turn their partners into house-[wives]” because our society still says in 2011 that it’s preferable for women—not men—to stay home with the children. Men in the workforce aren’t “expecting childless colleagues to cover for them” because our society doesn’t expect men to carry the brunt of childcare responsibilities—that’s still women’s work. If men “want to have it all” it’s not “[their] job to work out how to do it” because our society has already worked out how to do it, often at the expense of women’s happiness and individual autonomy. (Side note: I find it nothing less than cruel and unusual that these expectations of women still exist, yet access to birth control, reproductive healthcare, and abortion is becoming increasingly elusive.)

The language of these two film reviews says much more about the reviewers and their misogyny—regardless of whether they intended to come across as sexist—than it does about the actual film. I find it troubling that a movie attempting to explore an issue that women still struggle with (even if it ends up reinforcing rather than critiquing the problem) gets so much coverage, not of the success or failure of its subject matter, but of the pluckiness, giddiness, flirtatiousness, hysteria, and general over-reaching of its main woman character. As if that weren’t enough, and we needed a healthy dose of objectification thrown in for good measure, the free newspaper Metro made sure they had it covered.

Thanks Holden, Cox, and Metro! Truly great work here indeed.

Emmy Week 2011: Liz Lemon: The "Every Woman" of Prime Time

Tina Fey as “Liz Lemon” in 30 Rock

Liz Lemon, the protagonist created and portrayed by Tina Fey on NBC’s 30 Rock, is one of television’s most recognizable and loved characters for her outlandish antics and so-real-it-hurts single-line commentaries on women and society.

On the surface, Liz charms the audience with her awkward girl-next-door looks, geeky-smart plastic-framed glasses that she apparently doesn’t need to improve her vision, inappropriate behavior in the workplace and her penchant for drawing the unlucky hand in love. Yet getting to know Liz on a deeper level inspires a sense that this is a woman who, while filled with self-loathing and assorted neuroses, has a heart for people and justice and a knack for making the ridiculous hilarious.

Not surprisingly, Fey has once again been nominated for an Emmy for Outstanding Lead Actress in a Comedy Series for her work this year on 30 Rock. Fey has received the nomination each of the five seasons 30 Rock has aired, winning the Outstanding Lead Actress Emmy once in 2008.

What is most endearing about Liz is that she is less “Murphy Brown” and more “Lucille Ball.” Liz is perfectly imperfect and knows this. She continually apologizes for her shortcomings as a human being. She doesn’t have anything figured out and struggles to get through the day knowing that she doesn’t “have it all” and that she probably never will. Had the character of Liz been a strong, successful career woman in the male-dominated business of television, she would have been less able to connect with the audience. Surely Liz has risen through the ranks to be head writer at a successful sketch comedy show, yet her incompetence at work along with her vocal dissatisfaction with her loveless personal life, and even her lack of financial savvy by leaving $12,000 in her checking account rather than investing, make her easier to like and relate to. Even as we see her stretching toward the top, there’s no mistaking the fact that Liz will never break through the shatterproof Plexiglas ceiling.

Online media is filled with Web sites and articles on both Tina Fey and Liz Lemon attempting to analyze where one leaves off and the other begins to determine how much of Liz is really Fey. Frankly, if the character of Liz was too closely based on Fey, we may have stopped tuning in the first season.

What Fey was able to do was take the physical and mental quirks of her own and then add to that an excessive dose of dysfunctional human qualities that make Liz such a train wreck and, thus, a joy to watch. The weekly deconstruction of her psyche takes viewers on yet another downward spiral that ultimately makes viewers feel good about themselves. Sure, we may not subscribe to an organized religion, but are we as bad as Liz who claims she believes whatever Oprah tells her to believe? Maybe we won’t admit to feeling the same way, but most of us do know women who place Oprah on an altar and do-read-buy whatever Oprah says is a must. Additionally, we may not yell at incompetent people we encounter each day as Liz would, but our connection with her is strengthened because we want to berate them and call them jerks, but social boundaries keep us in check. With Liz, we can enjoy the fantasy of venting out loud without the societal consequences.

In any discussion of Liz Lemon, the question of feminism arises. In the pilot episode, Jack Donaghy quickly and accurately characterizes Liz as a third-wave feminist. One thing Jack is, and that is a master at marketing and knowing markets. He can size up people instantly. Jack’s insights into Liz are better than her own. Through Jack, the parts of Liz that she couldn’t put into words are brought to life. Remember “porn for women”? Jack realized from his encounters with Liz that women want someone to listen to them, and he quickly developed an entire cable selection of hunky men who, for a price, would listen and talk to women on their TV screens for as long as they desired. Liz purchased immediately.

Frankly, any woman today qualifies as a third-wave feminist because that is the underlying tenet of the concept: there are as many definitions of feminism as there are women. No longer is feminism defined as one cohesive line of thinking. During the so-called first wave, women were united in the fight for voting rights. The second-wave feminists were determined to see civil rights and social rights uniformly recognized for all people regardless of gender. Without a uniform cause and agenda today, this third wave of feminism lacks any agreed upon definition or boundaries of thought which is exactly the point: there is no one “woman’s point-of-view.”

Yet how does Liz live out this idea of third-wave feminism? How was this so obvious to Jack?

Feminism defined by Liz is contradictory in that she is a strong career woman and that she is a complete person outside of having a man to validate her existence. Yet Liz has a strong desire to be in a relationship, and she is irrationally angry with women who have husbands or children. Her job as head of TGS with Tracy Jordan (formerly called The Girlie Show) is certainly testament to her abilities in a male-dominated industry, yet her staff of men and her boss, Jack, causes her to continually apologize for being tough or demanding.

Liz’s self-image is played out in her wardrobe, which is androgynous at best. In one episode, Jack comments that she is dressing as if she shops at Kmart. Clothing choices tell a great deal about how a woman feels about herself. For Liz, she has been stripped of all femininity and sees herself as trying to fit in with the masculine world in which she works and socializes, in spite of being mistaken for a Lesbian.

Liz Lemon is entertaining because in most regards, she’s worse off than we are. She may have a better job than most of us, but her staff ridicules her, and her boss is continually undermining her efforts to be a strong leader. Liz barely gets respect from her closest female friend Jenna, but even she is too wrapped up in her own neuroses to give much time to Liz’s problems. Compared to Liz, all of us are better off than she is. In every respect of her life, Liz comes up short: her wardrobe is wrong for her career, she’s single and hates it, and her friendships are sub par with the exception of Jack, who knows her best. While he most likely wouldn’t donate a kidney to Liz even if she desperately needed it, we get the impression he would make arrangements for her to have the best dialysis money could buy, and he would probably keep her company during treatments. Many of us would consider ourselves fortunate to have a friend like Jack.

Liz is the modern-day “every woman” who realizes her flaws, hates herself for them, yet owns her misery and wears it daily like a pair of comfortable Kmart sweatpants. No one loves Liz Lemon for being perfect. What makes Liz draw in an audience is her dysfunction in every aspect of her life. How she reacts to her life is always unexpected yet entirely appreciated.

Lisa Mathews is a relocated Los Angeles native and former newspaper reporter currently pursuing a graduate degree in political science.

Emmy Week 2011: Jane Krakowski and the Dedicated Ignorance of Jenna Maroney

“I’m prepared to do a nipple slip if you need it.” –Jenna Maroney, played by Jane Krakowski

Female comedic duos never go out of style. First, there was Lucy and Ethel, followed by Mary and Rhoda, then Roseanne and Jackie. What makes these comedy pairings so successful is that no matter how different each woman is from the other, they somehow balance each other out. It also does not hurt that both women are given equally funny moments, and usually leave the men with the dialogue that follows the riotous laughter. There is no grandstanding, no upstaging or pissing contest. It’s not about who’s the funniest, but who’s going to crack up the other. Simply put, a woman can be funny, but women can be hilarious.

