Kyle Sanders – Bitch Flicks

How ‘Big Business’ Made Big Business Thanks to Two Women Big in the Business

Yet what sets this 80s flick apart from most films of that era is the fact that the four protagonists are all women AND completely independent. … Ultimately, it is Midler and Tomlin who save the film from being just another forgotten comedy of the 1980s. The two stars bring a certain gravitas to the screen — a perfect combination of comedic timing and contagious chemistry…

This guest post written by Kyle Sanders appears as part of our theme week on Ladies of the 1980s.

When you combine the talents of Bette Midler and Lily Tomlin, you wind up with three Academy Award nominations, four Grammy awards, three Tony awards, and ten Emmy awards — not too shabby for two women in show business. Both have shined so brightly in their respective fields, that it was only a matter of time before the two starred together in a film, which ultimately became 1988’s Big Business. Loosely based on Mark Twain’s The Prince and the Pauper and William Shakespeare’s Comedy of Errors, the film stars Midler and Tomlin as two sets of twins mismatched at birth, who eventually reunite over the fate of a small town. The film was a modest box office success at the time, but decades later, their comedic chemistry still remains intact, and stands as a testament to successful female-driven comedies.

Big Business begins with the coincidental timing of two births: one from a wealthy couple traveling through Jupiter Hollow (an Appalachian town in West Virginia) and the other from a family of impoverished locals. Both women give birth to identical twin girls. In a hilarious mishap, both sets of twins get mixed up thanks to the confused nurse. Nearly forty years later, wealthy “twins” Sadie (Midler) and Rose (Tomlin) Shelton are co-chairwomen of Moremax — the successor to their father’s business located in New York City — and ultimately want to sell Hollowmade, a furniture factory located in the very town where they were born. Naturally, there is some resistance from Jupiter Hollow’s townsfolk, led by the factory’s forewoman, Rose Ratliff (Tomlin, again), who plans to travel to New York and protest with her “twin sister” Sadie (Midler, again) to “raise some heck” and “kick some snooty New York ass.” As luck would have it, both sets of twins end up staying at the Plaza Hotel, causing much comical confusion and physical hijinks amongst the women’s suitors and hotel employees. It’s not until the end of the film that all four women become acquainted, recognizing their familial bond and end up saving the rural town from being completely strip mined.

This film came out in the summer of 1988, so of course, there are some choice fashionable references of the era — shoulder pads, stark white Reebok sneakers, polka dots — but also gnarly pop cultural references of the 80s as well. Sadie Ratliff is mesmerized by an episode of Dynasty, a Times Square marquee features Disorderlies and Monster Squad (both films from 1987), and a totally bogus movie ending features Steve Winwood’s “Higher Love” playing over the credits (hey, it was the 80s!). Yet what sets this 80s flick apart from most films of that era is the fact that the four protagonists are all women AND completely independent.

Sure, it’s clear that Midler’s Sadie Shelton had once married and had a child, but has chosen business over family, maintaining heavy control over her father’s corporation instead of devoting attention on her out of control son (played by a young Seth Green). Although Tomlin’s Rose Ratliff has a boyfriend who expects her to cheer him on at his miniature golf tournament (tubular!), she chooses to save her town’s way of life over standing at her man’s side. These women are ambitious and too focused on their professional futures to be restrained by traditional standards. The film makes it clear that these women are forces to be reckoned with.

Let us not forget the other sisters either. Rose Shelton may not be as hard edged or ruthless as her sister Sadie, but she too remains independent. She feels out of place in the corporate world, struggling to maintain even a flimsy shoulder pad slipping down her sleeve (a metaphorical rejection of the big business lifestyle, perhaps?). She’d rather exchange it all for a simpler existence involving “a goat and some ducks.” Meanwhile, Sadie Ratliff feels stuck in the sticks and dreams of a totally glamorous, upscale lifestyle. As she reenacts a scene from Dynasty (involving bitchin’ iconic businesswoman Alexis Carrington, no less), it’s clear how much she’s yearned for a dazzling position in power, of which her rural upbringing has very few resources to offer.

These diverse options provide a radically different perspective of living compared to the mothers that birthed them in the 1940s: Mrs. Shelton’s pregnancy was more of a negotiation in exchange for an extended wardrobe and jewelry, while Mrs. Ratliff’s pregnancy seems to be business as usual, commenting on what’s changed in the delivery room since “the last time” she was there. In a way, the film specifically opens during that time to suggest how women have evolved in the “modern era” of the late 80s.

