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I'm Back!

Hey everyone,

I apologize for being basically MIA over the past few weeks. I moved to a different state and almost immediately got a full-time job that's been kicking my butt on a daily basis. However, things are a little less wacky now and I've finally cleared my schedule a bit by completing some professional reviews for other places, so hopefully I'll be able to catch up on my project because I miss it dearly.

Here are some femme pics from what I've been watching in my web absence...


How to Marry a Millionaire (1953, Jean Negulesco)- Three girls (Bacall, Grable, and Monroe) get mixed up in their scheme to marry millionaires for their money by falling in love with some average Joe's...or are they?


The Furies (1950, Anthony Mann) - Barbara Stanwyck challenges the patriarchal west as the smart and sassy Vance Jeffords in this beautiful, epic western by Mr. Anthony Mann.


The Quiet (2005, Jamie Babbit)- In this severely under appreciated, almost Shakespearean drama about family life, two teenage girls, played by Camilla Belle and Elisha Cuthbert, seem to be opposites in every possible way - - when, in reality, they're a lot similar than they had originally hoped and planned.

And, please don't forget to take a look at my brief review of Babbit's Itty Bitty Titty Committee featured below.

It feels good to be back!

The Itty Bitty Titty Committee

Indie female filmmaker Jamie Babbit, famous for her inspiring, inviting queer flick But, I’m a Cheerleader and moody family drama, The Quiet, teamed up with the feminist production company, Power Up Films, to create her third feature and unfortunately titled, The Itty Bitty Titty Committee. Thus far, Babbit’s films have focused solely on young female characters who undergo severe life changes that generally revolve around sexual awakening - in But, I’m a Cheerleader, Natasha Lyonne’s Megan Bloomfield accepts her lesbian feelings despite severe opposition, in The Quiet, Camilla Belle’s Dot is forced to confront her qualms about life when she learns of an incestuous relationship between her godfather and foster sister. And, in TIBTC, Melonie Diaz’s loner lesbian Anna discovers feminism when she joins the C(I)A (Clits in Action), a confidence-building feminist group that kicks ass.

TIBTC is probably the most direct feminist flick you’ll see this year. It’s mission is simple - to make people aware about the politics of feminism in a light-hearted, educational way that also happens to snugly fit in with the rest of the (good) quirky comedies of the past few years, despite being mostly typical in its three act romantic comedy plot (I.e., the two leads flirt, then fight, and then flutter). Thankfully, you won’t find any of that Juno or Little Miss Sunshine bullshit around these parts. TIBTC is well-acted and features some of the hottest young feminist women in Hollywood, including several L-word regulars and the best of the best of non-Hollywood talent. This is a true-blue indie gem that had a budget of a solid million and sadly, didn’t even receive a proper theatrical release even though it did really well on the festival circuit. I had the opportunity to see it on DVD a couple of weeks ago and I’m really glad I did. I highly recommend everyone taking a gander at this flick because it will definitely be making my feminist top ten list of the year. I hope to give it a more proper review when I have the time, but until then, please take my word for it and give it a rent. It’ll pump you up and make you feel like you can take on the world. Yeah!

Argento's Grande Madre

“Style over substance” is the phrase one most often hears in relation to Dario Argento’s work. Whether it’s shards of stained glass impaling helpless victims (Suspiria, 1977), bullets being shot into your eye through a peephole (Opera, 1987), or simply a sixteen year old Jennifer Connelly falling into a “flesh” pool backwards (Phenomena, 1985), Argento truly knows how to create breathtaking, horrific images that stand the test of time. The lack of so-called “substance” in his work has never bothered me because, frankly, the images or “visions” as they are - speak for themselves. Dream logic is just as important in the Argento world as it is in the Lynch world - it may not always make sense, but the bits and pieces we accumulate through our consciousness somehow makes everything feel complete, not necessarily cohesive, but organically and cosmically whole. He doesn’t need the schlock dialogue or badly dubbed lines to articulate his cinematic feelings and I’ve often wished he would do away with those aspects all together. Can you imagine a no-dialogue Argento film? With just Keith Emerson’s and/or Goblin’s music accompanying the visuals? Bad ass.

