Double Standards – Bitch Flicks

Little Girls in Horror Films: Setting the Stage for Female Double Standards

This guest post by BJ Colangelo appears as part of our theme week on The Terror of Little Girls.

Horror films frequently utilize little girls as a “go-to” scare tactic. As the sound disappears in a dark and spooky house covered in cobwebs and shadows, a little girl’s laugh or even a song will echo throughout the halls. The contrast of something so seemingly innocent found in a dark and uninviting environment has been used for decades. Whether it’s the iconic and eerie request of the Grady sisters asking Danny Torrance to play forever (and ever, and ever, and ever) in The Shining, or the innocent announcement of “They’re Heeeeere” from little Carol Anne Freeling in Poltergeist, little girls are as much of a scaring staple as a shrieking cat or a set of wailing violins. While there are the exceptions like Damien in The Omen or Barto in The Unborn, for the large part, little girls are used much more frequently in killer kid/child possession/child ghost films. In the same breath, the safety of little girls is valued far more than the safety of little boys. This double standard shown with little girls in horror films perpetuates the idea that women, regardless of age, are constantly in a state of conflict.

Little girls are often what we associate with innocence. Girls are said to be born out of “sugar, spice, and everything nice,” which attaches a stigma to women from birth that is unrealistic. Society is conditioned to believe this ridiculous myth, which changes the way we value little girls over little boys. When little girls in horror films aren’t used as demons/ghosts/killers/etc. and instead exist as just human, the importance of their survival is much greater than any other character. Referring back to Carol Anne Freeling in the Poltergeist franchise, the entire film is centered on protecting and saving her. Carol Anne’s brother, Robbie, arguably endures the more traumatic events in the film, but the focus still remains on Carol Anne. Yes, Robbie’s trees, gravity, his own toys, and his bedroom are torturing and “taken” by the spirits in the house, but the entire focus stays on protecting Carol Anne. Never mind the years of therapy Robbie may require to help him after the tree outside of his room tried to kill him, we still only care about Carol Anne simply because as a little girl, we feel that she constantly needs protecting.

Even when little girls are presented as the villains, we still care more about their survival than little boys. The Swedish vampire hit, Let The Right One In, shows Eli, a vampire girl around the same appearing age as her male counterpart, Oskar. Eli is capable of taking care of herself (and proves it throughout the course of the film) while Oskar is frequently bullied and shown as weak and in need of protection every step of the way. However, Eli’s survival is the one we focus on the most. Whether it’s aggravation towards her helper, Hakan, and his insolence that has now put her safety in jeopardy, or the fact an angry townsperson is hot on her trail to kill her, we sympathize with Oskar’s bullying, but we don’t invest in his safety quite like we do Eli’s. We expect Oskar to “deal” with his issues like he always had done before, but with Eli, we constantly want those around her to “save” her, even though she could do it on her own if she chose.

In Wes Craven’s The People Under the Stairs, we also witness intersectionality at play. Poindexter “Fool” Williams, is a young African-American boy trapped in a house of horrors. While he appears to be about the same age as the Caucasian girl, Alice Robeson, we value her safety far more than we do Fool’s. From the get-go, Fool is presented as almost deserving to be in trouble because he’s a poor Black child, and the angelically white Alice is stuck living in a home with abusive parents. The threat from “Mommy and Daddy” Robeson is much greater toward Fool, but we still shift our focus toward Alice and sense a greater sense of distress towards her survival. Fool is presented as not only a troublemaking youth, but also as the undisputed hero of the film. We believe that this poor Black child is capable enough of making it out alive because “he should be used to survival” while we see Alice as weak and with a lack of “street smarts.” It’s a tragic truth, but this sort of value on the young white female is something that is commonly reflected in the way the media portrays lost children (aka: missing white woman syndrome).

At the same time, despite our value of the lives of little girls over just about anyone else in a horror film, girls are used overwhelmingly more than boys as a source of “evil” in horror films. Cathy’s Curse, The Exorcist, Silent Hill, The Bad Seed, The Ring, The Shining, Orphan, Night of the Living Dead, Alice Sweet Alice, The Last Exorcism, The Amityville Horror, Case 39, and countless other films have all portrayed little girls as the perfect vessel for pure, unadulterated evil. We are terrified of these evil little girls, but at the same time, we feel like they need to be protected over anyone else. These conflicting ideals are the very start of the double standards that women endure over the course of their lives.

