*Two Kernels
The latest rom-com entry of the summer season is "The Ugly Truth," a movie I had actually been looking forward to seeing based on the amusing trailers and the casting of Katherine Heigl, whom I enjoyed in the movie "Knocked Up," as well as on the TV series "Grey's Anatomy." Alas, this is one of those films in which the trailer is better than the actual movie, more because of creative editing than because the marketing folks put the best bits in the preview. The ugly truth is, there aren't any best bits.
Heigl plays a character very similar to the one she portrayed in "Knocked Up"---a smart workaholic in the television industry who is beautiful, but unlucky in love. Here she is the producer of a local morning news show in Sacramento whose ratings are tanking. The station manager decides to draw in Jerry Springer fans by hiring Gerard Butler, a cable shock jock whose bits entitled "The Ugly Truth" purport to explain how men really think. His act relies on the belief that meaningful relationships are bogus because men are simple apes guided by their private parts. Heigl is completely repulsed by his philosophies, though he proves great for ratings. Against her better judgment, she even helps him perfect his neanderthal schtick, if only to save her news show. The best scene in the movie is a dream in which she imagines how far she might sink to his level just to win ratings.
Then, on a bet to get rid of Butler, she agrees to follow his advice in her own love life. Despite her best efforts, she can't seem to find the man who meets her 10 criteria for the perfect mate, until she runs into her doctor neighbor. Butler guarantees her success in snagging this perfect guy, if she follows his advice and changes everything about herself. Of course, eventually she figures out that the guy isn't so perfect if he can't accept her for who she really is. Guess who turns out to be the real perfect guy?
As with any rom-com, much depends on how funny the gags are and how much we care about the characters. Unfortunately, this one comes up short. I never laughed out loud once in the theater. A couple of crude gags involving soda spilled on a crotch and vibrating underwear simply fall flat. Despite an intriguing premise of discussing the differences between male and female expectations, the dialogue lacks wit and creativity. In fact, the whole film feels like an effort that never lives up to its potential.
And I never really cared much about the characters. Unlike films such as "Knocked Up" and more recently, "The Proposal," none of the supporting characters is interesting or funny. The best rom-coms know how to accessorize with a good supporting cast. As for the main couple, I just wasn't feeling the love. There are hints of a relationship building as a friendship grows between the two, but I wasn't sold by the finale. Also, while hints are dropped that Butler's character contains more depth than he allows for his TV persona, the story could have used a few more scenes to establish this nice guy lurking beneath the pig exterior. A few more tweaks on the screenplay and at least ten minutes of crucial footage added to the 94-minute movie could have bumped this from a mediocre film into a good one. Too bad.
Finally, it is a testament to Katherine Heigl's star quality that I enjoyed watching her onscreen, even if I didn't care for the movie. She definitely has presence, and based on her previous work (including her Emmy-winning stint on G.A.), she has talent. I fear, though, that she needs to be pickier with her big-screen material, lest she wind up shunted to the B-list of rom-com flicks. If she is going to stick with rom-coms, at least pick quality material. Better yet, break out of the rom-com formula and do something different. It is a risk, but one that has worked well for the likes of Julia Roberts. Not so much for Sandra Bullock, but Sandy is still making good rom-coms (see previous review of "The Proposal") mainly because her strength is comedy. She is more of a modern-day Lucille Ball.
So far, Heigl has not excelled as a comedienne. She is better as the straight woman or in drama (which so far has been limited to television), but producers seem to want to push her into the rom-com mold. I'm sure her great beauty contributes to such casting. Every rom-com movie-maker is looking for the next Julia Roberts. But Roberts won an Oscar for . . . a drama and successfully broke out of the rom-com mold. In that respect, Katherine Heigl has the potential to truly be the next Julia Roberts. Heigl would do well to recall that she won her Emmy for dramatic acting. She should take a chance and use those skills on the big screen. Just pick a better script than she chose for this lame rom-com.
Yours in Sisterhood - VB
*The Henhouse Movie Rating System:
Four kernels – An exceptional film worth paying for a babysitter to see in the theater, or worth staying up late to watch on DVD after the kids have gone to bed and devoting your full attention to.
Three kernels – A good film that has many entertaining elements and might be worth seeing in the theater if you have a free babysitting offer from relatives or renting to watch while folding the laundry.
Two kernels – A so-so movie that might be worth seeing if it happens to be on cable and you want something to take your mind off washing dishes without thinking too hard.
One kernel – A bad film only worth watching if you need an unintentional laugh or if it’s the only decent thing you can find on free TV while breastfeeding at 2 a.m.
Zero kernels – A film SO awful you should avoid at all costs; yes, worse than watching even a bad infomercial for the 20th time while breastfeeding at 2 a.m.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Beauty Shops as Sacred Spaces
Rebecca Wells's latest novel, The Crowning Glory of Calla Lily Ponder, tells the story of a woman whose destiny is linked to the perfection of hair. Early in the book, Calla Lily Ponder recounts vivid memories of growing up in the shadow of her mother's beauty shop in a small Louisiana town. The shop, wonderfully named The Crowning Glory Beauty Porch, is more than just a place where women get their hair done. It is a place for sharing gossip, learning the ways of the world, and in some cases, healing the soul. In one touching scene, Calla Lily realizes her own calling as she watches her mother ease a widow's pain through a loving shampoo and set---the beautician as minister surrounded by mirrors and shampoo bottles rather than stained glass.
