10 Chick Flick Cliches...

... Courtesy of the male stars of He's Just Not That Into You:



This video is great -- it manages a neat trick, of both thoroughly skewering my beloved chick flicks, while also reminding me why I love them so much!

(Via Get the Big Picture)

More goodies coming soon, I promise -- Oscar nominations, life on the chick flick trail in NYC (oh yeah, did I mention I kind of moved here?), and some Coming Soon and Screening Log catch-up!

Whole Lotta Nominating Goin' On!

Whew! While I've been otherwise occupied, a veritable slew of awards and award nominations have been handed out.

Here's the chick flick cheat sheet:

Golden Raspberries

The Razzies are normally our chance to shine, but remarkably enough, we're under-represented this year. (A banner year for chick flicks, or an especially bad year for man movies? Tough to say.)

In the "Worst Picture" category, only High School Musical 3, The Hottie and the Nottie, and The Love Guru come close to qualifying. And really - do we have to associated with any of them? I hopes not.

Into purer chick flick territory: Dane Cook and Kate Hudson both took worst acting nominations for My Best Friend's Girl, while Ashton Kutcher and Cameron Diaz represented for What Happens in Vegas. All of the above also landed "Worst Couple" nominations, as did Kate Hudson (again) and Matthew McConaughey, for Fool's Gold, and "any couple in Mamma Mia" for, well, Mamma Mia.

The Women scored a nod for Worst Sequel, Prequel, Remake or Rip-Off, and "the cast of The Women" was also nominated for Worst Actress. Ouch.

Here's hoping Sylvester Stallone takes home most of the actual statuettes this year!

Writers Guild of America

The good folks at the Writers Guild have nominated Vicky Cristina Barcelona for Best Original Screenplay. They also gave Slumdog Millionaire the nod for Best Adapted Screenplay -- and speaking of which, can we adopt Slumdog into the chick flick fold?

It's a love story. There's a dance number at the end. It's also fabulous. I say we claim it!

Directors Guild of America

Again, our adoptive chick flick Slumdog gets a nomination, for Danny Boyle's direction. Hurray for flexible definitions of film sub-genres!

People's Choice Awards

Over at the awards show that proves (to many film critics) the inadequcies of democracy, there's plenty of chick flick action. (Surprised?) 27 Dresses beat out Mamma Mia! for Favorite Comedy, Mamma Mia! and Sex and the City lost out (to The Dark Knight, definitely not a chick flick) on Favorite Cast, Baby Mama's Tina Fey and Amy Poehler got denied for Favorite On-Screen Match-Up, and chick flick maestro (maestra?) Kate Hudson was named Favorite Leading Lady.

Critics Choice Awards

Finally, the antithesis of the People's Choice: the Critics Choice. Once again, I'm leaning on Slumdog, here, and it racks 'em up. Best Picture, Best Director, Best Composer, Best Writer, and Best Actor! Also, Anne Hathaway tied with Meryl Streep (for Doubt, not Mamma Mia, silly) for her performance in Rachel Getting Married.

More soon! The Golden Globes get under way in just over 40 minutes!

Screening Log - Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2

I'd be lying if I said Sisterhood 2 was everything I hoped it would be.

But then again, with this kind of movie, sometimes you have to blame the hopes, not the flick.

Though I didn't know it at the time, Sisterhood 1 set an impossible task for its sequel. (Yep, even more so than usual.) It messed with a couple of key plot lines from the first book, thus leaving any future films based on the other books to either, a) attempt some serious plotting acrobatics, or b) diverge entirely.

Either would have been tricky. But the producers of the sequel, instead, opted to land somewhere in the middle: mashing together plots from all three remaining books (hence the acrobatics) while also omitting generously, and even making a few things up where it suited them. (Funny, didn't one of the characters have a quasi-affair with a married man in the print version? Yeah, I thought so too. But that wouldn't fly with the under-12 set, would it?)

I know, I know. Comparisons to "the book version" are tiresome - but in this case, where some plot lines have been entirely altered or omitted (and not all that adeptly), they're hard to avoid. To my eye, as someone who's read the books, the narrative felt rushed and awkward. I'd guess even film-only Sisterhood fans would feel the same way. (Carmen's mom got married? What about her father and stepfamily? Brian and Tibby are together, and Lena and Kostos aren't? Wha...?)

