Sex and the City – Bitch Flicks

‘Crossing Delancey’: Isabelle Needs a New Perspective on Life and Love

This romantic comedy has always been more of a cult classic. But it was unusual in its female writer and director, along with its distinctly Jewish cultural setting, its generational custom-clash regarding matchmaking, and its conflicted independent protagonist, Isabelle, who could be read as a late 1980s precursor to ‘Sex and the City’s protagonist Carrie Bradshaw.

This guest post written by Susan Cosby Ronnenberg appears as part of our theme week on Ladies of the 1980s. | Spoilers ahead.

Crossing Delancey (1988) is a romantic comedy featuring Amy Irving, directed by Joan Micklin Silver and written by Susan Sandler, based on her original play of the same title. The tagline was, “A funny movie about getting serious.” This rom-com has always been more of a cult classic. But it was unusual in its female writer and director, along with its distinctly Jewish cultural setting, its generational custom-clash regarding matchmaking, and its conflicted independent protagonist, Isabelle, who could be read as a late 1980s precursor to Sex and the City’s protagonist Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker). An independent, straight single woman with a successful career, Isabelle has professional and romantic options, ambitions, and flawed preconceptions about the incompatibility of those options and ambitions as she tries to decide between an internationally acclaimed poet or a neighborhood. Yes, you read that correctly: poet or pickleman.

Isabelle “Izzy” Grossman (Amy Irving) is irritating and relatable at the same time. She’s an ambitious and successful publisher in Manhattan, where, as she insists to her grandmother, she organizes “the most prestigious reading series in New York City.” She sees herself as modern, forward-looking, cultured, and sophisticated. But she’s also self-centered, snobbish, dismissive, and deceitful. While she possesses many fine attributes, she’s flawed; I like both of those aspects of her that make her fully human. At 33, with one of her peers becoming a new mother, Izzy looks around at her life, wondering about advancing her personal life as she has her professional one. This is a common theme among 1980s romantic comedies, such as Baby Boom (1987) with Diane Keaton and Working Girl (1988) with Melanie Griffith. One of her romantic prospects, a novelist, quotes Confucius to her at dinner one night, “Ripe plums are falling. Now there are only three. May a fine lover come for me”, adding reassuringly, “Lots of ripe plums left on your tree, Izzy.” He seems to recognize her distraction over the passage of time and still being single, which has become an issue with her grandmother.

Izzy has three men in her life: Nick (John Bedford Lloyd), an old boyfriend/friend with benefits, now married, but who crashes at her place on a regular basis when he and his wife fight; Anton Maes (Jeroen Krabbe), a NYC-based Dutch critically acclaimed novelist, also married but separated, famous, creative, cosmopolitan, and intellectual; and Sam Posner (Peter Riegert), who lives and works on the Lower East Side near her grandmother’s home, the owner and operator of his father’s pickle shop on Delancey Street. Sam and Izzy meet through the pressure of her grandmother, “Bubbie” Kantor (Reizl Bozyk), and Mrs. Mandlebaum (Sylvia Miles), a traditional professional Jewish matchmaker.

To Izzy, to cross Delancey is to return to the past, “100 years” and “a million miles away” from her own life, to her grandmother’s world. She does so often and willingly, providing company and care for her beloved grandmother. But she has no interest in a man who has chosen to remain in that neighborhood, doing the same food sales work that his father did, and, she assumes, contracting a matchmaker to find a bride. It clearly seems archaic and a little desperate to her.

The setting takes place half in Manhattan — in Izzy’s apartment, her place of employment, and out socializing with friends — and half on the Lower East Side — in Bubbie’s vibrant and diverse neighborhood, historically a predominantly Jewish community. It’s clear that, in trying to leave the old world and its ways behind as she makes her way in the new, modern world, Izzy has made some arrogant and faulty assumptions that will require Bubbie’s willingness to interfere.

Passing the Bechdel test, Crossing Delancey features conversations between Isabelle and Bubbie about Bubbie’s health, the neighborhood, Izzy’s dreams and what they might mean, and Izzy’s parents. Izzy actively seeks to support her friend Rickie’s new role as a single parent with a sometimes supportive boyfriend. She also supports her publishing colleague Chinchilla Monk’s new public access show on the local performance art scene, which features a feminist performer.

Izzy attends a bris for the baby of a high school friend of hers, where the film shows us a group of four women in their thirties sustaining a friendship from their teenage years. Two are single, one is married, and one is a new mother with a boyfriend. One of the women refers to the bris as, “Our first baby!” We see the women friends together in varying pairs throughout the film. This group resembles Sex & the City’s foursome of Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda, minus the multi-thousand dollar stylish and sexy wardrobe. Marilyn, in particular, reminds me of Elaine Benes from Seinfeld, which debuted a year after this film came out.

The film’s costuming is refreshing given the frequent sexualization of women in film through wardrobe today in most mainstream movies. The late 1980s is the era of the three-quarter or tea-length casual dress, with both dresses and shirts buttoned to the top, but without appearing constricting. Izzy’s clothes are appropriate for her varied activities: jogging, working at the bookstore, spending time with her grandmother, going on a date. What struck me most was that she looked nice and comfortable and her shoes were practical; she was dressed as many women in real life dress. There were no extra tight outfits, short-short skirts, stiletto heels, or plunging cleavage — at her place of employment or anywhere else. She was obviously meant to be doing things, not just to be the object of the Male Gaze: on display but not functional.

Crossing Delancey and Sex and the City share parallels as both Izzy and Carrie Bradshaw are thirty-something straight white women with successful careers and a support network of female friends. Both long for romance, question the idea of meeting someone who meets their requirements for a boyfriend, much less a husband, and both make selfish and deceitful decisions.

Izzy decides she doesn’t have chemistry with Sam but she likes him, so she attempts to set him up with her high school friend Marilyn, who recently complained that on a given first date she has “forty-five minutes to make this guy think I’m great, when I’d rather be home in my pajamas watching baseball.” But Izzy doesn’t tell Sam that she’s setting him up. Instead, she offers an apology for some of the things she said to him earlier and invites him to have dinner. She plans with Marilyn to “run into her” at the end of dinner, then leave her with Sam. Only the more Izzy talks to Sam, the more she likes him, and the longer she delays the introduction until Marilyn calls her on it and introduces herself. Sam feels used, but blames Izzy, not Marilyn, demanding “What’s there to be sorry about? She’s funny, direct, honest,” with the clear implication that Izzy is lacking in the latter two areas in particular. Afterward, Izzy pines after Sam with her other friends and her grandmother, until Bubbie brings Sam back into contact with Izzy.

Despite things finally seeming to click with Sam, Izzy allows Anton to persuade her to stay late after work to read part of his new novel. He flatters her and, knowing she has a date with Sam, encourages her to make him wait. Foolishly, she does, despite having spent time and money purchasing a new dress for the date and being eager to see Sam. Izzy realizes belatedly her error, in thinking that the mysterious and suave Anton wants a romantic and professional relationship with her when he’s looking for a part-time assistant and a convenient casual sex partner. Astonishingly, Sam has waited for her. He’s a man with the patience of a saint, but he’s not a doormat. In some ways this is a gender-reversed romantic comedy. It’s Izzy who races frantically across town, having come to the belated conclusion that she has been grossly overlooking, underestimating, and underappreciating who Sam is and what he has to offer.

The film presents us with three vivid visual images of groups of women in the city: at the senior center the women’s defense workshop that Bubbie participates in as Izzy watches in amusement; the after-work crowd in the deli/grocery, which includes Izzy, selecting dinner for one to-go from the salad bar; and the long line of pregnant women who file past Izzy and Sam in the entrance to her apartment building. These seem to suggest possible futures for Izzy: older, alone, and in need of self-defense; a solo continuation of her life as it is, focused mostly on work, eating deli take-out at the end of a long day; or preparing to become a mother when paired with Sam.

To choose one is to leave one unknown. Izzy doesn’t want to choose wrongly, or perhaps Izzy simply doesn’t want to choose at all. She’s mistaken in her arrogant and condescending assumptions about Sam, though, when she believes him to be not well read, inarticulate, and not cultured. When she mentions feeling ambivalent and then offers a definition, he interrupts to say that he knows what the word means. He adds, angrily, “You think my world is so small, so provincial? You think it defines me?” His defense of himself moves her as much as learning that he was interested in her because he had seen her around the neighborhood with her grandmother long before Mrs. Mandlebaum showed up with a picture of her (given by Bubbie) to peddle to him. He’s not trapped in the past as Izzy believed.

