Mark Wahlberg – Bitch Flicks

This guest post by Rachel Wortherley appears as part of our theme week on Masculinity.

“Ultimately, the show’s theme is friendship and family. The characters may have bling, but they’re grounded guys who look out for each other. That’s the backbone of the show. If it was just about fantasy lifestyles, it wouldn’t be relatable” – Doug Ellin, creator and director, Entourage.

The HBO series Entourage (2004-2011) focuses on four men, born and bred in Queens, as they navigate the tough terrain of Hollywood. The show revolves around actor and superstar Vincent Chase. Rounding out his entourage are: Vince’s best friend and manager, Eric “E” Murphy (Kevin Connolly); childhood friend, assistant, and driver Sal “Turtle” Assante (Jerry Ferrara); and Vince’s older half-brother, personal chef, and C-list actor, Johnny “Drama” Chase (Kevin Dillon). The story and characters are inspired by actor Mark Wahlberg, his manager Stephen Levinson, and various members of Wahlberg’s entourage during Wahlberg’s rise to fame. Entourage has often been criticized for its portrayal of male fantasy lifestyles. Their lives consist of buying expensive cars, attending exclusive parties and movie premieres, and hot girls. Ellin’s estimation is correct. Entourage is not a portrayal of the male fantasy. Instead, it reinforces the harsh reality that being a male, especially in Hollywood, equals power.

Each episode appears to end with a satisfying resolution. Seasons one and two consist of the guys finding Vince a new role that will propel him to stardom. In season one, Vince is coming off of a mediocre debut film and now wants a role with substance, while his equal opportunity offender and hardball agent, Ari Gold (Jeremy Piven), wants Vince to take a blockbuster film. At the end of season one, Vince films the indie and season two depicts Eric and Ari through the trials, tribulations, schmoozing, and negotiations of making Vince well-known to director James Cameron.

In season two, episode seven, “The Sundance Kids,” the guys end up fracturing a movie deal with producer Harvey Weingard (Maury Chakin) in the hopes of James Cameron casting Vince as Aquaman. At the end of the episode, when James Cameron leaves the film early, their hopes are dashed. That is, until Vince receives a phone call from James Cameron asking him if he wants to be his Aquaman. It is made clear that at this point, Vince is largely unknown. He fails to reach the superstardom of Tom Cruise, Leonardo DiCaprio, or Will Smith, yet Cameron is willing to take a chance. In season five, Vince’s film flops at Cannes and he is out of work for the next six months. In the reality of Hollywood, six months is a vacation for male stars, while it is a death sentence for actresses. Despite the rollercoaster of events, Vince and company still manage to stay on top.

Throughout the series, women are disposable. This notion is solidified in the pilot by Turtle when the guys invite Vince’s groupies over for a pool party: “Sweetheart, look around. Vince is gone. So’s your sister and your best friend. Come on, just make out with me, I’ll show you where Vince eats breakfast.” This can be seen as males using women–or “girls” as the guys refer to them—as a source of status and service. However, there is an equality in the leeching that occurs. Women are for consumption and allow themselves to be consumed. The next day, Turtle gives the girl a fresh pair of Vince’s jeans as a gift and all is well.

However, the most telling episode occurs in season two, episode eight, “Oh, Mandy.” After receiving news that actress and singer Mandy Moore has been offered the role of Aquagirl, Ari, the studio, the guys, and Vince’s opinionated and brass publicist, Shauna (Debi Mazar), scramble. Vince’s past romance with Mandy has the potential to hurt the movie. As a result, Vince has to make the decision as to whether or not she stays on the movie or not. Turtle reminds Vince that “the movie is called Aquaman, not Aquagirl.” This line is indicative of the “boys club” that continues to thrive in Hollywood. An actress’s livelihood in the industry is dependent on her co-star.

While there are notable women in the series, they are largely present to elevate the males. For example, the fact that Ari’s wife, Mrs. Ari is referred to as such and it is the character’s name, until the series finale, demonstrates how her identity clings to being the wife of Ari Gold. Yet she is the figure whom we see a different side of Ari through. While she tolerates his adolescent tantrums, Melissa is able to go toe-to-toe with Ari. In the pilot, as a way of solidifying his masculinity over Eric, Ari boasts about sleeping with supermodels. After audiences meet Melissa, they know this is false. As Ari attempts to skip out on his son’s birthday party to reign in Vince, Melissa calls him an “asshole.” His counter argument is to make a laundry list of everything he has provided for her: the means to contribute to charities, go shopping, and support her deadbeat brother. She simply replies, “Hey little agent boy, you better be back here for the cake,” and his only response is “OK.” His dynamic with Melissa, as well as, Lloyd his assistant/whipping boy, saves his character from being completely unsalvageable.