Okay, enough about the plotting. The gals were great - Amber Tamblyn in particular impressed me - and still had that natural, fun, "BFFs 4eva!" vibe. The eye candy on display was man-tastic throughout. (Who knew Leonardo "The Perfect Score" Nam was hiding those goodies under his ironic t-shirts?) And, of course, the flick provided that gooey, feel-good Sisterhood message that we all (okay, some of us) know and love.

Sure, they dropped some of my favorite sub-plots. I can always re-read the books the next time I hit a beach, and in the meantime, I'm going to bed smiling.

Just a reminder: Here's what I thought of the first installment.

Zingers of the Week - SATC Edition!

Finally! My self-imposed ban on SATC reviews and responses is rescinded. This'll be a round-up of worthwhile Sex and the City movie links in general, with some zingers thrown in.

Over at CBC.ca, Katrina Onstad has a review that's mostly laudatory, not to mention a little misty-eyed about the glory days of the TV show and what it meant to so many women.

"Women with sexual appetites choosing their own futures, subverting expectation and propriety – that’s a pop-culture image that didn’t really exist before SATC debuted a decade ago, and has faded fast since the show’s conclusion," Onstad writes. "At a time when the oldest women in popular culture are Miley Cyrus and the Gossip Girl teens, the film is sure to curry favour with female audiences who are hungry to see women – no matter how unlikely their wardrobes – on screen again," she adds later.

CBC also has this great (unlikely as it might sound) comparison between Sex and the City and Little Women, and of course, a pop quiz.

In The Globe and Mail, Rick Groen gives the flick a stinging ZERO stars - and this masterful take-down.

Want some highlights? I hardly know where to start. Here's one: "Bad summer films, full of furious hype and signifying nothing, are hardly exceptional these days, nor is the sound they typically make: the dull scrape of a culture hitting rock bottom. Yet this one seems uniquely bad; this one is a threshold-breaker with a different sound, the crack of rock-bottom giving way to a whole deeper layer of magma." Or this: "To be sure, the impending nuptials hint at the presence of something akin to a plot, which lazily diverges to include all the girls in something akin to subplots." Or how about: "The male characters, straight and gay, are essentially just window-dressing here, and since that decorative job has historically been women's work in the movies, I suppose the picture can at least claim the distinction of transferring the inequity across gender lines – hoping, perhaps, that two wrongs add up to Mr. Right."

Ouch!

Slate's Timothy Noah asks a provocative question: "Is Sex and the City our culture's consolation prize to Hillary Clinton's supporters?" Here's an excerpt:

Sex and the City and the presidential candidacy of Hillary Clinton will, at the very least, be perceived in the distant future as twin manifestations of a weirdly conflicted feminism. As the first serious female candidate for president, Clinton broke a glass ceiling. But it's problematic that this symbol of women's progress achieved prominence as the wife of a successful male politician—one whose flagrant affair with a White House intern nearly destroyed his own presidency but not his marriage. And indeed, a fair number of prominent feminists, including Barbara Ehrenreich, Katha Pollitt, Susan Sarandon, and Mary Gordon, cast their lot with Obama.

Sex and the City, meanwhile, is a narrative that on the one hand celebrates female independence, sexual fulfillment, and career success—all important feminist goals—but on the other hand portrays women as clothes-obsessed, money-obsessed, status-obsessed, and hell-bent on catching a rich husband. (Or so I've gleaned from watching a few episodes of the TV show and reading reviews of the film.) Clinton and Sex and the City both represent a somewhat compromised female dream of power. Hillary Clinton nearly won the Democratic nomination, but only after marrying Mr. Big. Sex and the City celebrates camaraderie among strong women, but don't ask these ladies to sacrifice their Jean Paul Gaultier pajamas to pay for government-guaranteed, quality universal child care.

