Zooey Deschanel – Bitch Flicks

“I Kind of Like It When She Calls Me a Bitch. It Makes Me Feel Like Janis Joplin”: Third-Wave Feminism in ‘New Girl’

There is no denying that 2013 has been a tough year for women. As a North Carolinian, I have watched as all but one Planned Parenthood in my state got slated for shut-down due to “health requirements” passed by our Republican lawmakers. At the national level, politicians have made too many rape-apologist comments to keep track of. As a feminist and former Women’s Studies major, it’s important for me to develop thick skin, and with it, an arsenal of uplifting weaponry that will keep me sane and optimistic about our future as women. Which is what has brought me to love the Fox television show New Girl. Yes, New Girl is, ultimately, a sitcom, and it is questionable whether sitcoms can hold up to serious feminist criticism or if we should just laugh along and not take them too seriously. But what’s the fun in that? When “lighthearted” media is so often blatantly sexist (the song “Blurred Lines” and its accompanying video have given feminists enough ire to last the entire year) we should acknowledge those forms of media that, even in subtle ways, subvert the sexist norm.

The cast of New Girl — The cast of *New Girl*

This is a guest post by Susan Mackey.

There is no denying that 2013 has been a tough year for women. As a North Carolinian, I have watched as all but one Planned Parenthood in my state got slated for shut-down due to “health requirements” passed by our Republican lawmakers. At the national level, politicians have made too many rape-apologist comments to keep track of. As a feminist and former Women’s Studies major, it’s important for me to develop thick skin, and with it, an arsenal of uplifting weaponry that will keep me sane and optimistic about our future as women. Which is what has brought me to love the Fox television show New Girl. Yes, New Girl is, ultimately, a sitcom, and it is questionable whether sitcoms can hold up to serious feminist criticism or if we should just laugh along and not take them too seriously. But what’s the fun in that? When “lighthearted” media is so often blatantly sexist (the song “Blurred Lines” and its accompanying video have given feminists enough ire to last the entire year) we should acknowledge those forms of media that, even in subtle ways, subvert the sexist norm.

The premise of New Girl is as follows: Jess (played by Zooey Deschanel) is a recently-single thirty-something-year-old woman who moves into an apartment with three men: Nick, Schmidt, and Winston. The underlying feminist elements in New Girl are often subtle, which is what lends them so much power. Just when we’re expecting another average romantic-comedy sitcom, the rug gets pulled out from under us. This happened to me while watching Season 1 of New Girl for the first time. Jess picks up her best friend Cece from the bar and brings her back to the apartment to crash. Jess warns the boys that when Cece’s drunk, “She’s really grabby, really physical, really loose with her body.” Immediately the scenario seems too predictable: a bunch of men will take advantage of a beautiful, drunk girl. In fact, the opposite occurs. Cece practically forces the boys to dance drunkenly with her, while they try clumsily to impress her. It’s an interestingly equal power dynamic; Cece is drunk and thus not in control, and yet, the boys succumb to her every whim. They couldn’t take advantage of her if they tried. The episode takes an interesting turn when Schmidt offers to let Cece sleep in his bed. He “sheepdogs” her into his room, closes the door, and says he’ll sleep on the couch. This scene took me completely by surprise and illustrated how deeply ingrained sexist imagery is in our imagination: I was abruptly surprised by the fact that Schmidt was not going to take Cece to bed when she was drunk. It was a shocking and somewhat sad realization that I expected the wrong thing to happen; it had almost never occurred to me that a man would not take advantage of this beautiful, drunk woman.

Jess vs. Julia: Second Wave vs. Third Wave

Jess is a prime example of third-wave feminism because she is a new image of what independence and power look like. In Season 1, her roommate Nick begins dating a lawyer named Julia. From the first time Julia and Jess met, Julia was standoffish and cold, quite different from Jess who is friendly and bubbly to a fault. When Jess needs Julia’s help getting out of a traffic ticket, Julia tells Jess condescendingly that her whole “thing” (meaning Jess’s ultra-femininity and friendliness) might work in front of a judge.

The tension between Julia and Jess reminds me of the very real tension between those who identify with second wave feminism and those who identify with third wave. Julia has had to combat sexism within her line of work and has done so by taking on traits that would typically be deemed “masculine.” Jess, on the other hand, is unapologetically feminine. When the two women break down and finally have it out in the bathroom of Nick’s bar, Julia tells Jess, “If I acted like you at work, no one would take me seriously.” This is a sad but true fact for women who work in male-dominated fields, like law. However, Jess counters, “Well if I acted like you at work, my students would turn in really weird, dark dioramas.” Second-wave feminism of the 1960s and 1970s often took the physical form of women who were trying to stake their claim in society by emulating men in manner and appearance (think of the “hairy legged man-hater” stereotype of feminists). Third-wave feminists know that female and feminist power can and should be claimed by everyone, including those second-wave feminists, but also by men, people of color, trans-people, and, finally, feminine women. Jess sums up this point perfectly when she tells Julia that even though she works with kids all day and wears polka-dots, “that doesn’t mean I’m not tough, and smart, and strong.”

Nick and his girlfriend (who happens to be a stripper)

I got another jolt while watching New Girl when roommate Nick begins dating a stripper, and receives no judgment from Jess or any other female character. Jess supports Nick’s girlfriend’s decision to strip and even pushes Nick to date her because she’s such a headstrong woman. It is so rare in television and in real life to find women who accept other women’s career and life choices, especially if that choice is to work in a sex industry. But that is one tenant of third-wave feminism that has caught on particularly well with young feminists.

The feminist movement, like any social movement, has had its fair share of shameful, or at least embarrassing, moments. Recall the 1968 anti-Miss America pageant demonstration, in which feminists paraded a sheep in front of the event to represent contestants. Organizers of the demonstration later regretted the tone of the protest because it pitted woman-against-woman instead of uniting them against an oppressive institution. Now, in the era of New Girl, feminists have realized the power of female friendships and mutual support.

