Men Behaving Badly…And Then There Are the Women

The last post I wrote was about the Sex and the City movie. I did see it, finally, although in a much different environment than the last one. I expected to hate it, I really did. But I found that even though it is many things the critics say it is (long, ridiculous, heavy-handed), it is also very, very enjoyable, and quite funny. And of course, I was captivated by all the articles denouncing the terrible reviews, defending the movie, even as they acknowledged it wasn’t good.

But time passed. I watched two movies I actually had wanted to see for awhile, and planned to write a joint post on: I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell and Brief Interviews with Hideous Men, both stories based on books about terrible, awful men and their terrible, awful behavior. No apologies were given. Both books were bestsellers.

And then I realized, even though I have seen all three of these movies spaced out over the course of the last month, that all three were touching upon the same issues. Here I try, not very well, to make sense of it all.

******

I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell is marketed as the raunchiest, craziest bacchanal, a road trip/buddy movie to rival The Hangover. Based on a true-life account of a womanizing law school grad, the movie tries to give shape and story to the book’s outlandish episodes, including redemption for the movie’s central character, Tucker Max. It’s not funny, though trying to figure out why is tough. It’s not a bad movie; it’s certainly watchable, but no, it’s not even remotely close to The Hangover, save for plot.

Matt Czuchry is the quintessential charming rogue, always with an answer for the ladies, yet back with his friends, he can charmingly degrade ‘em all. He’s always on the lookout for the next lay, the next sexual experience, ready for a new story. His appeal is his outlandishness, as girls are always ready to nail his sexist attitudes to his face. His comeuppance in the film is supposed to be gratifying for the audience—he’s not supposed to get away with calling a girl a “cum dumpster”—but instead it’s trite, predictable. Let the guy roam free; nobody believes he’s real anyway.

Czuchry was Logan on Gilmore Girls, a deceptively similar character to the one he plays here: another charming, rich playboy, who glided through school despite all his professors wanting to strangle him. What’s glaring obvious in the movie is his pedigree, though it’s not mentioned: Tucker is able to toss money at everything. If the stripper, girls or his friends have problems, he throws money at it. A row of 10 special shots is $80? No problem. He doesn’t flinch, and while his buddies, being law students, are conscious of money, he isn’t. Nothing fazes him, and he has the smarts to outwit anyone. He is a lawyer.

What was realistic was the dialogue with his friends. The stories are lifted from the book, and possibly some of the dialogue, but while Czuchry isn’t funny, I did believe that a law student like him, who had a comeback for everything, would talk as intelligently and offensively as he did. The movie sags as the movie reaches its denouement, since we know where this is headed. Of course, things end well—the bitter buddy has found a new love, Tucker learns his lesson. The biggest, and what’s supposed to be the funniest scene, completely falls flat in a way that’s appalling; it’s so much better in the book. It’s kind of sad to see I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell bow down to generic story, missing the no-holds-barred tone of the book, to try to garner an audience that didn’t materialize.

However, Brief Interviews with Hideous Men is what the title promises—a depressed, mopey grad student (Julianne Nicholson) conducts brief interviews with men about sex, love, and relationships. It’s all dark and cruel. She says almost nothing throughout the movie, recording these monologues. She is constantly followed by men telling tales of conquest and lust, or they just happen upon her as she’s studying in Starbucks, and her tape recorder is always present. The story is told nonlinearly, and we find out her reasoning for conducting this research—all in the name of feminism, she says.

This movie is largely lifted from the novel, with entire sections of the movie nearly word-for-word. Some of the editing and setups are very postmodern, in fitting with David Foster Wallace’s work, with odd jump-cuts and characters in and out of scenes they’re narrating. It’s very arty and quite pretentious, with a lot of preeny intellectualism that each character affects. Partly because of the setting (and the fact that the book was published in the ‘90s), it doesn’t feel contemporary; there’s talk of rape and love and fantasies and the cruel way that men treat women, but nobody talks like this, in long, artfully constructed sentences.

I’ve read both books, and the wide spaces both stories occupy seem to posit men as these awful creatures. Brief Interviews is not a story that should be seen when in a bad mood, like after a breakup. Nor, really, is Beer in Hell, as both will give ammunition to the phrase “men are cowards”, uttered in the former film. Both stories namecheck feminism, and the men go out of their way to talk about it, how they view it, how they view women—trying to discover what they want, give them what they want. It’s all syntactical gymnastics, and following the logic of most of the monologues gets a little confusing at times. All the men purport to be “honest” in the films, but in Beer in Hell they’re routinely emasculated (especially the groom at the center of the story, but his was the weakest plot), while the men in Brief Interviews are aggressive and gregarious. Sara, the grad student, just takes it all in.

She barely reacts, and her passivity works against her. It’s hard to watch her, especially in some of the more confrontational moments when she is hijacked by monologues by her ex-boyfriend and an interview subject on rape, and not wish her to say something, to scream out in anger. At least in Beer in Hell, the women have their say. They all routinely attack Tucker, spouting off how sexist he is. Tucker will perform his own syntactical gymnastics, but with less snooty intellectualism. And they do have their comeuppance, since the audience is meant to understand that Tucker does really care, that he just wants to have fun, and that (by the end) he’s slowly learning to grow up. That’s not the pat ending in Brief Interviews: Sara is still sad, and her project is merely reinforcing the terribleness of the world, the awfulness of men—even when they care, it’s all wrapped in layers and layers of self-loathing and fear. These men just need to get a grip on themselves. Nothing much really “happens”; the movie is an excuse for a lot of excellent actors to act, though the dialogue often sounds stilted and too actor-y. John Krasinski, the director, is also Sara’s ex, and he is very much the opposite of his nice-guy persona on The Office. Frankly, even he saying the word “bitch” just sounds unnatural.

Both these movies about men behaving badly were supposed to be fun, in a way, just a general romp through awful actions we’d never dare to do ourselves. That’s the selling point. But the Sex and the City movie, also marketed as a fun romp, actually was—though you wouldn’t believe it from the press.

I loved the movie. Yes, I did. I laughed. I had a smile on my face nearly the entire time. It’s ridiculous, sexist, and most definitely offensive. And yet, I enjoyed it mightily.