Compare this to a film like Insidious, where the focus is on little boys, we still don’t invest in their safety. The son, Dalton, is transported into an otherworldly land, but the greatest sense of conflict occurs when the father, an adult, goes in after him. It’s almost as if we don’t care about boys until they become men, but we only care about women when they’re little.

The film Orphan is particularly interesting in that it shows a little girl as evil–a little girl as the ultimate object needing protection–and a little boy as someone we completely ignore. Esther, a deranged child adopted by a loving family with two existing children, plays the villain in this film. The existing daughter, Max, is a deaf girl about the age of 4, and her brother Daniel is closer to Esther’s age at 10-12. While Daniel is immediately skeptical of Esther, he is written off as being a pain-in-the-ass prepubescent boy, while Max is shown as the perfect daughter, loving and trusting…the way little girls SHOULD be. However, when Esther is revealed to be the personification of evil that she is, our focus shifts to protecting Max. Esther literally tries to set Daniel on fire and burn him alive, but we still fear for Max’s safety on a much higher level when Esther turns her attention to Max. Why? Because she’s a little girl, and little girls need saving.

Once childhood is over, these little girls grow up into other tropes and female archetypes that continue the path of double standards: the mother or the killer, the slut or the prude, the dumb blonde, or the geeky brunette. Women in horror films aren’t allowed to simply “be,” but instead are constantly being pushed into eerily specific archetypal boxes. This practice starts in the young representation of children and follows us for the rest of our lives. Art really does imitate life, regardless of how depressing the outcomes may be.

BJ Colangelo is the woman behind the keyboard for Day of the Woman: A blog for the feminine side of fear and a contributing writer for Icons of Fright. She’s been published in books, magazines, numerous online publications, all while frantically applying for day jobs. She’s a recovering former child beauty queen and a die-hard horror fanatic. You can follow her on Twitter at @BJColangelo.

Let’s All Take a Deep Breath and Calm the Fuck Down About Lena Dunham

Lena Dunham and the cast of Girls

Written by Stephanie Rogers.

Dear Lena Dunham Haters,

I’m sick of the Lena Dunham hate.

I’m not referring to the criticisms of Dunham, which are—in most cases—valid and necessary critiques of her privilege, especially how that privilege translates into her work. The first season of Girls in particular either ignored people of color entirely, which is problematic enough since the show takes place in Brooklyn (a predominantly Black neighborhood), but when it did include people of color, they tended to appear as stereotypes (nannies, homeless, etc), and Dunham absolutely deserves to be called out for that.

But I’m sick of the Lena Dunham hate.

Just take a moment and Google the phrase “I hate Lena Dunham.” Feel free to spend some time browsing through the more than a million results. Searches related to “I hate Lena Dunham” include such gems as “Lena Dunham annoying,” “how much does Lena Dunham weigh,” and “what size is Lena Dunham.”

We live in a society that constantly undervalues and devalues the work of women while simultaneously expecting that the work we do—from mothering to directing movies—is performed fucking flawlessly. That said, we can’t sit back and pretend the vitriol directed at Dunham isn’t largely about a young woman breaking barriers in an industry that doesn’t like women (especially women who aren’t conventionally attractive and who aren’t gasp! spending all their waking hours apologizing for it). We shouldn’t pretend either that we, as a culture—and that includes women and feminists—haven’t internalized a little bit of this uneasiness surrounding successful women. It makes sense, then, that the undercurrent bubbling beneath all this Dunham hate is the very sexist notion that somehow Dunham doesn’t deserve her success.

Lena Dunham, looking all ungrateful for her unearned success

Elissa Schappel wrote an interesting piece for Salon two weeks ago, right after the Golden Globes ceremony, called “Stop Dumping on Lena Dunham!,” in which she puts forth some excellent counterarguments that a hater might want to consider.

On how Dunham doesn’t deserve the gigantic advance she got for her book deal:

I have yet to hear anyone react to the news of an advance with, “Yep, that seems about right.” It would be great if the writers and books that deserved the most money got it—ditto the same amount of attention and praise. And all the gripe-storming about how slight her book proposal was, and how she’ll never make back her advance—when did we start reviewing book proposals? When did writers start caring so passionately about publishers recouping their losses?