Although Sam suggests that Izzy needs a new perspective (i.e. a new hat), the Harry Shipman story doesn’t make that point clearly. In the story, Shipman’s new hat allowed the girl he had his heart set on to see his eyes for the first time. She couldn’t see his face for his original hat. But it isn’t Izzy who needs a new hat to be viewed differently. Instead, she needs a more realistic view of him, rather than her preconceived and uncompromising one as she’s frustratingly obtuse when it comes to Sam. She’s selfish in her decisions to keep juggling all three of men and she’s ultimately dismissive of her friend Marilyn after setting her up with Sam.

In some ways this is a film about narrative, including the stories we tell ourselves. We’re given multiple smaller narratives within the main narrative. The excerpt from his novel that Anton reads to the bookstore audience; Sam tells Izzy the Harry Shipman-hat story; Mrs. Mandlebaum peddles other peoples’ stories, poet Pauline Swift’s only referenced story of her, the four men, and a cabbage; Sam’s story of how Izzy came to his attention; the story of Sam’s father, who did a Milton Berle impression in drag, recalled by Nick to Sam and Izzy; and Bubbie’s story of meeting her husband, which she tells Sam. Izzy’s description of Anton’s fiction also describes her story in this film: “Deceptive accessibility. Reads like pulp fiction, but then you hear music.” Some lines are so lyrical they sound like poetry. Some are poetry. And they don’t all belong to the novelist.

The film ends refreshingly only with the promise of a continued dating relationship between Izzy and Sam, no grand declarations, promises, sex, or vows. Sam’s question to himself, to her, “How do I talk to Isabelle?” is an invitation, an openness to collaborate, to teach one another how to better communicate. Although Bubbie seems assured that a wedding will be taking place for them in the future, neither of them takes it that far. They like each other, they’ve admitted that, kissed, and agreed to see one another again. And for this charming romantic comedy, that’s more than enough.

Susan Cosby Ronnenberg is a transplanted Southerner in the upper Midwest, where she has been an English professor for 16 years, specializing in the English Renaissance and Early Modern Women Writers. Currently working on a book through McFarland on Shakespeare and the HBO western series Deadwood. Email: sgcosronn@gmail.com Twitter: @Ouachita9 Blog: Caustic Ginger.

Virtue, Vulgarity, and the Vulva

The equality of men and women on the basis of healthy and consensual sex is sex positivity according to the Women and Gender Advocacy Center. Thus, to desire sex positivity is to be inherently feminist.

This guest post by Erin Relford appears as part of our theme week on Sex Positivity.

If TV shows were lovers, I’d argue women haven’t had great sex since Sex and the City. Much like your first time and the strategically latent mile markers you’ve placed on partners since then, you know good sex when you encounter it. From a woman’s point of view, good sex is control without judgment, a convergence of discovery, submission beyond fear, and a jungle gym full of toys where choice puts you in the driver’s seat (debauchery being an optional passenger of course).

Considering Sex and the City TV’s certifiable rubber stamp of good female sex, Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda echoed the tales of countless women, giving ode to the free missives of womanhood and female prowess. The lessons in relationships, the selfish romps of good delight, all were reasons to shout “yes, yes, yes” by virtue of sex positivity.

So why then has good female sex gone missing from television? Arguably, cable and broadcast networks have shared in their ill-fated attempts at sexploitation, mostly at the expense of women. The proof is in the pudding or pootnanny in this case. Showtime’s Californication led seven seasons of “accidental cunnilingus” and sapless sucking, while Ray Donovan’s no frills 1-2-3 pump action has left Showtime’s female audience high and dry. HBO’s Ballers is a good time in the sack, if you’re a woman willing to suffice with balls of dry humping and no “Mr. Big” (par for the course Dwayne Johnson).

Lest one forget HBO’s seduction of rape and torture porn, Game of Thrones’ female characters experience it all in guile of good TV. These depictions aren’t to suggest the storytelling behind such shows are short of genius, but remiss of variety. The female sex narrative has been relegated to an industry turned tits for trade commonwealth, a vulva and violence republic.

Sex is an inalienable right, sacred and undeniable, an equal opportunity employer that does not discriminate in its pursuance of life, liberty, and rapture. The privilege is everyone’s to be expressed as a declaration of independence and therefore should be engaged from the perspectives of both men and women. On the contrary, the Declaration of Independence was written “that all men are created equal,” yet our stories involving sex are still being viewed from the perspectives of men.

However, let’s not be haste and expel the idea sex positivity has gone hiding into the forests of Westeros. Evidence exists that sex positivity is flourishing in light of TV’s new golden era and new wave of feminism. It’s come in the embodiment of female sex appeal, the brand of woman that is fabulously fierce, yet deliciously palpable. The fire of Daenerys Targaryen, the tenacity of Brienne of Tarth, or the inexplicable “Stark” of Arya and Sansa are all due a conceded applause thanks to Game of Thrones portrayal of strong, bountiful female characters. Scandal’s Olivia Pope earns top brass for her bastion of prose and breastwork, delivering willful rhubarbs to Washington’s elite though judged often and tenaciously for her challenge to disbelief that women can command power and pleasure in it from the highest tent pole in the land.

Alicia Florrick’s beau Will Gardner may be gone, but her sense of smart and sexy is almost too naughty for CBS’ The Good Wife.

And dare not forget the women of USA Network’s Suits, led by the strut, poise, and pivot of the inimitable Jessica Pearson.

Suffice to say there are many Masters of Sex on television, but does women’s exploration of sex on television have to be justified in pioneering scientists? Can the enjoyment of love and lust be equal parts man, equal parts woman? Not so, according to the 2015 Writers Guild of America TV staffing brief, where women remain underrepresented among staff writers by nearly two to one.

All things being equal, one could satiate in the fact women being 50.8 percent of the US population, would also mean a majority of female driven TV programming, written by women. But the reality is, most female characters are written by men. Some exceptionally well, as in FX’s You’re The Worst where creator Stephen Falk gives equal Judas Priest to the sexes or Darren Star’s Sex and the City. But there are more than 31 flavors to cherry popping ecstasy as proven early on by Ilene Chaiken’s The L Word. Perhaps one of the more prevailing scapes into female intimacy and feminism, The L Word managed to be intriguing and vanguard, paving the way for shows like Orange is the New Black where women could be domineering and emphatic, let alone in control of their very naturism as on Girls.

In an age of digital storytelling, where men still dominate culture and the writer’s room, we can continue to look forward to Pussy Galores.

Meanwhile, feminists and female viewers alike will revel in the Lisbeth Salanders, Olivia Popes, and Mary Janes, persevering far and wide in search of the next big “O,” that is open, outstanding, and out of the ordinary television that engages women from the female point of view. Will there ever be great sex on TV for women?

The answer may befall in there’s simply more to come…

Erin Relford is an author and screenwriter currently working in Los Angeles. Her writings involve female empowerment and engaging girls in science, technology, engineering, and math (STEM). You can follow her on Twitter @AdrienneFord or her website pinkyandkinky.com

Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

Check out what we’ve been reading this week–and let us know what you’ve been reading/writing in the comments!

A Woman Directed the Scariest Horror Movie of the Year, Maybe of the Decade by Laura Parker at The Cut

Amy Berg Partnering With Nate Parker for Doc About the “Black Male Crisis” by Inkoo Kang at Women and Hollywood

Chris Rock Pens Blistering Essay on Hollywood’s Race Problem: “It’s a White Industry” at The Hollywood Reporter

5 Shows That Wouldn’t Be The Same If They Showed The Reality Of Pregnancy Discrimination by NARAL Pro-Choice America at BuzzFeed

Chicago’s Black Cinema House Hosts Rare Screening of Shirley Clarke’s Neo-Realist Film ‘The Cool World’ by Sergio at Shadow and Act

Shonda Rhimes to Be Inducted into National Association of Broadcasters Broadcasting Hall of Fame by Tambay A. Obenson at Shadow and Act

36% of 2015 Sundance Competition Films Directed by Women by Inkoo Kang at Women and Hollywood

“Jane the Virgin” Has a Surprisingly Progressive Take on Sex. by Hannah Steinkop at Bitch Media

Femslash Friday: Sex and the City by Mallory Ortberg at The Toast

Looking Back At The Screen: The First Annual Appalachian Queer Film Festival by Erica Lies at The Hairpin

What have you been reading/writing this week? Tell us in the comments!