And who better to portray the modern woman? The four varied, fully dimensional characters in Big Business could only be compellingly and hilariously portrayed by Midler and Tomlin. Between Midler’s big-eyed glares and Tomlin’s dizzying hysterics, both actresses’ comedic physicality provide specific mannerisms to each version of Sadie and Rose that when all four do share the same screen (thanks to some bogusly dated 80s special effects), it’s easy to distinguish these characters.

As different as each woman is, they all share one thing in common: respect amongst their peers. The Shelton sisters are president and senior vice president of Moremax, surrounded by men who await their professional decisions. While Rose is the “wispy” sister, Sadie holds court at Moremax. Sadie’s grand introduction (in a setup that clearly inspired Miranda Priestly’s entrance in The Devil Wears Prada) has her entire staff racing around the office to prepare for her appearance, and within seconds upon arriving she’s already ripping into her employees, be it with their choice of attire or failure of completing tasks. Her cold composure and piercing stare are intimidating; she is never intimidated or buckles to corporate pressure. It’s surprising then that not once throughout the entire film is she ever referred to as the proverbial “bitch.” Sadie is one bodacious businesswoman, and no man ever undermines her decisions.

The Ratliff sisters also are shown a great amount of respect. The entire community calls upon them to save their town from getting strip mined, which is surprising considering how rural culture is often depicted as placing women either in the kitchen or in the nursery — like their mother 40 years prior. Once Rose and Sadie Ratliff arrive in New York, completely out of their comfort zone, they quickly adapt to their surroundings. Through a string of cheesy 80s montages, Rose infiltrates the ins and outs of the Plaza Hotel, spreading word of Moremax’s devious intentions with Jupiter Hollow through various disguises (“Guten morgan!”), while Sadie explores the city, learning how to (aggressively) hail a taxi cab. The Ratliff women might be from a small town but they are not small minded.

For a film centered on strong-willed women, the weakest part of the plot comes from their interactions with men. Sadie Shelton’s ex-husband is judgmental of his wife’s monetary bribes to their spoiled son, yet instantly falls back in love with her once (unbeknownst to him) Sadie Ratliff does some quick-thinking discipline inside the toy store FAO Schwarz (??). Rose Shelton’s spineless boyfriend won’t propose marriage because he’s scared of her sister, but Rose Ratliff rebuffs his advances later on and somehow inspires him to buy a ring (??). I don’t buy it. As palpable as Sadie Shelton’s sexual power plays with Fabio Alberici (the man who plans to buy out Jupiter Hollow from Moremax) are, the deal ultimately falls through, and seems to have no consequences on their romantic chemistry. The only relationship that seems to have enough substance to continue on occurs between Rose Shelton and Roone, Rose Ratliff’s boyfriend. He sets out to New York in a quest to rescue Rose Ratliff, but instead ends up saving Rose Shelton from a life she’d rather not live. He senses the insufferableness of her situation, which in turn helps her discover her true nature, allowing her to focus and feel comfortable about herself for the first time in her life. Sure, it plays out like a grody Damsel in Distress scenario, but it ultimately makes Rose a fully realized individual by the end of the film, and it’s because of her solid plea to the stockholders to not sell out Jupiter Hollow that eventually saves the day.

Ultimately, it is Midler and Tomlin who save the film from being just another forgotten comedy of the 1980s. The two stars bring a certain gravitas to the screen — a perfect combination of comedic timing and contagious chemistry in scenes that might otherwise fall flat in the hands of other capable actresses. The material provided from the script (co-written by Dori Pierson, who unfortunately never penned another screenplay after this one), isn’t entirely fresh, yet Midler’s and Tomlin’s performances keep the comedy from going stale.

These women are no strangers to the medium, as Midler got her start gaining a following in a gay bathhouse, thanks to her vibrant showmanship and bawdy humor. Tomlin, on the other hand, is considered a female pioneer of standup, who in the 1960s presented cerebral character sketches instead of self-deprecating jokes about marriage and motherhood. Both women proved their star power throughout the 1980s, in previous female-driven comedies such as 9 to 5 (1980) and Outrageous Fortune (1987). Thanks to them, Big Business earned a solid box office return, ranking in the top 30 highest-grossing films of 1988. Their solid comedic teamwork — much like the combined efforts of all four Shelton and Ratliff sisters — saves the film from being a run-of-the-mill, haphazard case of switched identities, into a film that shows how the ladies of the 1980s are able to run businesses and conserve communities at the same time — even if it means kicking some snooty New York ass!