On how Dunham doesn’t deserve her success because she has inside Hollywood connections:

The entertainment industry is not a meritocracy. From before the days of Barrymore to our present age of Bacons and Bridges, Sheen-Estevezes and Zappas family has, for better and worse, equaled opportunity. The Coppola family’s connections and influence are so vast they’d make the mob envious.

On how Dunham doesn’t deserve her success because her show lacks diversity:

I hear the diversity criticism. However, to suggest that “Girls”—a show whose charm lies in part in its documentary-like feel—presents the universe these young women inhabit, working in publishing and the arts, as rich in racial diversity, would be, sadly, to lie. Besides, did anyone ever kvetch about Jerry Seinfeld’s lack of Asian friends?

To take the conversation surrounding non-progressiveness of television in general a bit further, Carly Lewis wrote last April about the sexism behind the Dunham/Girls backlash, and I agree with her:

It’s cute (read: pretty hypocritical, actually) to see this sudden spike in concern over television’s portrayal of women, but this fixation is propelled by the same sense of threatened dudeness that makes a show written by and about women so “controversial” in the first place. If television were an even playing field, Dunham would not be on the cover of New York magazine atop the subheading “Girls is the ballsiest show on TV,” nor would the debut of this series be such a massive deal. (Where are the cultural dissections of CSI: Miami?) The critics calling Girls disingenuous because it stars four white women should redirect their frustration toward misogyny itself, not at the one show trying to fight it.

Lena Dunham, probably getting ready to annoy people with her incessant whining

Admittedly, I have a soft spot for Dunham, having written about her wonderful film Tiny Furniture way back in 2011, before she’d manage to offend the entire nation with her giant thighs and sloppy backside. I think she comes across as genuinely funny and interesting, and I hope that her success—and the hard hits she’s taking because of it—will make the next woman who dares to step out of line (where “line” means “the patriarchal framework”) do so with just as much fearlessness.

Girls continues to evolve in season two, although I haven’t seen the new episodes yet, and it seems that Dunham has taken the criticisms of racism and lack of diversity seriously. In response to the question from the New York Times Magazine, “Should we expect to see an episode in which the girls get a black friend in Season 2?” she said:

I mean, it’s not going to be like, “Hey guys, we’ve been out looking for a black friend or a friend in a wheelchair or a friend with a hat.” The tough thing is you kind of can’t win on that one. I have to write people who feel honest but also push our cultural ball forward.

And people already have lots of opinions about Dunham’s attempt to accurately represent Brooklyn’s diversity in the second season with the casting of Donald Glover as Sandy, Hannah’s love interest, so I’ll treat you to a few.

Joe Lamour at Racialicious said this:

Here’s what I think, after watching the first half hour of the season: I admire that Dunham took the criticism she got last year to heart. There are so many examples of how Hollywood ignores this type of thing. In fact, there are whole websites devoted to it. It really seems like she listened; I can’t tell from thirty minutes that everything has been solved, but it seems to be off to a good start? Lena Dunham isn’t so bad? Maybe? I say that with reservation but enthusiasm. Before I go, a couple thoughts on the good and the bad:

Good: I’ll start with positive reinforcement: Girls is definitely more diverse this season!

Bad: That definitely wasn’t the hardest thing to do.

Good: Donald Glover as Sandy! Hannah’s new, fleshed-out, not at all T-Doggy boyfriend.

Bad: I’m just hoping Donald Glover won’t simply be this show’s Charlie Wheeler.

Good: About the extras: A marked improvement in the representation of Brooklyn’s racial mix. So, Lena Dunham created a popular show, a critically acclaimed show, and instead of being, like, “Whatever. They’re all going to watch me anyway!” she actually made an effort to improve her show. That’s good. Very good. And to be honest, she probably realizes that a more realistic mix equals a more realistic world for her characters to live in.

Bad: Again, this is about the extras: There are definitely more black people on the show, but … I mean … I’ll put it this way. Realistic diversity is definitely not in your first season, girl. But it also not this. It’s definitely realistic here. But—it’s not this either, so don’t go overboard.