Female Friendships

New Girl’s ability to portray female friendships accurately is noteworthy. The premise of the show–that a recently single woman moves into an apartment full of men and hilarity ensues–seems clichéd at first. And it is, at times. There are countless scenes of the seemingly hilarious debacles when two genders live together (in one episode, Schmidt finds one of the tampons that Jess has hidden around the house). But, after all, it is a cable sitcom, and so we must cut it some slack. After all, the show does make up for the predictable three-guys-and-a-girl scenario with scenes of genuine friendship among women. For starters, Jess has a diverse group of friends (for television standards); her best friend is an Indian woman (Cece) and her other friend who appears regularly is a lesbian (Sadie). Within these women there is no gossiping or snarky behavior. When Jess suspects that Nick’s aforementioned girlfriend Julia may not like her, she confides in Cece and Sadie for their support. Nick tries telling the women that they’re imagining things, but Jess points out to Nick something about female relationships that is all too true: when girls fight, a lot of it goes unsaid. There is real conflict between the women in New Girl, but none of it is the catty back-stabbing behavior that we are used to seeing on television.

Writing Diversity

Unsurprisingly, New Girl’s main character, played by Zooey Deschanel, is an attractive white woman (despite the show’s best efforts to portray her as awkward, she is still undeniably cute). For this reason, New Girl is not particularly revolutionary in its racial makeup. With the advent of Orange is the New Black, feminist viewers have gotten a taste of race done right in television (although, not without problems; OITNB has been called a “modern slave narrative” because of its use of a white protagonist as a vehicle to portray black and Hispanic characters). However, New Girl’s ability to successfully joke about race deserves notice. OITNB has garnered a lot of praise–and rightly so–for addressing race in a serious and respectful manner. But New Girl is a sitcom, after all, and has to be funny to be successful.

Modern Family, another sitcom, positions itself as a, well, modern representation of American families. Unfortunately, many of their jokes rely on tired clichés about race and gender (including the nagging wife, the fiery Latina woman, the effeminate gay man, the crotchety old Conservative white man). One episode in particular that made me roll my eyes consisted of the family’s newborn baby conveniently throwing up any time gay marriage was mentioned. It seems to me that Modern Family is trying to get away with these lazy, stereotypical jokes by positioning them as ironic; after all, how can it be offensive if it’s purposefully trying to be modern?

New Girl, while driven by a traditional female protagonist, has a surprisingly diverse cast. Schmidt is Jewish, Winston is Black, and her girlfriends include an Indian woman, Cece, and a lesbian named Sadie. The show is surprisingly, almost shockingly, successful in its abilities to joke about race and sexuality in ways that are truly original and funny, and not at all hurtful (disclaimer: because I am viewing the show from a straight, cisgender, white point of view, it is always possible that my privilege allows me to miss offensive humor). One episode in particular delves into the issue (or rather, the perceived issue) of Winston being the only Black housemate. Upon seeing Winston interacting with a group of strangers who are Black, Schmidt begins to fear that Winston is not being “his blackest self.” The episode continues with Winston taking advantage of Schmidt’s naïve idea of what it means to be Black. Instead of Black stereotypes being the joke (i.e., Black people smoke crack), Schmidt’s assumptions, laced in liberal open-mindedness, are the joke. (We’re laughing at Schmidt for having the assumption that Winston smokes crack.) Along the way, clever jokes of racial differences are made: Schmidt tells Winston that both of their “people” have done great things for America; African Americans have produced some of the best jazz music, while Jews have produced some of the best managers of jazz musicians. Another episode concludes with three white roommates taking turns at making Woody Allen jokes, while Winston simply ads, “Yeah, I have nothing to contribute here.” New Girl doesn’t pretend racial differences don’t exist; it acknowledges them, laughs at them, and moves on.

At the end of the day, it’s difficult to assess how great an impact a sitcom can have on society. Can twenty-five minutes of cable television enact real change in a society so permeated by racism, sexism, and every other damaging –ism? I’d like to think so. The people whose minds need to be changed are not always the ones marching on the streets, reading feminist blogs, and participating in grassroots activism. They are the ones sitting on their couches, watching television. So if a show like New Girl can subtly inject feminist values into the mainstream canon, that is something to celebrate. And now, more than ever, feminists need something to celebrate.

Susan Mackey is a recent graduate from Appalachian State University. She lives in Charlotte, North Carolina, where she teaches preschool and writes about art and feminist issues in her spare time.

‘Me and Zooey D.’ Puts a Quirky Spin on Celebrity Obsession

Berkowitz does a great job of consciously channeling the look and mannerisms of Zooey’s persona as a means of illustrating that Alex and Zooey are birds of a feather, but not in the aloof Manic Pixie Dream Girl way that might be alienating. Alex is endearing by sheer force of her naïveté and conviction. You really do root for her to find Zooey, even if her behavior may sometimes teeter on prompting a restraining order. The series’ charm stems from its full-fledged embrace of its own zaniness. One description on the official website declares that Me and Zooey D. “is about believing in your dreams and pursuing them like a stalker.”
Ari was kind enough to do a little Q&A about the show and even teased us with some possibilities for season two.

Me and Zooey D. logo

Written by Erin Tatum.

Admit it – we all fantasize about meeting a celebrity. Some of us are…a little more determined than others. Such is the case with Alex (Ari Berkowitz), a starry-eyed Ohio native who moves to LA along with her friends Haley (Brittany Belland) and Chris (Ben Smith) in hopes of pursuing careers in show business. Alex’s personal and professional aspirations center around becoming Zooey Deschanel’s personal assistant and eventual best friend. Her efforts to track down Zooey are chronicled in Me and Zooey D., a six-part web series available to watch on YouTube.

Alex sings to Zooey with a ukulele at the end of every episode

Berkowitz does a great job of consciously channeling the look and mannerisms of Zooey’s persona as a means of illustrating that Alex and Zooey are birds of a feather, but not in the aloof Manic Pixie Dream Girl way that might be alienating. Alex is endearing by sheer force of her naïveté and conviction. You really do root for her to find Zooey, even if her behavior may sometimes teeter on prompting a restraining order. The series’ charm stems from its full-fledged embrace of its own zaniness. One description on the official website declares that Me and Zooey D. “is about believing in your dreams and pursuing them like a stalker.”

Ari was kind enough to do a little Q&A about the show and even teased us with some possibilities for season two.

Bitch Flicks: First and foremost, what originally attracted you to the series?