Louisiana native Wells is a master at vividly portraying setting (always within her home state) and character (if ever a state was full of characters, it's Louisiana). In describing this small town beauty shop (called the Porch because it is, literally, built on the family's back porch), Wells perfectly captures the spirit and feel of the beauty parlor for women of all ages.
Which got me to thinking: what is it about this place, the beauty parlor, that makes it a sacred space for women? Certainly not every establishment that services hair qualifies. Suffice to say that most large-scale chains function mainly as a site of commerce for speedy and cheap service rather than as holy ground. Those are mere hair-cutting stores. But true beauty parlors still exist, those that feed the soul as well as set the hair, and not just in small towns.
Part of the beauty shop appeal is surely the ability to get together with other women, though men are sometimes allowed in (and small children, as my sons have learned). There is also an intimacy to the process of taking care of someone's hair, or even doing a manicure or pedicure. It involves the human touch and a certain amount of trust on the part of the client. Perhaps that is why so many women feel comfortable sharing information with their hairdresser, even personal details they might not share with anyone else. For women who establish a routine with a stylist, the relationship becomes personal. They have regular get togethers, sometimes as often as once a week, that rival any other friendships. It usually provides a relaxing break from other responsibilities, a time in which the client can "let her hair down," both literally and figuratively.
When I completed my first novel a few months ago, the first person I asked to read it was my hairdresser. I have been going to her for several years now. She works in a family-owned shop located in a building that was once a house and still looks like it. If you drop into the shop at certain times, you are sure to see "the regulars," like the Thursday morning crowd that gathers every week at 10 a.m. Through them I have learned more about public opinions, local news, and popular culture than I often do from the daily newspaper.
My hairdresser is not a professional writer, but rather a prolific reader and honest evaluator of written works. Age and gender-wise, she also fits the demographic of my target readership. I am not the first writer whose work she has evaluated. In a town full of artists, she has become a savvy first reader. A screenplay she reviewed for another client has been optioned and is in now in pre-production. For many years the late, great Molly Ivins was a client. This lady has serviced some talented heads. If we trust her with our heads, we can trust her with our work. She has a wisdom and insight that comes from years of living and interactions with the human race. It is that wisdom and insight that we seek from her during our visits, like spiritual pilgrims beckoning our sage. For our work to be acceptable, they must be blessed by passing "the beauty shop test."
In a world of cheaper and faster options, there is value in the healing, nurturing, and educational realm of the beauty shop. The sacred space that Wells describes still exists and is worth seeking out. Especially on bad hair days.
Yours in Sisterhood - VB
Louisiana native Wells is a master at vividly portraying setting (always within her home state) and character (if ever a state was full of characters, it's Louisiana). In describing this small town beauty shop (called the Porch because it is, literally, built on the family's back porch), Wells perfectly captures the spirit and feel of the beauty parlor for women of all ages.
Which got me to thinking: what is it about this place, the beauty parlor, that makes it a sacred space for women? Certainly not every establishment that services hair qualifies. Suffice to say that most large-scale chains function mainly as a site of commerce for speedy and cheap service rather than as holy ground. Those are mere hair-cutting stores. But true beauty parlors still exist, those that feed the soul as well as set the hair, and not just in small towns.
Part of the beauty shop appeal is surely the ability to get together with other women, though men are sometimes allowed in (and small children, as my sons have learned). There is also an intimacy to the process of taking care of someone's hair, or even doing a manicure or pedicure. It involves the human touch and a certain amount of trust on the part of the client. Perhaps that is why so many women feel comfortable sharing information with their hairdresser, even personal details they might not share with anyone else. For women who establish a routine with a stylist, the relationship becomes personal. They have regular get togethers, sometimes as often as once a week, that rival any other friendships. It usually provides a relaxing break from other responsibilities, a time in which the client can "let her hair down," both literally and figuratively.
When I completed my first novel a few months ago, the first person I asked to read it was my hairdresser. I have been going to her for several years now. She works in a family-owned shop located in a building that was once a house and still looks like it. If you drop into the shop at certain times, you are sure to see "the regulars," like the Thursday morning crowd that gathers every week at 10 a.m. Through them I have learned more about public opinions, local news, and popular culture than I often do from the daily newspaper.
My hairdresser is not a professional writer, but rather a prolific reader and honest evaluator of written works. Age and gender-wise, she also fits the demographic of my target readership. I am not the first writer whose work she has evaluated. In a town full of artists, she has become a savvy first reader. A screenplay she reviewed for another client has been optioned and is in now in pre-production. For many years the late, great Molly Ivins was a client. This lady has serviced some talented heads. If we trust her with our heads, we can trust her with our work. She has a wisdom and insight that comes from years of living and interactions with the human race. It is that wisdom and insight that we seek from her during our visits, like spiritual pilgrims beckoning our sage. For our work to be acceptable, they must be blessed by passing "the beauty shop test."
In a world of cheaper and faster options, there is value in the healing, nurturing, and educational realm of the beauty shop. The sacred space that Wells describes still exists and is worth seeking out. Especially on bad hair days.
Yours in Sisterhood - VB
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Not My Son, You . . .
As I have mentioned previously, my Tweener is an obsessive Harry Potter fan, counting down the seconds until we see the new film. It has been quite the topic of conversation among his age group lately. Oddly enough, such conversations have had me relating to the Potter character of Molly Weasley in more ways than one.