It is not the Sex and the City of the television show, but I knew that already. The emotional stakes were low, and the Aiden storyline was stupid. Carrie herself was dumb—and most of her storyline could have been avoided had she just told Big outright how she felt. But the nibbles were there—Carrie’s struggle to find a way to make marriage work for her, done her way, felt true. All of the other women were as one-note as possible. I cringed at Miranda being the peppy tour guide, at Samantha loudly being as crass as possible, and at Charlotte because she had nothing better to do. Surprisingly, what none of the reviews mentioned, in between lambasting the movie for every possible offense, was that the movie did try to put the story in context. One of Carrie’s friends gently reminds her of the days when she couldn’t even get Big to stay over, and now she’s mad that he’s always around (“A little perspective is always good”). They do mention the recession, how things have changed since the last movie, and refer to events in both that film and in the canon of the television show. That meant a lot. I also appreciated how the movie tried to bring home the message that life is always hard, no matter the stage. This, unfortunately, was largely lost through the ostentatious outfits and accessories, and the silliness of the plot.

I found the movie beautiful. All the actresses looked fantastic. The colors! The clothes! They looked like what they were—women in their 40s and 50s, well-dressed, with money. Comparing them to younger versions of themselves is unfair. Yes, the movie went over-the-top, but that was part of the show; it was just more of it in the movie, just like the screwball sensibilities that have always underlined the humor of the series.

I completely understand the anger. If I was a mother, the scene between Charlotte and Miranda discussing parenting (“How do they do it without help?”) would be ridiculously condescending and offensive, even more so than it is. Yet I felt that that line was supposed to be a sendup, as sometimes the over-the-top hysterics of nearly every character was portrayed. Maybe it was on us because we took it so seriously.

Maybe that’s another failure of this genre. The backlash to the backlash repeatedly pointed out that some of the vituperative criticisms were unfair, that men’s movies do this all the time…not just The Hangover and Hot-Tub Time Machine, but James Bond. Frankly, The Hangover is an apt comparison to both I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell and Sex and the City 2. It too was filled with a stupid plot, slapstick humor, and a helpful heap of sexism, in both obvious and not-so-obvious ways. Yet because Sex and the City 2 had the balls to showcase a completely different side—and do it on their terms—it raised a lot more ire than the usual entries in the genre.

All three of these movies—Sex and the City 2, I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell, and Brief Interviews with Hideous Men—are variations on a theme. Yes, two are supposed to be popcorn, but all three purport to have Statements. All three movies were written and directed by men, a not-insignificant fact. It’s a tossup whether Brief Interviews is supposed to be revelatory about men, or just another dark comedy on the subject, or even trying to make a statement about women. It’s clear, though, from watching these movies, even as they claim to be about (and for) one sex, it’s impossible not to include the other in some form. Sometimes it’s trite, or boring, or pretentious, or so ridiculous that it’s impossible to believe anything. But all know there is humor in the subject.

Further reading:
What Went So Horribly Wrong with Sex and the City 2? A Critic and Fan Debate the Demerits
Now, In Defense of SATC 2
Un-Innocents Abroad: The Drubbing
Why the SATC 2 Reviews Were Misogynist
All of the reviews I read of Brief Interviews (three, after I watched) were very accurate, but this one's perhaps the best.

Not So Sexy Anymore

I'm going to see the Sex and the City movie. It's one of those things. It's not that I'm dying to see it, not that I expect it will be great, it's not that I think it's worth the $10+. I'm going because, I guess, it's one of those "events" things, though I'm really looking forward to seeing a bunch of friends I don't see that often.

I was (am) a big fan of the television show. I wrote a paper focusing on the season finale, and then retooled it a year later for a conference that I ended up submitting something else to. And when the first movie came out, I was super excited, and I went with a big group of girls, and we laughed and gasped and took it all in. It wasn't until later, on rewatch, without the audience and the expectations, that I realized that the film truly was not good.

I've seen the trailer for the sequel. There's not much to it. I've seen the ads, and the critiques with the photoshopped arms, legs, and hips. I kind of dread where the story will go, but I had that feeling when the movie was over--where else can they go? Women's lives, at least in story form, seem to follow the same trajectory of men and kids, and I didn't want to see Carrie pregnant. But what else will they do? I lamented to a friend, and we bitched. I don't want the movies to be part of my memory of the series.

Neither does Hadley Freeman, who posted her own response to the movies (Spoilers):

But the truth is, the show was fantastic: smart, funny, warm and wise, a far cry from the "middle-aged women having embarrassing sex with various unsuitable partners" cliche that the above writer used. It was about four smart women, three of whom had no interest in getting married. Candace Bushnell's original book on which the show was based was good, but the show was great.

But unlike in the films, that's not all there was, and that wasn't all the characters cared about. What elevated the show way above the normal chickflick tat, and way above the films, was that it had genuine emotional truth. It sang with lines that you knew had come from real life ("How can I have this baby? I barely had time to schedule this abortion" being quite possibly my all-time favourite) and plots that went beyond the limiting convention of cliche. Samantha's breast cancer, for example, showed not only how scary and sad cancer (obviously) is, but also how boring, sweaty and plain inconvenient it is, too.

My thesis in my Sex and the City paper was that the show was so successful because it stuck to this emotional truth. The movie, despite trying for it with Miranda's storyline, completely missed the mark. The men were barely involved, and when they were, they were out of character. The movie was just plain bad; there was nothing there, and spent too much time on things no one cared out (Mexico) and drew out what was unnecessary (Big and Carrie's roller coaster wedding).

There's been a lot written how the show increasingly focused on fashion and the "luxe life" in its later years, especially in the movies. Michael Patrick King, as a response to both the recession and the first movie, has purposely made the sequel light and airy, with the escapist trip to Abu Dhabi the centerpiece of this theme. Yes, it made it easier to shoot, and was different. But it was also a big "huh? ...ok" for the audience.

The fashion was fun, sometimes. But I always maintained it wasn't about that for true fans--they connected to the emotional issues the show brought up, the questions, no matter how serious or frivolous. They could connect to the women's tribulations, no matter what their actual lives were like.

Hopefully I will enjoy the movie, and it won't be a total waste. But I wonder: Do all women's entertainments have to be this way? Do they have to be like Eat Pray Love, an escapist journey, a fantasy that most of us won't be able to experience?