Anyway, Argento’s uninspiring, self-parodist work in the 1990’s seems to have led him back to the “oldie but goodie” territory of his 70’s and 80’s films - namely, The Three Mothers trilogy, which started in 1977 with Suspiria (the mother of sighs) and continued on into the 80’s with Inferno (the mother of darkness, 1980). He’s finally capped off the trilogy with his latest film, The Mother of Tears, starring his daughter, Asia, and his long-time, on again/off again partner and mother of Asia, Daria Nicolodi, as well as a slew of other Argento returning guests like Coralina Cataldi-Tassoni. The usual suspects are all in place for The Mother of Tears except for the director himself, as this is least “Argento” feeling Argento I’ve ever seen. Indeed, The Mother of Tears paces and parades itself like a run of the mill horror flick without any of the painterly pizzazz of the Italian horror master himself.

And while this is troublesome for the cinephile in my soul who loves to sit in a darkened theatre with her mouth hanging open during the beginning of Suspiria, I can appreciate Argento’s choice to step away from his usual aesthetic and focus on new aspects of creativity because it means he’s trying to reinvent himself. Or should I say, reinvent herself? Most (80% or so) of Argento’s flicks feature a central (virginal) female protagonist who acts as a JV gumshoe in solving a murder mystery, a mystery usually involving a murderer who kills young, slightly “immoral” women in gruesome, disturbingly prolonged ways (razor blades to eyelids, glass in the face, etc). I used to consider this blatant misogyny and, in some cases, it is, (though Argento will never be as distasteful as his contemporary, Lucio Fulci), but my consideration was decidedly wavered when I learned Argento almost always uses his own hands on screen to commit the murders. Why would he do that?

It could easily be argued that Argento is merely executing the classic virgin/whore complex on film, that is, his murderers kill (or fuck, as most of the murders are hyper-sexual) the so-called slutty women in an effort to praise his virginal protagonists - the gals’ who are just too good to be caught. Too good, in fact, to wear anything but lily-white, not-too-tight frocks and generally be framed from the shoulders up. And the other girls, the dead girls, that is, show enough T&A while being sliced and diced in shredded dark clothing to open up their own strip joint. That and then there’s this quote by him:

“I like women, especially beautiful ones. If they have a good face and figure, I would much prefer to watch them being murdered than an ugly girl or man. I certainly don't have to justify myself to anyone about this. I don't care what anyone thinks or reads into it. I have often had journalists walk out of interviews when I say what I feel about this subject.”

However, Argento’s recent return to the Three Mothers territory has me questioning the director’s true intentions. In Mother of Tears, Argento places an incredible amount of importance upon well, motherhood, and the startling power of rebirth - the rebirth of the self, of the mind, and of the heart. Thinking back to all of the classic Argento films - Deep Red, Suspiria, Inferno, Phenomena, Opera, etc. - they all seem to feature direct themes to the idea of rebirth and being born again. For instance, after Jennifer Connelly falls into the “flesh pool” and gets doused in bodily, bloody ooze, the plot directly takes her to battling a child mutant in a crisp, clear lake where she emerges victoriously with her long, flowing white attire billowing at her sides.

…Is Argento trying to exorcise his demons cinematically by physically killing off his “immoral” impulses through the murder victims? Does he want to become one of his protagonists?

Much has been said about Argento using his own daughter, Asia, as the central protagonist in the latter part of his career. In the four pictures, they’ve made together - Trauma (1993), Stendhal Syndrome (1995), Phantom of the Opera (1998), and now Mother of Tears (2007), Ms. Argento is frequently the victim of brutal, grotesque rape, violence, and even acts as a fetish subject for serial killers galore. However, to inspect the arc of these four films is to understand the basis of my argument. Argento is using Asia, his own flesh and blood, a piece of himself - to explore and conquer his own demons. It’s almost as if each of the film’s Asia is in removes a layer of his torturous psyche and desires. The first two layers, Trauma and The Stendhal Syndrome, are by far the worst - seeing Argento put his own daughter in the character’s situations feels like you’re watching the rape scene in Irreversible (2002) ten times in a row. She gets so mind-fucked by the serial killers in each movie that there’s no way her characters will be able to psychologically survive after the film’s end. Phantom of the Opera, perhaps Argento’s worst film, is much less severe on Asia’s end and even treats her as somewhat of an angelic presence.