That’s what I love about 30 Rock. Sure, it’s Tina Fey’s baby: she created the series and has written a majority of episodes while also starring as the show’s protagonist. But what makes her funny is the company she keeps. Tina’s straight-woman, self-conscious, prudish Liz Lemon is the complete opposite of the outrageous Tracy Jordan or confident Jack Donaghy. But it’s her interaction with Jane Krakowski’s Jenna Maroney that is most comedic. Of course, they’re both women, but what works is their chaos/order dynamic: While Liz maintains the order of TGS (the fictional sketch-comedy show-within-the-show), Jenna brings the chaos and gets freaky with it in a public bathroom stall.

For the third year in a row, Krakowski has been nominated for an Emmy as Best Supporting Actress in a Comedy Series and is totally deserving of such recognition. She’s funny, and she holds her own with Fey without hogging all the laughs, as both women are equally comical. Fey’s Liz Lemon is the frumpy, repressed, writer of TGS, the faux comedy show that is supposedly taped at 30 Rockefeller Center, while Krakowski’s Jenna is a narcissistic, delusional lead actress on the show. The reason Liz is constantly attempting to hold everything together is due in part to Jenna’s hare-brained schemes. Of course, Tracy Morgan’s Tracy Jordan puts an equal strain on Liz’s patience—his shenanigans often involve the outrageousness and ridiculousness of celebrity lifestyles (extravagant purchases, questionable infidelities, hazardous health concerns, etc), whereas Jenna’s usually revolve around an actor’s internal conflicts (sharing screen time with new cast members, relationship issues with family and lovers, holding together what C-list stardom she has left). Tracy Jordan is the star of TGS, but Jenna is the fading has-been. She is a character who gets both laughter and pity, sometimes at the same time.

30 Rock has some of the best one-liners of contemporary comedy, and Jenna Maroney has had her fair share:

“Everyone shout out words that describe my beauty.”

“I can play dead. I watched my whole church group get eaten by a bear.”

“We’re actors. If we didn’t exist, how would people know who to vote for?”

“Look at our biological clocks: You’re going baby crazy, and I keep getting turned on by car accidents.”

“I’ll do it! But only for the attention.”

If you have never watched an episode of 30 Rock (and judging by the show’s low ratings, it’s more than likely), these quotes give you an idea as to what kind of character Jenna is: she’s vain, she’s unintelligible, she makes one bad choice after the other and, like most actors, is constantly begging for attention. She gives her profession a bad name, yet in all honesty her character sheds light on the conceited persona of any actor, male or female. As a character created by a woman (Tina Fey), Jenna is the embodiment of the challenges faced by actresses as they age. Jenna is relentlessly trying to maintain her youth and beauty through the quack-products of overseas companies that have adverse after-effects and is always at odds with Cerie, the young, twenty-something assistant with a slender figure. 30 Rock doesn’t shy away from the fact that Hollywood is not favorable to “women of a certain age,” and there is an on-going joke about how old Jenna really is, for fear she will be defined by her number and not by her talent. Jenna will do (and probably has done) anything in order to maintain her youth and celebrity, even if that means sleeping with Mickey Rourke (another ongoing joke). No matter how far Jenna must go to keep her career alive, she seems to always land on her feet, in a blissful state of naiveté that jibes with her ambition to perform—be it acting, dancing, or singing at inappropriate times. Hell, she even tried getting the Tony Awards to add the category of “living theatrically in real life” because she knew she’d be a shoe-in for the honor. In this way, Jenna is not just a comedic character, she’s also a one-woman commentary on both sexism and ageism in Hollywood.

Whether or not Jane Krakowski wins at this year’s Emmy Awards remains uncertain; she could be out-voted by another Jane (that is, Jane Lynch who plays Sue Sylvester on Glee) or by sentimental favorite and TV legend Betty White (from Hot in Cleveland). Regardless of the outcome, Krakowski has crafted a character both memorable and three-dimensional—even on “cam-urr-rah!”—but most importantly, funny. Tina Fey will always be recognized as today’s funniest female, but without Krakowski on 30 Rock, Liz Lemon would have nowhere to “go to there.” As a supporting character, Jenna Maroney has earned her own spotlight—even if she had to pay an NBC page to shine it on her 24/7.

Kyle Sanders is a graduate student in the English Department at Western Kentucky University. He contributes to the online Bowling Green publication, SKYe Magazine. Under the pseudonym of Mike TeeVee, he writes about television, film, and other aspects of pop culture he finds “water-cooler” worthy.

Emmy Week 2011: Leslie Knope

Amy Poehler as Leslie Knope

“It’s a great time to be a woman in politics… Get on board and buckle up, ‘cos my ride’s gonna be a big one.”

In the Parks and Recreation pilot, Leslie Knope made clear the extent of her political ambitions. But it was also clear that she was deluded. The Deputy Director of a tiny government department in the fictional small town of Pawnee, Indiana, she earnestly compared herself to Hillary Clinton and Sarah Palin. She forged ahead with a plan to build a park in a lot abandoned by a developer, against the advice of her senior colleagues, and when investigating a dangerous pit in the middle of that lot, she fell in. “She’s a little doofy,” Rashida Jones’ Ann spelled out, just in case we hadn’t got the message.

There were few clues back then that Leslie would become one of the most endearing sitcom characters of all time, let alone a feminist icon. In fact, the character TV critics drew the most comparisons with was Michael Scott from The Office. This was understandable, given that, like The Office, Parks and Rec was created by Greg Daniels and Michael Schur, is filmed in a “mockumentary” style, and in season one, had a dry humor that encouraged us to laugh at, not with, its characters. It got a lukewarm reception, perhaps because no one wanted yet another cynical sitcom.

Thank goodness then, that in season two the Leslie we know and love emerged. Still an idealist, but with a strong practical streak and the ability to get things done. No longer mooning over a long-ago office-mate tryst, but having an actual love life. She’s not optimistic because she doesn’t know better, but because she chooses to be, as a survival mechanism. Instead of considering her an affable fool, her now-best friend Ann tells her she’s, “Cool, sexy, funny, and smart.”

She’s also competent: she not only gets that park built, she re-instates Pawnee’s harvest festival, bringing in thousands of dollars in tourism and new business, and saving her department in the process. We start to see that maybe her earlier pronouncements were prescient: why *shouldn’t* Leslie Knope be the first female president?

Yet (for what the term is worth) she’s no Mary Sue: Leslie has flaws, including an obscenely messy house, a horrific dating history (“A guy invited me to a beautiful picnic with wine and flowers and when I tried to sit down, he said ‘Don’t eat anything, Rebecca’s coming.’ And then he broke up with me.”) and a dorky past, which only make her more appealing. It’s a credit to both the writers and Amy Poehler’s acting skill that Leslie is a believable character, not just a caricature. Which is why the comparison of Leslie to Liz Lemon is so ridiculous.

On one level, it’s understandable, of course. In real life, Amy Poehler and Tina Fey are friends, former SNL cast mates and movie co-stars, and both identify as feminists. They’re also in the same age and race demographic and both play female leads on NBC sitcoms. When Parks and Rec started, some articles even implied that Amy Poehler’s success was a threat to Tina Fey’s, as if there could only be one funny woman on a network at a time.

Tina Fey as Liz Lemon

But where Leslie Knope leads her department with skill and good humour despite the petty bureaucracy she often has to negotiate, Liz Lemon is a stress-eating, approval-seeking, baby-stealing mess who dates men who hate her, wears plastic bags as underwear, and is waiting for her real life (the one where she’s married and therefore happy) to start. Tina Fey is charming enough to be entertaining while she portrays this nightmare of modern womanhood, and no doubt she makes a lot of Slanket-wearing insomniacs feel better about themselves. But Fey isn’t just the star of this show, she’s also its showrunner, and it’s not clear what message she’s trying to convey by turning one of the few overtly feminist characters on TV into a self-interested workaholic who always looks to her male boss for guidance. Like Community’s insufferable do-gooder Brita Perry, Lemon’s altruistic and sisterly impulses are often shown to be misguided, undermining not just the character, but feminism as a whole. Perhaps Fey is only trying to puncture the self-righteousness of the movement, but it seems like a weak target when there’s so much misogyny she could be mocking.