Ari Berkowitz: I watch Elf over Christmas every year. I LOVE how Will Ferrel’s character is so unabashedly excited about everything. He’s super naive, but also full of joy! I wanted to try and write a similar character that was so endearing that their obsession ceased to be creepy or weird. And that’s what I tried to do with Alex!

I picked Zooey because I already had her glasses and bangs –so the hardest part was over. It also helped that Zooey was in Elf. I thought she would be a really fun subject matter, and I relish any opportunity to write original songs…to a ukulele I don’t actually know how to play.

BF: What prompted you to use YouTube as a medium for the series?

AB: We picked YouTube because we wanted it to be available to a larger audience. We considered Vimeo, but casual Zooey fans don’t seem to just stumble upon Vimeo webseries.

YouTube was also great because it allowed us to build our own website (or have our baller webdesigner, Alex Lew, build it). Then we just embed the videos! I think WheresZooey.com is fabulous because it allows us to have our episodes, blog, and contact all in one place!

BF: You play Alex, a girl who is more than a little infatuated with Zooey Deschanel. Do you have any celebrity obsessions?

AB: I did a project with James Franco a few years ago, and I was pretty starstruck for the first few months of that. It helped me to be a little calmer with my celebrity obsessions when I finally moved out to LA. Although, I still have a pretty elaborate daydream about becoming BFFs with Amy Poehler. Also, Barbra Streisand.

BF: The last episode ended on quite the cliffhanger! Are there plans in the works for a possible season two?

AB: We would be so excited to do a second season! We had an awesome team working on the show. My director, Hunter Wolk, is an all-star. He and I have talked a little about what we’d like to do with another season. Let’s just say I’ve been working on my Mindy Kaling impression.

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To learn more about Me and Zooey D., check out their website at WheresZooey.com.

‘Elizabethtown’ After the Manic Pixie Dream Girl

DVD cover for Elizabethtown

This is a guest review by Amanda Civitello.

When she was ten, my little sister pronounced herself a “Young Feminist in Training” and authored an editorial for a school newspaper entitled, “Sarah Palin: Feminist? No!” I was surprised, then, when she said last week that she wanted to watch Elizabethtown for our girls’ movie night. “Really?” I asked. “The film that launched the Manic Pixie Dream Girl?” She shrugged, and, as she predicted, I loved it. I loved it for what it is: a fun little moralistic summer movie with a good soundtrack and an interesting – if somewhat farfetched – premise, as well as an incredibly moving final fifteen minutes. The story of a failed shoe designer whose plans for suicide in the wake of his “fiasco” are foiled by his father’s premature death, writer/director Cameron Crowe’s Elizabethtown stars Orlando Bloom as Drew, the brooding architect of a catastrophic business failure, and Kirsten Dunst as Claire, the woman who descends from the sky – practically literally; she’s a flight attendant – to rescue him from his melancholy with an overabundance of quirky good cheer. But rather than find it a guilty pleasure, something I liked in spite of the inadequacies and disappointments of its manic pixie of a female lead character, I found that Claire didn’t really merit the MPDG moniker at all.

From its first appearance, in a review of Elizabethtown by film critic Nathan Rabin, the “Manic Pixie Dream Girl” seemed preternaturally possessed of staying power. It had two things going for it: a catchy name and truth. There are too many films in which a female lead seems to exist solely to improve the outlook of the male lead with a winning combination of pep, quirkiness, and vintage clothing. Unsurprisingly, it’s very easy to find a plethora of examples of characters fitting this trope.

Kirsten Dunst (Claire) and Orlando Bloom (Drew) in Elizabethtown. This is just before Drew tells Claire she needn’t make jokes to be likeable.

The idea of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl was, at the beginning, a critique of those films that view women through an unabashedly male gaze, in which the viewer identifies primarily with the leading man and is therefore predisposed to regarding the leading lady as an extension of the man. (Elizabethtown makes Drew the identifiable character from the first few moments, which consist of voiceovers from Orlando Bloom. We’re definitely supposed to watch Claire, not stand in her shoes.) In many cases – as in the case of Elizabethtown, as Nathan Rabin so rightly argued – the female character does serve to remind the male of his zest for life, and that’s all she seems to do. The MPDG was meant to describe a phenomenon of the male gaze as evident in scripts written by men and films made by men, as Rabin explicitly stated: “The Manic Pixie Dream Girl exists solely in the fevered imaginations of sensitive writer-directors to teach broodingly soulful young men to embrace life and its infinite mysteries and adventures.” At its inception, therefore, the MPDG was all about critiquing men. In recent years, however, as writers have pointed out, the MPDG label has expanded to become more broad. It’s often used to describe a kind of woman, rather than how she is written/seen by a man, and to incorporate characters and films – like Annie Hall – without good reason, and has actually been used to describe real women. It’s even become shorthand for one real woman in particular: Zooey Deschanel. It’s ridiculously simplistic and extraordinarily misogynistic to reduce a real woman to a trope.

For me, then, the MPDG label, while it started out as a catchy, if somewhat simplisti, truthism, turned problematic and even pejorative in recent years. (As a side note, because it isn’t really germane to this post: using the word “manic” is troubling as well. After all, “manic” is a weighty word, associated as it is with bipolar disorder. There are other, but less memorable, words that could better describe the kind of peppy, preternatural cheerfulness that hangs about these characters. My discomfort with the use of “manic” is compounded when the character demonstrates depressive tendencies, as does Claire in Elizabethtown. When the term is applied to real people with real conditions it’s even more troubling, as it is here to Edith Bouvier Beale, who suffered from a stress-related condition with tragic consequences.) It was, therefore, with great relief that I read the many articles this past spring/summer heralding the demise of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl. You don’t need me to summarize them, so check out these posts from Jezebel and xojane, and let’s get back to Elizabethtown, because now that we have poked holes in the trope itself, and others have concurred or found other reasons to get rid of it, I think the film that launched the MPDG deserves a second look.