White Women

Laura Bennett at The New Republic said this:

Dunham uses the Sandy plot line as an opportunity to skewer both the complaints of her critics—Hannah herself echoes them with the misguided assumption that her essays are “for everyone”—and her characters’ blinkered worldview. Glover’s arc on the show is brief, but he is key to illustrating the limited scope of Hannah’s experience. “This always happens,” Sandy tells Hannah during their fight. “I’m a white girl and I moved to New York and I’m having a great time and oh I’ve got a fixed gear bike and I’m gonna date a black guy and we’re gonna go to a dangerous part of town. All that bullshit. I’ve seen it happen. And then they can’t deal with who I am.” Hannah responds with an explosion of goofy knee-jerk progressivism: “You know what, honestly maybe you should think about the fact that you could be fetishizing me. Because how many white women have you dated? Maybe you think of us as one big white blobby mass with stupid ideas. So why don’t you lay this thing down, flip it, and reverse it.” “You just said a Missy Elliot lyric,” Sandy says wearily.

It is wholly unsubtle, but it is still “Girls” at its best, at once affectionate and credible and lightly parodic. There is Hannah: impulsive, oblivious, tangled up in her own sloppy self-justifications. And then there is Lena Dunham, the wary third eye hovering above the action. “The joke’s on you because you know what? I never thought about the fact that you were black once,” Hannah tells Sandy. “I don’t live in a world where there are divisions like this,” she says. His simple reply: “You do.”

Feministing, of course, has been talking about the show since its inception, and Sesali Bowen had this to say about “Dunham’s attempt to introduce racial discourse into her show”:

And I find myself back at the same place I was when Maya and I talked about Beyonce. No, Dunham’s attempt to introduce racial discourse into her show doesn’t suddenly make it diverse, but I think she still deserves some credit. If it sounds like I’m saying: the white girl gets a pass for not painting an accurate portrait of Blackness because she doesn’t have lived context/experience, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Why do we expect “all or nothing” from anyone who dares to align themselves with a few feminist values, even if they don’t call themselves feminists? When will we begin the process of meeting people where they are?

And, as Samhita wrote on this topic, maybe we should spend less time “scrutinizing [Dunham’s] personal behavior instead of looking at the real problem—the lack of diverse representations of women in popular culture.” Do we need to see realistic representations of Black girlhood on television? Yes, that’s why we need more Black girls writing shows. *raises hand* Do we need examples of diversity in film? Yes, that’s why we need more people from diverse backgrounds writing them. Truthfully, I’d rather not leave that task up to a white girl with “no Black friends.”

I love these important conversations! Please, let’s keep having them!

But how about we leave the I HATE LENA DUNHAM BECAUSE SHE SEEMS ENTITLED AND KINDA HORRIBLE AND WHINY AND ISN’T DOING THINGS THE WAY I WOULD DO THEM IF I WERE LENA DUNHAM grossness off the table for five seconds.

Lena Dunham, being all entitled and shit

When I was 26, I was spending my fifth year failing undergrad, drowning in student loan debt (that’s still happening), smoking pot incessantly, binge-eating pepperoni rolls, sleeping through most of my classes on a broken futon, and shoving dryer sheets in my heating vents because my shitty always-drunk neighbors wouldn’t stop chain smoking. Occasionally, out of nowhere, a giant fly would swoop down from some unseen cesspool where flies live and attack me. Those are my memories of being 26. Maybe your memories of being 26 suck way less, and if so, congratulations! But you’re allowed to make mistakes at 26. You’re allowed to learn from those mistakes and evolve into a person who looks back and thinks, “Wow, 26 was rough, and I sucked at it.” That’s a general goddamn life rule, and we aren’t taking it away from Lena Dunham just because she’s a young woman who dares to make her mistakes in public. (Read Jodie Foster’s thought-provoking essay on society’s ~~disgusting~~ unsurprisingly misogynist reactions toward young women acting like young women in public.)

I mean, just to double check, we’re all still cool with Louis C.K., right? I haven’t yet seen season three of Louie, that award-winning show that C.K. writes, directs, produces, edits, and stars in (sound familiar?), but I remember the first few episodes or so of this New York City-set critics’ darling being fairly fucking White, except for a few peripheral characters outside of Louie’s inner circle. And the Black people who do exist (at least in the first season) pretty much serve as vehicles to illustrate Louie’s uncoolness by comparison. (Has anyone given a name to that trope yet?) So, did I miss the accompanying INTERNET FREAKOUT, or does this bro maybe represent—I dunno—society’s favorite quintessential middle-aged, balding white dude who can’t get laid, that we all find so endearing and impossible not to love?