‘Orange is the New Black’ and Carrie Bradshaw Syndrome

The cast of Orange is the New Black.

Written by Myrna Waldron.

I am not much of a TV watcher. I prefer films for a few reasons – they don’t take as long to watch, plots are resolved, character arcs don’t get derailed, etc. But I’ve started bingeing on Netflix in a smaller window while I work with Photoshop in a larger one. And, upon enthusiastic recommendations from Bitch Flicks Editor Megan and my friend Isabel, I decided to check out Netflix’s original series Orange is the New Black. (Minor spoiler alert, by the way.)

I expected to hate it. I usually avoid tragedies and horror, and since the series is set in a women’s prison I was visualizing Oz-level violence. And then I ended up bingeing on it – not because it was particularly lighthearted (it’s really a drama with a sprinkling of comedy) but because I wanted to know more about Piper’s fellow inmates. I was thrilled that, for once, a TV series was giving voice to the types of women who usually get silenced – black women, hispanic women, lesbian women, trans women, older women, fat women. And they’re all inmates, the types of people that we especially try to ignore. I can honestly say OitNB has the most diverse cast I have ever seen.

And yet it is obvious to me and to others who have written on the show that it painfully illustrates the pervasiveness of privilege, especially white privilege. Piper Chapman is beautiful, thin, passes for straight, is comfortably wealthy, supported by friends, family and a lover, has somewhere to go when her sentence is up, and was convicted for a nonviolent crime. It’s also obvious that although the series has an unusually diverse cast, it only got greenlit because the main character is a pretty white woman.

And oh my god, I hate her.

She’s selfish, she’s spoiled, she’s rude, she refuses to admit guilt for anything, she breaks the hearts of the few people left who support her, she references the Kinsey Scale yet refuses to use the word “bisexual,” and she keeps pretending she’s just a sweet little nice girl who hasn’t really done anything wrong and doesn’t belong in prison. Fuck that. On her first day in prison, she proves just what kind of person she is by complaining about the food to (unbeknownst to her) the head chef. Lady, you’re getting food for free. Some of these women came from the streets where they had nothing. Suck it up. The chef’s decision to starve Piper for a few days is disproportionate retribution, but it finally starts to give the message to Piper that she’s in prison and she needs to stop thinking that she’s above it all.

Fortunately, the series makes it clear that I’m NOT supposed to like Piper and that she’s in some ways more fucked up than the women sentenced for more severe crimes. But it got me thinking that, in most, if not all of the fictional TV series I’ve watched, the main character is never my favourite – and is sometimes my least favourite. And it drives me nuts when the series focuses so much on a main character I don’t like that much. Stop showing me Piper’s bullshit and tell me more about Sophia!

Since making this realization, I have started referring to my recurring loathing for main characters as “Carrie Bradshaw Syndrome.” Sex and the City operated under the assumption that I was supposed to like Carrie, but I usually fast-forwarded over her scenes because I was going to vomit if I watched her spend thousands of dollars on goddamn shoes again, and then watch her be an absolutely terrible person to the people who (inexplicably) love her. I wanted more Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte. And instead I just got lots of Carrie being her neurotic, selfish, irresponsible self. I like Sarah Jessica Parker. I think most of the “horse” jokes about her face are untrue and sexist. But man do I hate Carrie.

I thought about my favourite fictional TV series and where I stand on their main protagonists. (And yes, I watch a lot of animation.)

Sailor Moon – Not my favourite character, she’s pretty close to the bottom. (My favourites are the ones who, comparatively speaking, were in the series the least.)

Futurama – Fry is not my favourite, it’s Bender, and Fry annoys me half of the time.

Adventure Time – Don’t dislike Finn, but I vastly prefer Marceline.

ReBoot – Bob’s okay, don’t like Enzo, but Dot is amazing.

Avatar the Last Airbender – Aang annoys me. I prefer Toph and Zuko.

Young Justice – No real main character here, but there was too much Superboy and Miss Martian and not nearly enough of everyone else.

Star Trek TOS – Boo Kirk. Yay Spock.

The only series I can think of where I don’t dislike or feel neutral towards the main character(s) are the ones with balanced ensemble casts, like Downton Abbey, Community and Slayers.

And the more I think about it, the more I wonder why I tend to dislike main protagonists so much. Is it because series tend to focus so much on the main character that I get sick of them? Is it because I crave more of the stories of the characters that don’t get told? Am I just a rebel or something?

And is it just me who experiences “Carrie Bradshaw Syndrome?”

Myrna Waldron is a feminist writer/blogger with a particular emphasis on all things nerdy. She lives in Toronto and has studied English and Film at York University. Myrna has a particular interest in the animation medium, having written extensively on American, Canadian and Japanese animation. She also has a passion for Sci-Fi & Fantasy literature, pop culture literature such as cartoons/comics, and the gaming subculture. She maintains a personal collection of blog posts, rants, essays and musings at The Soapboxing Geek, and can be reached on Twitter under @SoapboxingGeek and @Misandrificent.

Wedding Week: Bigger Than Big: Marriage and Female Bonding in ‘Sex and the City: The Movie’

This is a guest post by Jenny Lapekas.

For those of us who followed the girls on the hit HBO series, Sex and the City: The Movie, directed by Michael Patrick King, was a hotly anticipated film by the time it was released in 2008. We are familiar with Carrie as an avid writer, a New York fashionista, and an independent woman who consistently shies away from marriage. Certainly, Carrie’s disinterest in marriage throughout the show’s run can be interpreted as feminist by audiences. However, Carrie is quickly swept up in pre-matrimonial hysteria such as her designer dress and guest list. Big tells Carrie repeatedly throughout the film, “I want you,” as opposed to the desire for an extravagant wedding, but this sentiment seems to fall on deaf ears. The underlying message–and it’s a feminist one–seems to be this: smart girls don’t fall in love, smart girls love themselves. We meet Carrie as a woman who is attempting to negotiate these two philosophies, and by the end of the film, Carrie successfully marries Big but also prioritizes herself. In fact, her talk of marriage with Big originates from her drive for self-preservation. In reference to their swanky new apartment, she tells Big, “I want it to be…ours,” rather than his.

Carrie marks her territory at “Heaven on Fifth,” as she calls it.

“I wouldn’t mind being married to you. Would you mind being married to me?” Big casually questions as the pair prepare dinner. Carrie requests a “really big closet” in lieu of a diamond ring, a somewhat radical move that breaks with tradition as well as the stereotype that many women are “gold diggers” who equate a man’s commitment to the size of the rock he offers her. Rather, Carrie is financially equipped to find and purchase a diamond herself if she decides she’d like one. Carrie neither supports nor challenges the concept of marriage; throughout six seasons of Sex and the City on HBO, Carrie finds that marriage doesn’t suit her and she’d rather not play the role of wife. She tells Samantha, “There’s no cliché, romantic, kneeling on one knee, it’s just two grown-ups making a decision about spending their lives together.” However, Big does kneel down on one knee to formally propose inside “Heaven on Fifth’s” walk-in closet. In this space he builds, Big is “making room” for his bride, and this act of creation is at once romantic and understated. For Carrie, this gift is paramount in Big demonstrating his commitment to her, but hasn’t he already done so in a multitude of other ways?

Contrary to Charlotte’s engagement party toast, Big remains grounded in reality as Carrie is the one “Carried away.”

When Carrie sternly tells Big, “Wedding before contractor,” as a mother may dictate to a child, Big is unresponsive. Understandably, Big calls Carrie’s wedding preparations a “circus” after learning that their guest list has reached 200. Big is not invested in the wedding but in Carrie, and she fails to see this. When Big jilts her on their would-be wedding day, it signals a downward spiral for Carrie, but also the regenerative process of reexamining who she is without Big while also engaging in some serious girl bonding with Charlotte, Miranda, and Samantha. Later, on Valentine’s Day, wallowing in self-regret, Carrie tells Miranda, “I let the wedding get bigger than Big.”

Charlotte is a spokesperson for the joys and functionality of marriage within a heteronormative lifestyle, complete with the nuclear family by the film’s conclusion.