“Do you ever just think, ‘I’m fooling everybody?'” — Claire

Elizabethtown is an interesting little indie-esque effort from Cameron Crowe. By and large, it succumbs far too readily to mistakes that detract from the enjoyment of the film. The great moments – and there are two – manage to redeem it in my estimation. The first is a long conversation between Drew and Claire, in which Bloom and Dunst really manage to capture the joy of recognizing oneself in someone else, and in which Crowe effectively contrasts their discussion – alternately probing and amusingly shallow – with the ordinary tasks we all do while on the phone. The second sequence is Drew’s cross-country road trip with his father’s ashes, following a map that Claire has (mostly unbelievably) made for him. The stops on Claire’s map are all places of historic, national, or cultural importance. Drew scatters some of his father’s ashes in the waters of the Mississippi and along a stretch of flat American highway surrounded by farmland. He visits the National Civil Rights Museum at the Lorraine Motel and Earnestine and Hazel’s Bar & Grill in Tennessee. It’s a reminder of all the things worth seeing and visiting in this country (and, like lots of other reviewers, has made me totally game for a road trip). Drew’s trip is juxtaposed with memories of his childhood, and we see little Drew dancing and roadtripping with his dad, and it’s this connection – the idea that someone’s dad can be to him as great a man as Martin Luther King, Jr. – that is really compelling. But these effective and moving scenes are hampered by the many, many scenes that don’t work, most notably Drew’s mother Hollie’s (Susan Sarandon) big moment at her husband’s memorial. That, unfortunately, is the victim of poor editing: the first part of her scene is a comedy routine detailing all the things she’s tried to learn since her husband’s death, and at one point, borders on the ridiculously crass (it is a memorial service, after all). The second part, the part that should have stood mostly on its own, with only a few words of introduction, is a moving little tap dance she performs to their favorite song. Like the road trip that follows, it’s a quiet, personal moment that’s deeply rooted in the little things that give life meaning.

With regard to its female characters, Elizabethtown has far more issues. Of the three female characters – Claire, Drew’s sister Heather, and their mother, Hollie – each is the victim of poor writing. The characterization of Heather in particular is downright egregious: it seems that her only personality trait is a kind of modern-day hysteria. She’s a woman who begs her brother to “handle everything” with regard to their father’s death because he’s the only one capable of it, who watches her mother flit from activity to activity in a frantic display of unmoored grief, and occasionally widens her eyes and throws up her hands and shrieks. While deep, raw grief is to be expected, as a grown woman with a kid, Heather is the caricature of the stereotypical woman who just can’t deal with it, because she’s just too darn emotional.

Drew and Claire

Claire, on the other hand, is at least compelling in spite of her faults. She’s interesting, and she has an admittedly underdeveloped back story. She’s a self-described “helper” and a “substitute person.” She invents trips to Hawaii and waxes on about boyfriends that don’t exist. She is, at her heart, immersed in much the same pursuit of happiness as Drew. She has her own struggles which we grasp only tenuously. The problem with Elizabethtown is that it doesn’t explore that complexity nearly enough – but not that it doesn’t exist in the first place. Claire isn’t a vacuously vapid MPDG; she has beginnings of a complex characterization that the writer only hints at, but doesn’t seem to think is worth developing. There were opportunities to do so: Why doesn’t the conversation about Claire’s unnecessary jokes continue? Why don’t we get to see an answer to Drew’s confrontation about the faux-boyfriend? Why, when we know as well as Drew that she has something slightly darker lurking beneath the quirky veneer, do we not get to see it? In my book, that’s a bit worse than creating a one-note plot device of a character.

So: did Claire deserve to be the original Manic Pixie Dream Girl? I don’t think so. I think it was perhaps a fair assessment upon a single viewing. But tucking her neatly into the MPDG box denies vital aspects of Claire’s character. True, we don’t know much about her ambition or life apart from Drew. That’s absolutely a failing on Cameron Crowe’s part as screenwriter. And for part of the film, Claire certainly does fill that role for Drew. She’s there to answer the phone when he wants someone – anyone – to talk to, happy to sit on hold waiting for him while he bounces between his fuming ex-girlfriend and crying sister, neither of whom – credit where it’s due – particularly like being kept on hold. Claire is the placid one, patiently waiting her turn to work her magic, as Drew expects. What saves Elizabethtown is that Drew comes to recognize that his sort-of girlfriend is not an MPDG.

“I’m impossible to forget, but I’m hard to remember.” — Claire

When Drew says, “You don’t have to make a joke. I like you without the jokes,” he pinpoints Claire for what she is: a complex character hiding behind a cheerful façade. Midway through the movie, he realizes that he doesn’t need Claire to be anything but who she is. He calls her out for the jokes he previously found engaging and attractive and confronts her about her imaginary boyfriend Ben. It’s a shame that Elizabethtown doesn’t show us this new Claire. We’re presented with a glimpse of the real woman, and then she slips away. This most interesting shift, when Drew realizes that he doesn’t want an MPDG for a girlfriend anyway, is given the least amount of exploration, because the film almost immediately switches to the long closing sequence of Drew’s cross-country road trip, back to the overarching theme of grief.

Drew isn’t the only one to think this way. Claire’s theory of “substitute people” actively refutes the MPDG pigeonhole. In describing this theory – which basically sounds a whole lot like Manic Pixie(-ish) Dream People – Claire is asserting that she knows perfectly well the image she projects. The implication, of course, is that it’s nothing but an image. She knows just as well as Drew that what she’s saying is a convenient label, nothing more. She’s aware of it in much the same way as is Clementine in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, although Clementine is far more direct in her refutation of the MPDG label: “Too many guys think I’m a concept, or I complete them, or I’m gonna make them alive. But I’m just a fucked-up girl who’s lookin’ for my own peace of mind; don’t assign me yours.”

“You shouldn’t be a substitute for anybody.” — Drew

Elizabethtown’s major problem is that it makes a halfhearted attempt to be a love story, when really, it’d have done far better to focus on grief. It would have been a much more compelling movie, because the moments that shine are the ones which have Drew – sometimes with Claire – facing the full implications of what happened. Would we have read the film differently from the start if there’d been no sex scene, no agonizing introspection over whether or not they’re dating? I think so. And it would have been refreshing to see a movie featuring a male/female friendship that wasn’t aching to become more.