This Is Gonna Be Huge

This might be a "woman's picture", but I'd like to see more of them.

Notes on Blogging, Gender, Technology, House and Julie & Julia

(I posted this here because of the lengthy discussion of Julie & Julia and House. Unfortunately, the House episode is not available online yet, or I would link and quote from it.)

I had a very bloggy week, between watching Julie & Julia and Monday’s episode of House, which both revolved around women whose blogs got the better of them.

Julie & Julia received a lot of press for its portrayal of supportive husbands, on both women’s side. The Times gleefully wrote of Meryl Streep and Stanley Tucci’s portrayal of middle-aged passion, but Julie’s husband was a “saint”, so much so that he objected to the label. Much is made of the Childs’ marriage, how passionate they were, but I found Paul Child to be supportive, but distant; in fact, both husbands in the movie were quite bland. Maybe that’s the point—they both were supportive characters, meant to prop up the leads, so they usually are less developed than the protagonists.

But other than that observation, it was Julie’s bloggy passion that stood out, in comparison to this week’s House episode, concentrated on a blogger who goes a little too personal with her diagnosis. Both women get caught up in blogging about their lives, neglecting their significant others, who come to resent their girlfriend’s hobby. (Tip: Get a boyfriend who blogs, or who at least likes the medium as much as you do.) This is reminiscent of Emily Gould’s fantastic bloggy piece in the New York Times nearly two years ago, where she recounts how blogging about her personal life wrecked her relationship and her life. All three women had successful blogs, the real-life ones turning into successful writers. All three were transformed by their hobby, sharing their love with others and eventually having their own audience. Both Julie and Laura Prepon’s Frankie worry too much about their audience; Julie, about actually having one, and Frankie, about what they think. She uses her blog as a crowdsource of opinion, on both the large and small decisions of her life, including the many major medical ones she faces in the episode. Their blogs become their lives, their reason for getting up in the morning. Julie’s Julia Child obsession is fueled by her blogging, and without it the structure of her project would fall apart, as she is documenting her progress. Frankie, too, is obsessed with documenting her life, and despite protestations from her boyfriend, feels she would be lying if she did not faithfully record or retell everything. Julie does not feel this way, though she does consent to not publicizing a fight she has with her husband (though by it being in the movie we presume that it is retold in her book).

The issue here, of course, becomes privacy. Sure, on the surface, Julie Powell’s project sounds fun, if daunting, and not particularly invasive; she is in charge of how much she chooses to reveal, and on the surface a cooking blog would not be one to draw readers.

But of course, that’s too simplistic. One of the women mentioned in the film who actually makes an appearance is Amanda Hesser, a New York Times food writer who made a name for herself (at least to this writer) by writing a column in the Times Magazine in the early part of the ‘00s, “Cooking for Mr. Latte”, about her meals and dates with a certain Mr. Latte, later revealed to be the New Yorker writer Tad Friend. “Cooking for Mr. Latte”, a kind of Sex and the City meets food, certainly had enough dish and romantic intrigue to make it more than just another food column, and, though it was on paper, had a bloggy feel to it, as it chronicled their burgeoning relationship. (The column also became a book.)

So why are all these bloggers women? Why is it that women feel the need to emotionally reveal themselves online, to chronicle their lives? Men seem to go about it in a much more analytical, data-driven fashion; Nicholas Felton has designed a number of what he calls “Personal Annual Reports”, yearly compilations of the minutia that makes up his life, and it’s fascinating: all the restaurants he ate at, the countries he visited, his most played songs on iTunes. Every year, the charts and graphs, not to mention what he actually records, get increasingly complex. (The MIT Media Lab has done similar projects, recording and analyzing personal, daily data of students.) Sure, I already know all the comments, the criticism: even a friend of mine, when I showed him Feltron, responded, “I know the irony of what I'm about to say as a man that [sic] Tweets but that's kind of self absorbed.”

Sure, it’s self-absorbed. But it’s a whole other form of diary, a multimedia one, life writ large. The data aspects makes it so much cooler, because it’s objective, and it’s a form that you can’t argue with; maybe that’s why men like it. There are so many ways to tell a story, and neither is completely right, for each time it’s told, it’s done a little differently, and they all give different sides to the same one.

The Internet, in all its lovely possibilities, has also given us a way to be anonymous and solicit anonymous opinions. That comes across in blogging—again with the choosing to reveal what we want. But there’s also the new ChatRoulette and Formspring.me, services that flip anonymity on its head.

ChatRoulette, memorably introduced to many (including me) via this New York article, is a basic service that automatically turns on a user’s webcam and randomly beams you into someone else’s browser, and they you. The only options are to engage, move on, or turn off. Most outlets have connected it back to the days of the “wild, wild Internet”, before it became safe for minors, where everything and everyone was searchable. Here, it doesn’t matter if your name or your face or your home really belongs to you, as you are only known by your face, and there is no tag—there’s not even a record of who you’ve been connected with. There’s no way to track, no searching, no user names, no login information, no password. Glorious freedom. And yet it’s scary and incredibly intimidating, a party game to play.

Formspring.me is a site, a meme if you like, that lets people ask questions of a particular user. The person can use his or her real name, or a version of it, if the person desires, and those asking the questions can also identify themselves, though they usually stay anonymous. People asking the questions are strangers and friends; maybe you’ll get something good. It’s a version of a Facebook application known as the honesty box, which always got someone in trouble; that’s what honesty tends to do. And yet it’s addicting, in a way, to say too much; God knows in this era of TMI that it’s hard to put a lid on. Lying is contagious too, but it’s confusing as hell; being openly honest, too openly honest, can be about connecting or prolonging the awkward, having something to say, maybe just making a funny.

So we have two sides of a coin here: a site where we are expected to divulge secrets to those asking, and another an interface where we are personally faced with random strangers, no accountability. The first is implicitly about accountability, though we aren’t supposed to be pegged; the second, an escape route if we wish it to be.

But of course, we often occupy on the assumption that more information is better, and that notion led to ChatRoulette map, where users’ IP addresses are tracked to see who is using the service at any time. You do not need to be engaged on ChatRoulette to use ChatRoulette map, as I discovered this afternoon. There’s an option to turn this off, for it ruins the fun for some people. Exposing IP addresses always has a whiff of creepiness, as it feels like Big Brother is coming down to watch.