Molly, for the uninitiated, is the matron of the large, but poor Weasley clan. Molly represents the ideal earth mother, providing a simple but safe home, always keeping tabs on the kids even when they aren't home, dispensing tough love as needed (try talking back to a screaming letter chewing you out in public for crashing the family car, as Ron endured in The Chamber of Secrets), lovingly sewing hideous sweaters, and cooking hearty feasts for any friends and family who drop by. But Molly has her penultimate motherhood moment in The Deathly Hallows, the series' final installment. STOP READING HERE IF YOU DON'T WANT SPOILERS.
Okay, you've been warned. After evil villainess Bellatrix Lestrange gets away with killing one of the Weasley boys and starts to go after daughter Ginny, Molly springs into maternal action, screaming: "NOT MY DAUGHTER YOU BITCH!" She orders everyone else to back off as she and the wicked sorceress duel it out. The moment is both shocking and rousing for Potter fans, whom I anticipate will cheer loudly when actress Julie Walters (who plays Molly in the movies) gets to shout the words in the final film. As a writer, I appreciate author J.K. Rowling's well-chosen use of profanity to make a point. So much modern literature and film overuses profanity to such an extent that the words lose much of their power. Molly is not a character prone to such vulgarities in everyday speech (nor, for that matter, are most of the characters in this series geared towards young readers). For that reason, when she shouts the words they express the full power of her righteous anger. Bellatrix learns it is not smart to incur the wrath of a protective mom.
When my Potter-crazed son first read these words on the page, he was shocked because, as he told me "that's one of the worst words!" He also knows what I would do to him if I ever heard the term coming out of his mouth, even repeating the line from the book. But he understood what it conveyed about Molly's feelings.
So it was that I felt a sisterhood with Molly while listening to one of my son's conversation about Harry Potter. You see, for the past couple of weeks Tweener has been participating in a "Rock Camp," as in "rock 'n' roll." Musically, it has been a great experience for him, but his band's lead singer is tiny diva in the making. On day one, she came across like a Leann Rimes Star Search wannabe, hitting the high notes and trying to "work the crowd" even if it meant moving from her assigned mark. Since then she has insulted audience members whose reactions don't seem enthusiastic enough, channeled her inner Janis Joplin to brag in a gravelly voice about getting her coffee fix between sets, and basically made it clear that she intends to be rich and famous someday. Hubby describes her as one of those children who usually require a visit from Supernanny. She's something else.
She is also a Harry Potter fan, thus she and Tweener have engaged in numerous discussions about all things HP, forcing visions into my head of him one day bringing such a girl home for dinner. Pardon me while I shudder . . . Okay, all done. Yesterday provided a moment of sympathy for Tiny Diva. Upon arriving to pick up Tweener, I brought along a special treat that I had picked up while running an errand on the way. Tiny Diva (who is always picked up by a babysitter) wished somewhat pathetically that her mom would bring her such treats. I felt sorry for the kid for about 30 seconds, until, during the day's final discussion of Harry Potter, Tiny Diva felt the need to shout Molly's infamous line, unedited and disregarding any adults and small children within earshot. As Tweener shot me a glance that indicated he knew exactly what I was thinking, I declared that it was time to leave.
Inwardly, however, I was repeating an edited version of Molly's declaration. Sorry, Tiny Diva, but my (unspoken) reaction should you ever show up as Tweener's dinner date is likely to be, "Not MY son, you . . ." It is not smart to incur the wrath of a protective mom.
Yours in Sisterhood - VB
Molly, for the uninitiated, is the matron of the large, but poor Weasley clan. Molly represents the ideal earth mother, providing a simple but safe home, always keeping tabs on the kids even when they aren't home, dispensing tough love as needed (try talking back to a screaming letter chewing you out in public for crashing the family car, as Ron endured in The Chamber of Secrets), lovingly sewing hideous sweaters, and cooking hearty feasts for any friends and family who drop by. But Molly has her penultimate motherhood moment in The Deathly Hallows, the series' final installment. STOP READING HERE IF YOU DON'T WANT SPOILERS.
Okay, you've been warned. After evil villainess Bellatrix Lestrange gets away with killing one of the Weasley boys and starts to go after daughter Ginny, Molly springs into maternal action, screaming: "NOT MY DAUGHTER YOU BITCH!" She orders everyone else to back off as she and the wicked sorceress duel it out. The moment is both shocking and rousing for Potter fans, whom I anticipate will cheer loudly when actress Julie Walters (who plays Molly in the movies) gets to shout the words in the final film. As a writer, I appreciate author J.K. Rowling's well-chosen use of profanity to make a point. So much modern literature and film overuses profanity to such an extent that the words lose much of their power. Molly is not a character prone to such vulgarities in everyday speech (nor, for that matter, are most of the characters in this series geared towards young readers). For that reason, when she shouts the words they express the full power of her righteous anger. Bellatrix learns it is not smart to incur the wrath of a protective mom.
When my Potter-crazed son first read these words on the page, he was shocked because, as he told me "that's one of the worst words!" He also knows what I would do to him if I ever heard the term coming out of his mouth, even repeating the line from the book. But he understood what it conveyed about Molly's feelings.
So it was that I felt a sisterhood with Molly while listening to one of my son's conversation about Harry Potter. You see, for the past couple of weeks Tweener has been participating in a "Rock Camp," as in "rock 'n' roll." Musically, it has been a great experience for him, but his band's lead singer is tiny diva in the making. On day one, she came across like a Leann Rimes Star Search wannabe, hitting the high notes and trying to "work the crowd" even if it meant moving from her assigned mark. Since then she has insulted audience members whose reactions don't seem enthusiastic enough, channeled her inner Janis Joplin to brag in a gravelly voice about getting her coffee fix between sets, and basically made it clear that she intends to be rich and famous someday. Hubby describes her as one of those children who usually require a visit from Supernanny. She's something else.