And, in Mother of Tears, Asia rises above all of her previous protagonists to become the pure heroine Argento has always aspired her/himself to be. Heck, she doesn’t even get fully naked in the film. Several other women do, unfortunately, and Argento seems to have felt the need to shamelessly point out his puritanical victory by murdering his women in even more terrifying ways than before. The most prevalent example I can think of is a woman dying at the hands of a gigantic spear stabbing her vagina. In fact, almost all of the deaths in Mother of Tears, including infant death, involve his hyper-sexual flare. Except without his stylistic talents to back him up, Argento is merely provoking disgust instead of provoking discussion, which is what I genuinely think he was trying to attain with his latest cinematic effort and failed miserably in the process.

That being said, I have high hopes that Argento’s next picture, the appropriately named Giallo (2009) will introduce new, fresh ideas to the filmmaker’s body of work and inspire audiences to reappraise their preconceived notions of Argento as an artist and appreciate him once again. We need all of the horror film auteurs we can get.

Summertime Flicks

Fun is in

It's no sin
It's that time again
To shed your load
Hit the road
On the run again…
Summer skies
In our eyes
And a warmer sun
It's one for all
All for one
All for all out fun

- It's OK by The Beach Boys (15 Big Ones, 1976)

There are many reasons summertime is my favorite time of the year. The previously dreary environment of the outside world is now warm, welcoming, and sunny with joy. Our clothing choices are no longer compromised by having to wear bulky, clunky winter coats coupled with sweaters and long johns. We, and I mean me - can now wear tank tops, pedal pushers, or skirts every single day if we want to. Hell, men and women can walk around naked now and still be comfortable. And, to be more specific to my current and previous age groups, the inspiring freedom of summer vacation allows us to concentrate on what’s most important in life - - doing whatever the hell we want to for as long as we can.

For me, at least for the last ten or so years, that has always consisted of watching as many movies as possible in a 24 hour time span and hanging out with my movie pals until all hours of the morning talking about movies and eating sweet organic junk food. Amazing. However, those are merely the activities I partake in during the summertime hours. There’s a mentality that comes with the territory that is also specific to the warm, sunny days and nights of June, July, and August. By not having to concentrate on the mind numbing repetition of school work and other such things, our minds are allowed to relax and wander into new zones of thought and feeling. I don’t know if this is a decidedly female trait, but during the summertime I have a difficult time completing just about anything because I become so enraptured inside my dreamy, listless world of imagination and enchantment. I'm not actually getting anything done, but I somehow feel accomplished - almost as if my soul becomes replenished during the summertime months because I actually have time to think things through. These feelings have been captured on film more than once and, not so oddly enough, have been captured most frequently by female filmmakers. These are the films of my youth.

Here are five examples of summertime flicks and the things they all have in common:

- The film usually only revolves around two female characters.
- Large chunks of the narrative are spent inside closed areas, which allows the two characters to get to know one another inside and out.
- Either actual or insinuated lesbianism combined with budding sexuality.
- Death.
- A journey - either of the metaphorical kind or the realistic.
- Rich vs. Poor.
- Gorgeous cinematography.

Heavenly Creatures (Peter Jackson, 1994): Juliet (Kate Winslet) and Pauline (Melanie Lynsky) provide fantastical, emotional, and sexual outlets for one another throughout the course of a single year - a year that changes everything forever.

The Virgin Suicides (Sofia Coppola, 1999): Though it’s not strictly a summertime tale, Ms. Coppola and Jeffrey Eugenides (the author of the book it was based upon) make the Lisbon sisters’ story of death, depression, and desire feel romantically ethereal and honest while simultaneously honoring the summertime mentality.

Fat Girl (Catherine Breillat, 2002): While on a holiday by the sea, two physically opposing sisters discover sexuality only to endure disastrous consequences.


Morvern Callar (Lynne Ramsay, 2002): After the suicide of her longtime companion, Morvern Callar (Samantha Morton) takes off on a journey to the Mediterranean sea with her best friend, Lanna (Kathleen McDermott) in an effort to get over the emotional damage and find a new life path.


My Summer of Love (Pawel Pawlikowski, 2004): The manipulated (“Mona,” Nathalie Press) and the manipulator (“Tamsin,” Emily Blunt) take charge in this darkly metaphoric film about the battle between good and evil.



And, I must give a shout out to Tideland (Terry Gilliam, 2006) because it possesses all of the feelings I just discussed except inside the story of a little girl named Jeliza-Rose (Jodelle Ferland) instead of a teenager.

And another shout out to The River (Jean Renoir, 1951) because it involves some summertime sass, but not quite enough to make the cut.