Unlike Liz Lemon, Leslie doesn’t just pay lip service to feminist ideals, or spout them in support of her own work goals, she sees political activism on behalf of the women of Pawnee as part of her mandate, and has set up a camp for underprivileged teen girls. And who else, when reluctantly roped in to judge a beauty pageant, would bring her own laminated scorecard with categories including “Knowledge of herstory” and “The Naomi Wolf factor”? (One of the most stealthy and brilliant moments in feminist TV history.) While both Liz and Leslie look to their male bosses for validation, Liz is unable to function without Jack’s help, whereas Leslie is capable of managing the department without Ron’s input, and usually does.

30 Rock frequently employs farce to make us laugh, but Parks and Rec is more lovable because it avoids the obvious and the outsized, creating funny moments by building on what we know about these characters and their relationships. From the second season onward, its lack of cynicism has been refreshing. Tina Fey is great at what she does, but doesn’t have much scope, and doesn’t do vulnerable well. Leslie Knope is unquestionably Amy Poehler’s best role, and it’s because she’s restrained her silly side and concentrated on creating a character we can relate to.

Leslie (Poehler) and Ann (Jones)

One of the most overt ways Leslie’s feminism is displayed is in her friendship with Ann, one of her most significant relationships. The two women clearly care about and admire each other and are there for each other’s freak-outs. I realized about halfway through season two that I was often clenched when I watched them together, willing them not to fall out. I was sad and shocked to recognize that there’s an undercurrent of bitchiness in so many on-screen female friendships that I’ve started to expect it as standard. Portraying two women who like each other might be the most radical thing a sitcom can do.

I don’t think there’s been such a feminist TV character since the ‘80s, when, at different ends of the class and race spectrum, women like Clair Huxtable and Roseanne Conner challenged sexist expectations through the use of confrontation and sarcasm. The ‘90s saw some backpedalling among feminist characters: Seinfeld’s Elaine Benes struck blows for equality by openly discussing periods and birth control and dumping a man who was anti-abortion, but she mostly showed contempt for her female friends and still bought into outdated gender expectations, like that a man should make the first move on a date. Murphy Brown was a strong, intelligent woman, and in her decision to be a single mother, became the inadvertent enemy of conservative America. But she ended up laughing off her early feminist activism as mere youthful over-exuberance.

Meanwhile, the Friends women valued their independence — Monica was the strongest proponent of the idea that Rachel should cut up her father-funded credit cards — but embodied a very Cosmo, “it’s all up to the individual” post-feminist vision which presents issues of female empowerment (like standing up to sexist bosses and self-defence when your bestie’s boyfriend gets handsy) as individual struggles, rather than the symptoms of the kyriarchy they really are. But these women were paragons of feminist ideals compared to most sitcom women of the ‘90s and ‘00s, who re-created retrograde gender roles with husbands they disdained, nagging all the way, as on King of Queens, Still Standing, Everybody Loves Raymond, and many others.

Sexist tropes these downtrodden wives may have been, but at least they had voices. They’ve since given way to anemic characters like the women of How I Met Your Mother, where Alyson Hannigan’s baby-voiced Lily sighs about the importance of everyone getting married and supports her husband in his dream of becoming an environmental lawyer, while her own ambition to be an artist is played for laughs. Worse, her friend Robin, a news presenter who loves hockey and beer, has her “unfeminine” interests explained by the back-story that her father wanted her to be a boy. HIMYM further plays on gender (and sometimes racial) stereotyping and employs sexist, sexually charged humor as Barney discusses his frequent conquests, saying debasing things which the audience is expected to forgive because Neil Patrick Harris is gay in real life and to complain would mean we didn’t understand post-feminist irony. The same claims can be made by Two and a Half Men, where the (un)importance of autonomous female characters is telegraphed by the title, and The Big Bang Theory, where pretty blonde Penny is just a stereotypically sexy comic foil for a group of clever boys.

It’s notable then, that not only is Leslie Knope an intelligent and capable character, but that these are qualities admired by her colleagues, friends, and boyfriends. “Flu Season,” the episode for which Poehler is Emmy-nominated, is one of Amy’s, and Leslie’s, finest moments. Charged with making a presentation to local businesses to sell them on the idea of the harvest festival, Leslie refuses to pass the responsibility to her colleague (and soon-to-be love interest) Ben, even though she’s been badly hit by a flu virus. “It’s not that I don’t trust Ben,” she explains. “It’s that I don’t have faith in Ben. And also I’m starting to forget who Ben is.” She escapes from hospital, stealing flu meds from other patients on the way, makes a convincing presentation despite being dizzy and barely able to see her notes, and then collapses into a chair. “That was amazing…” says Ben, his face conveying his admiration. “That was Leslie Knope.”

He’s right: Leslie Knope *is* amazing. Over the course of three seasons, she’s gone from a small-time, small-town government employee with delusions of grandeur to someone it’s easy to believe could make a big splash on the larger political stage one day. I hope she does, and I hope we get to see it.

What’s more, the popularity of her character signals an important change, a backlash against the backlash: the mainstream acceptance of a heroine who lives by feminist values and encourages others to do the same. But she’s just one woman, and a white, able-bodied, cisgender, middle class woman at that. We’re still in need of more diversity: in politics, and more importantly, on TV.

Diane Shipley is a freelance journalist and inveterate blogger with a special interest in social justice as it pertains to TV, books, and actual real life. Her website is www.dianeshipley.com, she tweets as @dianeshipley and she wants Amy Poehler for a BFF.

Emmy Week 2011: Glee!

Not since E! has any one thing on television been so damn exclamatory. Glee! celebrated its everyman song-and-dance style before its slushy flying face-offs ever aired. After a Journey-style breakthrough and myriad episodes featuring pop music gone oh so right, the show ended its first Emmy award-winning season and began a second. Can the plotlines featuring teen pregnancy, teen love, and a bitter gym teacher make it with a little Britney Spears mixed in? The answer is: yes. However, following the line of Britney logic, all its women have had to suffer in the meantime: bitches be crazy (e.g. writing underdeveloped characters who become caricatures of themselves, ending in a mockery of those whose very geekiness Glee attempted to celebrate).

In the beginning Glee made a brand out of celebrating the insecurities, joy, and passions of a group of social outcasts. Quickly, however, Glee called into question its treatment of women, prompting the New York Post to ask “Does Glee! Hate women?” In season one alone a woman is shown to be conniving enough to fake a pregnancy to “keep her man” and another, this time a teenager, grappled with pregnancy until, poof, the storyline magically disappeared. Luckily Madonna’s “Papa Don’t Preach” was able to get into the mix first, or I would have been pissed.

Besides the stereotypical portrayals of women-as-girls-as-GQ-cover-models-being-schoolgirls that this show offers, Glee goes further by, perhaps unintentionally, mocking its characters. Vitriolic gym teacher Sue Sylvester (who eerily resembles my elementary school gym teacher) relies on her bitter use of the pretty girls and exploitation of the token special needs child as a means to succeed to her ultimate end. As their most fully fleshed-out character (and perhaps most accomplished actor) Jane Lynch does a great job being angry but does nothing for the stereotype of the angry lesbian gym teacher taunting kids to make herself feel better. Coach Beiset’s introduction furthered this by presenting this gem of a storyline: no man wanted to kiss her so what was a woman to do but become an angry, middle-aged football coach: the better to scream at you, my dears.

Mixed in with the older women who suffer to fall in and keep love and affection, the teens of Glee keep the teenage dreams coming faster than Katy Perry’s hits. Puck, the number one misogynist/baby daddy/Neil Diamond Crooner and the show’s resident sometimes Gothic sometimes snarky, always shown eating or wrestling, Lauren, are just one of many unconventional couples Glee has drummed up. Lauren’s morbid obesity might once have proven to be a means for character slander, as Puck himself proclaimed when he said to then pregnant Quinn “I’m not breaking up with you. I’m just saying please stop super-sizing because I don’t dig on fat chicks.” Now, however, it is the stuff of fetishistic pop preening. First, Puck serenades his new love interest with a rendition of “Fat Bottom Girls” and, shock, she finds it offensive. To make it better he sings the original number “Big Ass Heart” because it is okay for the organ that pumps our blood and, symbolically, falls us in love to have a “big ass” even though a heart has never won a pie eating contest or needed two seats in an airplane. We get it–there’s a size difference here.