She is also a Harry Potter fan, thus she and Tweener have engaged in numerous discussions about all things HP, forcing visions into my head of him one day bringing such a girl home for dinner. Pardon me while I shudder . . . Okay, all done. Yesterday provided a moment of sympathy for Tiny Diva. Upon arriving to pick up Tweener, I brought along a special treat that I had picked up while running an errand on the way. Tiny Diva (who is always picked up by a babysitter) wished somewhat pathetically that her mom would bring her such treats. I felt sorry for the kid for about 30 seconds, until, during the day's final discussion of Harry Potter, Tiny Diva felt the need to shout Molly's infamous line, unedited and disregarding any adults and small children within earshot. As Tweener shot me a glance that indicated he knew exactly what I was thinking, I declared that it was time to leave.
Inwardly, however, I was repeating an edited version of Molly's declaration. Sorry, Tiny Diva, but my (unspoken) reaction should you ever show up as Tweener's dinner date is likely to be, "Not MY son, you . . ." It is not smart to incur the wrath of a protective mom.
Yours in Sisterhood - VB
Monday, July 13, 2009
Hen Movie of the Week: The Proposal
* Rating - Three kernels
It is Saturday night, the babysitter is booked and hubby and I get to have a date night. Yeah! He picks the movie, one of those romantic comedies marketed as the ideal date flick. Actually, most of the audience is made up of women obviously on Girls Night Out, with only a few scattered couples like ourselves in attendance. This is NOT the type of movie that straight men go out to see alone or in pairs.
We expect something light and frothy, with an appealing cast. We are not disappointed. This type of rom-com hinges entirely upon actor and character appeal, and how funny the execution of the predictable plot is. Sandra Bullock plays Margaret, a hard-nosed editor at a major book publishing house (think a younger, less wicked version of Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada---in some ways I suspect Sandy’s parodying Meryl, to positive effect). Ryan Reynolds plays Andrew, her long-suffering assistant, who has endured three years of abuse for a shot at a promotion and a published novel (having worked in the publishing industry for many years, I can affirm such employees and bosses do exist). A Canadian faced with deportation because she was too busy working to observe U.S. immigration policies, Margaret orders Andrew to marry her in exchange for fulfilling his career goals.
In order to convince skeptical immigration officials that their engagement is legit, they fly off to tiny Sitka, Alaska, for the weekend to celebrate the birthday of Andrew’s grandmother (Betty White). Along the way we meet his loving mother (Mary Steenburgen) and macho father (Craig T. Nelsen), from whom he is estranged because he moved to New York to work in publishing instead of staying home to run the family business empire (which seems to include most Sitka commerce).
Of course, soon the orphaned, hardnosed city girl is so charmed by the family and quirky locals that her hard heart begins to melt. Thus opens the way towards appreciating Andrew’s charms as well. We in turn, begin to understand that Andrew’s devotion to his boss goes beyond mere career ambition. Will they realize they are actually in love before immigration officials catch onto their ruse? If you’re looking for mystery, you need to find another movie.
In a nutshell, the rom-com formula works this time around. The actors are all appealing in their roles, I did come to like them (if not care too deeply), and I laughed out loud several times (to the point of weeping at least twice---a sign of quality laughs and the main reason the film gets three full kernels instead of two and a half). These three elements lend themselves to a successful rom-com and Sandy has presented us with one. Good on her that this movie provided her best opening weekend ever.
Other positives: Alaska was a nice choice for the plot (not just because Sarah Palin continues to remind us how quirky Alaskans can be). The scenery is gorgeous, though I was a bit disappointed to discover that nothing was actually filmed in the state. But such is the magic of movie-making. Few audience members will know or care that the lush views were created by digital wizardry. I actually heard an audible gasp from the audience when the first panoramic mountain image came into view (louder even than when we first glimpse Reynolds in the altogether).
Speaking of which, Sandra Bullock has her first nude scene ever in this film---played for laughs, not lust. But I must say on behalf of all females over 40: I salute you. Sandy. Whatever you are doing to maintain that spectacular bod, keep it up. Ryan ain’t too shabby, either.
White, Steenburgen, and Nelson are all pitch perfect as the family. While White has been getting a lot of buzz for her humorous role, in my opinion Oscar Nunez steals the show as a multi-talented local who can handle virtually every wedding need from the bachelorette party through the nuptials. At a certain point, the audience began to laugh just by virtue of his showing up in a scene. His mere presence becomes funny. I’m glad he was included in the ending montage (do NOT leave the theater until the credits have rolled) to emphasize his contribution to the film.
So if you have a free night out and are looking for a light, frothy rom-com that will make you laugh and not think too hard, this is the ideal formula flick for you.
*The Henhouse Movie Rating System:
Four kernels – An exceptional film worth paying for a babysitter to see in the theater, or worth staying up late to watch on DVD after the kids have gone to bed and devoting your full attention to.
Three kernels – A good film that has many entertaining elements and might be worth seeing in the theater if you have a free babysitting offer from relatives or renting to watch while folding the laundry.
Two kernels – A so-so movie that might be worth seeing if it happens to be on cable and you want something to take your mind off washing dishes without thinking too hard.
One kernel – A bad film only worth watching if you need an unintentional laugh or if it’s the only decent thing you can find on free TV while breastfeeding at 2 a.m.
