Chick flick flack

Yeah, I watched the Oscars last night, along with a million Tweeps who were firing off the cutting comments. Even I joined in on dissing the dresses. (Was Charlize Theron wearing grape-flavoured Cinnabons on her chest?) It's a sexist thing to do, I admit.

Was I thrilled that a woman, Kathryn Bigelow, was the first in 82 years to pick up Best Director and then, bonus, also Best Picture? Meh. Not really.

That's because, as Jane Fonda points out:

Women directors actually dropped by 2% since 2008, accounting for just 7% of directors on the 250 top-grossing movies of 2009. That's the same number as 1987. Only 2% of the top 250 films credited female cinematographers, and just 8% of writers were female; 86% of the films had no female writers credited. The list goes on.

Indeed, it does, as the annual report The Celluloid Ceiling reminds us. And men write 70 per cent of the reviews in the major dailies. (Which could help to explain why one of my fave flicks this past year, Nine, got so many thumbs down.)

So why is there this impression of a big breakthrough? Melissa Silverstein, editor of Women and  Hollywood, says this to Reality Check's Sarah Seltzer:

The perception is based on the fact that that Kathryn Bigelow was nominated for an Oscar [for directing "The Hurt Locker"] and [woman-helmed British film] "An Education" was nominated for Best Picture, and "Precious" is obviously about a girl. Plus "It's Complicated," and "Julia and Julia" both made $100 million dollars. Several high-profile women released films this year: Nora Ephron, Nancy Meyers, Mira Nair, Jane Campion. ... Also, two films that starred women were in the top 10: "Twilight: New Moon" and "The Blind Side." That's great, but then you look at the content of those films. That's why I think it's too soon to tell. We can all judge for ourselves based on whether more women get jobs starting next week.

You know how I will know women have moved ahead?

When I hear women's names rattled off at length in the thank-you speeches, thank you.

And names don't include ''Mom'' and ''my lovely wife.''

UPPITY WOMAN DATE: From regular commenter (and blogger) Cat Boreal:

There was a lot of talk about Kathryn Bigelow being nominated for Best Director, how her win would be a historic step forward for women directors, blah, blah, blah…

And yes, all this is true, but did anyone notice that her film could best be described as a testosterone fueled joy ride?  In other words, a guy-flick?  Basically she proved that girls can blow things up as good as the big boys.  As I mentioned before, I haven’t seen the film yet, so it might be more character driven than I’m given to believe after seeing the trailers and reading the reviews.  And while I’m happy that Bigelow won, I’ll be happier when a woman director wins the prize for a film that has a decidedly feminine voice.  When women’s stories are seen as being as worthy of praise/awards/money as anything made by a man.  Actually, I’ll be truly happy when gender doesn’t enter into it.  All this brouhaha reminds me of a speech by Joss Whedon where he discusses why he writes strong women characters:  “Because you’re still asking me that question.”

Someday my prince will come 2.0

Further to this, this:

Funny that none of them have names, not unlike Sex and the City's Mr. Big.

Ah yes. The perfect guy. Rich, famous, good-looking.

Strictly in fairy tales, of course.

Via reddit.

Chicks flicked

This was sent to me by my friend and colleague Linda Barnard, the Star's movies section editor. Can't find  it online so I'll just post the whole thing here.

          Report: Women Underrepresented in Film Jobs

By Lee Margulies
(c) 2009, Los Angeles Times

HOLLYWOOD - Women are much more likely to hold jobs as directors, cinematographers and other key creative personnel on independent films than on major studio movies, a new study says. But their employment figures still lag well behind men even there.

The report, released Tuesday by the Center for the Study of Women in Television and Film at California State University, San Diego, looked at employment figures on 906 feature-length U.S. movies that were shown at one of 25 American film festivals between June 2008 and May 2009.

It found that women made up 24 percent of directors, writers, producers, cinematographers and editors on these films, with heavier representation in documentaries than in narrative works.