Having a character on TV who does not fit into the mold of being a perfect Westernized ideal of beauty would, in someone else’s hands, be refreshing. Glee, however, focuses on the extremes of women, enjoying the overt and campy hyperbolization of its characters which, in essence, detracts from actual storylines and only serves to render the women flat and one-dimensional: Jewish starlet, slut, dumb blonde, conniving cheerleader, sassy black woman, an Asian, and, now, a full-fleshed female. Glee has a recipe with every ingredient, but stirred together it’s one big lump of heterogeneous stereotypes. I’m not saying this couple should not exist; I am simply implying that it may have been beneficial to give her a love interest that does not appear to be ten seconds from dumping pigs blood over her head at prom.

Two other prominent female characters central to Glee’s narrative arc are slutty Santana and dumb blonde Britney. These two rarely have lines, and, when they do, it is solely to enforce these two personas. What they do have, however, is a girl on girl on glee make out session. Of course Glee would need to have two of its beautiful, popular women fall in love and make out, why not? Glee loves Katy Perry and she kissed a girl and, damn it, she liked it. The issue is not girls kissing girls; it is the exploration of lesbianism in a trite and frivolous manner.

The trials and tribulations girls in high school are facing today are by no means easy. From eating disorders to bullying, the very struggle of learning who you are as a woman, inside, out, sexually, emotionally, is a process. Women today are barraged with images of who they should be, how they should act, and whom they should kiss. Glee, in an attempt to make it okay to be whomever you are, has simply created an hour of sing-along to the pain and pleasure of all the versions of themselves that girls see when they look in the mirror. We are all sexy and scared, stupid and skinny, fat and fabulous–but fleshing out these various facets to frivolous plotlines and self-mocking monologues is akin to giving every girl a Barbie with adjective occupations. Women deserve more than this style of characterization.

Cali Loria is a thug with unbelievable scrabble skills. She is mother to a King and a lover of film, food, and feminism.

(95) Minutes of Pure Torture: 500 Days of Summer, Take 2

Perhaps my expectations were too high, or perhaps my eternal lust for an intelligent romantic comedy (think Juno) got the better of me. We all loved Joseph Gordon-Levitt in 10 Things I Hate About You, and Zooey Deschanel was one of the reasons Almost Famous was such an awesome movie. The commercials telling us that (500) Days of Summer was not “a love story” made us interested—we went to see these two beloved actors fall in love.

It starts out boy meets girl—but the irritating voice of the narrator tells us that it is not a story about a boy meeting a girl. This is supposed to be hip and ironic.

Zooey Deschanel, as Summer Finn, is an enigma, or that’s what the filmmakers want us to think. She tells Tom (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) in an awkward office-endorsed drunken karaoke night (I want to work there!) that she doesn’t want to be “anyone’s anything” and that commitment is far off in her future. She is then told that she is a “guy” by the goofy best friend. Alas, it is impossible for a woman to want anything less than a diamond engagement ring and a June wedding at the Plaza (you’ve got us pegged, boys!). After a random, highly erotic copy room make out session (again, I want to work there!), she tells Tom she isn’t looking for anything serious. With his nauseating puppy-dog look, Tom agrees, saying he’ll keep it casual. The next sequences go back and forth between their miserable days with each other and their occasional mediocre ones, which Tom thinks are the best and most meaningful days of his life.

He follows her around like an obedient dog and spends most of his time analyzing why she didn’t smile when he held up a certain record and how she didn’t listen to his mix CD (8th grade anyone?). He loves everything about her, alternately hates everything about her, goes to his pre-pubescent sister for advice and survives off Twinkies, whiskey and orange juice for approximately twenty days straight after their breakup. Though he works at a greeting card company, he owns a spacious apartment in Los Angeles and was training to be an architect but gave it up for mysterious reasons, though he lovingly sketches some buildings on her arm in one scene, babbling about light capacity. I’m not sure if this means anything; in fact it never actually becomes clear what his interest in architecture means. The movie prefers to center around his self-absorbed dealings with a female who does not seem particularly interested in him and his repeated attempts at stalking her.

Summer, though she detests relationships, continually flirts with Tom, thereby stringing him along for the entirety of the movie. The only interesting things about Summer are her fabulous vintage dresses (kudos to costume design) and huge blue eyes. Of the things we’re supposed to think are cool about her: she likes Ringo Starr, The Smiths, and she has read The Picture of Dorian Grey. That’s about it. She is a secretary, has no visible ambitions, was called “Anal Girl” in college (because she was neat) and has of course, a gorgeous apartment. One night she admits she had a dream about flying and tells Tom: “I’ve never told anyone that before.” Yawn.

This movie was said to be refreshing by many critics, but really no parts of it are invigorating, and little of it resembles real life. The dialogue is halting, and an awkward undercurrent plays throughout the entire movie, punctuated by my uneasy giggles to lessen my extreme discomfort. No sparks fly between the main characters—there is none of the chemistry that occurs in an actual relationship. That might be because neither character has much depth. Sure, they have some slapdash pseudo-idiosyncrasies, but they boil down to two hipster stereotypes.

The supposed draw of this movie is that it is about an independent woman who does not want to be tied down in a relationship. However, in the end, Summer gets married to someone else. When Tom questions her about this, she explains it away by the fact that she just knew this other guy was The One. So everything she said about not wanting commitment didn’t mean anything; it just boiled down to the fact that she didn’t really like Tom all that much.

Wow. I wasted $10 and an hour and a half, and it is now confirmed to all male audience members that all women really do want commitment.

Deborah Nadler is a freelance writer and feminist finishing up her degree in Comparative Literature from Smith College, after which she hopes to become a physician. Despite her father’s claim that “doctors don’t write books,” she has aspirations to become a published novelist.

Guest Writer Wednesday: Horrible Bosses and the So-Called ‘Mancession’: A Review in Conversation

Horrible Bosses (2011)

This is a guest post by Byron Bailey and Kirk Boyle.

Kirk’s Take:

Claiming that Horrible Bosses is horrible understates the case and misleads one into thinking the movie is very unpleasant or disagreeable for formalist reasons: incoherent plotting, unsympathetic characters, humorless comedy. No. Horrible Bosses is an ideological atrocity, not just a shitfest farce. It should be titled Triumph of the Will of the Hapless White Male, for here the Great Recession is a ruse exploited to indulge the twin fantasies that white-collar, white men suffer just the same as everyone else during hard times and, in the satirical words of Michael Scott from The Office, “I think the problem is the chicks. The problem is the chicks, and you gotta blame them.” In sum, the movie channels economic frustration into misogyny. Instead of “Jump! You fuckers!” we get “Let’s kill this bitch!”

Isn’t this movie the double-inversion of 9 to 5 (1980)? A progressive flick about exploited women enacting their (pot-induced) revenge fantasies against their bosses becomes, in these times, a reactionary tale about privileged men enacting their (resentment-fueled) revenge fantasies against their bosses. Where Parton and company hate their bosses for exploiting them, Batemen and bunch hate their bosses because they want to be (or fuck) them but can’t.

Am I being too harsh?

Byron’s Take:

Not at all. Your comparison with 9 to 5 is apt: the militantly fun, woman-power message of the earlier film has been replaced with mean spirited and murderous male hijinks. Horrible Bosses represents a kind of unconscious backlash in its portrayal of the economic downturn. We’re presented with three reasonably well-to-do white guys and their suffering. All three men have jobs, and two of them have what seem to be high-paying jobs. (I’m sure those who’ve been laid off and have lost their homes will sympathize.) The sexually harassed dental assistant, Dale Arbus (Charlie Day), is stuck in his less-than-satisfactory position because of his sex-offender status (for urinating in a public playground) and exists mostly as a whining comic foil. The characters played by the two Jasons (Bateman, Sudeikis) actually do have horrible bosses (Kevin Spacey, Colin Farrell), whose onscreen moments are responsible for the film’s few real laughs. The idea that even guys with good jobs have it rough is a bit like millionaire Mitt Romney complaining to campaign audiences that he, too, is “unemployed.”