Zero kernels – A film SO awful you should avoid at all costs; yes, worse than watching even a bad infomercial for the 20th time while breastfeeding at 2 a.m.
It is Saturday night, the babysitter is booked and hubby and I get to have a date night. Yeah! He picks the movie, one of those romantic comedies marketed as the ideal date flick. Actually, most of the audience is made up of women obviously on Girls Night Out, with only a few scattered couples like ourselves in attendance. This is NOT the type of movie that straight men go out to see alone or in pairs.
We expect something light and frothy, with an appealing cast. We are not disappointed. This type of rom-com hinges entirely upon actor and character appeal, and how funny the execution of the predictable plot is. Sandra Bullock plays Margaret, a hard-nosed editor at a major book publishing house (think a younger, less wicked version of Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada---in some ways I suspect Sandy’s parodying Meryl, to positive effect). Ryan Reynolds plays Andrew, her long-suffering assistant, who has endured three years of abuse for a shot at a promotion and a published novel (having worked in the publishing industry for many years, I can affirm such employees and bosses do exist). A Canadian faced with deportation because she was too busy working to observe U.S. immigration policies, Margaret orders Andrew to marry her in exchange for fulfilling his career goals.
In order to convince skeptical immigration officials that their engagement is legit, they fly off to tiny Sitka, Alaska, for the weekend to celebrate the birthday of Andrew’s grandmother (Betty White). Along the way we meet his loving mother (Mary Steenburgen) and macho father (Craig T. Nelsen), from whom he is estranged because he moved to New York to work in publishing instead of staying home to run the family business empire (which seems to include most Sitka commerce).
Of course, soon the orphaned, hardnosed city girl is so charmed by the family and quirky locals that her hard heart begins to melt. Thus opens the way towards appreciating Andrew’s charms as well. We in turn, begin to understand that Andrew’s devotion to his boss goes beyond mere career ambition. Will they realize they are actually in love before immigration officials catch onto their ruse? If you’re looking for mystery, you need to find another movie.
In a nutshell, the rom-com formula works this time around. The actors are all appealing in their roles, I did come to like them (if not care too deeply), and I laughed out loud several times (to the point of weeping at least twice---a sign of quality laughs and the main reason the film gets three full kernels instead of two and a half). These three elements lend themselves to a successful rom-com and Sandy has presented us with one. Good on her that this movie provided her best opening weekend ever.
Other positives: Alaska was a nice choice for the plot (not just because Sarah Palin continues to remind us how quirky Alaskans can be). The scenery is gorgeous, though I was a bit disappointed to discover that nothing was actually filmed in the state. But such is the magic of movie-making. Few audience members will know or care that the lush views were created by digital wizardry. I actually heard an audible gasp from the audience when the first panoramic mountain image came into view (louder even than when we first glimpse Reynolds in the altogether).
Speaking of which, Sandra Bullock has her first nude scene ever in this film---played for laughs, not lust. But I must say on behalf of all females over 40: I salute you. Sandy. Whatever you are doing to maintain that spectacular bod, keep it up. Ryan ain’t too shabby, either.
White, Steenburgen, and Nelson are all pitch perfect as the family. While White has been getting a lot of buzz for her humorous role, in my opinion Oscar Nunez steals the show as a multi-talented local who can handle virtually every wedding need from the bachelorette party through the nuptials. At a certain point, the audience began to laugh just by virtue of his showing up in a scene. His mere presence becomes funny. I’m glad he was included in the ending montage (do NOT leave the theater until the credits have rolled) to emphasize his contribution to the film.
So if you have a free night out and are looking for a light, frothy rom-com that will make you laugh and not think too hard, this is the ideal formula flick for you.
*The Henhouse Movie Rating System:
Four kernels – An exceptional film worth paying for a babysitter to see in the theater, or worth staying up late to watch on DVD after the kids have gone to bed and devoting your full attention to.
Three kernels – A good film that has many entertaining elements and might be worth seeing in the theater if you have a free babysitting offer from relatives or renting to watch while folding the laundry.
Two kernels – A so-so movie that might be worth seeing if it happens to be on cable and you want something to take your mind off washing dishes without thinking too hard.
One kernel – A bad film only worth watching if you need an unintentional laugh or if it’s the only decent thing you can find on free TV while breastfeeding at 2 a.m.
Zero kernels – A film SO awful you should avoid at all costs; yes, worse than watching even a bad infomercial for the 20th time while breastfeeding at 2 a.m.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Kid Flicks and the Meaning of "Family"
Having just sat through Ice Age 3: Dawn of the Dinosaurs with my boys, I couldn't help thinking about a common theme in kid films today---the formation of new, alternative "families." In some ways, this trend isn't entirely new. Ever since Bambi's mom bit the dust, family films have had an inordinate focus on orphans. Almost every major Disney hero or heroine seems to be missing at least one parent. Now, though, films allow the protagonists to create a new family. Take three examples just from this summer's fare:
Up: An excellent movie that all film-lovers should see, even if you don't have kids. The story focuses on Carl, an elderly grouch still mourning the death of his beloved wife. The couple were never able to have children, but had a wonderful marriage. Just as Carl is trying to escape from the world with his giant clump of balloons, he encounters Russell, a little boy desperately trying to earn a scout badge just to get the attention of his absentee father. We discover that Russell was once close to his dad, but ever since his parents divorced and his dad remarried, the father has dropped out of his life. By the end of the movie, Carl decides to re-enter the world by becoming a surrogate dad to young Russell. If the montage at the end showing the two of them engaged in all types of fun activities doesn't make you well up, you are made of stone.