An earlier study by the center found that women held 16 percent of the equivalent jobs on the top 250 domestic grossing films of 2008.

This is quite confounding considering how women make up at least half the film school graduates but are also half the audience.

But then, it seems as if every film made by women and even about women has to be tested against different criteria.

"Some of the greatest parts for women -- the Academy Award parts for women -- are often in dramas, and this is the worst time for dramas since I've been in the business for the last 10,000 years." More than ever, producer Lynda Obst ("Contact," "The Invention of Lying") adds, the movie business is geared toward the young men who go to movies most frequently. "And by and large that's a comedy audience and an action audience. To get a project greenlit now, studios are requiring more and more what we call 'unaided awareness,' which is where you get this addiction to toys and comics and old titles. And dramas don't live there." 

And neither do women.

And the breast film award goes too ...

I just adore this logo.

It's for Breast Fest 2009, the second annual film festival dedicated to breast cancer awareness.

Breast Fest uses the versatile medium of film to frame and explore the spectrum of issues surrounding breast cancer. This annual festival uses films, panels, workshops and speakers to connect people to the breast cancer cause, inspire dialogue, facilitate learning and foster community.

There are long films plus shorts -- and you can vote on the latter here.

This is one of my faves, edited from a series by the Chem-Ho, by the ''hot and single'' (she wants you to know) Calgary comedy writer and performer Allison Lane, aka The Bizzy Beaver. I just love her spirit.

Show her some love.

Breast Fest takes place Nov. 20-22 at the Royal Ontario Museum. Get your tickets here.

How lovely to be a woman

So, last night, my favourite show Mad Men started with the closing clip from the 1963 movie musical Bye Bye Birdie. Video here. 

This flick made a huge impression on my friends and me back then. We practiced all of Ann-Margret's moves and, I have to say, while watching Mad Men last night, I found myself on my feet ''throwing myself at the (imaginary) camera,'' as Don Draper said.

Yes, I was alone.

Bye Bye Birdie hit the big screen just before Beatlemania, and it came on the tail end of the Elvis worship. But it wasn't the singing idol(s) aspect we loved. It was the depiction of what we imagined teenaged life to be, the going steady, the parties, the dancing, the whole Barbie & Beach Party & Betty & Veronica thing.

Then came the Pill and pot, psychedelic music and a radical shift in pop culture.

But for just a few months, we lived in this glorious bubble, dying to be Ann-Margret, who was so much sexier than the perennial Disney star Annette Funicello.

Anyway, I am not embarrassed to admit that this bit below was my favourite scene and song, one I performed in front of the mirror, with one of my dad's sweaters. I still sing it every once in a while, just to make friends cringe.

And I still came out a feminist.

By the way, here's my treeware take of last week on the instructive value of Mad Men today.

(Jezebel and Feministing have their takes on last night here but be warned, there are spoilers.)

Of Oil and Women

Iranian-American artist and filmmaker Shirin Neshat on the Green Revolution:

Below, the trailer for her first feature, Women Without Men, about the 1953 CIA-led coup which brought in the Shahs. As you might guess, it was all about the oil.

But first, this from the Huffington Post:

Women Without Men describes the lives and fates of four women who belong to different social classes: a prostitute, an upper-class married woman, an activist, and a devout woman whose only dream is to get married and have children. All four live an exiled life in their own country, where they struggle for an identity in 1950's deeply patriarchal Iran. It was an era in which growing up female meant deference to authority and power, and being trapped in limited gender roles. These women form their own utopia in a garden, where they try to reconstruct their lives. As Neshat keenly remarks, "these women go into a second self-imposed exile to get a new start."

It used to be all about oil, and maybe is again.

But one thing's sure, it is still about the women.

Fantasia

As a kid, I was a sucker for fairy tales. I had the complete set of Classics Illustrated comics (including the ''adult'' ones), all the Read-aloud paperbacks plus some beautifully illustrated hardcover collections of the Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Anderson stories. Unfortunately, all were lost when our family cottage burned to the ground.