The most execrable aspects of this star-studded mediocrity radiate from the characterization of Dr. Julia Harris (Jennifer Aniston) as the dirty-talking, sexually harassing dentist-boss. Now have there ever been instances of female-on-male sexual harassment in the workplace? No doubt, but the truth is that women endure unwanted sexual attention from men at an astronomically higher rate. This is yet another example of portraying the danger–as is often the case, beneath a veneer of mirth–of uncontrolled female sexuality (a very old formula indeed), here inflated into physical coercion. It has the effect of seeming to level the playing field: “See, women do it, too!” I’m not saying the makers of Horrible Bosses set out to accomplish this ideological task. They just wanted laughs, but the cumulative effect of such filmic representations has a way of getting into the cultural consciousness. Fatal Attraction (1987) unleashed its depiction of a crazed female stalker into a culture rife with male stalkers of women. Horrible Bosses presents an attractive, oversexed woman essentially stalking her hapless male employee, a scene right out of hetero male fantasy. Both films present female sexual desire as out of control.

Surely the worst moment in Horrible Bosses occurs just after Dr. Harris shows her assistant a series of photos depicting her taking advantage of him while he was under dental anesthesia. It is not clear, but some of the posed pictures may actually involve sex. The assistant (Day) says, “That’s rape!” He may well be right. She replies, “Just hold on there, Jodie Foster.” This can only refer to the 1988 film The Accused, an account of a real-life gang-rape victim whose character was essentially put on trial. (After all, she must have been “asking for it,” right?) Googling the film to get my details correct, I was met with “Jodie Foster Hot Rape Scene Video,” first result. I am not kidding. Try it. (Think we still have a problem?) So, what can Aniston’s line mean? “Don’t be so fast to accuse me like Jodie Foster did in that movie?” Or what? Because Horrible Bosses‘ point of view is that female-on-male sexual harassment is not really so bad (and most men would enjoy it if the woman were “hot”), how can this comparison of what the film sees as merely humorous, or at most embarrassing, with a filmic account of a real-life gang-rape do anything but belittle the seriousness of harassment and rape? Look, I’m not holding up The Accused as some sort of holy object, beyond humor. Laughing can help us deal with horrific things. Given the context, though, I really couldn’t believe my ears. I certainly don’t expect a mainstream comedy to conform to my ideological beliefs, but Horrible Bosses goes beyond the typical misogynistic gross-out humor so popular in recent years and graduates to the realm of the truly offensive.

Kirk’s Take:

I like the claim that “Horrible Bosses represents a kind of unconscious backlash in its portrayal of the economic downturn.” The movie is not about the downturn directly but a latent reaction to it. Nevertheless, it makes passing references to the recession. The most overt one involves a former acquaintance of the main characters from Yale who used to work as an executive for Lehman Brothers but who is now reduced to offering hand-jobs to men for money. Director Seth Gordon explains that “We needed to put a fine point on the fact that these guys didn’t have other options.” Horrible Bosses reminds heterosexual white men that capitalism makes of us all prostitutes or, as Spacey enlightens Bateman, “I own you. You’re my bitch.” YET, within the misogynistic and homophobic kaleidoscope of this motion picture, the “fine point” is that “real men” must fight back against being treated as pieces of meat. This threatened species has one of three choices: be fucked by bosses (read “exploited by capitalists for labor power”); be fucked by gay johns (read “exploited by perverts” (because, according to the movie, homosexuality = perversion, e.g., the whole “wet work” scene writ large)); be fucked by prisoners (read “you might as well try breaking the law by murdering your boss because you are already being fucked, so what do you got to lose?”). Of course, within the fucked-up-world of this film, all three choices are the same. The only way out is serendipity, i.e., the writers-as-gods-in-the-machine sweep down and save you via a racist plot device involving an outsourced super-Garmin.

As you rightly note, these three downtrodden amigos hold not just jobs but careers, and they enjoy disposable income. For example, while brewing up the idea to kill their bosses, Sudeikis mentions paying someone to clean his apartment and cut his hair. This line of thinking informs their plot to kill their bosses by hiring a hitman. Although they gripe about their jobs, any dirty work (housekeeping or murder!) is beneath them and within their means to outsource (to black men who are stupid (Jamie Foxx), but wait, might be smarter than they seem to be. Essentially, what we have is two privileged white men (Batemen and Sudeikis) whose exasperation derives from being unable to take the next step up the corporate ladder because the economy has turned sour right when they were in line for a promotion, but since the dominant ideology peddled by Hollywood cannot represent the true culprit of their thwarted desires, it displaces responsibility onto the figure of the “horrible boss.” It’s not the perverted (rotten-to-the-core) capitalist system that is to blame for your unfair treatment, it’s the perverted (bad apple) capitalist.

The logic of the third guy’s (Day) “occupational” ressentiment, as you allude to, seems different than his buddies’. Day’s character is not “trapped” because he can’t get as sweet of a position as the one he already holds within this busted economy. No, he’s trapped because he is getting married and wives-to-be are expensive commodities (and untrustworthy, cheating whores, e.g. Spacey’s character’s wife). Perhaps, however, this plot line simply serves to amplify the ever-so-slightly-less-explicit misogyny of the other two.

Perhaps too, we have reached a point in the post-ironic, late capitalist, culture industry where we need as many words for “sexism” as the Inuit have for snow. Horrible Bosses does its very best to showcase them all. Explicit misogyny: Jennifer Aniston’s character is introduced with white-lettered words that fill the screen: “Evil, Crazy Bitch.” Patronizing sexual harassment: Sudeikis’s character’s treatment of the “FedEx girl” who delivers to his company. Objectification: Sudeikis leaves a sports bar stool so he can “see that girl about her vagina.” Homophobia-as-misogyny: Aniston calls Day a “little pussy” and “little faggot” when he won’t sleep with her. Reverse-sexism-is-traditional-sexism: Aniston’s character is meant to imply that men can be sexually assaulted at work like women, but all it really reinforces is that men have a right to hate women for not fulfilling their fantasy images of them. Meta-misogyny: the outtakes include Sudeikis looking directly at the camera to remind the frat row yahoos of the film’s takeaway absurdist joke: “bend her over and show her the fifty states.” That’s not even to mention the relentless rape-is-hilarious misogyny.

Byron’s Take:

Indeed, this movie–in terms of contemptible messages of all kinds–makes uniquely explicit the old phrase about “an embarrassment of riches.” I couldn’t agree more with your “bad apple capitalist” point. (After all, it wasn’t the system as such that failed us back in 2008, just a few dishonest swindlers who made the other Wall Street paragons look bad!) Sutherland’s brief portrayal of the environmentally responsible, good-guy CEO is meant to reinforce the idea of capitalism-with-a-human-heart and occlude the amoral, monopoly-tending behemoth as it really is (absent sound regulatory restraint), a smokescreen at least as old as Frank Capra’s sentimental masterpiece, It’s A Wonderful Life (1946). For every evil Mr. Potter, there’s a kindly George Bailey. (Yeah, maybe in the days of mom & pop savings and loans.) The TV show Undercover Boss serves a similar function. It seems only necessary that “the big guy” lower himself to the loading dock for a couple of weeks to see what wonderful human beings those little people actually are. (Why, they have feelings and dreams and everything!) At the end they all have a good hug-n-cry, the peons receive a slight raise, and the boss is whisked back to his smoked-glass penthouse office suite, a better, humbler millionaire. As for the former Lehman Brothers employee having to do humiliating gay stuff to survive– is Seth Gordon fucking kidding me? Almost no one actually got dumped from the worst offending banks that helped precipitate the crisis, at least not without sumptuous bonuses, and then kicking and screaming the whole way as if they’d been the real victims. I suppose some lower-level people who were “just following orders” may have been downsized out of their jobs at such firms (though I heard nothing about it), but the film makes no distinctions. We only have a guy from Lehman Brothers selling hand-jobs, as if he were representative of those greedy law-breakers finally getting their comeuppance. Please.