When Steve comes to the couple’s engagement party to talk to Miranda about his infidelity, Miranda tells him, “I changed who I was for you.” When we first meet Miranda on the television series, like Carrie, she is generally opposed to taking on the roles of wife and mother, but Steve’s character changes all that. Steve’s cheating, then, is a thankless move in Miranda’s eyes, a sign that Steve does not really see his wife, her sacrifices, and her dramatic transformation from a single lawyer to a maternal figure. While Miranda is depicted as a somewhat cold, hyper-logical woman, her relationship with Steve and the child they have together cause her to become nurturing and selfless, perhaps shifting the archetype of the modern woman in New York. Fueled by anger, Miranda tells Big at his and Carrie’s engagement party, “You two are crazy to get married. Marriage ruins everything.” Preoccupied with planning for the big day, Carrie is ignorant to the chord this strikes within the already twice-divorced Big. Miranda is then wracked with guilt and believes that she is responsible for Big’s inability to get out of his car and enter the library to marry Carrie.

It’s not marriage that can “ruin everything,” but over-the-top weddings: rituals that become more significant than the love, support, and sacrifice they symbolize.

When Samantha tells Carrie that she can cancel her honeymoon by claiming that there was a death, Carrie replies, “Wasn’t there?” This response signals to us that Carrie and Big are already united as one and she feels incomplete without him. Cliche? Yes, but we find comfort in the fact that Carrie finds a way to actualize herself before her reunion with Big; the only drawback is that this path to discovery is incited by the absence of romance.

Bringing the gang on her honeymoon is a decidedly feminist move on Carrie’s part; they are her support system and her surrogate lovers while she and Big are separated. Samantha even spoon-feeds her in bed as Carrie’s being “jilted” at the altar effectively infantilizes her while in Mexico. When audiences observe this pathetic and uncomfortable scene, we are confronted with the notion that, along with Miranda, Samantha has transformed into a maternal character while Carrie grieves. This is undoubtedly the closest Samantha will ever come to motherhood. “Will I ever laugh again?” Carrie asks, and of course, it’s when Charlotte shits her pants. The girls are a reliable source of Carrie’s happiness and stability, a reflection of who she is rather than who she wants to be. Unlike the second movie, in which the gang travels to Abu Dhabi, Samantha is more invested in her friend’s wellbeing than having sex with random men.

Samantha happily mothers Carrie at her low point, and even winks at her as she stirs her food.

The bonding that takes place in Mexico on Carrie’s “honeymoon” is essential to her narrative as a “single and fabulous” New York woman who transitions into wifehood. Carrie has finally come to the realization that marriage does not make her any less fabulous, exciting, sexual, or charismatic. Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda collectively serve as an anchor as Carrie sifts through her feelings of abandonment after Big fails to show up on their wedding day. A tipsy Carrie tells her girlfriends, “If I met me now, I wouldn’t know me.”

When Carrie returns from Mexico, she takes on an assistant, and it becomes noticeable that Louise (Jennifer Hudson) is the only black character in the film, a surprising detail given that the setting is New York City. In fact, when searching for a new apartment with her son and nanny, Miranda excitedly says, “Look! White guy with a baby! Wherever he’s going, that’s where we need to be.” Is it me or is this line inextricably offensive? A white man carrying a child is highly symbolic of traditional heteronormative values. Together, these alarming observations render the film both racist and classist. Miranda’s in search of an upscale, and thus white, neighborhood that’s safe for her son.

Although Louise’s character helps Carrie to cope with Big’s temporary absence, the women’s class discrepancy is glaring. For Christmas, Carrie gives Louise an authentic Louis Vuitton purse and smilingly exclaims, “No more rental for you!” as if Louise should be grateful to this altruistic, upper-class white woman who’s had it so tough since her rich boyfriend left; it’s difficult to not interpret this scene as one of charity and self-fulfillment.

The poor colored girl from St. Louis is new to the luxury of owning as opposed to renting.

On Halloween, Charlotte suggests to her adopted Chinese daughter, Lily, that she can be Mulan for Halloween, but Lily instead chooses to be Cinderella. Even at her young age, Lily embraces whiteness as a beauty ideal and is more stimulated by the glamour of ball gowns and being rescued by a handsome prince than battle armor and the spoils of war. Seemingly, the fantastical princess narrative trumps a feminist warrior’s tale, at least for a girl young enough to still believe in “happily ever after.”

The laughably mismatched trick-or-treat crew serves as comic relief amidst scenes of loneliness and heartache.

The theme of forgiveness is consistent throughout the film. In an idle taxi cab, Carrie lectures Miranda about how she must forgive Steve for cheating after Miranda pleads, “You have to forgive me.” Once Carrie and Miranda revive their friendship, Miranda agrees to seek marriage counseling, and she reunites with Steve on Brooklyn Bridge, an obvious metaphor for the human condition as flawed but perpetually negotiable.

The meter is literally running on the pair’s friendship as Miranda’s confrontation of Carrie serves as a reflection of her own personal and marital flaws.

It is only once Carrie has made peace with Miranda that she can move forward to reconcile with Big. “There is no right time to tell me that you ruined my marriage,” she spits at Miranda on Valentine’s Day. In fact, there is no marriage to destroy since Big failed to show up. However, the marriage and harmonizing of the four friends is climactic within the film’s plot while Carrie’s marriage to Big takes place almost as an afterthought, part of the film’s resolution.

Carrie’s narrative is one of distress, respite, and absolution; she discovers the true power of forgiveness and grows tremendously as a person without the help of Big. Her “engagement ring” comes to her in the form of expensive shoes she has bought herself but which Big place lovingly on her feet. While Miranda takes her husband back on a bridge–a very public space, symbolic of paths, connections, and journeys–Carrie and Big find each other in a closet–a private space, symbolic of secrets, baggage, and memories. In this way, we understand that the couple’s relationship and marriage are not for public viewing. Because she has only until 6 o’clock to retrieve her shoes, she is again likened to Cinderella. If she arrives too late, though, her prince remains, and he could care less if she shows up in rags or Prada.

We are given the elusive image of Carrie barefoot, sans designer stilettos.

So, is this a feminist film? Well, I think it highlights the significance of female friendship, but Carrie falling comatose when she’s jilted at the altar seems a bit much. While Carrie hires an assistant to organize her life, romantic love seems to be the ultimate goal. Meanwhile, Carrie bonds with the separated Miranda by telling her that she’s “not alone,” she reaches an understanding with the anti-marriage Samantha, and she celebrates Charlotte’s baby-bliss, even as she mourns her relationship, which has not actually ended. The film has its moments, and Carrie overcomes her obstacles without the direction or approval of any man. However, the film’s bigoted lines and treatment of Louise as a modern-day slave leave a bad taste in my mouth.

Jenny Lapekas has a Master of Arts degree in English, and she teaches Composition at Alvernia University in Pennsylvania. Her areas of scholarship include women’s literature, menstrual literacy, and rape-revenge cinema.

Wedding Week: ‘Sex and the City’: The Movie We Hate to Love

The ladies of Sex and the City on their way to the wedding

This is a guest post by Amanda Morris.

“Year after year, twenty-something women come to New York City in search of the two Ls: Labels and Love,” goes the opening voiceover for Sex and the City: The Movie. These words set the stage for the decadent, emotional rollercoaster to follow, featuring fabulous clothes, shoes, and the question of what is truly important: the wedding or the marriage?

When I was 37 and getting divorced while finishing my Ph.D., one of my girlfriends sensed the despair I felt (but tried to hide) over feeling alone and worrying that party of one would be my fate, despite intellectual acceptance of my ability to survive and remain a strong solo. Sometimes, emotions trump logic. My friend lent me her Sex and the City collection–the entire series–with the simple words, “Watch this. You’ll feel better.”

As many women likely are when faced with divorce and the possibility of life alone, I was skeptical of any advice laced with platitudes, but this sounded different and I trusted her judgment despite being against the entire series when it first appeared. Who wants to watch a bunch of stereotypical white women flaunt their wealth and privilege and leap from man to man while showcasing physical beauty and flawless fashion taste? My skepticism did not hold up and by the end of the first season, I was hooked. My initial disdain was tempered by truly inspiring and philosophical gems in each episode that I needed to hear in my emotionally questionable state.

By the time the movie was released in 2008, I was a true believer in the friendships, humor, and wisdom embedded in this seemingly frivolous packaging. As most fans were aware, this movie promised Big things for Carrie Bradshaw, played by Sarah Jessica Parker, and her main love interest, John Preston (also known as Big), played by Chris Noth–namely, the movie buzz suggested that their relationship’s fate would be revealed in the film.