And that's just the beginning of the coverage from Sex-happy Slate. Dana Stevens is bang-on as usual. Second only to her reference to Jennifer Hudson as Carrie's "Girl Friday", here are the highlights:

The show's values are reprehensible, its view of gender relations cartoonish, its puns execrable. I honestly believe, as I wrote when the series finale aired in 2004, that Sex and the City is singlehandedly responsible for a measurable uptick in the number of materialistic twits in New York City and perhaps the world. And yet … and yet … there's a core truth to the show's depiction of female friendship that had me awaiting the big-screen version with exactly the kind of cream-puff nostalgia the movie's marketers are bargaining for. I want to know how the girls are doing, what's happened to them in the four years since I last joined them at brunch, and what in the name of God they're wearing.

She goes on to note: "The movie is mercifully light on those self-searching Carrie-at-the-computer scenes that were one of the series' recurring disappointments: Why did she have to be such a bad writer?" But, in the end...

If you bear even a grudging affection for the show's utopic vision of female bonding as the greatest love of all, you may get choked up when Carrie appears at Miranda's door one shitty New Year's Eve (clad only in pajamas, a sequined cloche, a full-length fur, and what appear to be patent-leather spats) and reassures her friend, "You're not alone."

More from Slate: The Medical Examiner column on the sexual habits of city girls vs. country girls. Julia Turner wonders when Carrie became a label whore. ("On Sex and the City, clothes have always served as a metaphor. Carrie's sartorial creativity symbolizes what's most appealing about her character: her openness to life and her belief that there are countless good ways to live it. The film shows us a Carrie with narrowed horizons—both sartorially and romantically. Television Carrie created her own fantasies; movie Carrie gets hers off the rack.") The Moneybox column tackles the movie's jam-packed product placement schedule. And, finally, four Slate writers really dig in and assess the movie - spoilers and all.

Every review I've read has mentioned Jennifer Hudson's character - Slate's sister site The Root offers a full article on "Saint Louise" and the phenomenon of the Black Best Friend (BBF).

Finally, fittingly, we'll close with Ella Taylor of The Village Voice:

The show's lifeblood — its trippy, backtalking, très gay script — sags into the garden-variety sassiness you'd find on any network sitcom. After sampling the movie's bloodless dialogue, I missed the show's bitchy one-liners like hell. And despite the pubic hair, well-hung penis, and mildly graphic Malibu copulating that won the movie its R rating, there are more bad sex jokes than good sex.

And so ends the chick flick event of the year.

Screening Log - Sex and the City

The genius of Sex and the City, the television show - in addition, of course, to the tightly-paced, funny writing, the occasionally revolutionary messages behind the gals' sexual behaviour, and the fabulous Manhattan backdrop - was the way each episode hung together while following four distinct story arcs. Every week, Carrie's over-arching question linked the action in each woman's life; that question, as much as the brunches and Cosmos, was what kept the ensemble together.

It's that tight, linked plotting that the movie lacks more than anything else. Instead, Carrie's story dominates all the rest. (I know, I know. She's technically the "main" character - but she's also most fans' least favourite. Didn't the producers get the memo?) Samantha's and Charlotte's lives are practically reduced to footnotes; Smith, Harry, and Stanford Blatch to virtual cameos. Miranda, meanwhile, has big things happening in her life - but her friends, inexplicably, ignore her storyline to obsess about Carrie's. Jennifer Hudson's "Saint Louise" is an odd, somewhat forced, deus ex machina - and also one of the more shameless bits of tokenism I've seen in awhile. And did anyone else think the extended intro/re-cap was reminiscent of the first chapter of a Baby-Sitters Club book?

The dialogue is uneven, with some moments finding the old spark and others that are cringe-worthy. There are at least two instances of totally gratuitous slow-motion. And Smith Jerrod, in the few times we see him, just isn't as smokin' hot as he used to be.

But with all that said, we all know reunions can be hard. I laughed. I cried a little. And even with the awkward moments, it was still fun to spend a couple of hours catching up with four old friends.

Waiting For Manolo

I know, I know - I've gone silent during the biggest Chick Flick week of the year.

But I have an excuse! I was in New York City all last week, getting my Miranda and Samantha on. I had a few good wanders through Greenwich Village, the East Village, Soho, the Bowery, Chelsea and more of the gals' stomping grounds. And everywhere I went, posters and billboards for the Sex and the City movie watched me pass...

