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fabrisseThis is some stream of consciousness social commentary based on two movies I've seen in the last two days. One was a cheap DVD of a film from a couple of years ago called Something's Gotta Give and the other was a movie called Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief What? It was a Friday night, and I didn't want a horror flick.
The kid's flick was, only marginally, the less offensive of the two on feminist grounds, but, hoo boy, did it hit my race and class buttons hard. The idea is that the Greek gods still come down and mate with mortals and their progeny are left here and sent to a special magical summer camp to become heroes. There are girl heroes. There were one or two kids who weren't lily white in the background. Otherwise, the two characters of color we saw were the satyr and Persephone.
Frankly, everyone, other than Persephone, we saw who was directly linked to the gods had blue eyes. That's how white they were -- except for the sassy, half beast, sex obsessed, and self-sacrificing-for-the-white-lead sidekick. Persephone cheats on her husband regularly and was trading innuendo with the satyr. She also helps the white lead achieve his quest.
More than that, it can be inferred from the discussions held while explaining the magical summer camp to Percy that heroes are born not made. Training can hone their skills, but it's innate. You get your tendencies from your parents -- so Hermes kid is a thief who's good with videogames, Athena's daughter is a great fighter, and Percy, as the son of Poseidon, gets a huge scenic cabin of his very own right by the lake.
Several years ago, Robin Williams referred to a sub-genre of kids movies as "Mom's dead. Let's party."
This movie wasn't quite that bad. Mom gets kidnapped by Hades and is one impetus for the quest. But she's also an emotionally abused wife to Percy's stepfather, and she flat out tells her son that she did it to protect him. According to her, the odor of this tacky loudmouth covered the scent of her son's godly heritage from those who might try to kill him. She let herself be trampled for her son. Why didn't she become a sewer worker? The smell would have been as bad and she could have kept her self-esteem. Let's see, running a home tannery is probably illegal in New York, but I'm sure she could have been creative. Heck, she could move in next door to me. The pot dealers down the hall make sure the rest of us can't smell anything but weed.
First of all, blaming your kid for your poor life choices isn't great. Second of all, what does it do to the kid to be blamed?
Something's Gotta Give has a few issues too. The moral of the story seems to be "date in your age range." That's not a moral; that's a social construct.
The modern romantic comedy trope of people who can't stand each other at first are destined for each other gets a huge work out in this one. By the way, this movie is so WASP-white that Diane Keaton in a black dress is a shock to the eyes.
The trope wouldn't bother me so much if the two characters as presented had anything in common. It might also have worked if there hadn't been another character who treated Diane Keaton's character, and himself, with respect and genuine affection.
The film might have worked for me, if the Jack Nicholson character had been redeemed at the end -- as he is -- and left alone to find a new life now that he's worked out his old issues.
Instead, this woman who has been dating a man who loves and respects her, who gets her sense of humor, and who seems to be a pretty good kisser (we don't get a sex scene with him, sadly) for SIX MONTHS gets back together with a man who hasn't spoken to her in EIGHT MONTHS. I have a hard time believing Jack Nicholson's penis is that much of a magic wand.
Now, I'm all for the healing power of sex, and, yes, passion is just as important as respect. However, the Nicholson/Keaton sex scene revolted me, not for their respective bodies or anything -- Diane Keaton is gorgeous and Jack Nicholson didn't do anything for me when he was younger -- but because, as he's climbing on top of her, he asks about birth control -- she mentions menopause -- and he says "Who's a lucky boy."
This character is reputed to have slept with hundreds of women, and from the on-screen evidence, the reputation is accurate. Post-menopausal women do not have immunity from STDs. Any man with one iota of respect for his bedmate would have used a condom without asking.
What really bothers me, though, is that the writer-director, Nancy Meyer, understands the hallmarks of a good person. She hands them to Keanu Reeves' character.
His character talks to Diane Keaton's about her work. When they're shown together, it's usually by warm light. He respects her shyness, but shakes his head when she tries to say she's not beautiful. They are shown as comfortable together from the very beginning. They laugh together. There's an ease to their physicality together that never manifests when Keaton is with Nicholson.
But what's important is that the woman ends up happy with a man who is more successful than she is -- difficult for the "most successful female playwright since Lillian Hellman" to find -- and that the man is older than she is.