Sex and the City official 2008 trailer

Revisiting this film five years later (as a happily paired person once again), I find myself chafing against the film even as I enjoy the drama. The choices and mistakes that Carrie make from the time that she and Big decide to marry to the moment he leaves her at the altar about a third of the way through the story are the choices and mistakes that many modern American women make: ignore the man and his wishes, allow friends to convince you that you need a fancier dress, venue, event, and become more enamored with the grandeur and history of a luxurious location over the real fears and concerns your partner has about a large, intimidating, and ostentatious event.

Initially, Carrie and Big mildly discuss their future over dinner prep and decide to get married, while foregoing the traditional diamond engagement ring, which Carrie does not want. At about twelve minutes into the film, Carrie announces to her friends, Charlotte York (Kristin Davis) and Miranda Hobbes (Cynthia Nixon), over lunch that she and Big made this decision and Charlotte excitedly screams, while Miranda looks on, horrified.

This tension grows between excitement over a traditional (and suggested to be more financially and legally secure) choice to marry and the unconventional decisions that Carrie tries to make as the story quickly progresses. Carrie’s implied choice of simple, civil wedding service is subverted by Charlotte’s “gift” of wedding planner Anthony Marentino’s (Mario Cantone) services, which turns the wedding into a grander event. Carrie’s elegant, vintage, and designer-less knee-length cream dress is not “wedding” enough for Charlotte or Anthony. Upon seeing Carrie’s dress choice, Charlotte frowns and says, “It’s pretty, but it’s so simple,” and Anthony mutters, “The invitation is fancier than the dress.”

Despite Carrie’s intentions to keep her classic dress and small wedding, her Vogue editor (Candace Bergen) offers her the opportunity to be featured in a photo shoot as a 40-year-old bride wearing bridal couture for Vogue’s annual age issue. Carrie agrees and when the Vivienne Westwood dress that she fell in love with at the shoot arrives at her apartment door, suddenly, the wedding takes on greater importance than the marriage. As Carrie explains to Big when she announces the guest list has jumped from 75 to 200, “The dress upped the ante.” Big seems noticeably agitated, responding that he just wants her and could have gone to City Hall.

In this respect, the film works as a rather harsh mirror for American women, especially those of us who have made or are thinking about making these same choices by privileging the wedding over the marriage and rationalizing the extraordinary expense to the possible detriment of our relationships. In the film these choices have consequences: Big leaves Carrie at the altar and by the time he realizes what a mistake his choice is, Carrie and her friends have left the church. When the two lovers see each other in the street, Carrie thrashes Big with her luxurious bouquet while tearily yelling, “I am humiliated!”

Carrie is humiliated

The question once again becomes what will happen to Carrie and Big? For the audience, another question lingers: Were those choices worth this result? As Carrie admits to Miranda during their Valentine’s dinner the following year, “I let the wedding get bigger than Big.”

When Carrie and Big do finally come back together at the end of the film, have an unassuming civil service, and a low-key restaurant gathering with their closest friends, this seems the perfect end.

Big proposes to Carrie at the end of the film

However, even after all of the movie’s (and series’) promises to break with convention and turn tradition on its ear, to learn from mistakes, to know better…three of the four main female characters end up in traditional marriages–husband, wife, and for two of them, children. The film promises an alteration of expectations related to weddings and marriage and ends up in the same rut that American society stubbornly refuses to leave, and because we love the fantasy, the opulence, and the promise of love against all odds, Sex and the City is a movie that we love, but hate that we do.

Amanda Morris, Ph.D. is an assistant professor of multiethnic rhetorics at Kutztown University in Pennsylvania and when she’s not writing or wrangling students, she loves shark fishing, gardening, and cooking with her man.

Travel Films Week: ‘Sex and the City 2’: Hardcore Orientalism in the Desert of Abu Dhabi

The story of Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte, and Samantha continued in Sex and the City 2 (2010)

This is a guest post by Emily Contois.

I’m not embarrassed to admit it. I totally own the complete series of Sex and the City—the copious collection of DVDs nestled inside a bright pink binder-of-sorts, soft and textured to the touch. In college, I forged real-life friendships over watching episodes of the show, giggling together on the floor of dorm rooms and tiny apartments. Through years of watching these episodes over and over again, and as sad as it may sound, I came to view Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte, and Samantha like friends—not really real, but only a click of the play button away.

On opening night in a packed theater house with two of my friends, I went to see the first Sex and the City movie in 2008. Was the story perfect? No. But it effectively and enjoyably continued the story arc of these four friends, and it made some sort of sense. Fast forward to 2010 when Sex and the City 2 came to theaters. I had seen the trailer. I’ll admit, I was a bit bemused. The girls are going to Abu Dhabi? Um, okay. Sex and the City had taken us to international locales before. In the final season, Carrie joins Petrovsky in Paris and in this land of mythical romance, Mr. Big finds her and sets everything right. When their wedding goes awry in the first movie, the girls jet to Mexico, taking Carrie and Big’s honeymoon as a female foursome. But the vast majority of this story takes place in New York City. It’s called Sex and the City. The city is not only a setting, but also a character unto itself and plays a major role in the narrative. So, it seemed a little odd that the majority of the second movie would take place on the sands of Abu Dhabi.

In Sex and the City 2, the leading ladies travel to Abu Dhabi

Before the girls settle in to those first-class suites on the flight to the United Arab Emirates, however, we as viewers must suffer through Stanford and Anthony’s wedding. From these opening scenes, there’s no question why this dismal film swept the 2011 Razzie Awards, where the four leading ladies shared the Worst Actress Award and the Worst Screen Ensemble. How did this happen?? These four ladies were once believable to fans as soul mates—four women sharing a friendship closer than a marriage. And yet they end up in these opening scenes interacting like a blind group date—awkward, forced, and cringe-worthy.

As our once favorite characters slowly warm up to one another, Michael Patrick King’s weak screenplay lays some groundwork for the film’s plot, all of which establish that these women are not traveling to an exotic locale for fun and adventure. They’re escaping—and from decidedly white people problems at that. Carrie from a hot marriage settling all too quickly into a routine of couch, TV, and takeout. Miranda from the stresses of a job she just quit. Charlotte from an always-crying-terrible-two-baby-girl and a worrisomely, buxom nanny. And Samantha, well, isn’t escaping anything. Her entire life has been reduced even further to beating menopause with an army of all natural pharmaceuticals, which fuel full-volume sexual interludes. As such, this all-expense-paid vacation to the Middle East serves as an escape filled with a little girl time and a lot of bold, overt, and luxurious consumption.

From the moment our Sex and the City stars have decided to take this trip together, however, Abu Dhabi is viewed through a lens of Orientalism, demonstrating a Western patronization of the Middle East. Starting on the first day in the city, Abu Dhabi is framed derisively as the polar opposite of sexy and modern New York City. It’s also stereotypically portrayed as the world of Disney’s Jasmine and Aladdin, magic carpets, camels, and desert dunes—”but with cocktails,” Carrie adds. This borderline racist trope plays out vividly through the women’s vacation attire of patterned head wraps, flowing skirts, and breezy cropped pants. Take for example their over-the-top fashion statement as they explore the desert on camelback, only after they have dramatically walked across the sand directly toward the camera of course.

Samantha, Charlotte, Carrie, and Miranda explore the desert, dressed in a ridiculous ode to the Middle East via fashion

The exotic is also framed as dangerous and tempting, embodied in Aidan, Carrie’s once fiancé, who sweeps her off her feet in Abu Dhabi and nearly derails her fidelity. This plays out metaphorically as they meet at Aidan’s hotel, both of them dressed in black and cloaked in the dim lighting of the restaurant.

Carrie “plays with fire” when she meets old flam, Aidan, for dinner in Abu Dhabi

Sex and the City 2 also comments upon gender roles and sex in the Middle East. For example, in a nightclub full of belly dancers and karaoke, our New Yorkers choose to sing “I Am Woman,” a tune that served as a theme song of sorts for second wave feminism. As our once fab four belt out the lyrics, young Arabic women sing along as well. And yet the main tenant of the film appears to be an ode to perceived sexual repression rather than women’s rights.