Friday night, when the movie opened, I was stuck on an Amtrak train somewhere in upstate New York, getting welcomed home (and by that I mean interrogated) by Canadian customs. So no, I haven't seen it yet. (I'm holding out for Cheap Tuesday - very un-Charlotte of me, I know.)

I also haven't read a single review or talked to anyone who's seen it, and I plan on keeping it that way for another 24 hours. So no spoilers!

I'll be back tomorrow night with a Screening Log and a belated Picks of the Week from the zillions of reviews out there.

S&C - The Movie!

So I had almost managed to forget about the upcoming Sex and the City movie - there's been so little hype since the first announcement that all the gals (and all the guys) were signed on. Then, a couple weeks ago, I saw re-runs of Big's famous dash to Paris. Last week, I saw the trailer on TV for the first time. And now I'm way excited!

Of course, a fave TV show going to the big screen is no different than a fave book - caution must be exercised to avoid having high hopes crushed. Still, the folks at HBO have always been so responsible with this series - aside from that phase in Season 5 when Carrie was even more of a selfish bitch than usual - and I'm hoping/assuming that they wouldn't have done the movie if they couldn't do it right.

The other potential problem, of course, is the need for conflict. Everything was tied up so nicely at the end of the show, and naturally they'll have to tear some of that happiness apart in the movie. The big question will be whether the new inevitable happy ending is as satisfying for all us long-term fans as the original one was? Will 2 hours be enough for us to approve of a new man for one of our girls? Will whatever tying-up of loose ends that they do feel forced or predictable?

I guess we'll have to wait and see... Here's the trailer:

Dames from Dixie

Sweet Home Alabama (2002)
Fried Green Tomatoes (1991)

“What we need,” a friend tells Evelyn Couch early in Fried Green Tomatoes, “is an assertiveness training class for Southern women – but that’s a contradiction in terms, isn’t it?”

If these two movies are anything to go by, the only contradiction is the idea that Southern women need any assertiveness training at all. There are so many movies out there about feisty Southern gals (see also: Steel Magnolias, Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, or even Gone With the Wind) that they could almost form their own sub-genre. And in honour of my upcoming road trip through the Deep South, I decided to revisit a couple of old favourites.

Sweet Home Alabama, I’m willing to admit, is in many ways a deeply flawed film. Dangling plot threads abound (what is the deal with Mel’s mom, anyway?), Mel’s miraculous two-day turn-around – after seven years of pretending Alabama didn’t exist – is a bit hard to swallow even for a chick flick-lover like myself, and of course, if anyone punched out the Mayor of New York, Secret Service would probably shoot the perp on the spot. But still, I love this silly little movie. I love it so much, I watched it twice in the course of a seven-day rental. Next time I see it on the sale rack at the pharmacy, I’ll probably buy it, and add it to my collection of pure comfort food flicks.

In case you’re not already familiar, it follows the story of Melanie Carmichael (Reese Witherspoon), an up-and-coming New York fashion designer who’s just gotten engaged to the highly-eligible bachelor Andrew Jennings (Dr. McDreamy himself, Patrick Dempsey). There’s just one catch: Mel’s been hiding an awful lot from her pals in New York, including a trailer-trash background in rural Alabama and a ne’er-do-well husband named Jake (the delicious Josh Lucas). In a whirlwind trip home to demand a divorce, Mel makes stops in all the right places: the honky-tonk, the county fair, even the local Coon Dog Cemetery. Along the way, she confronts her past, her parents, and her ex-soulmate, Jake. Sparks fly, naturally, and we all know how it ends. (Note to the producers of Here On Earth: the country boy is always supposed to win!)

Yes, it’s predictable. Yes, it has plot holes big enough to lose an old beat-up pickup in. Yes, a lot of the comedy comes from tired Yankee-vs-Southerner stereotypes. And yes, the slow-motion final kiss is totally over-the-top. But Josh Lucas and Reese Witherspoon have great chemistry, and his intensity makes you really believe he’s been pining for years, while Witherspoon can make any movie look good without even trying. Plus, all flaws aside, it’s a really nice story about remembering our roots and being ourselves. I’m getting an urge for another re-watch just thinking about it…

Fried Green Tomatoes, on the other hand, is a movie that’s difficult to find a flaw in: fantastic, understated script; fully-fleshed characters, wonderfully brought to life; great, evocative music; and a level of attention paid to the set and the costumes that’s rare in movies these days – every detail is perfect, and each contributes in its way to the development of the characters and the advancement of the storyline. As I wrote in a Screening Log entry over at Not Coming To A Theater Near You, Fried Green Tomatoes is possible “the best evidence I can come up with to prove that ‘chick flick’ doesn’t have to be a slur.”