In the end, from the oversaturated colors to the overwhelming (but expectedly awesome) soundtrack and the entirely implausible narrative, Elizabethtown is a kind of fairy tale: the kind of story that sticks with you in spite of its tenuous grip on reality, the kind of confection that you enjoy even though it falls apart when you look too closely. Cameron Crowe would have been better to structure Elizabethtown like 500 Days of Summer. 500 Days of Summer works because of its nonlinear narrative and impressionistic array of short scenes. Where Elizabethtown explicates far too much, spelling out each character’s thought process and motivation, 500 Days of Summer allows for the audience to draw conclusions and make connections between scenes. When the story is written in such a way, when there’s no need to explain everything, the characters can be more spontaneous. They can have moments in which they do not conform to our expectations of them. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind works, in part, for the same reason. ESotSM and 500 Days of Summer are not passive films. They require far more thought from the audience than does a film like Elizabethtown, where all plotlines seem to find a neat little happy ending. They work precisely because they’re impressionistic, which is, at least in my opinion, the most effective way to treat a modern fairytale.

Amanda Civitello is a Chicago-based freelance writer and Northwestern grad with an interest in arts and literary criticism. She has contributed reviews of Rebecca, Sleepy Hollow, and Downton Abbey to Bitch Flicks. You can find her online at amandacivitello.com.

How ‘New Girl’s Jess and Nick Avoided Common Rom-Com Pitfalls

Jess (Zooey Deschanel) and Nick (Jake Johnson) have their first kiss

Written by Lady T.

This year’s season of New Girl introduced a sitcom plot that fans and audience members anticipate and dread in equal measure: the BIG KISS between two lead characters, and the will-they-won’t-they dynamic that followed.

Hooking up the two lead characters of any show is always a risky move for writers to take. No matter how much chemistry exists between the two actors, viewers and critics often fear–with good reason–that once the unresolved sexual tension is resolved, the relationship will become an endless cycle of breakups, reunions, and miscommunication, and no longer be entertaining to watch (ahem).

As a fan of New Girl, I was apprehensive about the idea of Jess and Nick getting together, because I’ve watched TV before and I’ve seen how even great sitcoms can be dragged down by tiresome will-they-won’t-they plots (such as Community’s Jeff/Britta dance of sexual tension before the writers wisely changed course with that storyline). Now that the season has come to an end, I can safely say that Jess and Nick’s kiss did not drag down the show, but elevated a good season into a great one. In fact, Jess and Nick have become one of the more delightful TV romances I’ve ever seen.

How did the writers pull this off?

1. They kept up the pacing and moved the story forward.

On another show, Jess and Nick might have only reached their first kiss by the end of season two, if that. Nick would have realized his feelings for Jess at the end of season one, right after she started dating someone else, and the reverse would happen at the end of season two. On New Girl, Jess and Nick kissed mid-season, had a few awkward conversations about it, kissed again, eventually slept together, and are now in a state where they are pursuing…something, fumbling as they do it. Their relationship is progressing at the pace of actual humans, not characters who know they’re on a television show.

Jess and Nick, before almost kissing.

2. They didn’t forget that the show is a comedy.

So far, there have been no huge declarations of love between Jess and Nick. The closest that came to a declaration was Jess admitting that she didn’t want to call off whatever they had in the season finale, followed by Nick kissing her passionately. Other than that, the writers have emphasized the “comedy” part of romantic comedy, and the results have been great. Whether it’s Nick panic-moonwalking away from Jess on the morning after their first kiss, or Jess finding herself turned on when Nick acts remotely like a responsible grownup (learning how to do laundry!), the characters are still being funny even as they try to navigate their feelings for each other.

3. The barriers to a Jess/Nick relationship are organic to their characters.

The writers on New Girl have not wasted their time with many romantic false leads or contrived subplots designed to keep Jess and Nick apart. They haven’t had to, because there’s enough standing in their way of having a functional relationship without the typical sitcom contrivances.

Nick carries Jess over the threshold.

On the plus side, Jess and Nick are friends and roommates who get along, care about each other, offer each other emotional support, and have plenty of sexual chemistry–all ingredients to a successful relationship. On the other hand, Jess’s sunny disposition, determination, and optimism clash horribly with Nick’s eternal grumpiness and lack of direction. The girl who makes up her own theme songs and the guy who gets so irrationally angry that he yells at doors can’t possibly have a relationship without some serious bumps in the road.

That’s why Jess and Nick’s conflicts have been so refreshing to watch. She’s unsure about his directionless nature and the fact that he has a credit score of a homeless ghost, and he knows that she’s unsure about him because of that reason, which leads to him feeling even more insecure. The fact that they’re friends who live together also complicates matters. If whatever they have becomes more serious, there will be many entertaining bumps in the road along the way.

4. The endgame is a question mark.

Jess dresses as Elvis for Nick’s father’s funeral (it makes sense if you watch the episode)

The relationship between Jess and Nick has been developing for a while, with mutual attraction acknowledged long before they actually kissed, but there’s no sense that Jess/Nick is an “endgame” couple. Considering their differences in personality, there’s a big chance that a relationship between them won’t work at all. They also might stay together for a long time. When they drive off together at the end of Cece’s wedding that wasn’t, there’s a sense that anything can happen between them.

From the perspective of someone who’s watched countless romantic comedies and rom-com pairings on television, I’m relieved to see a different take on a pairing of potentially mismatched friends. As a feminist, I’m happy that there’s no sense of an “endgame” with Jess and Nick, that Jess’s story isn’t all about whether or not she ends up with a guy (even if said guy is my current favorite character on television and Jake Johnson needs to win ALL the Emmys). Whatever she has with Nick is a big part of Jessica Day’s life, but it doesn’t define her, and she’s treated as a human being trying to figure out her life.

Would that all writers of romantic comedy treated their characters the way Elizabeth Meriweather and the staff of New Girl treat Jess and Nick–as people, not props in a foretold rom-com ending.

Nick and Jess, shortly before calling off their relationship (and then un-calling it later)

Lady T is an a writer with two novels, a play, and a collection of comedy sketches in progress. She hopes to one day be published and finish one of her projects (not in that order). You can find more of her writing at www.theresabasile.com.

Travel Films Week: ‘The Go-Getter’: A Male-Led Feminist Film

The Go-Getter movie poster

This is a guest post by Melanie Killingsworth.