Women are also seen as the saviors when the stakes are high. In season one, one of Vince’s girlfriends provides a weed dealer to an uptight producer whose dealer is dry. As a result, the producer takes a liking to Vince and accepts his casting in the indie Queens Boulevard. In season two, porn stars rush to Vince’s aid when a journalist at comic-con (Rainn Wilson) threatens to ruin Vince and Aquaman before it has been filmed. Shauna—who calls Vince “Vincent”—acts as Vince’s west coast mother who tells him what to wear, how to act, and attempts to talk him off a ledge when his heart is broken by Mandy Moore. In addition to Melissa, the other women of Entourage, Sloan McQuewick (Emmanuelle Chriqui) and Jamie Lynn Sigler (playing herself), allow for the men to mature from boys playing with toys to men—who continue to play with toys, but have responsibility—at least in their romantic lives.

What is fascinating about Entourage is the timing of the premiere. Two months before the premiere, HBO had just come off the wave of the hit series Sex and the City. While it is not fair to compare the two series, there are areas in which they are similar. Each series has four friends who look out for each other and keep each other grounded and we see an air of extravagancy that is not afforded to the average viewer: shoes, homes, cars, etc. While romance and relationships is the focus on Sex and the City, the men of Entourage spend a fair amount of time talking about women. Eric’s relationships with women is usually the point of discussion.

While Eric’s story and character arc is establishing himself as a viable manager, Eric’s growth throughout the series is arguably the most relatable and interesting. The definition of masculinity—money, power, girls, brute strength—is not necessarily synonymous to Eric. If he were to be compared to a Sex and the City character, he is Miranda Hobbes. Miranda is successful, but her style does not eclipse that of Carrie Bradshaw. Miranda is the everywoman. She is career-driven, maintains a healthy relationship (formerly cynical about men and love), and is the practical voice of reason in their circle of friends. Eric, a former Sbarro pizza boy, is not as handsome as Vince, he drives an old car—until Vince gifts him one—and wears his heart on his sleeve. These two characters are likable because they are not the famous writer or movie star. So, is Miranda a male in women’s clothes, or is Eric a female in male’s clothes? The fact that Miranda, a woman, and Eric a male, can be compared concludes that our ideas of masculinity and femininity are not exclusive.

The reality of Entourage is that their environment allows for adolescent and offensive behaviors amongst men. Males are allowed to make power plays against each other and win. If they lose, their next opportunity is around the corner. This is not afforded to women who either need to be sexy and “bangable” while maintaining the visage of the “cool” girl next door to survive. Ellin is correct that the friendship amongst males is the theme of Entourage, but so is the fact that outside of the family dynamic, the “backbone” of their industry calls for males who look out for each other.

Rachel Wortherley earned a Master of Arts degree at Iona College in New Rochelle, New York. Her downtime consists of devouring copious amounts of literature, films, and Netflix. She hopes earn an MFA and become a professional screenwriter.

Movie poster for The Fighter

This guest post by Jessica Freeman-Slade previously appeared at Bitch Flicks on February 2, 2011.

The adage of “Behind every good man is a great woman” is worn out, particularly in the realm of boxing movies. You can reduce the entirety of Rocky to the battered Stallone’s anguished cry of “Adrian!” as he wraps up a brutal fight. We’re meant to believe that what kept him alive was passion, love, a desire to see life through to the closing bell. It’s a hackneyed way of suggesting that though Rocky pounds with his fists, he really leads with his heart. This is the kind of boxing movie that writes itself, and one that doesn’t really need to be seen more than once. Luckily for everyone, David O. Russell’s The Fighter is not that kind of movie. Instead of being a movie about masculine physicality and power, we get a subversive movie about the women that wage real battles outside the ring, the kind of battles aren’t cleanly won.