There are plenty of people that say that both will be a fad, and in Internet world, there are few things that have escaped this designation, one being Facebook. The Internet is both a blessing and a curse, causing us both to escape and feel trapped by our past, and we eagerly take up the call whenever we need to do so.

P.S. I have a formspring.me account. Ask questions, readers! Also cross-posted on Notes on Popular Culture.

Make Lemonade

I really want to see this, too. It's also the only video I've ever seen on YouTube that has intelligent comments, in full sentences.


While at times I get tired of the trite "live every moment" message, it can be very inspiring if done right. Too often it's just trotted out as a reminder, like in Jordin Sparks songs. You can't live every moment. Not every moment has meaning. There are times you are tired, sick, bored, annoyed, or just have to get shit done--and no amount of new age infusion is going to change that.

Movies I Need to See (Coincidentally Based Off Books)

When I read The Lovely Bones, back in high school, I marveled over Alic Sebold's lovely conception of heaven. And when I first heard it was optioned for a film, my first thought was to that depiction of heaven: I couldn't imagine a way to integrate it in a movie. Susie narrates the story from heaven, but her heaven is like real life, but not...and not in a mirror kind of way.

The Lovely Bones is magical (and has one of hell of a magical sex scene at the end. SPOILER ALERT!). I somehow missed the memo that Peter Jackson directed The Lovely Bones, set to come out in December. It looks wonderful, beautiful, and even though I haven't seen any of the Lord of the Rings (I know), I'm glad he was chosen. Seems to fit. I'm also really glad they kept the opening lines ("My name is Salmon. Like the fish. First name Susie. I was fourteen years old when I was murdered, on December 6, 1973.").



John Krasinski's Brief Interviews With Hideous Men features a lot of recognizable actors, but it's the content that will hopefully bring in the viewers--men being disgusting, crude about women and sex, but not in the I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell way.



And speaking of Tucker Max...some might call it The Hangover Redux, but that's just unfortunate timing.



The movie looks kinda "been there, done that", and I haven't even seen The Hangover. I'm sure it will be offensive and crude, but that's Tucker Max. It's just a matter of it being funny. Matt Czuchry has his Logan charm; we'll see if it carries over.

(Lovely Bones and Brief Interview trailers taken from Jess & Josh)

I Was Wrong (Thank God)

We are all programmed to believe that if a guy acts like a total jerk that means he likes you.

That’s the premise behind “He’s Just Not That Into You”, that women are conditioned to like jerks. “Come on, you like the drama,” explains Justin Long’s Alex to Ginnifer Goodwin’s Gigi, as she patters on again, wondering why a particular guy doesn’t call her back. Alex, a bar manager, knows all about relationships, you see, and schools her in the ways of human behavior.

Gigi is as insane and silly as the reviews suggest, but Goodwin is bright and perky, which balances out the craziness. Cringing at her is unavoidable, as she is such a stereotype; it’s girls like her that give the rest of us a bad name. She has the largest role in the film, and luckily is an actress that always manages to wring out sympathy for unlikeable characters, as her idiocy could overwhelm the film.

The ensemble works really well; no character is really tackily placed, although by the end of the film you realize that you didn’t see Jennifer Aniston and especially Ben Affleck as much as expected. Scarlett Johannson is quite the vixen, as she normally is (“might as well play it while you can”, said a friend), and as such, this isn’t the movie to see if you’re engaged, as it will probably upset you. Like Rachel Bilson in The Last Kiss, she is designed to be every girl’s worst nightmare.

Marriage is indeed one of the main themes, but the urgency is lost on me. Jennifer Aniston’s Beth has been with Ben Affleck’s Neil for seven years, and even though he is by all accounts the perfect boyfriend, his own flaw—that he just doesn’t care about marriage—becomes all consuming. The pressure she exerts on him!

It was the expectations of marriage that intrigued me. Bradley Cooper’s Ben says that he married Janine (Jennifer Connelly) because they had been dating since college and that he essentially felt he had to, because it looks weird if you don’t after a certain period of time. Beth practically used that same argument. But why does this hold such sway? It is that a relationship starts to smell if it hasn’t been tied up properly?

I’ve always had trouble understanding this. In the “Just Say Yes” episode of Sex and the City, Carrie turns down Aiden’s proposal, and the relationship was over. At the time, I was completely floored. Why did it have to end? I guess I interpreted that even if now wasn’t a good time, who’s to say later on it wouldn’t be?

My father, seeing my confusion, sat me down and gave me a lecture (I had watched the episode with him). “There comes a time in a person’s life,” he said, “when you want to settle down and get married. And she wasn’t ready for that.” He continued on, and I kinda got it, but kinda didn’t. It seems to me, that marriage—and the expectation of marriage—ruins a perfectly good relationship.

Of course, I say this as a person who’s as far away from marriage as one can possibly be, and I am nowhere near looking for something like that. Even as this movie tries to shatter some assumptions—starting with the opening line—it still falls into very conventional storytelling. Despite its predictable rhythms, especially at the end, I was surprised to find that I genuinely enjoyed the movie. I wasn’t angry, upset, depressed, or disappointed. Unlike so many other movies that make me rail against love, I didn’t mind that as much as women are told not to believe they are the exception to every rule, one of the last scenes ends with characters saying that she is the exception to said rule.

One thing that gets me a lot regarding fictional romantic relationships is that they are just so improbable and stupid. It’s not so much the hows and mechanics as it is how the characters relate to one another. Now, granted, "He’s Just Not That Into You" features a lot of characters, and some aren’t developed very fully. The premise worked, though, and I enjoyed how realistic the dilemmas were, even Gigi’s often ridiculous reactions. That kind of understanding worked, and because the movie was grounded in this form of realism, the notions of infidelity and other clichés didn’t bother me.

The final voiceover is very much like the end of Sex and the City, the show that spawned the book that the movie is very loosely based on. Yet no matter how much the movie wants to tell you to ignore much of what you’ve been told, girls, it still can’t resist the lure of the happy third act, of happily ever after. No wonder why we’re so messed up.

All Signs Point To "Don't Watch This Movie"

“He’s Just Not That Into You” is rated PG-13 (Women strongly cautioned). Dating is lethally depressing.