When we saw Disney's Cinderella, my sister Irene and I got those plastic ''glass slippers'' with the elastic holders -- and it's a wonder we didn't break our necks in them. Since then, I have taken my nieces to most of the other ''princess' movies, and to this day one of them still lists The Princess Bride, which is not quite in the genre, as one of her favourite movies of all time. (On my list you will find Ladyhawke, a sentimental fave highly recommended if you haven't seen it.)

Anyway, the princess thing has been big for little girls for a couple of generations now. One of the girls in Father Knows Best was called ''princess'' by her dad Jim Anderson. All sorts of princess toys and accessories have been made and marketed. And of course, every Halloween, there's a parade of little princesses up my walk looking for treats.

As of every little girl knows, princesses always have it made in the end. They kiss their prince, mount his white charger and ride off into the happily ever after horizon. 

As if that's what life is all about.

Vancouver artist Dina Goldstein decided to look beyond the fairy tale ending  with her gallery of ''Fallen Princesses,'' a collection focusing on what happens to Rapunzel, Sleeping Beauty and the rest of the girls in real life land.

Here's an example:

Says Goldstein:

I explored the original brothers Grimm's stories and found that they have very dark and sometimes gruesome aspects, many of which were changed by Disney. I began to imagine Disney's perfect Princesses juxtaposed with real issues that were affecting women around me, such as illness, addiction and self-image issues.

More here.

Now, I hate to shatter a little girl's dreams, because goodness knows I had many fantasies of my own, so I wouldn't show this to your daughters.

That said, as a wicked stepmother myself, I must say I resent how these guys all portrayed women as either totally evil or as pure as Snow White.

Greenwashing

Green is an award-winning documentary, without words, told from the point of view of a rescued orangutan in Indonesia.

The filmmaker uses point-of-view and dutch-angle shots to place us into the orangutan’s perspective. As the story continues, Green’s perspective is juxtaposed with the process of development destroying her home through deforestation to biodiesel production. It’s a gradual transition into the harsh reality of globalization. The forest is destroyed, primates suffer, palm oil is manufactured, and the fast-paced urban world seems oblivious.

“Her name is Green, she is alone in a world which doesn’t belong to her. She is a female orangutan, victim of deforestation and palm oil plantations.”

Stunning, eye-opening, heart-breaking, and totally worth 48 minutes of your time. The director wants as many people as possible to see it so it's a free download, or you can stream it live.

Click here. And yes, older children can, and should, watch.

If you're feeling smug about some of your ''green'' products, this will come as a shock.

More about the endangered orangutans, called the ''thinkers of the jungle,'' here and here.

Observe and Rape

I should have posted this on Tuesday, when it was published in the treeware edition, but it kept falling to the bottom of the pile. Now I can just copy and paste the whole thing. The magic of recycling. Linky freshness added.

Oh and just before I do? The trailer is cleaned up. You should see the original. It contains the offending scene and more f-words than you'd think possible. But I can't link to it because this is a family newspaper blog.

No wonder critics are deeply divided over Observe and Report.

Written and directed by Jody Hill, this pitch-black-comedy-with-aspirations-to-satire digs so deep under the beer belly of working class America that even Sarah Palin's family circus comes out looking classy by comparison.

Relentlessly violent, and so profane that half a dozen editors are standing by armed with blue pencils as I type this, it follows Seth Rogen's sociopathic mall cop Ronnie Barnhardt on his patrols through what have become the central structures of our society – the food courts, chain stores and parking lots that define everyday life.

So familiar are they that they rarely get the Hollywood studio flick treatment.

Hill's mall crawl is definitely creepy, and yet, so simultaneously banal, and Canada's Rogen is perfectly cast as the security guard with dreams of greater "You talking to me?'' glory.

Which is why, the movie, which I confess I liked, is so unsettling.