The use of “little faggot” and “little pussy” as companion terms of abuse (as you observe) unites misogyny and homophobia in one neat “little” package (pun intended). On broadcast television where the explicitness of those words calls for a cleaner alternative, the admonition “Man up!” encompasses both notions. (Why are we getting so many examples of women ordering men to be more masculine lately?) Horrible Bosses goes out of its way to police male affect, from the insufficiently masculine dental assistant (Day) to the automatically-masculine-by-virtue-of-blackness ex-con (Jamie Foxx) and his fellow bar patrons. There is, however, a moment of slippage. It occurs in the scene that follows the trio’s consultation with “Motherfucker Jones” (Foxx), their presumed hit-man. The two more successful–and in the film’s gaze, seemingly more attractive–guys (Bateman, Sudeikis) begin to argue about which of them would be raped the most if they went to prison. This works within a constellation of rape references in the film as yet another way in which white guys (with good jobs) can (potentially) get fucked (or fucked over) by someone or something. Allow me to overlay another reading. Psychological surveys suggest rather strongly that the most virulently homophobic males tend to be haunted by same-sex desire; hence, they project their loathing outward. They unconsciously know something about themselves, something that gnaws at them. This scene could be the film (or its screenwriters) expressing its/their unconscious gay desire. Additionally, the scene explores a blurring of subject positions; that is, it depicts desire and gender performance as a continuum rather than an either/or. While the film berates “faggots,” it nonetheless depicts hetero males displaying an affect that the culture defines as “feminine” (“Will they find me attractive?”). There’s a moment of complexity here, as if the film (like a human mind) knows more about itself than it thinks it knows. Still, this knowingness is itself part of a regressive network of references whose overall messages you’ve summed up perfectly, to which I would add the cultural acceptance of men being raped in prison as an eventuality that can’t–or needn’t–be avoided. (After all, they’re mostly black, right? Don’t even get me started on our rapacious prison-industrial-complex and how the “justice” system so ably feeds it).

There will probably be those who say we’re making an awfully big deal about a throw-away comedy, something that’s “just entertainment.” Unfortunately, contemptible crap like Horrible Bosses teaches the culture to affirm its worst negative stereotypes beneath a veneer of farce. (If only it were smart enough to satirize them at the same time.) Leaving these complaints aside, in the plainest terms of bang-for-the-bucks multiplex entertainment, this film is still a dismal failure. The considerable talents of Spacey, Farrell, Bateman, and Foxx are wasted, and Aniston, who can be very effective in the right role, hits an all-time low. (I guess we’re supposed to find it progressive that Aniston, at the advanced (Hollywood) age of 42, can still be displayed as a sex object. Granted, but she’s playing young, not “cougar,” which is another issue altogether.) Bateman’s character alone is marginally sympathetic, and mostly because one associates him with better material. Arrested Development is a comedic project that pushed the limits of taste, dealt with a character going to prison, presented a female character who satirized sluttiness, explored sexual orientation for laughs, had characters contemplating violence, and mixed a great many other over-the-top situations together for the sake of humor. That show illustrates how topics like these can be the occasion for genuine belly laughs, and at the same time be thoughtful and smart and not at all mean-spirited. Nearly everybody I know who watched Arrested Development–people of diverse ideological outlooks–found the show hilarious, and it was anything but safe or tame. Neither of us is asking for politically-correct comedy (which would suck), just comedy that makes us laugh without adding overtly to the negative aspects of our culture. Lately, this seems too much to expect.

Byron Bailey is an adjunct instructor at the University of Cincinnati and Wright State University. He’s currently trying to finish his dissertation on Shakespeare and Machiavelli.

Kirk Boyle is an assistant professor at the University of North Carolina Asheville. He previously contributed pieces about The Day the Earth Stood Still, Revolutionary Road, and Good Dick to Bitch Flicks.

Best Picture Nominee Review Series: Juno

This review by Amber Leab originally appeared at Bitch Flicks in October 2008.

Juno(2007)

It took me a long time to see the film Juno. I was thrilled when Diablo Cody won the Oscar for Best Screenplay, but at the same time suspicious about her little movie being so lauded. To win an Oscar, the film must be saying the “right” things to the “right” people, a dynamic that rarely favors progressive thinking (see the movie Crash as a recent example). In other words, when too many people love a movie, there’s probably something wrong.

Aside from critical praise and popularity, the topic of teen pregnancy is rarely done without a hefty dose of morality. While we are in a peculiar cultural gray area on the subject—consider the cover of OK Magazine, featuring smiling teen mom Jamie Lynn Spears, or the Republican VP nominee’s pregnant teenage daughter—there seems to be an anti-choice undercurrent running through pregnancy plots, not to mention the culture at large.

The expectations I had going in were also based on reading commentary about the ultra-hip dialogue and soundtrack of the film. While certainly not negative in themselves, coupled with a controversial topic, these features could be enough to couch a conservative, anti-woman message in a hip, fresh film.

It turns out, however, that after an initial adjustment period to the dialogue (and a question about whether the film is set in the early ‘90s), Juno turns out to be planted in a feminist worldview, and is a film that teenagers, especially, ought to see. It was thoroughly enjoyable, funny and touching. I liked it so much that I watched it again, but when I started to write about it, what I liked about the movie became all the more confusing. I loved the music, although Juno MacGuff is way hipper than I was (or am), and I saw a representation that reminded me of myself at that age. I saw a paternal relationship that I never had and a familial openness that I’ve also never had. I saw characters who I wanted as my childhood friends and family.

And while in Juno we have a strong, unconventional female character—and a lead character, at that—the film itself was very, very safe. And I worry whether that’s a good thing. It’s certainly understandable for a first film. A Hollywood outsider would have a much more difficult time making an overtly progressive movie about teen pregnancy, but if she plays the politics safe, and if her own personality is enough of a draw, she just might make it.

I was worried when Juno visited the dumpy abortion clinic and met her pro-life classmate protesting in the parking lot, and I was worried by the very dumpiness of the clinic. I was struck by the notion that a clinic like that would look and feel much more sterile—even in the lobby, as far as Juno went. The thought of fingernails sent her running out of the building. A detail like “fingernails” made the abortion too real for Juno, a teenager, I suppose. Is this a good or bad thing? I don’t know.

Juno, in a rather nonchalant way, seeks permission of the baby’s father, her good friend Paulie Bleeker (Michael Cera), for the abortion. Or, rather, she seeks his opinion; she seems to want him to resist her plans. But his lack of resistance causes her to make the following decisions on her own. This straddles the line somewhat. She wants to be told what to do, and rather than seeking out someone smarter and more experienced than she is, she asks the boy whose approval she’s still seeking.

Juno wants her baby to have the perfect family; one unlike her own, which her mother abandoned. Her family now consists of her father, her stepmother Bren (Allison Janney), and her half-sister Liberty Bell. Juno doesn’t have a bad deal going. Her folks are markedly working class (they’re both members of the labor class, a group that doesn’t see much Hollywood recognition; he’s an HVAC repairman, she’s a nail technician). Yet Juno imagines a perfect life to consist of two loving parents and a McMansion.Why would she seek out people of this particular class? Is this a case of Juno’s lack of class awareness or the film’s?

The film’s real progressive moment comes when Juno realizes that her idea of perfection isn’t perfect. She realizes that a father who doesn’t want to be there would be as bad as a mother who hadn’t wanted to be there. She sees that a father isn’t a necessity–or perhaps simply that two parents aren’t a necessity. Yet what does this all add up to mean? There’s certainly a moment of female solidarity (and this isn’t the only one, certainly, in the film), and a difficult decision that she makes independently. But, as with other conclusions I’ve made, I’m left with the question of “So what?”