(Bold mine.) That's the impression I'm getting--and if the New York Observer's take on the movie isn't enough to scare you away, then I don't think anything will.

I can already see myself watching this movie and becoming incredibly angry and depressed. Ginnifer Goodwin's character alone will make me want to punch somebody.

Can Hollywood make uplifiting, genuine romantic comedies anymore?

Love Stories

A couple weeks ago, I wanted to write about how the success of House gives me faith in America. House is a complex show that deals with philosophical issues, about medical ethics, of right and wrong, connecting with people, of how to live. The fact that it is one of America’s top-rated shows—and one that is well-acted, generally well-written, and both a critical and fan favorite—makes me very happy. But I also realized that House does something that is very rare on television shows: two of the main characters, Gregory House and Lisa Cuddy, are both single for a long time.

As most people know, these are two characters who flirt and argue with each other, and often their scenes are fun to watch. They are the standard couple that fans are suppose to root for, and of course they’ll get together at the end of the series, as is television convention. What is notable is that their relationship obstacles are themselves—their own stubbornness, expectations, beliefs, habits, and personality quirks—and not other people. House does not date. Cuddy does not date. This is pretty big for television; most shows have boyfriends and girlfriends and affairs and would-be suitors that rotate out of the main characters’ lives, with various missed chances and misunderstandings. But as House has continued the past few weeks, with Cuddy and House kissing and acknowledging their attraction to each other, there have been those classic television misunderstandings, most notably in last week’s episode, “Let them Eat Cake”, where House is off flirting with a woman he hired to play a prank on Kutner and Taub. Cuddy sees this just as she’s about to forgive him for an earlier incident, since House had done something special for her.

Last weekend, I saw three movies that revolve around “grand” love affairs: Twilight, Australia, and a Bollywood hit titled Fanaa, which means “Destroyed in Love” in English. While it’s true that love stories follow similar arcs—there’s a meet cute, often involving a misunderstanding or a dislike, a gradual time of becoming friends, then really good friends, periods of crisis that draw the two together, the requisite confusing/scared emotions, the obstacles that keep the two apart (whether external or internal, or a combination)—it doesn’t mean that they are particularly interesting, victorious, or that they work at all. A formula does not mean success.

This is why most love stories aren’t good. They just aren’t. They’re everywhere, and that’s one of the problems—love stories are supposed to be special, exciting, meaningful, infused with pain, yet there’s an unbreakable sense of connection, friendship and yes, love, that underscores it all. That’s what the good ones do. You can follow all the rules, and still not have the story matter. Twilight, Australia and Fanaa had many of the standard elements, but none of them were particularly good. What struck me and my compatriots in watching the movies, though, was that there were thematic and tonal similarities: while all of them were over-the-top, the drama was ridiculous in Twilight and Fanaa. There was too much back-and-forth, too much “I can’t live without you!” hysterics. There was too much talk of dying for each other, of “You can’t be with me, because I will get you killed! I will ruin your life! And therefore we must STAY AWAY from each other!” In both Twilight and Australia, there was a scene where one of the leads doesn’t know how to dance and is shy. The genders were reversed, but the dialogue was practically the same in both movies, despite that one dealt with cowboys and the other vampires.

Love stories are overhyped, fit into any story because it’s considered a necessary element of success. Upping the ante by introducing politics, death, illness and other catastrophes is often considered another requirement of epic romances, but it’s not necessary and often takes away from the central story. That’s what happened in Twilight and Australia (although Australia's story wasn’t really about the romance, but was a substantial part of it). These elements are usually so over-the-top that they obscure the real romance and move it into parody, drawing out the movie so we just don’t care any more. That occurred in all three movies.

What’s missing in the movies, and in most love stories, is the friendship behind the leads. In Roger Ebert’s review of Twilight, he says, “They’re in love with being in love.” Bella and Edward spend the movie giving each other smoking, lustful looks and discussing why they can’t be together (he wants her blood too much), but there’s nothing else besides attraction that hold them together.

The central question of any love story should be: why do these two love each other? Why them? The audience needs to see why each cares for the other, why each genuinely likes the other. Most treat this question superficially, glossing over it for the more exciting romantic tension that awaits. But tension is meaningless and not as much fun if the fundamentals aren’t there, if the reason for the tension is perfunctory and silly.

I’m convinced that Michael Patrick King wanted to create a great love story in Big and Carrie in Sex and the City, and that’s the overwhelming feeling I’m left with whenever I see the finale. (I’m excusing the movie here because I feel it retreads a lot of the same ground, but it could work within this framework, since their love ends happily after a massive screw-up.) Here we see why Carrie and Big just have this overwhelming affection for each other—that they can laugh and flirt and just be fun with each other, and each likes the other’s playful attitude, that person’s love of New York City. Despite all their problems, they go back to each other—a controversial point in most romantic relationships, because this tendency can be destructive, hampering the necessity of moving on. Carrie and Big’s epic love story is one thing I take away from the show, and I think he succeeds in creating a lasting, captivating story, one with many believable, heart-wrenching turns.

One of the reasons The Office is such on shaky ground this season is that it doesn’t know what to do with its central couple, Jim and Pam. The show was phenomenal in its second and third seasons partly because it was powered by the unrequited love between those two, and the second season finale “Casino Night”, where Jim confesses his love to Pam and then kisses her, is considered by many to be the best episode of the series. Watching the friendship between the two, Jim’s longing and confusion followed by Pam’s longing and confusion, was at times exhilarating, heartbreaking, and frustrating, and garnered lots of fans of both the show and the characters. By coupling the characters early enough in the series, considered a radical move by many, the show set us up to watch their relationship grow. But the lack of romantic tension, sad to say, was not replaced by genuinely interesting and compelling storylines, but ones that had the potential to be so and then written off. Romantic intrigue was passed onto other characters, poorly, as if one great love story can be substituted for another.

While The Office can and hopefully will bounce back from the stupidity this lackluster season has brought, it could show what many want to see: a full-fledged, real relationship, without the excessive drama that plagues most television and movie romance. It can be done, and it can be done well—it just takes imagination and a real commitment to write a story based around interesting and compelling characters. But too often it just doesn’t seem palatable. After all, it’s very hard to write about a relationship in television or in the movies that’s about the after part of “happily ever after.” The joke is that it doesn’t exist.