Ice Age 3: Like the previous Ice Age movies, a funny and well-made animated movie with quite a bit of action this time around. The running theme of this entire franchise is the creation of an unconventional family (or "herd"). At the beginning of this film, the motley family consists of two mammoths, two opossums, a saber-tooth tiger, and sloth. The family cohesion is threatened by the arrival of the a new baby mammoth for the herd's stand-in "mother and father." The "adopted" children think they will be left out by the biological child. Of course, in the end, every family member proves their value and the herd remains intact, with the addition of the cutest wooly baby you've ever seen.
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince: My Potter-crazed eldest is dying to see this one when it opens next week, but having already read the books, we already know how it will fit into the theme of making your own family. Harry's search for family is a running theme throughout J.K. Rowling's fictional masterpiece. Harry actually gets orphaned twice---once as a baby when his parents are killed by Voldemort and later when his godfather is killed by Voldemort's follower. Though he still feels the love of his parents, his other "blood kin" treat him horribly. He is forced to endure their abusive company just to survive until age 17. Harry envies the poor, but loving Weasley clan, who represent the ideal family he wishes he had [read the end of book seven to see how this element unfolds]. In the end, Harry really survives by relying on a family of his own making---his friends.
Those who push a "traditional family" agenda may protest this theme of making up your own family, but it reflects a reality of our times. Statistics prove there are many Russells out there, growing up without a strong father-figure; as well as many Harrys, whose abusive blood-relations reflect more hate than love. In all the stories, love, loyalty, and presence count more than DNA in building family. To me, this is a hopeful message, telling kids that, no matter what life throws your way, you can find happiness and love. It is a worthwhile message for any kid to hear.
Up: An excellent movie that all film-lovers should see, even if you don't have kids. The story focuses on Carl, an elderly grouch still mourning the death of his beloved wife. The couple were never able to have children, but had a wonderful marriage. Just as Carl is trying to escape from the world with his giant clump of balloons, he encounters Russell, a little boy desperately trying to earn a scout badge just to get the attention of his absentee father. We discover that Russell was once close to his dad, but ever since his parents divorced and his dad remarried, the father has dropped out of his life. By the end of the movie, Carl decides to re-enter the world by becoming a surrogate dad to young Russell. If the montage at the end showing the two of them engaged in all types of fun activities doesn't make you well up, you are made of stone.
Ice Age 3: Like the previous Ice Age movies, a funny and well-made animated movie with quite a bit of action this time around. The running theme of this entire franchise is the creation of an unconventional family (or "herd"). At the beginning of this film, the motley family consists of two mammoths, two opossums, a saber-tooth tiger, and sloth. The family cohesion is threatened by the arrival of the a new baby mammoth for the herd's stand-in "mother and father." The "adopted" children think they will be left out by the biological child. Of course, in the end, every family member proves their value and the herd remains intact, with the addition of the cutest wooly baby you've ever seen.
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince: My Potter-crazed eldest is dying to see this one when it opens next week, but having already read the books, we already know how it will fit into the theme of making your own family. Harry's search for family is a running theme throughout J.K. Rowling's fictional masterpiece. Harry actually gets orphaned twice---once as a baby when his parents are killed by Voldemort and later when his godfather is killed by Voldemort's follower. Though he still feels the love of his parents, his other "blood kin" treat him horribly. He is forced to endure their abusive company just to survive until age 17. Harry envies the poor, but loving Weasley clan, who represent the ideal family he wishes he had [read the end of book seven to see how this element unfolds]. In the end, Harry really survives by relying on a family of his own making---his friends.
Those who push a "traditional family" agenda may protest this theme of making up your own family, but it reflects a reality of our times. Statistics prove there are many Russells out there, growing up without a strong father-figure; as well as many Harrys, whose abusive blood-relations reflect more hate than love. In all the stories, love, loyalty, and presence count more than DNA in building family. To me, this is a hopeful message, telling kids that, no matter what life throws your way, you can find happiness and love. It is a worthwhile message for any kid to hear.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
It Must Be True Love: I’m Devoted to Roger Ebert, Even When I Disagree with Him
Yes, it’s true. Don’t tell my husband, but I have an ongoing relationship with a rotund Chicago film critic whom I’ve never even met. I read his words almost daily and cannot express how much he has changed my life.
Oh, as is typical with most youthful crushes, originally I was more enamored by his tall, lanky wingman. The duo fought constantly to see which could win me over, convincing me to follow their thumbs up or down recommendation of how best to spend my weekends. The lanky one initially wooed me with his smooth words, but in the long run, like Cyrano de Bergerac, the eloquent words of the less photogenic one won me over.
I was first introduced to Ebert as a tweener when our local PBS station began showing Sneak Previews, the first iteration of the movie review show that paired him with his newspaper rival Gene Siskel. The show was a revelation to me, growing up as I did in an isolated rural community that had one drive-in and a very run-down theater that smelled like old gym shoes and never showed first-run films. Yet despite my limited viewing options, I grew up loving movies. And these two guys from Chicago introduced me to all kinds of films that I would never have heard of otherwise. They talked about foreign films, artsy films (what we now call “independent”), documentaries, scandalous movies, and even really bad films. I remember they always ended the show with “the dog of the week,” some really bad movie that had stolen two hours of their lives, introduced by a real barking dog. Were it not for Siskel and Ebert, I would never have heard of movies like Sweet Sweetback’s Badass Song (I didn’t even know you were allowed to use the word “ass” in a movie title!!) or John Waters’s Pink Flamingos (the image of the clip with Divine licking all the dishes still haunts me today). They made me want to know more about movies, even ones I would never have the opportunity to see as a minor.