I know this type of chick flick is a Cinderella fantasy of sorts, but it really bothers me that the story we're telling ourselves is that conflict will lead to passion, love cannot be easy, and stay within your (age, class, race) limits.
GAAAGH!
The kid's flick was, only marginally, the less offensive of the two on feminist grounds, but, hoo boy, did it hit my race and class buttons hard. The idea is that the Greek gods still come down and mate with mortals and their progeny are left here and sent to a special magical summer camp to become heroes. There are girl heroes. There were one or two kids who weren't lily white in the background. Otherwise, the two characters of color we saw were the satyr and Persephone.
Frankly, everyone, other than Persephone, we saw who was directly linked to the gods had blue eyes. That's how white they were -- except for the sassy, half beast, sex obsessed, and self-sacrificing-for-the-white-lead sidekick. Persephone cheats on her husband regularly and was trading innuendo with the satyr. She also helps the white lead achieve his quest.
More than that, it can be inferred from the discussions held while explaining the magical summer camp to Percy that heroes are born not made. Training can hone their skills, but it's innate. You get your tendencies from your parents -- so Hermes kid is a thief who's good with videogames, Athena's daughter is a great fighter, and Percy, as the son of Poseidon, gets a huge scenic cabin of his very own right by the lake.
Several years ago, Robin Williams referred to a sub-genre of kids movies as "Mom's dead. Let's party."
This movie wasn't quite that bad. Mom gets kidnapped by Hades and is one impetus for the quest. But she's also an emotionally abused wife to Percy's stepfather, and she flat out tells her son that she did it to protect him. According to her, the odor of this tacky loudmouth covered the scent of her son's godly heritage from those who might try to kill him. She let herself be trampled for her son. Why didn't she become a sewer worker? The smell would have been as bad and she could have kept her self-esteem. Let's see, running a home tannery is probably illegal in New York, but I'm sure she could have been creative. Heck, she could move in next door to me. The pot dealers down the hall make sure the rest of us can't smell anything but weed.
First of all, blaming your kid for your poor life choices isn't great. Second of all, what does it do to the kid to be blamed?
Something's Gotta Give has a few issues too. The moral of the story seems to be "date in your age range." That's not a moral; that's a social construct.
The modern romantic comedy trope of people who can't stand each other at first are destined for each other gets a huge work out in this one. By the way, this movie is so WASP-white that Diane Keaton in a black dress is a shock to the eyes.
The trope wouldn't bother me so much if the two characters as presented had anything in common. It might also have worked if there hadn't been another character who treated Diane Keaton's character, and himself, with respect and genuine affection.
The film might have worked for me, if the Jack Nicholson character had been redeemed at the end -- as he is -- and left alone to find a new life now that he's worked out his old issues.
Instead, this woman who has been dating a man who loves and respects her, who gets her sense of humor, and who seems to be a pretty good kisser (we don't get a sex scene with him, sadly) for SIX MONTHS gets back together with a man who hasn't spoken to her in EIGHT MONTHS. I have a hard time believing Jack Nicholson's penis is that much of a magic wand.
Now, I'm all for the healing power of sex, and, yes, passion is just as important as respect. However, the Nicholson/Keaton sex scene revolted me, not for their respective bodies or anything -- Diane Keaton is gorgeous and Jack Nicholson didn't do anything for me when he was younger -- but because, as he's climbing on top of her, he asks about birth control -- she mentions menopause -- and he says "Who's a lucky boy."
This character is reputed to have slept with hundreds of women, and from the on-screen evidence, the reputation is accurate. Post-menopausal women do not have immunity from STDs. Any man with one iota of respect for his bedmate would have used a condom without asking.
What really bothers me, though, is that the writer-director, Nancy Meyer, understands the hallmarks of a good person. She hands them to Keanu Reeves' character.
His character talks to Diane Keaton's about her work. When they're shown together, it's usually by warm light. He respects her shyness, but shakes his head when she tries to say she's not beautiful. They are shown as comfortable together from the very beginning. They laugh together. There's an ease to their physicality together that never manifests when Keaton is with Nicholson.
But what's important is that the woman ends up happy with a man who is more successful than she is -- difficult for the "most successful female playwright since Lillian Hellman" to find -- and that the man is older than she is.
I know this type of chick flick is a Cinderella fantasy of sorts, but it really bothers me that the story we're telling ourselves is that conflict will lead to passion, love cannot be easy, and stay within your (age, class, race) limits.
GAAAGH!