As Emily Gould put it recently, when discussing Gossip Girl:

It’s rare to watch a tv show’s writers basically confess that they’ve hit a wall. Imagine if, somewhere around the third season of Friends, Ross had sat Rachel down and said, “You know, we’ll never stay together, because there would really be nothing to hang the misunderstanding-based hijinx of this show on.” When Chuck told Blair that “the game” is “what we like,” he might as well have been staring into the camera and addressing the audience directly. ‘When we finally get together,’ he’s saying, ‘you’ll know that Gossip Girl’s writers have finally gotten that memo from CW headquarters that they’ve got another episode or two to wrap things up.’

But less cynically, or maybe more cynically: the audience basically never gets to watch the ever-after part of romances – it’s boring, we’re given to understand, all that moviegoing and hand-holding. Love affairs have three acts, we know from tv, and even, a little, from our own experience. There’s the thrilling beginning, fraught with obstacles and delicious suffering. And then there’s the middle, the happy normalcy phase that actually maybe doesn’t even exist and is just a slow slide into the mediocrity and boredom that signals the end. Maybe there are just two acts, then.

And when act two is running its course, it’s back to the drawing board again.

No "Sex and the City" sequels, please!

"Sex and the City" should not have a sequel. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in a baby carriage!

It's so obvious.

And it's so wrong.

It is not in Carrie Bradshaw's character to have a child. Mr. Big and Carrie especially do not mix with children. Mr. Big's elegance and dapper Old New York ways do not work with diapers; there is a reason he was not there for Brady's birth. Carrie's column would then morph into a parenting one, and her fabulosity would not overrule the dullness of the subject.

There are people who believe that Carrie is the eternal single woman--she should not and cannot get married. But it is her with a child that seems even more incongruous with her luxurious, wanderlustful lifestyle.

They should stop messing with "Sex and the City", because it will dilute the product.

Translating Audiences

I’ve been away for the last two weeks, traveling in Europe, and as such have been unable to comment on the storyline aspects of Sex and the City, incorporating some of that into musings on Rilo Kiley’s views of relationships and marriage in their songs (I saw them recently at Terminal 5 in New York City), as well as just general maintenance of this blog.

While abroad, I took lots of photos of movie posters in different languages. Indiana Jones and Sex and the City were by far the most popular, and in a city like Prague which has a substantial amount of foreigners and English-speakers (enough to warrant a weekly English-language newspaper) the billboards were displayed prominently. Once, the Oscar-winning film, and Horton Hears a Who! (abbreviated Horton), were also current movies featured in theaters.

A friend of mine commented on my post about the return of Sex and the City, musing how well it can possibly do overseas, considering the show is racy and may not be syndicated in those countries. I am going to bet that in countries that promoted the movie the show ran, although how and how long I have no idea. I’m not quite sure what to make of the prism Europeans will make of the show’s values—for Europe is generally considered more sexually liberal and permissive than Americans, so maybe all of Samantha’s shenanigans won’t be so shocking, and they’ll laugh off the true love and marriage messages.

But it turns out that even though Sex and the City takes place in a very specific time and place, it seems to translate well, whether referred to as "Sex ve Meste" or "Szex es New York". A recent article in the Times discusses how comedies translate abroad, and mentions how durable What Happens in Vegas is. That movie was also regularly found abroad, usually found by just “Vegas". (I was hoping that it would somehow be 21 instead, since "Vegas" looks really stupid.) The article focuses on Judd Apatow’s movies, since they do very well here but flounder overseas. I was amused that Forgetting Sarah Marshall in German is “Nie wider Sex mit der Ex”, which translates to "Never again sex with the ex". That just sounds crude, although it does give away the premise slightly more.

Although I tended to focus on American movies since they were familiar to me, some cinemas did have movies from other countries: Germany, Japan, Hungary. “Pop culture used to be American pop culture,” an analyst in the article is quoted as saying; American pop culture dominated the market in a perverse way, but now that countries, even developing ones like Russia and those in Central Europe, are beginning to have the capital, they are producing their own narratives. Good for them. The likelihood of them translating into American theaters will be small, partly because of the language barrier.

Apatow’s movies, it is noted, tend to have its characters reference other American movies and pop culture staples, and his recurrent themes of arrested adolescence may not make the transition to other cultures. I had a conversation with an Indian boy this past week who spoke about his father’s generation as being one that believed in good, hard work, whether you like it or not, while Western attitudes (which were beginning to filter down to his generation) were more about having a fulfilling, challenging job, one that fit your interests and strengths; these were never concerns of the elders he knew. We discussed dropping out of school and finding work congruent with our passions, both ideas incongruent with many other cultures. My friends and I have lauded Apatow’s portrayals in Superbad as being realistic, but maybe for many outside the US those lives come across as ridiculous fantasy, a silly way to live, and so do not connect with audiences.

Exceeding Expectations

Yes!

Early reports are in, and the Sex and the City movie not only nabbed #1 at the box office, but in taking $55.7 million is the best opening for a romantic comedy ever, as well as a TV adaptation, and the fifth-best for an R-rated film. It's also the highest opener for a female-led film (bye-bye, Angelina Jolie's crappy Tomb Raider!--which is another male-oriented action flick. Oh the irony!). Yeah. Suck on that.

Although there was a huge drop between Friday and Saturday (Friday alone garnered $26.1 million), I don't think this spells death-knell for the movie. I think it will still do well in the next couple of weeks, following a typical second-week plummet for blockbusters. Bank on multiple viewings--this is one movie where critical reception will mean naught, and the idea is to get rabid fans to get casual fans and/or females with little exposure to the show (those girls exist) to see it in subsequent weeks. And don't discount those fans who didn't have a chance to see it this weekend. When you even have males like this reviewer acknowledging that he even liked the movie, watch out.

The fact that this movie is an adult movie will also bring in middle-aged married folks. Some teens may have had exposure to the show, but I'll bet more 17 year-olds today are more likely to see High School Musical than Sex and the City, and it's not because of the R-rating; they just missed its heyday, and reruns are no match for the original.