There are two interconnected stories here: one follows Evelyn Couch (Kathy Bates), a modern-day housewife whose frustrations with her weight, her marriage, and her life more generally, are threatening to overwhelm her. On a visit to a nursing home she meets Linny (the fantastic Jessica Tandy), who introduces her to the characters of her youth, in a tiny town called Whistle Stop. Evelyn finds herself coming back week after week to hear more about Idgie, the rebellious daughter of the Threadgoode family, and Ruth, the proper young woman she befriends. As Idgie and Ruth confront death, poverty, racism, and domestic abuse, almost always with a large dose of humour and sass, Evelyn begins to learn how to take control of her life, too. It’s beautiful, funny, and will almost certainly make you cry. Highly recommended.

Sweet Home Alabama is not likely to go down well with the lads (although if you meet a guy who loves this movie, please give him my contact info), but is great for girls nights, solo viewing, or even a night in with Mom. Fried Green Tomatoes is technically a chick flick, but anyone who enjoys a good story, well-told and well-filmed, should appreciate it.

Screening Log - How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days

This was my first re-watch since I wrote Revenge of the Scribes almost exactly one year ago, and I can’t say anything’s changed. This is still a favourite (though I’m still not quite ready to call it a capital-c Classic), Matthew McConaughey is still paralysingly attractive, and I still lose my grip on that whole “suspension of disbelief” thing when Andie tries to sell her boss on a story about Tajikistan.

Do I have anything new to add? Well, I’d say 27 Dresses co-stars Marsden and Heigl give Hudson and McConaughey a run for their money in the “Worst Rom-Com Karaoke Scene” sweepstakes. Also, this was the first time I’d seen the bonus footage: no blooper reel and no original theatrical trailer, but some cool interviews in a series of spots about casting. As bonus footage goes, I guess that’s about a 3.5/5.

If you haven’t seen this one yet, seriously, get on it.

Screening Log - Saved!

I’ve lost count of the times I’ve heard someone say, “I can’t stand Mandy Moore, but I loved her in Saved!” So I was curious to see my own reaction to the movie.

Because the truth is, I love Mandy Moore. I have a recurring daydream where we meet somehow, and become BFFs. She styles my hair and takes me shopping at cool vintage boutiques in Brooklyn, and I console her by saying that she’s better off without that quirky, self-obsessed loser Zach Braff, even if Scrubs is my favourite show…

I digress. Back to the movie: in my book, Saved! is everything a teen comedy should be. You’ve got the physical comedy, the silly romantic entanglements, the social isolation most everyone can relate to, a bit of commentary on “tolerance” and “difference” and all those other –nce words, and finally the heart-warming pay-off that I always look for in a teen rom-com, even one as smart and sassy as this.

Saved! has officially joined my short list of teen movies that entirely validate the existence of the genre, alongside things like Jawbreaker, Mean Girls, and The Girl Next Door. If only we could have more of these, and fewer straight-to-DVD American Pie sequels.

Plus, who knew my girl Mandy could do “conniving bitch” so well?

Screening Log - Before Sunrise / Before Sunset

Okay, so maybe to some these two Euro-romances are old news, but I just discovered them and I am swooning like Julie Delpy on the ferris wheel…

Before Sunrise (1995) is THE classic backpacker romance. Jessie and Celine (Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy) meet on a train in Europe: she’s heading home to Paris, he’s getting off in Vienna for a flight home to the US the next morning. They click; they get off the train together; they spend a night wandering around Vienna. That’s pretty much it, but I thought it was beautiful – nice footage of both classic landmarks and Viennese street scenes, great music, and it’s like spending two hours eavesdropping on a conversation between two pretty interesting people. There’s a voyeuristic enjoyment in watching their connection develop.