The Go-Getter doesn’t scream “feminist.” The central character is a guy named Mercer; in fact, the movie doesn’t actually pass the Bechdel test, because no one really talks to anyone besides Mercer.

Mercer’s first words – to himself and the audience at large – are about Huckleberry Finn, not remotely feminist literature. After a little soliloquy, Mercer steals a car and starts a road trip in search of his older half-brother, Arlen. Along the way, the imagination interludes and fantastical sequences give the movie a dreamy, slightly drugged quality. Where am I going with this, and how is The Go-Getter feminist? Perhaps I should sum up the plot first.

Mercer stops at a pottery collective where Arlen used to live, only to get punched in the mouth by someone Arlen stole from. The puncher repents and offers Mercer some pot, which Mercer tries for the first time. All the collective members sit down for dinner with Mercer, and a few details about his mother come out. She was a substitute teacher and mom at 45, and though those things are hardly for the faint of heart, Mercer feels a need to portray her as a sled dog racer and later someone who travelled the Australian outback. The conversation and the pot help Mercer air some of his feelings, but he’s not much closer to finding Arlen.

The collective a bust, Mercer goes to find his middle-school crush, Joely, whom he obviously idolized; the camera angles point up at her and down at him while she climbs onto the pedestal of bleachers. Joely joins the road trip for kicks in the hopes of taking Mercer’s virginity, while Mercer dresses up and takes ecstasy to impress her before they have sex. In the end, she’s underwhelmed, and he’s apologetic.

Joely in The Go-Getter

Mercer goes from his first sexual experience to the set (shack, really) of a pornographic film where Arlen fleetingly “worked.” The director claims he’s “making art” about “making love,” but the boys in the waiting room talk about girls in dehumanizing ways, and one of the actresses dissolves into tears in the background. “What good is it if she cries before she gets fucked?” the director asks. Mercer isn’t at all sure how to respond, so he steals the camera and runs. They can’t film without it, he figures.

Mercer goes back to find Joely in the hotel with her cousin and a friend. When Mercer tries to take off by himself, the threesome steals Kate’s car and leaves. Mercer hitches a ride after them and steals the car back, again. Next stop is the pet store where Arlen ran a check-scam with an older woman. Said woman ponders Mercer, decides to take a maternal attitude, rambles a bit about free love and choice, then charms Mercer into singing hymns with her not-a-band to fulfill her community service requirements.

All this time, Mercer has been chatting with Kate, the girl from whom he stole the car. One of my favorite sequences is when Mercer is on the phone trying to imagine what Kate might look like, and the visualization runs through several women. It shows only their faces, not their bodies, and some of the suggested mental connections – the oldest of the group liking beer, one of the younger ones coming up on the suggestion of fake teeth – eschew stereotypes.

As Mercer parts ways with the pet shop woman, Kate finally shows up, more angry that Mercer lied than the fact that he still has her car. “Doesn’t anybody know anybody at all?” she asks. The two of them talk as they drive, getting closer emotionally and physically. Eventually, Mercer catches up to Arlen and gets scorn and a bloody lip for his trouble. Kate comforts him, and later they have sex.

Kate as both nurturer and protector

Mercer is finally able to sit down civilly with Arlen. Mercer is not crushed by Arlen’s anger; he addresses Arlen as an equal. No begging, no insecurity or needing a big brother’s acceptance. All the things Mercer has learned about women along the way led Mercer to his brother. Sex may be the turning point that leads to this conversation, but it’s the conversation that causes Mercer to realize he has “become a man,” and a man mostly shaped by women, at that.

So what makes a man’s coming-of-age story a “feminist” travel film? The fact equal-opportunity is still so rare these days? No, (though on a side note: sadness and anger!). It’s because as Mercer’s trip progresses, the catalysts are fully-realized women who exist for more than just his gratification. His trip is prompted by his mother’s death. All his stops along the way involve women who reveal something about themselves and/or Mercer. Finally, Kate, from whom Mercer stole the car, tracks him down and finishes the road trip with him. In a moment near the end, Mercer asks Kate, “Want to go to Louisiana with me?” and she raises her eyebrows and notes, “It’s my car,” as if to sum up that though Mercer has been making his own way, it’s women who are enabling and teaching him. It’s women he has learned to be like or not-like, from his mom to his first crush to this girl he just met over the phone.

Mercer talking to Kate on the phone, while imagining her as his shoulder angel

Women are sexual beings who initiate all Mercer’s intimate interludes. Women make small talk about weather and geography and deep conversation weighing fate versus coincidence. Women are nurturing (they cook food and tend to Mercer’s various injuries), but also capable (they make pottery, paint doors, and run stores). Mercer – and at times other men – are also portrayed as nurturing and loving, and none of these are seen as undesirable or distinctly “female” qualities.

A potential negative to the feminist theme is the porn shack scene. Coming-of-age must deal with sex, but since Mercer deals with it in other ways, is this underdeveloped side trip necessary? It has at least one damsel in distress, one predatory director, and three young boys who are likely being taken advantage of by the director, but who are also looking at the experience as their license to take advantage of the girls. Mercer weakly condemns it, then runs from it. The only real reason for its inclusion is – in leading to Mercer stealing the camera – girls again become a catalyst and point out the uncertainty in Mercer’s actions. He won’t be confident in his decisions until the end of the film when he reaches “manhood.” Of course, it also gives Mercer another noble reason to steal a prop useful to the story, so one could argue for pragmatism.

Another possible negative, Joely’s sexual manipulation of various men, is seen as an individual choice. Her “sins” aren’t sex or promiscuity or drugs; they’re theft of things Mercer already stole. She’s only his equal there, and none of her choices are representative of womanhood, just as Mercer’s choices aren’t representative of manhood.

Neither of these quibbles takes away from the overall woman-positive tone of the story. Kate responds to Mercer stealing her car with frustrated intrigue and working things out verbally. In opposition to this method, violence, the “male” answer to problems (as in, here always perpetrated by males), happens four times – the potter lashing out at Mercer because of Arlen; the three friends physically assaulting Mercer to steal Kate’s car; Mercer attempting to steal the car back, being mocked until someone discharges a gun; and finally, after years of repressed emotion, when Arlen demeans their mother and he and Mercer exchange blows. “Get yourself a hunting knife, can’t nobody take your hat,” the liquor salesman advises.