I know people are going to mention Indiana Jones. That's a movie who's so-so ratings seemed to have hurt it, and it's buzz is definitely wearing off. I'm still hearing about Ironman; Indiana Jones, not so much. Indiana Jones feels so old to some people, but the girls of Sex and the City, while also being newer, have the allure of the present and the entertaining luxury to bathe in. Besides--it's seems a good romance can beat an action flick when the final numbers are tallied. Aren't some of the biggest movies of all-time romances, like Titantic and Gone with the Wind?

Of course, success already seems to spell one thing: sequel.

****One thing I wanted to mention in yesterday's entry was the previews for the movie. With the exception of Hancock, all the promos were for meant for a maximum female audience: Mamma Mia! with Meryl Streep, Colin Firth and Pierce Brosnan (it looked fun), the He's Just Not Into You with it's all-star cast (I'm guessing they took situations from the book and fleshed them out?), which is banking on that SATC tie-in, and a Diane Lane-Richard Gere adult romance that has my parents as its target demographic (it's a happier version of Unfaithful). I know movies always have promos that are pretty much based on a strict line of similarity (teen gross out comedy begets teen comedy), but man, did this feel like an estrogen-fest.

The Love Continues

I apologize for not posting in forever. I'm going to work on that, I swear.

I've had so many things that I've wanted to write on--spoilers, Britney Spears, Rihanna, Flyleaf's "All Around Me", random reviews...hopefully I'll post an extremely belated Britney Spears entry, as well as the spoiler one. But first, I'm hear to say that the Sex and the City movie is fantastic.

Michael Patrick King wrote a love letter to the show's fans. Anyone who loves the show will love the movie; if you don't like it, it's not for you. Ignore the reviews; many of the reviewers hadn't understood the appeal of the show, and for them, it's confusing. It's a full-fledged story. There is a plot. There are typical one-liners; there are waves of emotion; there are disappointments, heartbreak, fabulous fashions, whirlwind romance and of course, the requisite happy ending.

The men do get the shaft. But while Manohla Dargis of the New York Times writes, "I’m all for the female gaze, but, gee, it’s also nice to talk — and listen — to men, too," I feel that once we're allowed our day in the sun. Yes, it would be nice to hear Harry, Mr. Big, Steve and Smith actually get more than a few lines each, but this isn't about them. The movie celebrates love and female friendships, and if anything, this movie's success celebrates it. There have been reports that fans are seeing this movie in groups--hell, that's how I saw it--and I bet there will be a lot of repeat customers (I will be one as well). Everyone bitches and complains that Hollywood is a boy's club, and that the romantic comedy is dead, because the truism is that women will see men's movies (Ironman) but men won't see women's movies. I hope Sex and the City is number one at the box office this weekend. It deserves to be, and I think while everyone knows it's going to be huge, how huge it turns out to be--and number one--signifies that women still matter, that a women's movie, and one featuring middle-aged women, are willing to go out to the movies.

Will there ever be another movie so exclusively anticipated by women?

A friend pointed out an excellent observation to me tonight: That the upcoming Sex and the City movie is the only theatrical release she could think of that was so highly anticipated by women.

Maybe it's because movies are now marketed to teen boys and young men, maybe it's because traditional romantic comedies have lost cachet, but all the big blockbuster movies that had advanced buzz and expected huge grosses recently were either sci-fi or fantasy franchises (Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter) and had a basis in another otherworldly mythology (Spider-man, Rocky). While none of these films had an exclusive male base, it was a given that these were guy movies...and the girlfriends and the kids would come along too. Sex and the City, just like the show, will be enjoyed by some males, but they're only going to say that if they're reviewing it. The funny thing is, when you think about it, Sex and the City does fall into the above pattern: It is a fantasy, an otherworldly mythology, one without trolls or hobbits or robots (at least not literal ones). While some fans undoubtedly know this, and many more profess to understand it, there are so many who unconsciously try to model some aspects of their life on the show. I find this symptom extremely dangerous--and while it's attached itself to this particular movie, there have been other programs where girls tend to model themselves after main characters. Gilmore Girls is one such show--even though Rory Gilmore is a terrible role model, somehow her magical life transcends all that, much like the girls on SATC.

It's not that girls don't like fantasy or sci-fi, but there are many that just don't find allegories fascinating instead of confusing and hard to follow. "Realistic fantasies" are stories that really wouldn't happen, but technically could happen. Most romantic comedies and meet cutes fall under this category. They're based in real life, so there are no intergalactic planets and funky orbital rules to follow. The interpersonal conflicts are generally realistic, if heightened. In reality, Carrie Bradshaw would not be able to afford her lifestyle, financially or emotionally (your columns are based around you and your friends' love lives, and no one ever gets mad that you spill their secrets to the world?). But that doesn't matter, because we could live fabulously in our own world and pretend those shoes we bought cost $1000 instead of $15 at Payless. We can't magically pretend we can shoot spiderwebs from our wrists and jump buildings; somehow we lost that ability in childhood.

My friend compared the Sex and the City frenzy to Star Wars. It's a good analogy--both will have fans camping out before to score exclusive first dibs, and both have cultlike fanbases. But what's more interesting is to see if there will ever be another movie that's so grabbed women in this way even before it was released. More women watch primetime TV than men (they're off playing videogames or glued to their computer, apparently), so it naturally follows that a movie they'd be waiting for on baited breath would be an extension of a television show, even one that ended four years earlier. Nowadays, no movie is going to have an inherent fanbase without having the necessary backstory to propel it through, meaning it is affiliated with another medium, usually comics or books. This hasn't worked for female-centered book adaptations, as that Jane Austen movie a few months ago underperformed and The Nanny Diaries sank. But one can argue that those fanbases were very narrow, and more people have watched at least some SATC than have read either of the books, especially with the DVDs and syndication on two stations as further means of access. And many of the blockbusters mentioned above were sequels, so the original source material (the comic, the book) didn't necessarily matter. Star- or producer-driven movies don't have the same cachet; Forgetting Sarah Marshall will do well, but it won't whip up people the way other defining movies have. It's the story we're after, not the star, and knowing the background, mythology or source material is a way of getting more engaged with the story, of also feeling part of something and having insider cachet, a type of spoiler, in a way--which is exactly how many people want to interact with their entertainment, especially the kind that feed off the internet and follow trends and hype.