Did I also miss the 100% JUSTIFIED NOT REALLY BECAUSE IT NEVER HAPPENED OUTRAGE over C.K. exposing his huge gut and sloppy backside to the masses—whether he’s climbing on top of hot women (duh) or getting a totally unnecessary (because assault is funny!) rectal exam from doctor-character Ricky Gervais? And we’re all still cool with his awkward and embarrassing sex scenes, right? Because they’re just … so … what’s that word people keep railing against when it’s used to describe the sex scenes in Girls … oh yeah … “REAL” … ?

“Eh, what are you gonna do?” –privileged White dudes everywhere, in response to rarely getting called out for their bullshit

My bad. I’m probably missing something, since Chuck Bowen called Louie “possibly the most racially integrated television show ever made,” (I’ll admit “Dentist/Tarese” is an interesting episode toward the end of season one) and there isn’t at all an inkling of a double standard at play here regarding what we consider “acceptable” bodies to display onscreen. (Sidenote: I love, not really, how groundbreaking it is that C.K. cast a Black woman to play his ex-wife in season three of Louie, yet we’re still treated to that “schlubby dude landing a hot lady” trope. I can’t keep suspending my disbelief forever, boys.)

Sorry, tangent. But seriously.

If I sound like a Lena Dunham apologist aka “a fucking pig who can go to hell,” let me clarify (again): Lena Dunham should be—and certainly has been, I mean fuck—criticized for her show’s failings. Most television shows and films for that matter would benefit even from a miniscule amount of the kind of intense anger flung at Girls over its racism and lack of diversity. But I’m angry that people—including women and feminists—can’t seem to criticize Lena Dunham’s show without launching into sexist attacks against Lena Dunham, in the same way I was angry when people couldn’t (and still can’t) separate their criticisms of Sarah Palin’s conservative policies from their sexist attacks against Sarah Palin.

So, if nothing else, I give you these few words and phrases to move away from when talking about Lena Dunham: “whiny” … “annoying” … “ugly” … “gross” … “frumpy” … “hot mess” … “neurotic” … “slutty” … you get the idea.

NEPOTISM NARCISSISM LENA’S BODY UGH

The truth is, ultimately, it doesn’t matter to me who likes Girls and who doesn’t. For what it’s worth, I liked the first season, mainly because I’ve been writing about representations of women in film and television for five years, and it was nice for once to know I wouldn’t have to analyze every scene to figure out whether this show passed The Bechdel Test. It sort of blew my mind to hear women talk to one another about abortion, HPV, colposcopies, virginity, and menopause, like, repeatedly—and with no unnecessary mansplainy perspective involved. I think the show actually makes a pretty serious case against living like an entitled, culturally insulated hipster, while still managing to love its characters. But I understand, even excluding the criticisms regarding lack of diversity, that people still legitimately dislike the show for other reasons. That’s allowed. I hate Two and a Half Men and Family Guy and The Big Bang Theory and How I Met Your Mother and every other White-dominated show on television that keeps pretending women exist merely as fucktoys and mommies to their manchildren, and that’s allowed too.

But if you’re having an epic conniption over HOW HORRIBLE GIRLS IS OMG WHY DOES ANYONE LIKE IT LENA DUNHAM IS THE WORST, maybe it’s time to evaluate the hate—not dislike of, or boredom with, or ambivalence toward—but the actual hatred of ~~Girls~~ Lena Dunham, and why it’s really there.

Gay Rights and Gay Times: Gender Commentary in ‘Husbands’

Like most comedy, the web series Husbands relies on common stereotypes in order to make a humorous social commentary. Husbands is the brainchild of Jane Espenson (Buffy the Vampire Slayer) and Brad Bell, and revolves around the drunken, Las Vegas marriage of two prominent gay men: Cheeks (Brad Bell), who is a well-known TV star, and Brady (Sean Hemoen), a famous baseball player. The two decide to maintain their spur-of-the-moment marriage as a show of solidarity for the gay-rights movement, despite the fact that they’ve only been dating for six weeks; naturally, the two grow more in love by navigating the perilous waters of being newlyweds.