The ladies of Sex and the City 2 sing “I Am Woman” at karaoke in an Abu Dhabi nightclut

Abu Dhabi is a place where these four women—defined in American culture not only by their longstanding friendship, but also by their bodies, fashionable wardrobes, and sexual exploits—must tone it down a bit. For example, Miranda reads from a guidebook that women are required to dress in a way that doesn’t attract sexual attention. Instead of providing any context in which to understand the customs of another culture, Samantha instead repeatedly whines about having to cover up her body. Our four Americans watch a Muslim woman eating fries while wearing a veil over her face, as if observing an animal in a zoo. The girls poke fun at the women floating in the hotel pool covered from head to ankle in burkinins, which Carrie jokingly comments are for sale in the hotel gift shop. In this way, Arab culture is both commodified and ridiculed. And rather than finding a place of common understanding, the American characters are only able to relate to Arab women by finding them to be exactly like them, secretly wearing couture beneath their burkas. While fashion is the common thread linking these American and Arab women, the four leading ladies don’t really come to understand the role and meaning of the burka. Instead, after Samantha causes a raucous in the market, the girls don burkas as a comedic disguise in order to escape.

At this point in the film, the main narrative conflict is again a very white problem—if the ladies are late to the airport, they’ll (gasp!) be bumped from first class. Struggling to get a cab to stop and pick them up, the women have to get creative. In a bizarre twist that references a scene from the first twenty minutes of the film, Carrie hails a cab by exposing her leg, as made famous in the classic film, It Happened One Night. While she gets a cab to stop, one is struck by the inconsistency. The women were just run out of town for Samantha’s overt sexuality and yet exposing a culturally forbidden view of a woman’s leg is what saves the day? Or is the moral of the story that a car will always stop for a sexy woman, irrespective of culture? Either way, our leading ladies make it to the airport, fly home in first-class luxury, and arrive home to better appreciate their lives. No real conflict has been resolved—though a 60-second montage provides sound bites of what each character has learned.

In homage to It Happened One Night, Carrie bares her leg to get a cab to stop in Abu Dhabi

Throughout the course of Sex and the City 2, the United Arab Emirates doesn’t fair well, but neither does the United States, as the land of the free and home of the brave is reduced to a place where Samantha Jones can have sex in public without getting arrested. Sex and the City 2 stands out as a horrendous example of American entitlement abroad, a terrible travel flick, and a truly saddening chapter for those of us who actually liked Sex and the City up to this point.

Emily Contois works in the field of worksite wellness and is a graduate student in the MLA in Gastronomy Program at Boston University that was founded by Julia Child and Jacques Pépin. She is currently researching the marketing of diet programs to men and blogs on food studies, nutrition, and public health at emilycontois.com.

Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

Amber‘s Picks:

Question Time: Women & Screenplays via Wellywood Woman

Teen Beat! 8 Teen Film Versions of Classic Literature by Kelly Kawano via Word & Film

She’s Beautiful When She’s Angry by Mary Dore and Nancy Kennedy via Kickstarter

Leslie Knope’s sexuopolitical dreams are coming true by Chloe via Feministing

FFFF: Ellen Endorses “Bic for Her” Pens by Jarrah via Gender Focus

London Feminist Film Festival tickets now on sale! by Kyna Morgan via Her Film

Random Nerd Nostalgia: Wonder Woman for President by Aphra Behn via Shakesville

Stephanie‘s Picks:

Catching Up With Molly Ringwald by Shana Naomi Krochmal via Out

Portraying the Women Behind the Powerful Men by Hugh Hart via the LA Times

Mila Kunis Is Executive Producing a ’70s Period Drama About Feminism by Jamie Peck via Crushable

TV Show “Girls” Does More for Feminism Than Sex & the City Ever Did by Caroline Mortimer via Sabotage Times

Backlot Bitch: Flight Beyond Stereotypes by Monica Castillo via Bitch Magazine

Megan‘s Picks:

Martha Plimpton: Why Hollywood Activism Matters by Martha Plimpton via The Hollywood Reporter

The 6 Best Moments for Women in the 2012 Election by Emma Gray via The Huffington Post

Skyfall Unquestioningly Belongs to Dame Judi Dench by Charlie Jane Anders via Jezebel

Television Interview About Harassment in Gaming by Anita Sarkeesian via Feminist Frequency

Sexism in Hollywood: Where Are the Women in Argo? by Nico Lang via Women and Hollywood

The End of the Bond Girl and the Rise of the Bond Woman by Alyssa Rosenberg via Slate’s Double X

What have you been reading this week? Tell us in the comments!

Reproduction & Abortion Week: ‘Girls’ and ‘Sex and the City’ Both Handle Abortion With Humor

(L-R): Hanna (Lena Dunham), Allison Williams (Marnie), Zosia Mamet (Shoshanna) in Girls

Vacillating between vitriolic condemnation and laudable praise, Lena Dunham’s Girls has dominated pop culture dialogue. I eagerly anticipated the serie’s premiere. Yes, the show depicts economically privileged characters. Yes, the incredibly white and homogenous cast should be more diverse. And yes, staff writer Lesley Arfin is absolutely a racist asshole who’s bullshit must be called out. All of these rightfully scathing critiques are not only valid but crucial. But a mere 2 episodes in, Girls portrays potentially nuanced female characters with candid dialogue on sex, friendship, aspirations and relationships. And abortion! Huzzah!

Many critics compare Girls with Sex and the City. Both HBO series revolve around 4 female friends in NYC who talk openly about sex, career goals and relationships. Dunham herself addresses the parallels. Although she feels SATC portrays aspirational female friendships whereas Girls, which is messier and more awkward (kind of like real-life), depicts nurturing friendships still fraught with “jealousy and anxiety and posturing.” It’s also hard not to compare as both trendy series tackled abortion.

In the latest episode of Girls, the hilariously titled “Vagina Panic” (which seriously sounds like something I would declare to my friends), centers around abortion, atrociously bad sex and STDs. When Hannah (Lena Dunham) tells Adam, the despicable douchebag she’s hooking up with that she’s accompanying her friend Jessa (Jemima Kirke, who’s had an abortion in real-life) to have an abortion (we found out she was pregnant at the end of the first episode), she says, “How big a deal are these things actually.” Hannah then talks about not having “sympathy” for people who don’t use condoms. Yet it’s great that she’s still supporting her friend.

Later in the episode, while sitting on a bench eating ice cream, Shoshonna (Zosia Mamet) whips out the book Listen, Ladies: A Tough Love Approach to the Tough Game of Love (yikes!) — a la SATC’s Charlotte and reminiscent of that bullshit book The Rules. Hannah says she “hate read” it and then they start hilariously debating who precisely constitutes “the ladies.” (Hmmm, should I stop calling my female friends “ladies??”) Irritated, Jessa tells Hannah:

I’m offended by all the supposed to’s. I don’t like women telling other women what to do or how to do it or when to do it. Every time I have sex, it’s my choice.”

Yes, yes, yes! It’s great Jessa says a proverbial fuck you to the things she’s supposed to do in life. She declares that what she does with her body is her choice. Hannah then asks Jessa if she’s scared or angry or sad. Jessa tells her she’s not some character from one of her novels and says eventually wants to have children and that she’ll be a great mother.

When the women go to the Soho Women’s Clinic to support Jessa, who’s blowing off her abortion by drinking White Russians at a bar, Hannah, Marnie (Allison Williams) and Shoshanna discuss STDs, the play Rent, infertility, condoms, abortion and virginity. Hannah tells Marnie, who’s pissed Jessa hasn’t shown up:

“You’re a really good friend and you threw a really good abortion.”

The effortless weaving of a frank discussion of sexuality with effacing humor on a topic like abortion felt authentic. Hannah gets an STD test at the clinic and veers off into an awkward, cringe-worthy yet weirdly humorous diatribe on fearing AIDs…and then wanting AIDS, so not funny. Meanwhile, Jessa makes out with a guy at the bar. When she tells him to put his hands down her pants, her tells her she’s bleeding. Girls which “pushes the envelope” the entire episode, ultimately cheats, evading the actual decision as Jessa either gets her period or has a miscarriage.

So how does this portrayal differ from SATC’s? Entertainment Weekly’s Hillary Busis writes:

“SATC uses Samantha’s quest for a Birkin as comic relief after a lot of heavy abortion talk. But in Girls, the abortion talk is the comic relief.”