Caveat: Even as I was loving the movie, I couldn’t help thinking that if I’d watched it five, three, or even two years ago, I might have hated it. The thing is, nothing really happens. They just walk around and talk: about love, death, the usual late-night backpacker fare. If you’ve recently done the Europe backpacking thing, or if you just like slow-moving, beautiful films that emphasize character and setting more than action, give this one a shot.

Before Sunset (2004) catches up with Jessie and Celine as they meet again nine years later, in Paris. This time their wandering and talking covers only the span of an afternoon, so it is almost like watching them in real time as they re-discover their old connection. There’s less emphasis on place here (although still some great Seine-side shots and a café scene) but you really get to know more about the characters, their lives, their fears, etc. I had one of those dopey, half-teary smiles on my face the whole time.

Ps: Turns out Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy collaborated with Richard Linklater on the script for the second movie… and it was really pretty good. Makes me feel bad for all those cracks I took at Ethan Hawke’s second career as a novelist – maybe I ought to give the guy a chance?

Love in New York

Prime (2005)

Trust the Man (2005)

What do two of the greatest chick flicks of all time have in common? Well, for one, both are set in New York City, and in both, the city is more than just a backdrop; it becomes a part of the fabric of the story. For another, neither are really chick flicks: their appeal is near-universal. Even the term ‘romantic comedy’ doesn’t really fit. Both are comedies in the same way that life is a comedy; sure, they have funny moments, but they’re also touching, sad, complex, and above all, honest about the way men and women interact.

I am talking, of course, about Annie Hall, the Woody Allen classic that was the last comedy to win the Academy Award for Best Picture, and Rob Reiner’s When Harry Met Sally. Together with Allen’s Manhattan, they set the gold standard for an entire sub-genre of chick flicks, the New York City rom-coms. Trademarks of the sub-genre include lengthy montages of Manhattan scenery, and lead characters in their late 20s or early 30s with demanding high-powered careers and/or artistic aspirations, regular visits to therapists, and, often, an ‘urban family’ of like-minded friends doling out advice. Many of these movies also attempt a higher degree of wit and insight than your average chick flick; however, since the bar was set by Allen and Reiner in decades past, few have really pulled off this last trait.

In 2005, two fresh attempts were released: Ben Younger’s Prime and Bart Freundlich’s Trust the Man. Both directors consciously attempted to re-create the magic of Annie Hall and When Harry Met Sally (thank you, DVD bonus footage) and while neither is perfect – and both were largely overlooked at the box office – they are, for me, two of the better efforts I have seen in recent years.

Prime stars Uma Thurman as Rafi Gardet, a recently divorced professional who is just starting to put the pieces back together when she meets David Bloomberg (Bryan Greenberg - I heart him!), a twenty-three year old aspiring artist. Rafi’s shrink Lisa (Meryl Streep) is thrilled about the relationship… until she learns that Rafi’s new flame is her son. This is where Prime went wrong in the lead-up to its release, I think – the trailers billed it as a silly riff on the old mistaken-identity, who’s-who theme. From the previews, I expected it to be all door-slamming, closet-hiding, hilarious-costume type stuff, but while there’s some of that in the movie, there is so much more to Prime than goofy confusion.

The movie tackles real issues head on – from the problems that can crop up when two people love each other but are at very different stages in their lives, to the expectations of parents and family members about who their children ought to be settling down with. Uma Thurman and Bryan Greenberg have great chemistry, and Meryl Streep is, as usual, fantastic as a woman forced to think about supporting her son’s choices the same way she does her clients. Smart, funny, moving, with a great ending that got me a little teary – I think this one will become a required annual re-watch for me.

Trust the Man stars David Duchovny, Julianne Moore (director Bart Freundlich’s real-life wife), Billy Crudup, and Maggie Gyllenhaal as two inter-connected couples, both at crossroads in their relationships. Duchovny and Moore’s Tom and Rebecca are married with children, and Tom is adjusting to becoming a stay-at-home dad as Rebecca pursues her theater career. Billy Crudup plays Rebecca’s younger brother Tobey, and Maggie Gyllenhaal is Elaine, children’s book author and Tobey’s long-suffering girlfriend of eight years. As both relationships begin to unravel, the friendships between Tobey and Tom, and Rebecca and Elaine, are put under strain as well.