On television, Siskel always impressed me more than Ebert, not because of any greater physical appeal, but because he came across on screen as the more serious critic. Ebert seemed to go easier on films, giving more thumbs up to mediocre offerings and generally trying to be nicer. Whether he really did give more thumbs up than Siskel is a matter for data keepers in other forums. I’m just reflecting my impressions from watching television. It was hard to imagine that Ebert was the one with the Pulitzer Prize, when Siskel seemed the more critical of the two. I continued to maintain this same impression through years of watching as their television show evolved right up until Gene Siskel’s death.
Then a strange thing happened. I began to read some of Ebert’s written reviews, first in his published collections, then, through the wonders of the Internet, from his Web site. Now I know why he has a Pulitzer. His written reviews and commentaries are among the most insightful and well-written of any popular film critic around. Unlike on television, where he was relegated to quickly synopsizing plot, summarizing his views and concluding with the thumbs up or down within a matter of minutes, his written pieces reflect careful thought and analysis based on a lifetime of film-watching experience. His is one of the few sites I check almost daily for updates, anxiously anticipating his every word. Ironically, though cancer has now rendered Ebert unable to speak, his lack of a physical voice has only made him a more prolific writer, proving he never needed sound to communicate effectively.
I don’t always agree with Roger, especially when it comes to his analysis of certain genre movies such as hen flicks or family movies, but I always respect and appreciate his opinions. This week he published an insightful blog about some of the less-than-thoughtful reactions to his negative reviews of popular movies like Transformers 2. Be sure to check it out at http://blogs.suntimes.com/ebert/2009/07/i_am_a_brainiac.html
The gist is that as the role of the professional film critic has been replaced with popular opinion sites such as rottentomatoes.com, the level of discourse has also declined, reflecting an anti-intellectual bias in our culture. Jim Emerson also discusses this trend in his blog: http://blogs.suntimes.com/scanners/
Personally, I think that sites such as Rotten Tomatoes do serve a useful purpose in reflecting a general consensus. And many of the video reviews offered by movie fans illustrate as much intelligence and depth as those of professional critics. Among the myriad fans whose only response to opposing views is a shallow “you suck” or “I hate you,” there are many others who can rationally explain their opposing views without personalizing their attacks. Here’s hoping the intelligent fans continue to outweigh the “you suck” group.
Still, I hope the professional critic never goes entirely by the wayside. Certainly there are some film snobs whose disdain for their readers and movie fans warrant their unemployment. But others offer a valuable service to movie fans. A good critic, like Ebert, has the ability to inform and instruct viewers, raising their awareness of lesser-known films and improving how one views movies. True movie fans, not just those looking to spend two hours in an air-conditioned room, should appreciate this instruction. Those who choose to ignore the value of such instruction and embrace their blissful ignorance remind me of high school kids who think they are too hip to try to learn anything in class.
For me, I know my life has been enriched by the knowledge passed along by Roger Ebert. I hope he keeps “teaching” and continuing our relationship for many years to come.
Yours in Sisterhood — VB
Oh, as is typical with most youthful crushes, originally I was more enamored by his tall, lanky wingman. The duo fought constantly to see which could win me over, convincing me to follow their thumbs up or down recommendation of how best to spend my weekends. The lanky one initially wooed me with his smooth words, but in the long run, like Cyrano de Bergerac, the eloquent words of the less photogenic one won me over.
I was first introduced to Ebert as a tweener when our local PBS station began showing Sneak Previews, the first iteration of the movie review show that paired him with his newspaper rival Gene Siskel. The show was a revelation to me, growing up as I did in an isolated rural community that had one drive-in and a very run-down theater that smelled like old gym shoes and never showed first-run films. Yet despite my limited viewing options, I grew up loving movies. And these two guys from Chicago introduced me to all kinds of films that I would never have heard of otherwise. They talked about foreign films, artsy films (what we now call “independent”), documentaries, scandalous movies, and even really bad films. I remember they always ended the show with “the dog of the week,” some really bad movie that had stolen two hours of their lives, introduced by a real barking dog. Were it not for Siskel and Ebert, I would never have heard of movies like Sweet Sweetback’s Badass Song (I didn’t even know you were allowed to use the word “ass” in a movie title!!) or John Waters’s Pink Flamingos (the image of the clip with Divine licking all the dishes still haunts me today). They made me want to know more about movies, even ones I would never have the opportunity to see as a minor.
On television, Siskel always impressed me more than Ebert, not because of any greater physical appeal, but because he came across on screen as the more serious critic. Ebert seemed to go easier on films, giving more thumbs up to mediocre offerings and generally trying to be nicer. Whether he really did give more thumbs up than Siskel is a matter for data keepers in other forums. I’m just reflecting my impressions from watching television. It was hard to imagine that Ebert was the one with the Pulitzer Prize, when Siskel seemed the more critical of the two. I continued to maintain this same impression through years of watching as their television show evolved right up until Gene Siskel’s death.
Then a strange thing happened. I began to read some of Ebert’s written reviews, first in his published collections, then, through the wonders of the Internet, from his Web site. Now I know why he has a Pulitzer. His written reviews and commentaries are among the most insightful and well-written of any popular film critic around. Unlike on television, where he was relegated to quickly synopsizing plot, summarizing his views and concluding with the thumbs up or down within a matter of minutes, his written pieces reflect careful thought and analysis based on a lifetime of film-watching experience. His is one of the few sites I check almost daily for updates, anxiously anticipating his every word. Ironically, though cancer has now rendered Ebert unable to speak, his lack of a physical voice has only made him a more prolific writer, proving he never needed sound to communicate effectively.