While it’s not the first show to center around a gay couple (Modern Family, The New Normal, Will and Grace), it is one of the first web series to take more of an active role in social criticism, rather than utilizing over-done gay jokes just for comedy’s sake; a fact that makes this show “one notch better” (Nussbaum, The New Yorker) than any of the web series rolling around on the internet.

One of the best things about the series is its firm commitment to exposing the sexual double standards displayed in the media. While it is appropriate to show women in fairly suggestive (and ridiculous) situations, homosexual behavior is seen as far more provocative and inappropriate. During the second season, Cheeks posts a photo online of him kissing Brady, resulting in a ‘billion moms’ uproar over its immoral nature. During the resulting discussions about their situation, the TV in the background features clever commercials of two scantily clad women having a pillow fight and a pretty indecent commercial for pizza.

It’s a great point; despite the fact that it’s absolutely normal for exploitive TV shows and commercials featuring women to be shown, it’s inappropriate for a loving same-gender couple to merely kiss. How is it that the blatant double standard regarding appropriate and inappropriate portrayals of sexuality continues to go unaccounted for by the media and it’s audience?

Husbands discusses this dilemma in season 2 as Cheeks and Brady try to develop an acceptable persona for themselves to show to the world. Are they flamboyant harbingers of social revolution? Or do they quietly operate within society’s rules? One character arguing for each viewpoint, asking the question: what produces results? Loud and proud fights? Or working from the inside in order to produce change? It’s an incredibly relevant and thoughtful argument and one that I was surprised to see during an 8-minute webisode.

This is all a part of the show’s award-winning (Telly Awards) charm; the show is an amped up celebration of astute social criticism and campy marriage sitcom. A combination that embraces its cheesy adorable-ness and smart observations, but a combination you don’t mind since it’s obviously intentional.

The show also features cameo performances from Nathan Fillion (Castle, Firefly), Joss Whedon (creator of Firefly, Buffy the Vampire Slayer), Michael Buckley and other well-known web-series actors. To watch the entire two seasons would take only about an hour, since each season totals no more than a half hour of footage, but make sure to continue watching after the credits (especially in season 2) as that’s when the full footage from their double-standard video expositions is shown.

Unique and snappy (if a bit clichéd in terms of humor) shows like Husbands are wonderfully redemptive examples of positive and intelligent media; the Internet has produced such an amazing opportunity for creative entertainment that isn’t beholden to a corporate studio for their funding. I’m excited to see season 3 and see where Bell and Espensen take the series next, hopefully the show will continue it’s smart gender commentary and continue to expose inequality.

While the show is easily found on Youtube, you can also access the episodes at husbandstheseries, as well as the Husbands comics.

Rachel Redfern has an MA in English literature, where she conducted research on modern American literature and film and its intersection, however she spends most of her time watching HBO shows, traveling, and blogging and reading about feminism.

Guest Writer Wednesday: One for the Money

One for the Money (2012)

When I asked my friend to see One for the Money with me, I warned her that critics had not been kind — as of then it had a 0% on Rotten Tomatoes. That’s right, ZERO critics thought it was worth seeing.

Wow, up to a whole three percent!

Why are we seeing it, then?” she asked. “Because the audience liked it.” I told her, “and I don’t fucking care what the critics think because they’re sexist morons about this stuff. Also, we are supporting a female-directed, female-authored movie on an opening weekend.”

Actually, it’s amazing I knew about the movie at all, given how little it had marketed. But I’d been watching Roseanne reruns on Oxygen at the gym and, seeing some ads, I thought it looked fun. It was fun. I would even go so far as to it was “pretty good,” given its clearly limited budget. Not mind-blowing. Not Oscar material. Not Great Art. But well-executed for its genre. Okay, so what’s the dealio with the critical vitriol?

The movie became an excuse for yet another round of Katherine Heigl bashing, including reviews that complained about her being “annoying.” Way to be objective, critics! Now, a few admissions are in order. First, I’ve never read any of the Janet Evanovich books the movie is based on, or been to Trenton, New Jersey. I can’t tell you anything about how accurate the movie is in regard to either, and I don’t really care. I was just looking for an amusing hour and a half, and that’s exactly what I got. The opening title sequence was unappealing, like Sex and the City had thrown up on a James Bond montage : lipstick being shot out of guns and stilettos superimposed over money and such. I didn’t like it, wondered if that was something to do with the book’s aesthetics, and worried that I’d made a terrible mistake.