However, these are all great movies and I highly recommend a fourteen hour marathon of all of 'em! Or, at least do what I've been doing all summer long and watch one a week.

Sex and the City - It Don't Mean a Thing if it Ain't Got That Swing

Do Whop Do Whop...

Hey Dickwad, I’m speaking!

In Sex and the City: the movie, Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte, and Samantha may all sing, but none of them really swing. Or, in other words, they all talk the talk, but these ladies’ don’t really walk the walk.

I suppose it was wrong of me to invest so many of my feminist hopes and female dreams into this one fiendishly femme flick, but all of the signs pointed in the right direction and I must have gotten ’carried away’ with my desires to declare Sex and the City the most empowering chick flick of the year. It’s not. Plus, I was all starry eyed by the impact of the midnight show and being surrounded by hundreds of dolled-up gals. I’ve taken three weeks+ and three viewings of the film (…7.5 hours) to think things over carefully and considerately before declaring my verdict of the film to the world.

And, to be honest, I still haven’t completely made up my mind about the philosophy of SATC’s narrative. Though gray isn’t a prominent color in the wardrobe of these sparkling fashionistas, there sure is a lot of gray matter within their lives that either fails to be addressed completely or is glossed over and not given a second thought, which discredits a lot of the progress the film and TV show attains.

For instance, the fact that Samantha lives in Los Angeles now and, yet, still seems to appear in every single scene of the film. It had never occurred to me before seeing the movie that these friends don’t see each other every single day. The tourniquet-esque editing style coupled with the bombardment of lunches, shopping trips, and general hangouts between the ladies’ causes their lives to seem inseparable from one another. And, obviously, that’s the point of Michael Patrick King’s aesthetic choice and I absolutely love their towering friendship - however, it severely detracts from showcasing the women as individuals. It would be amazing to see Miranda kicking butt as a partner in her law firm and Samantha sassing up her agency. Or, better yet, see Charlotte slowly going insane with her happy housewife status and Carrie actually(!) doing some writing. In fact, about the only time they’re away from one another is when their men-folk are around.
So, what about their men folk? Why do these four talented, smart, absolutely gorgeous women drop everything for love with a sweet cheater, Mr. Blah but sexy, Mr. Blah but rich, and Mr. Blah Blah Blah? God knows they’ve tried, but why can’t the gals’ be involved with men who are as vibrant, passionate, and worthwhile as they are? Back in the glorious days of women’s pictures, it was perfectly acceptable for the man in the woman’s life to simply be “just” an archetype or even be a quadruple Blah (I’m looking at you Van Heflin) because the women themselves were larger than life - at least the life most women led at the time. They always put themselves first and didn’t revolve their entire lives around a man, at least not without wondering why they needed to. The ladies of SATC don’t have that option. Their friendships with one another may always come first, but the men in their lives come second with the third, less proportionate element being themselves as individual people. Why does it have to be that way?
Dare I say, is it because Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda aren’t worth a damn on their own? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Each gal may have her little niche inside the clan, but as separate characters, they’re mentally and emotionally malnourished and only become shall we say, “whole,” when around the other three women, kind of like Captain Planet for mature ladies with designer labels instead of teenagers with earth conservation.

Oh, but when they’re “whole,” glorious things start to happen - feminine love is spread throughout Manhattan and wonderful, sincere girl chat is vocalized and cherished by the three most important people in her/their lives. No other film this year has so completely understood the feminine need for friendship, for loving, comforting companionship. When the girls’ get together, there’s no stopping their powerful impact upon NYC, Mexico, LA, or anywhere else they choose to go. They rule the roost. And, most importantly, they cherish their femininity. They’re not ashamed to be women, in fact, they’re damn proud of it. The film, if nothing else, celebrates their pride and showcases it like a diamond necklace at Tiffany’s.

All in all, Sex and the City is a mixed bag of feminist feelings and ideas. I love the gals’ despite their shortcomings and seeing the movie at the midnight show with so many other women is a memory I’ll cherish forever. I'm also enormously happy to see it doing so well at the box office. Judging by the reaction to the film by critics and box office analysts, I'd say my hopes for studios creating other female-driven flicks based upon the success of SATC is a-go. Progression isn’t at the forefront of thought in either the movie or the show, but by doing its best to honor the code of femininity, I think the movie makes up for some of its falsehoods and meandering ideals.