Mercer’s fantasies imagine how the violent road taken would end

Instead, Mercer becomes strong without violence, has sex without unrealistic idealizations, comes to terms with his brother, and realizes much about himself. All this he learns from women, while he and the story embrace and accept women as equal, strong, complex creatures with agency. Add to that a car trek cross-country to Louisiana – voila! – feminist travel film.

A film doesn’t have to have a woman as the main character to be feminist. This story unabashedly demonstrates the importance of women, not just in relation to men, but to themselves and the world in general.

Melanie Killingsworth is a writer and filmmaker in Portland, OR. Her feminist noir The Lilith Necklace is currently applying to a film festival near you.

Why I’ve Fallen in Love with ‘New Girl’

The main cast of New Girl

I’m not sure what’s happened, but I have fallen head over heels in love with FOX’s New Girl. I devoured the first season within a week and immediately caught up on the first few episodes of season two.

New Girl wasn’t a show I ever planned on watching. I actually like Zooey Deschanel, but I didn’t feel like I needed to see half an hour of her “adorkable” antics every week. The initial ads also made me believe that this show was going to be about a weird woman-child who moved in with three men who would eventually either a) pull a My Fair Lady on her and craft her into a more normal human being, or b) come to appreciate the quirky elf magic of this manic pixie dream girl and learn how to live their lives, or c) both of the above. Then one of them would fall in love with her, and they’d have a “She saved him back” moment from Pretty Woman, and they’d live manically and pixie-like forever after.

Well, this goes to show how marketing can be misleading, because New Girl is not that show at all.

Jess (Zooey Deschanel), Nick (Jake Johnson), Schmidt (Max Greenfield), and Winston (Lamorne Morris)

Yes, the first few episodes were largely about Zooey’s character Jess moving in and the male friends adjusting to her personality, but soon, the audience was introduced to the weirder sides of Nick, Winston, and Schmidt, and we quickly saw that this was a group of people who are all freaky oddballs. Sure, Jess makes up her own theme songs and speaks in silly accents, but Nick believes that an old man who speaks to him at the bar is himself from the future, Winston gets overly competitive about a middle school bells group, and Schmidt…is Schmidt.

Sometimes Jess is the voice of reason among the weird people, sometimes she’s the odd one that one of the guys has to rein in, and sometimes, in the very best episodes, the whole gang is completely off the wall. More importantly, Jess never has to be the mommy to a group of manchildren, and the guys never have to be the condescending Three Men and a Little Lady daddies to a girl-woman. I was afraid of both of those tropes before I started watching of the show, but neither has been the case.

On top of that, New Girl also showcases a female friendship that I find delightful to watch. Jess’s childhood best friend Cece, a confident, gorgeous model, is another main character on the show, and they complement each other perfectly. They’re highly supportive of each other, they share tough love when they need to, and their heartfelt moments are always genuine. When they fight, they fight like real women fight, not like a male fantasy of catty, bitchy women.

One of my favorite episodes of New Girl is “Secrets,” when Schmidt and Cece’s secret relationship becomes known to everyone else in the apartment. Jess is horrified to learn this information, but she’s also hurt that she was the last person to find out, thinking that Cece doesn’t trust her anymore. Cece, meanwhile, was afraid of Jess’s judgment, but was more afraid of admitting that she cared about Schmidt as something more than a hookup. The fight was over by the end of the episode, and there was a refreshing lack of catfight jokes.

Jess makes up with Cece (Hannah Simone)

There was another episode that featured an argument between two women – Jess and Nick’s girlfriend Julia – that was a great commentary on the way women fight when their personalities clash. Julia (Lizzy Caplan) is immediately put off by Jess’s whole persona, assuming that her super-girly attitude is nothing but an act, and feels threatened by Jess’s place in Nick’s life:

“I know that I’m the mean lawyer girl who wears suits and works too much, and you – you’re the really fun teacher girl with all the colorful skirts, and you bake things, and eventually Nick will come running to you, and you’ll tuck him in under his blankie.”

This ends in an argument where Julia flat-out admits that she doesn’t like Jess and quietly asks her to go away so she can cry in the bathroom. Jess doesn’t want to leave because then she won’t have anywhere to cry, but runs into the men’s bathroom to see Nick crying, and is then forced to cry in the hallway.

The sequence is hilarious and I watched it several times, but I also thought the scene, and the episode in general, was a great portrayal of how women sometimes misunderstand each other. Julia sees Jess as a threat because Jess is the living embodiment of the bubbly feminine stereotype that male writers use and re-use and over-use in their navel-gazing stories. Julia’s not being fair to Jess, but her feelings are more than understandable. Our society gives us such a narrow definition of how to be a woman that it’s easy to have knee-jerk feelings of resentment towards women who are more traditionally feminine, even if we know it’s irrational.

Julia (Lizzy Caplan) and Jess – two clashing personalities

And by the end of the episode, Jess and Julia have put their issues aside and bonded over some girl time crocheting. They’re not suddenly best friends, but they’re cool with each other, and it was so refreshing to see two women put aside their differences without a) showing any underlying cattiness, or b) turning the show into a Hallmark card.

The show isn’t perfect, of course. The writers broke up Schmidt and Cece much too quickly, almost as though they bought into the idea that happy couples are never funny. Winston as a character still isn’t as clearly defined as the other three roommates, even though Lamorne Morris is a very funny actor. And as a former teacher, I’m perplexed as to why Jess has to quit teaching entirely after getting laid off from one school, instead of, I don’t know, trying to find a job at a different school, like most teachers do. But despite its flaws, I love New Girl for introducing me to this group of weird people and treating all of its characters with respect and affection.

Did you think I would write a whole post about New Girl without a reference to the douchebag jar?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Movie Review: 500 Days of Summer, Take 1

500 Days of Summer. Starring Zooey Deschanel, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Geoffrey Arend, Chloe Moretz, Matthew Gray Gubler, and Clark Gregg. Written by Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber. Directed by Marc Webb.