The film does love all of its characters, which is a refreshing change for a high school flick. Juno’s best friend, Leah, is a cheerleader who exhibits some flaky, teenage qualities (her crush on the chubby, bearded, middle-aged math teacher takes a cliché and gives it a twist), but the film loves her nonetheless. Vanessa Loring (Jennifer Garner) is an obsessional, middle-class mommy blogger type, but we see that she would be a good mother, and the film cares for her. We even have sympathy for Mark (Jason Bateman) who, through his relationship with Juno, realizes that he and his wife no longer want the same thing (if they ever did). There are cringe-worthy moments with Mark and Juno, but none that damn him completely. It’s a rare film that gives us no bad guys, which is a large part of its charm.

It’s easy to want to live in a world like this, where a pregnant sixteen-year-old seems to get by pretty well, with her parents’ support and a relationship with her baby’s adoptive family. She has a sweet teenage love affair and doesn’t seem to struggle much. While teen angst is the stuff of Hollywood cliché, things just seemed too easy for Juno. I wish my teenage years could’ve been a bit more like Juno’s. Hell, I wish my life now could be.

The final question remains, though, about whether we should criticize a movie like Juno. Representations of role models for American girls tend to inhabit the poles; either young girls are encouraged to be the beautiful bimbo or the chaste Christian. This film has a strong personality (that masquerades as strong values—even an ethic) without being preachy or moralistic. That can’t inherently be a bad thing. Yet I find myself asking for more, wanting more–something that steps outside of the realm of safety. Perhaps Juno isn’t the film to give me more.

In all, I fear Juno suffers from the same postmodern condition afflicting so many films today. It strives for a non-message in order not to offend anyone, thus allowing anti-choice advocates to cheer the film as loudly as pro-choice feminists. There’s a problem here. If a film that almost universally passes as hip and progressive is so murky in its values and allegiance that we’re not really sure what to think of it, how can a truly hip and progressive film make it today?

Guest Writer Wednesday: African American Romantic Comedies: Colorism

This guest post by Renee Martin also appears at her blog Women’s Eye on Media.

I love a good romantic comedy, but I must admit I am especially partial to those that star Blacks. It is a rare thing to see a dominant Black presence in media, and romantic comedies happen to be the only genre that this consistently happens in. Unfortunately, these movies still fall into specific tropes that are a direct result of being produced in a White supremacist culture.

Many of the male stars like, Morris Chestnut and Taye Diggs are dark skinned Black men. In fact, you could reasonably argue that Morris Chestnut is the king of the African Romantic comedy. These dark skinned men are always described as fiiiine, hot, and a real catch. When it comes to colourism and Black men, it would be fair to say that it is not an issue in African American comedies, because the actors range from Morris Chestnut to the ever so lovely LL Cool J (and yes, I love him).

The same is not necessarily true when it comes to women. From Stacey Dash in VHI’s new series Single Ladies, to Paula Patton in 2011’s Jumping the Broom, to Sanaa Lathan in The Best Man, to Zoe Saldana in Guess Who, to Vivica Fox in Two Can Play That Game, and Queen Latifah in Just Wright, light skinned women have a tendency to dominate the genre. The darkest skinned women that you will find in the genre are Monique, who played the ghetto woman Two Can Play That Game, Kimberly Elise, who played Helen in Diary of a Mad Black Woman (the title says it all doesn’t it), and Gabrielle Union, who starred in Deliver Us From Eva.

What is perhaps most interesting, is that in Deliver Us From Eva, Union played the stereotypical angry Black woman who had been burned countless times. She was absolutely vicious to anyone that approached her, and her brother in laws absolutely detested her, that is until they paid LL. Cool J to date her, and suddenly she became soft, and loving. Here we go again with another Black woman being saved from her angry ways by the love of a good Black man. (Tyler Perry is somewhere dancing a little jig.) All the things that allowed her to support her sisters up to and including putting them through school, and saving money for the benefit of their family, were seen as negative character traits. When Union played opposite Vivica Fox in Two Can Play That Game, she played the role of Jezebel. That’s right, a dark Black woman out to steal away Morris Chestnut from the light skinned, smart, and in control Vivica Fox. Union was slut shamed throughout the movie, and yet when Vivica Fox chose to sleep with Chestnut in his office it was simply being freaky and keeping your man happy. Particularly telling, is that no reference was made to differentiate between the two women, except for the visually obvious difference in hue. Why one was necessarily deserving of being slut shamed, when she was essentially no different than the other, was left for the viewer to determine. Even in movies, the strong dark skinned Black woman can never get a break.

Colourism can be just as damaging to Black men as Dr. Michael Eric Dyson explained, when he examined the relationship between himself and his incarcerated dark skinned brother, yet in movies, the hue of Black men can range from LL. Cool J and Terrence Howard to Taye Diggs and Richard T Jones, without any real issue. In fact, the very range in hue of Black men suggests that Black men are all uniquely valuable and sexually attractive. This is why it is hard to comprehend why the same universal acceptance is not given to Black women.

In Jungle Fever, Wesley Snipes leaves his light skinned Black wife played by Lonette McKee, for an Italian woman. In a scene with McKee’s girlfriends, they discuss how the trend for a long time was for Black men to seek out light bright and damn near White women as partners, and how that changed as inter racial relationships became acceptable. You see, the White woman has always been held up as the epitome of beauty, and failing that, the WOC who was closest in appearance to Whiteness was then the chosen prize, thereby leaving dark skinned women completely out of the loop. A new documentary entitled Dark Skin being released this fall discusses this issue. If you doubt that this is an issue, a simple look at what L’Oreal Feria haircolor did to Beyonce, or what Elle Magazine did to Gabourey Sidibe is more than enough to settle this issue.

No woman of colour can ever be light skinned enough. What is particularly disgusting, is not only do these movies have all Black casts, in quite a few instances, they have Black directors to boot. What does it say about Black cinema, that we constantly reproduce our internalized racial hatred? Since we know that colorism is an issue for the entire community, why is it that, Black women are particularly targeted with erasure? Watching these movies really brought to mind the conversations in media about the lonely Black woman, who is destined to die a single woman. As much as African American romantic comedies constantly end with a Black woman and a Black men either in a committed relationship, or getting married, the near erasure of dark skinned women plays into the whole idea that unless you are light skinned you are not worthy of being loved. When we add in the fact that these movies are not aimed at White people, it seems to me that Blacks have come to find this idea acceptable, otherwise when given the opportunity to tell our stories, darker Black women would appear in this genre more regularly, rather than being restricted to films like The Color Purple and Precious.

Editors Note: This is an ongoing series. You can find part 1 here on class. Next week, we will be looking at the ubiquitous usage of the word nigger in these movies.

Renee Martin is a disabled mother of two, and a freelance writer who focuses on social justice. On her blog Womanist Musings she largely writes about social justice generally. She also is a contributor and co-creator of the blog Fangs for the Fantasy, where she writes critically using a social justice lens on the urban fantasy genre. Each week she also participates in the Fangs for the Fantasy podcast, where she discusses the latest in urban fantasy. At Women’s Eye on Media, where she is also a co-creator and shares editing and writing duties with fellow creator Holly Ord, she writes about social justice and the media. Her work has been published at The Guardian, Ms Blog and several small newspapers. She previously cross-posted her review of The Big C at Bitch Flicks.

From the Archive: Business Trip Wishes

NOTE: After reading over this letter (originally posted July 2, 2009), I’m struck by how many of these stereotypes were included in Bridesmaids. I’m not sure how I feel about that yet; I ultimately found Bridesmaids to be a fairly subversive film. (Stay tuned for my Review in Conversation with Amber–she may completely disagree with me on that.) But yeah, Bridesmaids failed the shit out of this list of no-nos. Hmmmmm …

According to several entertainment sources, a new comedy called Business Trip has been picked up by Universal Pictures. Written by Stacey Harman, the film focuses on four women who take a business trip together and, instead of getting any real business-oriented work done, shenanigans ensue. Apparently, it’s being produced by the same people involved with The Hangover, so I speculate that Business Trip will contain similar comedic elements, but from a female perspective.