Like with Martin Scorsese's Taxi Driver, you keep waiting for it to go all Travis Bickle, all Columbine, or all Virginia Tech.

It's clear off the top that this is no ordinary gross-out comedy, despite Rogen's rep for playing a lovable loser shlub who inexplicably gets the gorgeous Katherine Heigl (Knocked Up). You know this because not a single store name, soft drink brand or fast food joint is recognizable.

And who could blame the usual product placement types for not wanting to get mixed up with a movie that not only sanctions rape, but plays it for laughs?

Especially now, when magazines such as Cosmopolitan warn young women that "date rape" falls into the "grey rape" zone if they party too hearty?

And so the critics fall into two camps.

The first, most of them men, who have no problem with the "sex scene,'' and the second, which includes the Star's Peter Howell, who understand that, as Ronnie unintentionally warns the object of his unwanted affection (Anna Faris) early in the film, "Everyone thinks they're fine until somebody puts something in them they don't want in them.''

Indeed.

Virtually shanghaied into a dinner date with Ronnie, Faris's underdressed and over-refreshed cosmetics saleswoman Brandi ends up taking advantage of the pathetic lug's eagerness to please. She helps herself to all the cocktails, shots and the brain-relaxing clonazepam he eagerly provides as he stares at her, all googly-eyed and adoring.

By the time he gets her home, she can't walk, can't talk, and even barfs on herself.

Cut to his pumping away on her comatose half-naked body, vomit dripping off her pillow.

Rape, right?

Oh but wait.

The thing is Ronnie is so sad, so sick and so delusional that it makes sense he would take advantage of the situation. As a result, the audience should have no problem with it – from a character and plot development point of view, that is. It's the least of his many sins, really.

"I wanted to do something where like the main guy makes bad decisions and he's kind of an asshole," director Hill told critics last month when Observe and Report had its world premiere at the South by Southwest festival.

So why does Hill inexplicably need absolution for his character?

Why does he give him permission to rape Brandi?

Here's how: Just as Ronnie takes a breather from his jackhammer routine, the wasted Brandi stirs and slurs, "Did I tell you to stop, motherf----r?"

New York magazine's culture Vulture blog called that line "explosively funny.''

But retroactive consent is not consent.

And a rape scene is not a "sex scene'' – or even "a shocking sex scene'' – as some very major league critics described it.

The unspoken message here is that, Brandi deserves it because (1) she's a "bitch," (2) she has sex with (other) guys in cars and (3) she was too trashed to say no or, more to the point, to say yes before Ronnie assaulted her.

It's the one place where the script stumbles, and inexplicably so.

Needless to say, my sister feminist bloggers have unleashed a tsunami of online outrage.

As the ladies of Feministing.com, Jezebel.com, abyss2hope and others point out, this is the kind of movie that will tell men that it's okay to rape their dates if they're too drunk or unconscious to protest.

Observe and Report lets women know that they are asking for it.

Blame the victims.

As Rogen himself put it in an interview with a Washington paper, "When we're having sex and she's unconscious like you can literally feel the audience thinking, like, how the f--k are they going to make this okay? Like, what can possibly be said or done that I'm not going to walk out of the movie theatre in the next 30 seconds?

"And then she says, like, the one thing that makes it all okay ...''

Uh, no it doesn't.

There's no okay in rape.

Faris herself has been public – retroactively – with her own discomfort.

"I'm so grateful I was cast, but when I read the script, I thought, `Well, this is Warner Brothers. This is a studio movie, so this is all gonna be softened up. It's a comedy, right?'" she told the online AVClub. "So when we were shooting it, even the date-rape scene – or as I refer to it, "The Tender Love-Making Scene" – I just thought, `We'll shoot it, but it's not gonna be in the movie. I don't have to worry about that one.'

"And yet there it is."

It's not because the scene made it to the final cut that's the problem.

Ronnie is just the kind of jerk to do that kind of thing.

It's because Hill tried to take the "rape" out of "date-rape."