Kyle Sanders lives in Chicago, where he studies improv at iO whenever he can afford it. He has previously written for Bitch Flicks, as well as NewsCastic: Chicago and GIGA: Geek Magazine.

“And That’s the Truth”: The Talent and Comedic Timeliness of Lily Tomlin

I owe a great debt to Tomlin for helping me discover comedy, for helping shape my sense of humor, and for helping me define a sense of identity that might not have ever emerged without her. How can anyone argue that women aren’t funny, when my sole entire reason for making people laugh was inspired by a (funny) woman?

This is a guest post by Kyle Sanders.

At this year’s annual Golden Globes, Jane Fonda and Lily Tomlin presented the award for Best Actor in a Comedy or Musical Series. While it was nice to see the stars of one of the best comedies ever made, 9 to 5, it was also exciting to see these two talented actresses reunite on stage in what was of course a quick promotion for their soon-to-debut Netflix series, Grace and Frankie. But what was most notable was the tongue-in-cheek banter they had on stage, discussing how “nice” it was to finally put at rest the “negative stereotype” that men aren’t funny. Of course, it is not exactly true that men have never been funny, but for some reason it has always been heavily debated whether or not women are funny. What I found most ironic was the fact that Tomlin led this conversation, because of all the talented comics out there—male or female—I have always regarded her as my greatest (and funniest) comedic muse.

It is no secret within my social circle that I am absolutely bananas over Lily Tomlin, and from an early age to boot. While I was in grade school, I was introduced to Tomlin from a Laugh-In reunion special that aired in the early ’90s and upon being exposed to her widely popular Ernestine the telephone operator and Edith Ann characters, I found Tomlin’s comedic creations imitable. From that moment, I was hooked. Back before the days of IMDb, I would spend hours in a video rental store, searching through the “Comedy” section for her name or her face on a VHS sleeve (remember those?). It wasn’t before long that I found a “best of” compilation of a little sketch comedy show called Saturday Night Live that featured two of Tomlin’s hosting stints. This newfound discovery of nostalgic humor led me to my first love of comedy. To put it simply: I owe my adoration of sketch comedy and my obsession with SNL to Lily Tomlin. Because of Tomlin, I found the courage to move to the land of improv, Chicago, in the hopes of performing sketch comedy and turn it into a career. Ya hear that? A woman—a FUNNY woman—inspired me to find a career in making people laugh.

And why not? Lily Tomlin is one our most premier comediennes as of all time. Hell, The Laugh Factory includes an artist’s rendering of her among many of the greatest comedians who ever lived. Why we are even still debating this “women are/aren’t funny” theory is beyond my own belief, because as an aspiring comedic performer, I have always touted Tomlin as one of the greats.

First and foremost, Tomlin revolutionized comedy for women. Before Tomlin, most female comics were self-deprecating (Phyllis Diller) or performed material regarding marriage and children (Joan Rivers). Tomlin’s turn in the spotlight did away with joke-telling and produced sketch comedy acts involving a variety of characters inspired by people she had known while growing up in the diverse, blue-collar environment of Detroit. Tomlin’s act embraced the counterculture of the 1960s, during the time of the civil rights movement and the sexual revolution. Gender dynamics were changing, and Tomlin was at the forefront of the women’s lib movement in comedy. She performed material that focused on the working class and the poor, material that required an edgy intelligence that did not go for punch lines or cheap laughs. She certainly didn’t limit her comedy to material about her looks or motherhood or married life—though her sketches didn’t shy away from such matters either. Tomlin was not a standup-comic, but a cerebral comedic performer.

Tomlin’s talent for creating eccentric, offbeat characters landed her a spot on NBC’s Laugh-In, and her prolific career took off overnight. Some of her most beloved characters came about on this variety show, including Ernestine, a snorting, nasally-voiced telephone operator who controlled the phone lines with her sharp tongue and smart-alecky insults. She also gave us Edith Ann, a philosophizing seven-year-old who sat in an oversized rocking chair spouting off words of wisdom while sticking out her tongue. Tomlin’s knack for producing dozens of three dimensional characters would eventually provide her enough material for her own television specials, of which landed her several Emmy awards. These specials reflected the changing times involving racial and gender politics, material that did not involve a lot of punch lines or pratfalls but certainly served as intelligent yet controversial material that not even Louis CK or Chris Rock would have the balls to produce back in the day (and if anyone can track down these specials in DVD format, please let me know!). I would even say Tomlin should be given credit for introducing comedian Richard Pryor (whom collaborated with Tomlin on a few of these specials) to the mainstream when most producers were too scared to let Pryor have any air time. Tomlin was an underground comic almost too dangerous to showcase amid the still-shrewd comedy scene of the 1970s.