The cast is amazing and the script is fantastic, full of those slightly grim, funny-because-they’re-true relationship moments. Tobey and Tom in particular feel like real, flawed, authentic characters, and Freundlich does a great job of explaining them without necessarily forgiving them too easily. The movie lost me a little towards the end (I can rarely survive public confessions of love or any use of slow-motion), but still, all in all, it’s worthy of being called a descendant of the classics.

Both make great solo viewing (Prime especially – grab some Kleenex) and Trust the Man is probably one that the lads can enjoy as well. Trust the Man might also make good mother-daughter viewing, but I wouldn’t watch Prime with my mother unless I was trying to send her a message. (And even then, I’d find a convenient excuse to leave the room during the steamier scenes… but that’s me being kind of uptight.) Both these movies have been tragically overlooked – if you like smart movies about the way people really relate to each other, go out and rent them asap!

How I learned to stop worrying and love chick flicks

This entry was first posted to deva.toadfire.com on May 10, 2006. Toadfire was the first home of "Chick Flicks: The Good, The Bad, and The Fugly" but I've recently decided to move over here to Blogger - partly in the hope that a change of scenery will get me posting more often again! Over the next couple days I'll be posting all of the Toadfire archive, and then I'll get going on some new content.

For a long time I was one of those self-conscious young girls who is most self-conscious about, well, behaving like a young girl. I’d always been a tomboy, but when I hit my teenage years I took even this natural tendency and deliberately exaggerated it. I trained myself to listen to rock instead of pop – a painful regime that included asking for a Stone Temple Pilots tape for my 12^th birthday despite having never heard their music, and then playing it over and over until it didn’t hurt anymore – and, later, to drink beer instead of Mike’s Hard Lemonade. I had a horror of becoming one of the many silly, vapid girls that I felt myself to be surrounded by, and consequently I went out of my way to avoid anything I deemed predictably feminine: girly sports, girly music, and, most importantly, girly movies.

I was sixteen, going on seventeen, when this long process of de-girlification began to reverse itself, at least in one area of my life. It was grade eleven: I had my first job, I had a driver’s licence, and both my parents were in relationships that involved frequent weekends out of town – my dad to my future stepmother’s home town two hours away, and my mom to my future stepfather’s cottage at the lake, his main joy in life. The thrill of throwing elicit drinking parties wore off quickly, and I soon settled into a weekend routine of socializing at work and taking some downtime in the evenings. It wasn’t long before I started making regular trips to the local video store.

I don’t remember if I made any initial attempt to improve my knowledge of classic or independent films. I know I certainly never ventured into the horror section – this is where I confess that I actually screamed during Scream – and I could never be sure how bloody or suspenseful a given action movie might be. Inevitably, I wound up in the comedy section.

And there they were. Calling to me... On Sunday evenings the video store was usually near-empty. And I had an empty house waiting for me. No one would ever know…

In the last year or two of high school, my friends and I started going back to the movies more often – our early fascination with drinking had worn off and we were ready to start socializing on more sober terms again. We went to see a lot of what one might call trashy teen comedies, but I at least was still in denial: I was going as a joke, for a laugh, just for something to do. When I was hit with a bizarrely late case of chicken pox in the final months before university, I responded by renting every high school graduation movie I could get my hands on, and spent two weeks in a blissfully numb Benadryl-induced coma in front of the television set. But that was, you know, only because I couldn’t watch a proper movie in that state. It wasn’t because I liked them.

University was a fresh start for me. Almost a coming out of the closet, if you will. I didn’t dress any differently, and my musical tastes and drinking habits generally stayed true to their training, but I was suddenly freed from my own self-image as, well, a girl-hater. No one knew me; no one had any assumptions about me at all. My new friends were distinctly girlier than the high school crew, and though I was still clearly the tomboy of the group I was exposed to a whole new world of vodka and 7up with grenadine, top 40 pop music, and – of course – girls’ nights out to the local movie theater. What started as a guilty pleasure turned gradually to an open enjoyment, and now – four years later – to a proud and loud adoration of chick flicks. Funny or angst-riddled, rom-com or tear-jerker, with or without Julia Roberts and Richard Gere – I love girly movies.

And I’m not ashamed to admit it.