As the movie progressed, the worst criticism I could come up with was that it was a little dated, with family comedy strongly reminiscent of an Everybody Loves Raymond episode. But Debbie Reynolds was funny as Stephanie Plum’s Grandma, so whatever. And you know what? I started to enjoy the absence of über-irony at every turn. I liked that this wasn’t some unbelievably slick production where everybody lives in patently unaffordable apartments. I loved that Stephanie Plum had a shitty place with a bathroom cabinet that could only hold a single stick of deoderant. I particularly enjoyed the fact that I didn’t have to look at any breasts, but the mancake/suspect dude Plum was chasing took off his shirt. Thumbs way up!

As for Katherine Heigl as Stephanie Plum, she was fine. I repeat, fine. This was never going to be an Oscar-winning performance, but I thought she did a creditable job portraying Plum’s transformation from rookie bounty hunter to tough professional. The mancake dude was good, too, playing it impressively abrasive at first, but letting us (and Stephanie) warm up to him. And there was a cute sidekick guy who showed her the ropes. All fine. A little pat? Sure, but I’m betting the books were too. Such is the genre. In all honesty, I’m still trying to figure out what, exactly, set the critics off. Is it because once she’s got her act together, Stephanie Plum shoots someone, unapologetically? Or because, if she’s going to do that, she’s supposed to be scantily clad and ready for sex at any moment, a la Angelina Jolie in any action flick? But in addition to not taking off her shirt, she also doesn’t squeal cutely while she’s learning to shoot, or do any of the other things women in “chick” flicks are supposed to do. And Plum needs the money, so she turns the suspect in at the end instead of sleeping with him. Maybe, since the movie was fluff, it simply wasn’t airbrushed enough — I mean, we actually see people’s pores! Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because Stephanie Plum is was so much the main character that I can’t really remember the other dudes’ names? No, really, somebody tell me what was so objectionable, without whining about predictability or how “annoying” Katherine Heigl is.

Now, of course, feminists are apt to look to indie flicks for progress, and that’s fair enough; however, popular movies are an important litmus test, too, because, like advertising, Hollywood has enormous budgets that create an enormous influence on society’s gender perceptions. If the movie didn’t get a decent marketing budget, or have production values as slick as (e.g.) RED, or produce the strong opening weekend an action movie would have, it’s still fair to ask how and why and gender and genre play into that. The answer, I suspect, is because it wasn’t an action movie, by traditional standards. Had it been the “chick” flick it was advertised as, I think the critics were fully prepared to bash it anyway (cf. the ridiculous scapegoating of Bride Wars) but I think the movie had it worse, because it didn’t act enough like a “chick” flick. Look, if you don’t like pat genre movies, nobody’s going to force you to see them – unless you’re a critic, in which case, I defy you to look me in the eye and tell me that this movie was worse than any other mainstream action-comedy out there. If this had been Bruce Willis and not Katherine Heigl, I suspect the critics would have been willing to put up with all manner of unbelievable crap – oh, look, they already are! Female-centered movies like this one get bashed enthusiastically, while (e.g.) the fourth installment of the Indiana Jones series – which was actually BAD in most respects – gets kind of a shrug/free pass from critics. Yeah, okay, now they’re willing to have low expectations. Or maybe the explosions counted towards artistic merit.

Disagree.

If you go around demanding that everything in life be Great Art, you’re going to make yourself miserable anyway. But if you claim that’s what you’re doing, and then inconsistently apply the standards, you’re also a hypocrite and, in this case, a sexist twit. A lot of people took it badly that this movie wasn’t pre-screened for critics. But I don’t blame them one bit. Without a big-name male star, the movie was bound to get exactly the treatment it did anyway. But if the definition of equality is that mediocre women’s movies get the same treatment as mediocre men’s movies, we’ve still got a long way to go, baby.

Amanda Krauss is a former professor and current writer/speaker/humor theorist. From 2005-2010 she taught courses on gender, culture, and the history of comedy at Vanderbilt University, and in 2010 was invited to present a course entitled “Humor, Ancient to Modern” at the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute. While she is focusing on her current blog (Worst Professor Ever, which satirically chronicles issues of education and lifelong learning) some of her theoretical archives can be found at risatrix.com.