In SATC‘s “Shoulda, Woulda, Coulda,” one of my favorite episodes, Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) contemplates an abortion after an accidental pregnancy. While telling her friends, Samantha (Kim Cattrall) irreverently reveals she’s had two abortions while Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker) had one when she was 22. Even though Miranda doesn’t go through with the procedure (and I totally wish she had), I liked that 2 out of the 4 characters had an abortion. Within that brief episode, we see multiple reactions to abortion. Miranda feels conflicted. Charlotte (Kristen Davis) grapples with infertility. Samantha exudes a casual nonchalance and forthright approach to abortion which I found refreshing. Carrie, who knows she made the right choice, lies to her boyfriend Aiden when he asks her if she’s ever had one, worried he’ll judge her for her choice.

Therein lies the difference between Girls and SATC. What SATC always excelled at was showcasing various perspectives on an issue, albeit from all from a privileged lens. But Girls doesn’t do that here.

While they support Jessa, Hannah and Marnie are critical of people’s choices and mistakes. Hannah apologizes for her seemingly “flippant” attitude towards abortion, saying it stems from her condemnation for people who don’t use contraception. Marnie appears to denounce abortion (all while rallying the women at the clinic) saying it’s “the most traumatic thing that can ever happen to a woman.” Really?? Although maybe from her character’s perspective it is. But the argument could easily be made that if we had seen the SATC characters 10 years younger, the age of Girls’ characters, perhaps we would have witnessed similar reactions. And maybe that’s the point. These young women make so many mistakes; maybe they’ll become less judgmental as they get older. But it still annoys me as it seems to reek of the “I’m pro-choice but I would never have an abortion” attitude that sometimes plagues pro-choice dialogue, playing into the stigma that abortion is bad.

I always adored SATC for the way the women transcended friendship, nurturing and validating each other, and became a family. Girlsmay be more realistic in its depictions of simultaneous annoyance yet support for friends. But ultimately, abortion, which 1 in 3 women have had, doesn’t occur on either show which is unfortunate. But at least SATCcontained 2 characters who had abortions in their early 20s, the same age as the characters on Girls. From what we know, and granted it’s still early on, the Girls characters have not. For a show that revels in bold candor and raw honesty, it would have been fantastic to witness an abortion.

Despite the ending, my friend Sarah at Abortion Gang deems Girls’ abortion plot a success as it engages in abortion dialogue:

“But even if the ending of Jessa’s pregnancy is a copout, we still got close to thirty minutes of frank discussion of abortion. Which means Girls has given us, oh, twenty-seven more minutes of abortion talk than any other show this year, even shows that purport to be about the lives of women.”

Don’t get me wrong. It’s awesome to hear abortion uttered so many times on the show. While I’m delighted Girls talks about abortion so easily and frequently, I’m still pissed and annoyed an abortion never transpired. Choosing not to portray an abortion contributes to its insidious stigmatization.

Audiences don’t often expect weighty issues in comedy. Fem2pt0’s Christina Black asserts the difficulty in finding humor in serious topics like abortion and rape. Girls attempted humor on both issues in one episode; one successfully, the other not so much. But comedy — and other genres like sci-fi, horror, and fantasy — not only entertains. It can reflect our values and critique society.

I applaud Girls for raising the issue of abortion so early on, and I adore that Dunham, who wants to talk about feminism and point out misogyny and sexism (hells yeah!), says she’s excited “the feminism conversation could be cool again.” But I can’t help but feel cheated.

Media shapes our perception of social issues, relationships and ourselves. When film and television so rarely even mentions the full scope of reproductive health, I want abortion depicted honestly, without stigmatization or condemnation. Is that really too much to ask?

Director Spotlight: Nicole Holofcener

When Megan Kearns reviewed the documentary !Women Art Revolution, she began her post with a challenge to readers: Name three artists. A simple request, and one she suspected would yield an answer consisting of three male artists.

If challenged to name three directors, would responses be similar–three male directors? If you’re familiar with this site and others that focus on women and film (I’m thinking of you, Women and Hollywood), maybe not. But my guess is that a majority of the population would, because women represent a small minority of directors, and few have gained enough acclaim and/or fame to become household names.

The lack of recognition of women who direct movies is the impetus behind our Director Spotlight Series. We know there aren’t enough female directors (or cinematographers, or writers, or producers, etc.) out there, but we can shine a light on the ones who are working, with varying degrees of success, in Hollywood.

You can read previous Spotlights on Allison Anders, Kathryn Bigelow, Jane Campion, Sofia Coppola, Tanya Hamilton, and Agnes Varda, and a Quote of the Day on Dorothy Arzner.

On to today’s spotlight: Nicole Holofcener.

Director Nicole Holofcener

Nicole Holofcener has directed several films, along with numerous episodes of television shows. Her most recent project was directing an episode of Parks and Recreation (season three’s “Eagleton”) and the TV movie I Hate That I Love You. Other television work includes episodes of Six Feet Under, Bored to Death, Enlightened, Gilmore Girls, Leap of Faith, Sex and the City, and Cold Feet.

I’ve seen three of her films, and it’s fair to say that one of the major themes she’s interested in is how to be wealthy and privileged in a society that largely isn’t. One could lob this at her as a criticism–that she’s interested in rich white women–and it’s not untrue. However, I’ve always found her movies thoughtful and aware of privilege, rather than flaunting it unawares, and her characters flawed, complex, contradictory, and, ultimately, realistic. Women are always at the center of the story, and we all know how rarely that’s done, much less done well.

Holofcener has written and directed four feature films. Here they are.

Please Give (2010)

Please Give is Holofcener’s most recent film. It won the Robert Altman Award and was nominated for Best Screenply by the Independent Spirit Awards, and was nominated for a Writer’s Guild of America (WGA) Award. The film was distributed by Sony Pictures Classics. The movie has an 88% fresh rating on Rotten Tomatoes (which, I know, isn’t the most objective or accurate system, but, still is worth noting).

I saw the movie when it was in theatres, and remember heated conversations about its characters and its ultimate meaning. Most of the discussions involved its ambivalent ending, and if you’ve seen it, I suspect you have strong feelings about that ending, too.

Here’s a bit of the synopsis, from the official website:

Kate (Catherine Keener) has a lot on her mind. There’s the ethics problem of buying furniture on the cheap at estate sales and marking it up at her trendy Manhattan store (and how much markup can she get away with?). There’s the materialism problem of not wanting her teenage daughter (Sarah Steele) to want the expensive things that Kate wants. There’s the marriage problem of sharing a partnership in parenting, business, and life with her husband Alex (Oliver Platt), but sensing doubt nibbling at the foundations. And there’s Kate’s free-floating 21st century malaise–the problem of how to live well and be a good person when poverty, homelessness, and sadness are always right outside the door.

Watch the trailer:

Friends with Money (2006)

This is the one Holofcener movie I haven’t seen. Starring Jennifer Aniston, Catherine Keener, and Frances McDormand, I’d say this movie has the most commercial appeal of her work, but not the highest ratings. Friends with Money won McDormand a Best Supporting Female Independent Spirit Award, and Holofcener an Independent Spirit Best Screenplay nomination. She also won the Dorothy Arzner Directors Award.

From the official website‘s synopsis:

FRIENDS WITH MONEY examines the shifting relationships between four women who have been friends all of their adult lives. Now as they settle into their early middle age, their friendship is increasingly challenged by the ever-growing disparity in their individual degrees of financial comfort. It is a poignant snapshot of the way we live today, where the safe divisions that class and money have created are eroding under the unstoppable force of everyday life and the result is a painfully hilarious examination of modern life that manages to be both brutally honest and ultimately uplifting.

Watch the trailer:

Lovely & Amazing (2001)

Lovely and Amazing is my favorite of Holofcener’s movies, though it’s been several years since I’ve seen it, and can’t provide many specific details other than a major focus in on the relationship between a mother and her daughters. It’s definitely worth renting.

The movie’s website is gone, but here’s the plot summary from IMDb:

The Marks family is a tightly-knit quartet of women. Jane is the affluent matriarch whose 3 daughters seem to have nothing in common except for a peculiar sort of idealism. Setting the tone of vanity and insecurity, Jane is undergoing cosmetic surgery to alter her figure, but serious complications put her health in real danger. Former homecoming queen Michelle, the eldest daughter, has one daughter of her own and an alienated, unsupportive husband. Elizabeth, the middle sister, has an acting career that is beginning to take off, but is timid and insecure, and habitually relieves her trepidation by taking in stray dogs. Only the youngest sister, Annie, an adopted African American 8-year-old, stands a chance of avoiding the family legacy of anxious self-absorption. If only her intelligence and curiosity will see her through what promises to be a confusing adolescence. Each of the women seeks redemption in her own haphazard way.