Within the past few years especially, independent films have developed a certain easily identifiable “indie charm,” and 500 Days of Summer most definitely fulfills the criteria. These films used to be termed “independent” due to budget constraints, but just like the big studio films, indie movies have essentially become marketable, targeting a very specific audience to the point that indie elements have basically become indie clichés:

—amazing alterna-soundtrack? check.
(see also: Juno, Garden State, Away We Go)

—strangely cartoonish, bubbly-lettered and/or pencil-sketched movie poster? check.
(see also: Juno, Away We Go, Wes Anderson movies, Napoleon Dynamite)

—quirky female lead? check.
(see also: Juno, Garden State, The Royal Tenenbaums, Reality Bites, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind)

—at least one scene that occurs in a ridiculous location? check.
(see also: Juno [furniture on the lawn scenes], Away We Go [department store bathtub scene, trampoline scene, stripper pole scene], Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind [most of the scenes])

—tortured love, tortured souls, tortured existences? check.
(see also: every indie film ever made)

For interesting reading about independent film clichés, coupled with a good review of Away We Go, read this.

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Despite the fact that 500 Days of Summer is pretty much guilty of perpetuating all of the above indie clichés, I really liked it. Despite the completely conservative ending, I really liked it. Despite my two-week long depressive episode following my viewing of this film, alone, in a theater in Times Square, in the middle of the day, alone, I really liked it. And, for whatever reason, despite my initial ambivalence after leaving the theater, this movie managed to linger with me. Why?

Well, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, for starters. The distilled plot: he falls in love with a woman who doesn’t believe in love, which leads to his inevitable heartbreak. I hated watching Joseph Gordon-Levitt get his heart stomped on by [insert quirky hipster female love interest] Zooey Deschanel! Joseph Gordon-Levitt starred in Mysterious Skin! And Brick! And Third Rock from the Sun!

We love him!

The truth is, though, while I enjoyed watching a romantic comedy that changed-up the genre by turning the leading man into a mushy, self-loathing disaster who attempts to accept the reality of unrequited love, I hated how much the film still turned the female lead into a sidekick. In traditional romantic comedies, problematic as they are, the films at the very least focus on the couple, and you get to know the characters individually (The Break-Up, Eternal Sunshine, etc) by watching their interactions and conflicts as a couple.

But in 500 Days of Summer, the plot unfolds exclusively through the perspective of Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s character, Tom. Zooey Deschanel’s character, Summer, (haha, get it?) exists merely as a vehicle to further the audience’s identification with Tom. We never learn much about her. She likes Ringo Starr. She likes The Smiths. She likes karaoke. She doesn’t believe in true love.

Thankfully, we also know that she identifies as an independent woman who refuses to be tied down. She might even identify as a feminist, though she never explicitly states that.

I loved one scene in particular where she gets angry with Tom because of some performative alpha-male attempt to “defend her honor” in a bar fight. He might be defending himself a little too; after all, the initial punch happens after the other man says to Summer, “I can’t believe this guy is your boyfriend.” Harsh. But I would’ve loved the scene even more if it hadn’t been undercut by Summer showing up at Tom’s apartment later, soaking wet from the rain, to apologize for getting angry with him.

In fact, the biggest issue I take with this film is how often it undercuts Summer’s independence. The conclusion, which I won’t give away here, completely disappoints in that regard. Not only is it an easy, throwaway ending, but it doesn’t do justice to Summer’s independent-woman persona, and instead (and again), exists only as a plot point that encourages the audience to sympathize with Tom.

We barely know Summer, but why does the little bit we do know about her have to get unnecessarily lost in the end?

There are also no other important women characters. Tom occasionally solicits advice from his younger sister, who’s like, twelve, and I found it appropriately cute and indie-funny. And he goes on a blind date once, where he spends the entire time complaining to his date about Summer. (To the film’s credit, the woman he’s on the date with defends the shit out of Summer, rather than veering off into traditional rom-com female competitive-jealous territory.) Other than those few women though, it’s all about Tom.

However, if this movie can claim anything, it can claim inclusion of some seriously awesome meta shit. Movies within movies within movies, oh my! We get clips and parodies of The Graduate, Persona, and some other French films I didn’t recognize. And one can’t ignore the hilarious bursting-into-song scene, complete with full group-dance sequence and cartoon birds. The film also uses a style of storytelling that moves back-and-forth within time, and that works too, keeping the viewer slightly off-kilter and in the same headspace as its hero.

With all this film fun, you ask, then what’s my problem?

I think it has much to do with what I wanted for Summer. For her to go on being her quirky, independent-hipster self, unabashed and unapologetic. For her to never come across as potentially manipulative or dishonest, because she isn’t either of those things. And for the writers and/or director to have taken as much care in creating a 3-dimensional female lead as they did in creating a fully fleshed-out male lead who picks himself up, dusts himself off, and goes out and accomplishes shit.

They’re calling it a romantic comedy, after all. Even in the traditional “girl meets boy” then “boy breaks girl’s heart” then “boy realizes he really loves girl” then “boy and girl live happily ever after” bullshit, and its pointless variations, the male and female characters get mostly equal screen time. In cases where that might not happen, the audience at least comes to understand each of the characters’ motivations at some point.

(I’m by no means defending the rom-com, but at least in most female-driven rom-coms, like Pretty Woman and He’s Just Not That Into You, I know that I’ll have the pleasure of watching both of the characters one-dimensionally participate in a recreation of 1950s gender roles, ha.)

But in 500 Days of Summer—the female love interest exists, but she exists in the background as a supporting character, her main purpose being to help flesh out the hero. In turn, she becomes nothing more than an extension of him, just a quirky after-thought, another one of his personality traits.

500 Days of Summer could’ve (and should’ve) found a way to avoid that.

Yet at the end of the day, despite its shortcomings, I couldn’t help but really like this “story about love.” It felt authentic, at least in its illustration of relationship conflicts, from the initial courtship phase to the inevitable dissolution. Deschanel maintains her complete adorability and Gordon-Levitt, well, we love him! Their on-screen chemistry, intermingled with all kinds of mopiness and feel-goodness and splashes of The Smiths and Regina Spektor … look, who cares about my criticisms? You should probably just go see this.

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Check out some insightful reviews here, here, here, and here.