The sisters of The Fighter

The same idea is suggested in David O. Russell’s The Fighter, which tells the true story of boxer Mickey Ward’s comeback from next-to-nothing welterweight to one of the most admired fighters in the ring. Micky, as portrayed by that yummy hunk of Irish soda bread Mark Wahlberg, is a softie who finds himself losing fight after fight under the coaching of his half brother Dicky Eklund, a former boxer and current crack-addict (played by a wiry, skittish Christian Bale) and his domineering dye-job of a mother, Alice (the always wonderful Melissa Leo). Behind Dicky and Alice looms Micky’s seven sisters (the most foul-mouthed Greek chorus you could ever come upon), and beyond them the town of Lowell, a neighborhood that treats Dicky like the prizefighter he believes he once was. What defines Micky as a fighter is not so much his hesitation to throw a punch as his willingness to suffer them. In a fight shown early in the film, Micky is beaten so hard his cheek is punched clear through—a beating he takes because his brother and mother placed him against a much larger opponent, and one he takes because unless he fights, no one gets paid. Micky is punished as a boxer and as a son because he is obligated to his family—to his mother, a manager without any managerial tendencies; his brother, bossy in the ring but willing to jump through windows to escape being caught on the crack pipe. (Both sons seem more terrified of disappointing their mother than they do of getting arrested or beaten down.)

Alice the Mom (played by Melissa Leo) in The Fighter

And they’re right to fear her: with her steely nerve, Alice is as brazen a coach, Mama Rose in the boxing ring, Joey LaMotta in a push-up bra. When Micky goes absent from her immediate purvey, she shows up on his porch with the sisters in tow, posing questions that put him right back in the place of the apologetic son. “What’re you doing, Mickster?” she asks, her eyes all hard with disdain and disappointment. “Who’s gonna look after you?” Alice knows that mother love—and filial obligation—is one of the most powerful weapons she has. “I have done everything, everything I could for you,” she mutters. Her life is bound up in her children, and her coaching mantra is entirely one of maternity. When she catches Dicky sneaking out of a crackhouse, she shakes her head, on the verge of tears, and he has to sing to her like a little boy to pull her back to sanity.

Micky (Mark Wahlberg) and Charlene (Amy Adams)

It’s not easy being the son of such a demanding mother, and while Dicky gets to joke his way back into favor, all Micky can do is fight—fight and lose, but fight nonetheless. So it makes sense, given his messed-up family history, that Micky first starts to move out of the nest after falling for Charlene, a local bartender and the first person to call “bullshit” on his family-as-manager situation. (As portrayed by an utterly unglamorous Amy Adams, Charlene is one of the few college-educated characters in the film—due to an athletic scholarship for high-jump.) Charlene’s power in this movie is not as a love interest, but as someone who doesn’t treat Micky like a son or like a brother. She tells him he has to seize control of his career, toss Alice and Dicky off his team, and get serious with a real coach. We think she’s imagining him as a full-grown, self-sufficient man, but she also can’t help but place herself as an equal contender for the managerial job. She gives him a reason to go looking for new management, but she also seats herself decisively by the side of the ring. This is not a woman content to show up after the fight is finished—she is very much an active participant. “You got your confidence and your focus from O’Keefe, and from Sal, and from your father, and from me,” she declares, and there’s not an ounce of hesitation in what she says. It’s thrilling to watch the formerly meek mouse known as Amy Adams get to play someone so fierce.

Dicky (Christian Bale), Alice, and Micky in the ring

It’s when the instincts of the protective mother and the defensive girlfriend go up against each other that all hell breaks loose. Alice decides to storm over to Micky’s house with her daughters in tow, ringing the bell and banging on the door just as Micky and Charlene are doing the nasty. The bell rings and rings, and Charlene, furious at being interrupted, throws on a t-shirt and storms downstairs. Alice pleads with Micky to leave and come back home, but Charlene accuses Alice of allowing her son to get hurt, instead of stepping in and protecting him. In the midst of a boxing movie, what we get is a treatise on how women are the only ones that really know how to fight. Alice calls Charlene a skank, an “MTV Girl” (because clearly all MTV girls are hefting pitches of lager and fending off crude bar patrons), and Charlene lands a solid punch on one of the Eklund sisters. Her fists crunch into the girl’s face, red hair flying wild and legs kicking, and we know that none of these women can be fucked with.

Dicky is manic, and Micky is panicked, but it’s the women who are the real pillars of strength. Thus Micky and Dicky are forced to mediate through their female counterparts—Alice, who can’t stand to let her son give up, or Charlene, who forces Dicky into conceding some deeply held delusions. The dual strength of these women are what define the movie, what separates The Fighter from its fellow inspirational tales of athletic triumph, and what catapults it into a movie about athletic effort, and the force of will. And in the movie’s final joyous fight, we still get a triumphant romantic kiss…and it feels anything but hackneyed.

Jessica Freeman-Slade is a cookbook editor at Random House, and has written reviews for The Rumpus, The Millions, The TK Review, The Los Angeles Review of Books, and Specter Magazine, among others. She lives in Morningside Heights, NY.

Tag: Mark Wahlberg

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