How do I feel about this? It’s hard to say. I’ve longed to see a film that focuses on what women actually do when they’re screwing off together. I’m pretty sure they get high sometimes. They might even sleep until noon and not have jobs and live in their parents’ basement at the age of 34 (although probably not in a film about women in corporate

America

). I guess I’ll at least experience some satisfaction if the filmmakers manage to stick to a few basic rules.

Dear Business Trip filmmakers,

As you work toward developing this film, and if you’re at all interested in breaking some new ground by portraying real women on-screen (rather than the conventional stereotypes of women we’ve gotten so used to seeing) please be advised of the following:

1. Do not cast Jessica Alba, Megan Fox, Katherine Heigl, and Anna Faris, and then parade them around in giant heels, wearing some semblance of revealing business suit-esque attire, probably involving excessive cleavage and certainly showcasing thirty gratuitous inches of bare leg.

2. Do not institute a plot point that involves one of the lead actresses finally feeling complete because she finds a man who rescues her from her horrible life as a lonely, over-achieving corporate executive i.e. childless, feminist spinster.

3. Do not include a scene where one or two or all of these women make out, possibly in a hot tub, but definitely in front of a man, just for the sole purpose of performing some lightweight pornographic male fantasy.

4. Do not kill one of them off with a melodramatic deadly-illness twist.

5. Do not include a scene where one or two or all of these women get depressed about a man, and as a result, gorge themselves on any carbohydrate-infused junk food within reach, while simultaneously sobbing (for extra comedic effect).

6. Do not ever allow any character to utter the phrase “cat-fight” … ever.

7. Do not script any of the following: klutzy falling scenes, food fights, cake-decorating, aerobics classes, weepy arguments with Mom, random bursting into song, lip-synching and/or dancing around in pajamas to 60s music, a wedding, an ice-queen who can’t feel, an infantilized, codependent ditz, group slut-shaming, or group competition for a man.

8. Do not even go near “scheming-vindictive-bitch” territory; we get enough of that in the male-dominated comedies of the Apatowverse.

9. Do not try to balance out the characters’ personalities by making one a good, sweet, virginal Madonna and another a fucked-ten-men-in-one-night, “crazy party girl” who dances topless on bar tables with a cigarette in one hand and a tequila shot in the other.

10. Do not make one or more of the characters “baby-crazy” and/or desperate to be inseminated by a gay best friend.

11. Do not turn this into Sex and the City Takes a Business Trip, even though that’s undoubtedly what everyone will encourage you to do.

Good luck!

Love,

Bitch Flicks

Guest Writer Wednesday: Cardboard Cutouts Beware! A Review of Good Dick

Good Dick (2008)

A feminist romcom that fails to pass the Bechdel Test? How can that be? Good Dick (2008) suggests that it is not only possible, but that it can be done in a way that makes one wonder about the typical inanity of the genre. Why must the overwhelming majority of romcoms perpetuate a status quo that lionizes men while demeaning women? Why can’t we be presented with complicated characters who navigate the complexities of sex and love instead of cardboard cutouts who confirm dangerous conventions?

On the surface, Good Dick, which Marianna Palka wrote, directed and stars in, seems conventional, albeit quirky. A video store clerk (Jason Ritter) is attracted to a woman (Palka) who comes into his store to rent “bad ’80s girl-focused porn” (Cynthia Fuchs). The clerk looks up the woman’s address on the store’s computer and pays her a visit. Through cracks in her window blinds, he spies her masturbating to the video rental and decides to set up camp in a nearby parking lot, living in his car so he can pursue her affections in closer proximity. Eventually, the peeping Tom gains entrance into her apartment by lying about a dead relative. Despite our reservations about this character—as Fuchs writes, “In another movie the boy would be a serial killer”—he proves to be patient and persistent enough to gain the woman’s hard-earned trust and eventually win her heart.

I admit, the setup of the story sounds awful. In Palka’s Director’s Statement, she writes, “The story is almost like a knight slaying a dragon to save a damsel in distress.” Palka’s observation that the dragon is part of the woman does not reassure that this flick will rise above the regressive romcom fantasy fare of man-as-savior, woman-as-saved. The fact that there are no women in the supporting cast, let alone strong women, does not seem to help matters. Nor does a clichéd scene of an old man (Charles Durning) who visits the video store to deliver the moral of the story to the suitor and his coworker-compadres (in so many words, find love before it’s too late).

At this point, I might use a turn of phrase such as “In spite of these pitfalls, Good Dick succeeds…”. However, transitioning from a well-wrought counterargument misses my overall point that Good Dick succeeds because of these pitfalls, not in spite of them. The argument in the film lies firmly within the counterargument; it could be no other way. In other words, the only way for Palka’s debut film to overturn conventions is to court them with all the attendant dangers, much like the man in the film does with the woman who, it becomes more and more apparently clear, is struggling to overcome sexual abuse. The film succeeds because it romances romcom normativity to buck it in two vital ways.

First, the woman’s sexual abuse is not sensationalized. The film portrays its lingering effects with a subtle realism that would leave the Hallmark channel crowd squeamish, and rightfully so. The last thing a woman who has been sexually abused by her father needs is some paperback-Fabio-figure to waltz in the picture and show her how “it’s supposed to feel.” Palka hits the right note by including no sex in a film permeated by it. The cure for a “bad dick” is not a “good dick,” sexually speaking.

The title “Good Dick” is more ironic than literal. The man is a dick in the eyes of the woman because he will not leave her alone. He is dogged, pesky, slavish. He at once confirms and frustrates her beliefs about men (that they are all dicks all the time). He wants to have sex with her, but he seems capable of waiting forever for her consent. In short, he seems to be in love with her. But instead of love being treated as the goal and the lover as the prize, as is the case with most romcoms, love is perceived by the woman as abhorrent and the lover as a contemptible (“a dick”). The abuse she suffered at the hands of her father has corrupted her sense of love; love has been confused with abusive sex. The man represents “good dick” because he disentangles the notion of love from sex, thus opening up a space for her to discover (on her own terms and at her own pace) the possibility that good love and good sex can exist, and simultaneously at that. (The father (Tom Arnold) appears in one scene at the end. In this scene, we discover that he is not only sexually abusive but wealthy and financially supporting his daughter. In short, she is a victim not just of her “bad dick” father, but of patriarchy at large, another subtle touch in the film that opens up the scope of its social commentary).

Although made by a woman, the film strikes me as a romcom aimed at men as much as women—not in that sense of norming guys to carry the torch of patriarchy or apologizing for their man-child behavior. Rather, the film exposes men to how damaging these norms are to women while offering them an alternative form of masculinity. From Palka’s Director’s Statement again:

For the lead male role I wanted to see the lover archetype illustrated in a way that is all loving, all kind, all ways. I knew the guy had to be strong and thereby protective, but not in a stereotypical sense. Definitions of masculinity often tend to be deformed in our culture, forgetting the good fight and glorifying what I like to call, “The cardboard cutout man.” In Good Dick the man’s power has nothing to do with his physical strength, his appearance or his social status. He is masculine in a way that is genuine; this masculinity stems from his lack of chauvinism. His chivalry is his depth of kindness.

Good Dick reminds men to fight this good fight against the abusive power of cardboard masculinity. It challenges men to redefine masculine power in a way that is genuine, benevolent, and (dare I say?) loving. Although not a perfect film, Good Dick’s merits lie with warning men and women not to confuse our culture’s “deformed” definitions of masculinity with masculinity itself. “Man up” can mean something other than the masculinity peddled in Miller Lite commercials.

Kirk Boyle is an Assistant Professor of English who will be joining the University of North Carolina at Asheville’s Literature and Language Department in August. He previously contributed pieces on The Day the Earth Stood Still and Revolutionary Road to Bitch Flicks.