Watch the trailer:


Walking and Talking (1996)

I couldn’t find a trailer for Walking and Talking (if you find one somewhere, please let me know!), but it seems you can watch the whole thing on YouTube, if you’re so inclined. Better yet, rent it and watch with some friends. It’s a quiet movie, in that not a lot happens (as the title suggests), but it’s engaging and just good.

Here’s a synopsis, from Netflix, that doesn’t really do the movie justice:

Amelia (Catherine Keener) and Laura (Anne Heche) have been best friends since the sixth grade. For the first time, their lives are taking different paths: Laura is in love and planning her wedding, while Amelia begins to despair that she’ll ever find the right man. But as they try to adjust their childhood friendship to the challenges of adulthood, these friends continue to laugh together at life and love.

Who’s up for a Holofcener marathon?! Hey, come to think of it…

Quote of the Day: Barbara J. Berg

Visit Barbara J. Berg’s Web site for more information.

Yesterday, I wrote a piece analyzing two misogyny-filled reviews of I Don’t Know How She Does It. The process got me thinking quite a bit about the ways in which reputable movie critics choose to evaluate films, particularly woman-centered films. Most critics loved Bridesmaids, but that isn’t remotely shocking if you read Bridesmaids as another Apatow-branded gross-out fest that just happened to star women. Personally, I believe that reading shortchanges the film, but I also believe the undercurrent of all too familiar man-child humor helped Bridesmaids not only stake its claim at the top of the box office, but also transcend the dreaded “chick flick” label. Other movies showcasing women rarely get that kind of respect from critics, perhaps because they lack that Apatowian guy-cred, or perhaps because they’re generally just not taken seriously.

Sexism in America: Alive, Well, and Ruining Our Future by Barbara J. Berg, Ph.D., was published in 2009, pre-Bridesmaids sensation. In chapter 19, “Missing at the Multiplex,” Berg discusses, well, what we discuss at Bitch Flicks: the objectification, silencing, and absence of women and girls in film and television. Her astute observations about the reaction by male critics (and men in general) to the release of Sex and the City: The Movie deserves a spotlight here–because it encapsulates a larger trend I see among male film critics to rake these woman-centered films over the fucking coals. Make no mistake, SATC was a shitty movie. Amber and I reviewed it, and we both agreed it was terribly shitty. But men have a strong tendency to approach many films about women–and I’m talking about movies that don’t qualify for that coveted injection of Apatow-sponsored Guy Approval (like the one Bridesmaids got)–with a disdain so palpable one can’t help but go, “What the fuck, man?”

Which brings me to our Quote of the Day.

The one notable exception to the hailing males of Hollywood is the movie Sex and the City (SATC), a smash hit racking up fifty-seven million dollars on its opening weekend. Just about every reviewer mentioned the gal pals responsible for this spectacular success, just as they made much of male absence (except for gay men, who are presumably big fans).

Of course, there’s the old adage in Tinsel Town that women will see a “male” movie, but not vice versa. Still, the way men dissed SATC (most without having seen it) hints at something deeper going on. Perfectly wonderful men shuddered in horror at the very mention of the movie. They seemed absolutely phobic, as though watching a movie about four devoted friends who together wielded power and authority was an affront to their manhood.

“In an Internet Movie Database poll, 7,197 men voted to give SATC an average score of 3.8–that puts it among the worst movies of the year,” reported Ramin Setoodeh in Newsweek (June 16, 2008). Male reviewers were particularly nasty. Anthony Lane wrote in The New Yorker that the movie “was more like a TV show on steroids. . . . All the film lacks is a subtitle, ‘The Lying, the Bitch and the Wardrobe.’ David Poland at Hot Button said, “The only genuinely emotional moment I experienced in this film came to pass in a moment where the characters actually shut up for a moment.”

SATC is the first movie in a long time to reverse the formula and put women, not men, at center stage. Is it a big surprise that many males immediately called for them to be silenced? Maybe they’re just pissed that SATC scored more at the box office than their favorite “dick flick,” Indiana Jones.

Thoughts?

Quote of the Day: Janet McCabe

Feminist Film Studies: Writing the Woman into Cinema by Janet McCabe (2004). Part of the Wallflower Short Cuts Series.

Leading comedic roles for women in film and television are often relegated to “romantic” comedy and these women still, in 2011, struggle to break into the classification of comedy–without modifiers–and remain relegated to the dreaded “chick flick” (a term that the title of this website plays off of).

From the section “Romantic comedy and gender” in the book Feminist Film Studies: Writing the Woman into Cinema.

Television comedy is another area of recent feminist inquiry, which investigates in particular star performance, joke-making techniques and the television audience. Alexander Doty (1990), investigating the interplay between the star image of Lucille Ball and the character she plays in I Love Lucy (Desilu Productions Inc/CBS, 1951-57) argues that Lucy Ricardo is constructed as the zany, loveable, ditzy and talentless housewife and mother based on the denial, repression and (re)construction of Ball’s star image. Patricia Mellencamp (1997) is another scholar fascinated by Lucille Ball’s slapstick routines. Recuperating Ball’s performance as an act of defiance from the confinement of the domestic space allows her to locate the radical underpinnings of the show for female viewers. Each week Lucy unsuccessfully attempting to escape domesticity and break into show business. They physical comic routines performed by Ball offered a means of challenging patriarchy as she upstages her husband/other men; and this is what audiences tuned in to see. Drawing on Freud’s theory of humorous pleasures (that is, humour used to avoid emotional pain) enables Mellencamp to argue that laughter directed at Lucy’s performance of being talentless – ‘her wretched, off-key singing, her mugging facial exaggerations and out-of-step dancing [is] paradoxically both the source of the audience’s pleasure and the narrative necessity for housewifery’ (1997: 73). She contends that Lucy’s situation made visible the real dilemmas faced by many women: ‘Given the repressive conditions of the 1950s, humour might have been women’s weapon and tactic of survival, ensuring sanity, the triumph of the ego, and pleasures’ (ibid).

One of the most sustained discussions on gender, representation and cross-cultural theories is Kathleen Rowe’s study of the unruly woman (1995). Using theoretical models from Mikhail Bakhtin concerned with the grotesque, Rowe identifies the grotesque body as ultimately the female body – often an outrageous, voluptuous, loud, joke-cracking dissenter or ‘woman on top’. The unruly female is not about gender confusion but inverting dominant social, cultural and political conventions; unruliness occurs when those who are socially or politically inferior (normally, women) use humour and excess to undermine patriarchal norms and authority. Focusing on Roseanne Arnold allows her to suggest how Roseanne’s star image and her television situation (Carsey-Werner Company/ABC, 1988-1997) disrupt and expose the gap between feminist liberation (informed by second-wave feminism) and the realities of working-class family life (those of whom feminist liberation left behind), between ideals of true womanhood and unruliness to challenge notions of a patriarchal construction of femininity. Making a spectacle of herself – her overweight body, her physical excesses, her performance as loud and brash – reveals ambivalence as the unruly woman speaks out. Difficulties faced by Roseanne in the press with the vitriol directed at her ‘make known the problems of representing what in our culture still remains largely unrepresentable: a fat woman who is also sexual; a sloppy housewife who’s a good mother; a “loose” woman who is also tidy, who hates matrimony but loves her husband, who hates the ideology of true womanhood, yet considers herself a domestic goddess’ (1995:91).

As I hope is clear, feminist critics disclose how television culture is informed by context and given meaning through the ways in which particular programmes are consumed, how narratives are experienced and what they mean to the female viewer – what television series says about women and how media texts function in their daily lives. Through interviews, Deborah Jermyn (2003) analyses how women talk about the series in an effort to understand what Sex and the City (HBO, 1998-2004) means to female fans. Pivotal here is the point at which Jermyn’s own fandom intersects with the experience of those she interviewed – it is a moment that allows her to reveal both the pleasures and difficulties involved in understanding how fan culture operates and how to speak about it.

I Love Lucy and Roseanne are two shows that were able to reach a large mainstream audience, while Sex and the City remained, most definitely, for female audiences (as has the atrocious film franchise). Yet Sex and the City is very different from these two other shows, in that it is (for the most part) about women who aren’t in these traditional domestic roles.

What leading women of comedy since the 90s reach across gender divides and avoid the ghettoization of the “chick flick?” Who are the new “unruly” women? Does Tyler Perry’s Madea count? (I’m only half joking here.) I’d love to hear readers’ thoughts on these matters.