Throughout the ’80s, Tomlin starred in films that showcased multidimensional females that could lead to strong box office returns. She has always chosen roles that project a strong persona, never submissive to authority let alone a male figure. Tomlin’s characters are in essence Tomlin herself: offbeat, eccentric, but always strong and independent. Tomlin proved she could stand toe-to-toe with comedy legends like Art Carney in The Late Show. She had a physicality that could keep up with the comedic ferocity of Steve Martin in All of Me (and possess his body no less!). Tomlin’s strong sense of humor and femininity also proved successful alongside other actresses, sharing the screen as well as countless laughs. In 9 to 5, Tomlin’s Violet Newstead is one of three women who take down their “sexist, egotistical, lying, hypocritical” male boss, Franklin Hart. Violet delivers a speech of disgust towards Hart that’s one of Tomlin’s most pivotal moments in her acting career:

“Okay, okay, I’m gonna leave, but I’m gonna tell you one thing before I go: don’t you ever refer to me as ‘your girl’ again…I’m no girl, I’m a woman. Do you hear me? I’m not your wife or your mother—or even your mistress. I am your employee and as such I expect to be treated equally with a little dignity and a little respect!”

Violet’s demand for equality was a calling that every working woman heard loud and clear, and with the chemistry between Tomlin, Jane Fonda, and Dolly Parton, women AND men came to the movie theaters in droves, paving the way for comedic actresses in film that proved female-driven comedies could bring the masses to the box office. Without Tomlin’s collaborative talent in 9 to 5, there would be no Outrageous Fortune, no Big Business (another Tomlin film—this time paired up with the Divine Miss M, Bette Midler), no Baby Mama, Bridesmaids, or The Heat.

Even as an older actress in today’s Hollywood—when most “women of a certain age” are relayed to playing mothers—Tomlin has never been one to play a matriarch as paper thin. She portrayed Mary Schlicting, Ben Stiller’s mother in Flirting with Disaster, as a post-’60s hippie living in a ’90s world and still producing LSD. In Eastbound & Down, her Tammy Powers character was a bowling champion that could spout out more profanity than Danny McBride’s Kenny Powers while exchanging pharmaceutical drugs. In Admission, her Susannah character is a highly renowned feminist author who nearly kills Tina Fey’s date with a shot gun. In Web Therapy, her Putsy Hodge dons an array of costumes, from a fu Manchu beard to a prisoner jumpsuit, to the annoyance of her daughter Fiona, as played by Lisa Kudrow. These performances certainly don’t read as “motherly matriarch,” but as performed by Tomlin, they certainly scream “hilarious.”

With her new comedy, Grace and Frankie, Tomlin proves again how relevant and hilarious her talents still are in a series co-starring Jane Fonda involving two older women whose husbands come out as gay and have fallen in love with each other. For Netflix to add a comedy series (from Friends co-creator Marta Kauffman I might add) about two older women beginning anew, it proves that the old adage of women not being funny is untrue, and with Tomlin in tow, this comedy series will no doubt succeed in continuing to prove that theory wrong.

Late last year, Tomlin was awarded a Kennedy Center Honor for her contribution to the American arts. As one of Tomlin’s biggest fans, I had been petitioning for this recognition for years. Yet the moment was bittersweet, because while this was certainly good news for one of my favorite all-time idols, the fact was I would not be there to salute her at the event. One of my career goals in life was to speak on Tomlin’s behalf at the Kennedy Center. Tomlin and I have a few similarities: we both have southern roots planted in Kentucky, we both have an eye and ear for characterizations and impressions, and we both happen to be gay (in fact, Tomlin became the first outed lesbian to received the Kennedy Center honor in its entire history). I owe a great debt to Tomlin for helping me discover comedy, for helping shape my sense of humor, and for helping me define a sense of identity that might not have ever emerged without her. How can anyone argue that women aren’t funny, when my sole entire reason for making people laugh was inspired by a (funny) woman? Women may not have always been considered funny, but thanks to Tomlin’s efforts, women (as well as men) have reason to be funny.

Kyle Sanders lives in Chicago and plans to take improv classes at the Improv Olympic (as soon as his rent gets paid). In the meantime he occasionally contributes to NewsCastic: Chicago and GiGa Geek Magazine among other blogs that deem his thoughts worthy.

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.