Of course, people will say there are no heavily anticipated women's movies because females are underrepresented in the movie industry, and once they begin to get movies made that they want to see the audience will come to them. Perhaps. But the Sex and the City movie is written, directed, and produced by a man, so that argument doesn't work here. Maybe because television is a continuing story, with characters we grow to love and fret over, which demand time and energy that women give freely that the connection is strong, whereas movies are about the loud bang buck, the hustle and bustle and action and one-time out-of-sight-out-of-mind, which is more inclined with male habits. But that's a gross oversimplification. Either way, it's safe to say that the hysteria surrounding the Sex and the City movie--which will only grow more overpowering in the next month and a half--will be a very rare occurrence, until the next generation-defining critically-acclaimed television show about women's lives is made into a movie.

It's gonna be awesome...

Thanks to Diablo Cody (with verification from IMDB), I found out that I Love You, Beth Cooper is actually being made into a movie. Yes! I read this book over New Year's Eve and it was absolutely hysterical, perfect movie material. Written by a Simpsons writer, it barely needs to be adapted, that's how perfect it is. It also fits in with our craving for nerdy high school boys: Popular Beth Cooper is the girl Denis Cooverman has pined for all four years of high school, and he reveals this in his valedictory speech. Massive hijinks, of the sexual, violent, and comedic kind, ensue.

Sex On the Brain

Angela: I mean, I think about it... all the time, but...
Brian: Wait, you *think* about it all the time?
Angela: Brian! Yes! Shut up... guys don't have a monopoly on thinking about it.
Brian: They don't?
Angela: *No!*

–My So-Called Life

"You were not bored. There was plenty of stuff to watch on TV. And Blair Witch Project was about to come on Starz, and you were like, "I haven't seen this in forever" and you wanted to watch it, but then you were like "Oh no, we should just make out instead. La la la."

–Paulie Bleeker, Juno

Maybe it’s all because of Sex and the City.

It used to be that girls didn’t want sex. Oh, they wanted it, but it wasn’t acknowledged, it was never talked about. Girls wanted the boyfriend to cuddle and to pay for their movie tickets, but they didn’t actually want to make out. They didn’t lust after anyone sexually, even if they swooned over Brad Pitt. It was just a crush.

But you can’t say that anymore.

Everywhere I look, it seems, there’s another girl taking charge of her sexuality. She’s the one who initiates it. Knocked Up, Superbad, Juno, Mean Girls–-in all of them the girl is the one who’s going "fuck me hard" and leaving the boy’s head spinning.

The moments above are both comic and real, but what’s notable about them–-with the exception of Knocked Up–-is that they all deal with teenagers. Is it a way to acknowledge the feelings at a time when they are possibly the strongest and most frightening? Or that this attitude has trickled down to teenagers? It’s years after Sex and the City went off the air, after all, and that show was known for both being very appealing to teenage girls (heaven knows I was one of them), and for allegedly changing the way sex, and female attitudes towards it, were portrayed.

All I know is that I love every one of those scenes when the girl goes for it. She’s vulnerable but presses on anyway. She has to. And the boys are always baffled by what’s happened, confused how it all came to be, never knowing how to act but that they want to be the good guy. They’re never prepared. Maybe watching enough of these movies they’ll get the drift and won’t be so taken aback the next time a girl jumps them.

It's so good it hurts

A friend of mine recently complained that television isn’t realistic enough, especially when it comes to romantic relationships, that in real life (specifically, his life) you don’t end up with the girl you want. I’ve ranted about this for years, but for the first time, I felt no desire to enthusiastically agree; in fact, I disagree.

I find entertainment today–especially when it revolves around the romantic relationships of young people–way more real than it used to be. And I have Judd Apatow to thank.

When My So-Called Life premiered in 1994 it wasn’t a hit, but its confessional, it’s-so-raw-it-hurts tone set the stage for everything that followed: Seth on The O.C. wasn’t a cool kid in his universe, the kids on Dawson’s Creek overanalyzed all their problems, and Freaks and Geeks really dealt with all the humiliating and soul-crushing banality of high school. While the phrase “cringe humor” has never been used to describe a Marshall Herskowitz/Edward Zwick production before, all their hyperreal creations fall into the same category as the ones that proudly carry the mantle: The Office, Juno, Knocked Up. What ties these all together is that the humor and the pathos comes from very real circumstances, the kind where you’re left gaping, “holy shit, they just stole that from my life.” Judd Apatow has brought this to the masses, bridging crass comedy with heartwarming, realistic stories that seem to hit the nail on the head for everyone.

While there arguably is some degree of wish-fulfillment in these entities–after all, things generally do end happily–it’s not the kind that results in anger, but in a smile of hopefulness. You’ve survived the awkward sex scene, so maybe one day you too will end up with the girl of your dreams. The “things work out in the end” ending is also somewhat necessary, considering how bleak at times the story can seem. All the premises surrounding the above entertainments deal with harsh situations and often crushing disappointments, but the pleasure of watching a sweet moment is magnified knowing all the pain that came before.

Even entertainments that are predicated on sweetness and airy romance have a dark element to their stories. Pushing Daisies’ central couple cannot ever touch. Enchanted is a perfect fairy tale that mixes both the conventions of the genre with the charming grittiness that is reality. Both balance out their saccharinity by acknowledging that happily ever after doesn’t exit, but that working on relationships is how you come close to it.

People do need and want fantasy in their entertainment, but maybe nowadays people want their fantasies to be as pure as possible, untainted by reality, and want those based in reality to have some degree of realness to them. Celebrities are no longer mysterious or worthy to be lusted after for their glamour when you can pull up a tabloid to see what they wear to the supermarket. Maybe that’s why pure fantasies are so popular now. Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter are more fantastic than ever, thanks to CGI. I have a friend who argues all the time that what she looks for in sci-fi and fantasy worlds is the sense of realness, but in terms of emotions and human reactions, not in technicalities. I, often unconsciously, look for that in a lot of the entertainment I pick.

A ridiculous plot sometimes can be forgivable if emotions are true–and that works for anything, ranging from Futurama to Sex and the City to Superbad. Look at Grey’s Anatomy. For all its faults as an overwrought soap, so many have found a real kinship with the words and actions that the characters use to describe their myriad fuckups. The storyline, even in the midst of its ridiculousness, stays true.