There's nothing funny about it.

One quote from Hill I have come up with since the column was publish turns out to be key. The boldface is mine:

Director Jody Hill on the "Observe and Report" rape scene

AVC: In the Times piece, they describe the scene you’re talking about as Seth Rogen’s character forcing himself on Anna Faris. Is that how you perceived that scene?

JH: [Pause.] I dunno. I’ve always kind of liked scenes that you talk about how f----d-up they are. I would have been happy without any dialogue in that scene. I wanted to show them just having sex and her passed out, and I thought that would have been funnier. But I think I have a darker sense of humor than most people.

You know, I would have preferred that. Then there would have been no ''retroactive consent'' and it would have been unambiguously rape from start to finish, instead of from start to middle.

But funnier?

One more thing: I don't want to give too much away but I found that Brandi is totally ''slut-shamed'' in this script, especially at the end, simply because she rejects the psycho loser Ronnie.Makes me angry because the implication is that a healthy young woman shouldn't be having sex,.

But, you know, apart from the misogyny, haha, I thought the movie, while disturbing and provocative, was truly funny in most places. And it has stayed with me, unlike so many others, ever since I watched it.

Definitely not for everybody, and definitely not for impressionable teens.

Licence to thrill

The only reason I found this remotely interesting is that I was a rabid James Bond fan in my teens, having read all the Ian Fleming novels between the time Dr. No hit the theatres and Goldfinger debuted.

It's an almost scholarly examination of 007's sexual encounters and politics, complete with footnotes and graphs.

Here are some of the conclusions:

Of the 12 Women who have an affair with Bond, one commits suicide (Vesper) and three are murdered: Tatiana, Jill and Tracy.

As for the remaining 8 Bond Women:

Solitaire intends spending two weeks with Bond before they part. Cork writes:

The novel ends with Bond and Solitaire anticipating a libidinous fortnight together after their adventure. Neither appears to hold any illusions about a future beyond. Neither carries any guilt or any emotional burden as a consequence of their actions. (107)

Tiffany Case and Bond spend several happy months together in London. The reason for Tiffany deciding to leave Bond is revealed by 007 to M. in From Russia, With Love: (108)

“Well, sir, we did get on well. And there was some idea we might get married. But then she met some chap in the American Embassy. On the Military Attaché’s staff. Marine Corps major. And I gather she is going to marry him. They’ve both gone back to the States, as a matter of fact. Probably better that way. Mixed marriages aren’t often a success.” (109)

It is surprising, then, that Bennett and Woollacott should write:

Constructed according to the formula ‘equal but yet subordinate’, her destiny is not to be a housewife - in Diamonds are Forever [actually, From Russia, With Love], Tiffany case flirts with this possibility, only to reject it - but a free and equal partner, neither dependent on Bond nor encumbering him with duties and responsibilities, but who none the less, when it comes to the crunch (in bed) knows her place. (110)

Clearly Tiffany’s destiny is to be a housewife. First she wants to marry Bond, and then she gets engaged to a Marine Corps major.

As for poor old Bond, he has failed in the marriage stakes yet again. He was engaged to Vesper but she died. He married Tracy and she died. He loved Gala but she married another. Tiffany does the same.

Meanwhile, Kissy Suzuki happily adopts the role of housewife to Bond as she brings him back to life.

All of this sounds like Bond is the kind of fellow who falls in love with Women who want to get married.

Of the unmarried Women (as far as we know; they may all have grandchildren by now), one is Honeychile Rider. How does Bond leave her? Infuriatingly, this is never revealed. It is risky to presume, but it is possible that Bond left her in Jamaica when he returned to London post-mission. If this is the case, she would be the first Bond Woman to be abandoned in the line of duty.

My conclusion: It's best to have been Moneypenny, the only Bond girl who survived multiple Bond encounters.

Anyway, after Sean Connery was no longer Bond, I lost interest.

Probably explains why I am still alive.

It's Friday. Give me a break.