She Did it the Hard Way - Bette Davis

Bette Davis (1908-1989)

Ruth Elizabeth Davis, more commonly known as Bette Davis, was born April 5, 1908 in Lowell, Massachusetts. She was a precocious, self-absorbed child who discovered her love of acting while watching the play, The Wild Duck (by Henrik Ibsen) when she was a teenager, proclaiming, "Before that performance I wanted to be an actress. When it ended, I had to be an actress... exactly like Peg Entwistle (who played Hedvig in the play). Her doting, generous mother, Ruthie (Bette’s best friend for her entire life) sacrificed herself to Bette’s whim by working two jobs, one as a very talented portrait photographer and, the other, as a laundress, to supply funds for she and the Davis family to live in NYC and send Bette to acting school at the John Murray Anderson School of Theatre. Bette was, of course, the most exceptional pupil in her class, which made Ruthie’s efforts worth the trouble. By 1929 at age nineteen, Bette had already appeared in on and off Broadway productions, including playing the part of Hedvig in The Wild Duck. During the performance of one of her plays, a Universal Studios talent scout spotted the young starlet and invited her to Hollywood for a screen test, which led to a run-of-the-mill contract, followed by bleached blonde hair, and then a whole lotta nothin’.

Universal didn’t know what to do with the odd-looking starlet they had on their hands. She played numerous bit parts in generally bad movies until 1932, when (then) superstar George Arliss chose her to be his leading lady in The Man Who Played God (1932) and she signed her first Warner Bros. contract. That role paved her way into playing her first mind-blowing performance as Mildred in Of Human Bondage in 1934, a part that pushed Davis into the mainstream appreciation of critics and fans and started her precedent for playing unlikable, challenging characters. Though she didn’t win the Academy Award that year (despite a Hollywood-wide campaign), she did win her first Oscar the following year for the film, Dangerous (1935) and won again in 1939 for the 1938 film, Jezebel. She was nominated for an Academy Award for best actress eight more times throughout her career.


Her best-known performances are probably as Charlotte Vale in Now, Voyager (1942), Margo Channing in All About Eve (1950), and as Baby Jane Hudson in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962). Though Bette acted in various genres throughout her life (horror, comedy, drama, etc.), she is most fondly remembered for her startling commitment to the women’s picture genre – a section of time in film that she realized affected thousands of women everywhere and, along with supporting the troops of WWII by starting The Hollywood Canteen in 1942, Davis acted in films starring/about strong females to support the women on the home front during the war. After starting in 1936 what Olivia DeHavilland eventually finished in 1943 with the “DeHavilland Law,” Bette was basically able to pick and choose which parts she should play and which directors would work with her, which, to say the least, was unusual for a female star to do during that era (…and even now). She challenged authority on a daily basis and she usually won her battles.


Her unwavering power and determination is clearly displayed in each performance she gives, which she does with her entire being and soul. Whether she’s being good Bette (All this, and Heaven Too, Now, Voyager, Dark Victory) or very bad Bette (The Letter, In this our Life, The Little Foxes), Ms. Davis always acted as a tower of female strength and pride for her audiences to identify with and aspire to be. She inspires me everyday – through her films, through the books written about her, and even through the images of her I have placed all over my apartment. I love Bette Davis because her ghostly presence over my life encourages me to be a better person and a better woman. Her image has attracted me to her since I saw the insipid Watcher in the Woods (1980) when I was a small child (I loved horror movies, what can I say?), which only grew into staunch admiration when I saw All About Eve and Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? in junior high school. I’ve seen over thirty of her films and I want to see more. My personal favorite is probably Jezebel (1938) followed by Now, Voyager(1942), Old Acquaintance (1943), and Hush…Hush, Sweet Charlotte (1964).

Off screen, Ms. Davis’ life was far less gratifying – she married four times, all ending with divorce (three times) or death (once), and had three children, one of which, B.D. Hyman, wrote her own version of Mommie Dearest entitled My Mother’s Keeper that amounted to nothing – no publicity and no shame on Bette’s part. In fact, she wrote a fiery response in the form of a book called This ‘n’ That. The love of her life was director William Wyler, who directed Bette in three of her most beloved films, Jezebel (1938), The Letter(1940), and The Little Foxes (1941). She had affairs with Howard Hughes, George Brent, and Vincent Sherman. It seems that no man in her life liked being known as “Mr. Bette Davis.” They should have been honored.