I don’t always agree with Roger, especially when it comes to his analysis of certain genre movies such as hen flicks or family movies, but I always respect and appreciate his opinions. This week he published an insightful blog about some of the less-than-thoughtful reactions to his negative reviews of popular movies like Transformers 2. Be sure to check it out at http://blogs.suntimes.com/ebert/2009/07/i_am_a_brainiac.html
The gist is that as the role of the professional film critic has been replaced with popular opinion sites such as rottentomatoes.com, the level of discourse has also declined, reflecting an anti-intellectual bias in our culture. Jim Emerson also discusses this trend in his blog: http://blogs.suntimes.com/scanners/
Personally, I think that sites such as Rotten Tomatoes do serve a useful purpose in reflecting a general consensus. And many of the video reviews offered by movie fans illustrate as much intelligence and depth as those of professional critics. Among the myriad fans whose only response to opposing views is a shallow “you suck” or “I hate you,” there are many others who can rationally explain their opposing views without personalizing their attacks. Here’s hoping the intelligent fans continue to outweigh the “you suck” group.
Still, I hope the professional critic never goes entirely by the wayside. Certainly there are some film snobs whose disdain for their readers and movie fans warrant their unemployment. But others offer a valuable service to movie fans. A good critic, like Ebert, has the ability to inform and instruct viewers, raising their awareness of lesser-known films and improving how one views movies. True movie fans, not just those looking to spend two hours in an air-conditioned room, should appreciate this instruction. Those who choose to ignore the value of such instruction and embrace their blissful ignorance remind me of high school kids who think they are too hip to try to learn anything in class.
For me, I know my life has been enriched by the knowledge passed along by Roger Ebert. I hope he keeps “teaching” and continuing our relationship for many years to come.
Yours in Sisterhood — VB
Monday, July 6, 2009
Why Steel Magnolias Became the Ultimate Hen Flick and the Ya-Yas . . . Didn't
In honor of Rebecca Wells, one of my favorite writers, releasing a new book tomorrow (yeah), I feel the need to ponder on what seems like one of the great lost opportunities in the pantheon of women's fiction and movies.
The formulas follow the same pattern: stories of a multi-generational group of Louisiana women who share laughter and heartache, based on popular source material, with all-star casts of respected actors. But Steel Magnolias (1989), based on the play by Robert Harling, became a box-office hit and the defining canon of women’s films. Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood (2002), based on the popular books by Rebecca Wells, has all the same ingredients, yet performed below expectations and now reigns among the second tier of chick flicks. While the Ya-Ya film certainly has its share of fans, overall it has been dismissed as a lesser Steel Magnolias wanna-be. Understanding why reveals much about the state of women’s films, what works, and what doesn’t.
Certainly part of the difference lies in timing. Simply by being first, and successful, SM serves as the point of comparison for Ya-Ya. The ad campaign for Ya-Ya relied heavily on this comparison, clearly pitching the worn-out claim, “If you liked X [Steel Magnolias], you’ll love Y [Ya-Ya].” Even today, one can rarely find a review of Ya-Ya that does not draw comparisons to SM. Indeed, based on Internet reviews, one would think that the Steel Magnolias vs. Ya-Yas debate is as much a cultural marker as the “Mary Ann vs. Ginger” or “Betty vs. Veronica” divide. Which side you fall upon in the debate reveals as much about your own personality as it does about the films. Once again, film execs underestimate the effectiveness of the tagline.
Disregarding the timing and ineffective marketing approaches, what about the two films themselves accounts for the difference in popularity and legacy?
Let’s begin with casting. To many fans, the key difference can be summed up in two words: Julia Roberts. Granted, this film did much to launch fair Julia’s reign as America’s Sweetheart (and secured her first Oscar nomination), but I would posit that all of the roles were perfectly cast (the physical dissimilarities between Julia and onscreen parents Sally Field and Tom Skerritt not withstanding) and portrayed by all the actors. Even Dolly Parton, an entertainer whose charisma can sometimes overwhelm her limited acting range, was perfect for the role of hairdresser Truvy. Credit must be paid to casting director Hank McCann for fitting actors to characters.
Secondly, related to casting, was the screenplay, which retained enough of the witty banter and memorable dialogue to entertain and balance out the more dramatic moments. In many ways, SM is the perfect bipolar movie, with both gut-busting laughs and gut-wrenching drama guaranteed to make the viewers shed tears of laughter and joy. Both the high and low moments are delivered perfectly by the cast, whose characters remain distinctive individuals.
On paper, the Ya-Yas casting seems perfect as well: Ashley Judd, Ellen Burstyn, James Garner, etc., etc. Rarely does a film boast such a fine pedigree, with a host of actors I admire and love to see in just about any role. They even cast the other “America’s Sweetheart,” Sandra Bullock, in the adult daughter role, ala Ms. Roberts. Therein lay the problem. The producers were trying too hard to emulate the SM formula in the all-star casting, especially with Sandra Bullock in the key role of Sidda Walker, a serious character more reminiscent of Meredith Grey than Shelby Eatenton. Yet the casting choice almost required this unfair comparison between the two actresses. First of all, let me say that I personally adore my fellow Austinite Sandra Bullock, a charming and down-to-earth lady who can be highly entertaining the in the right role, and I appreciate her efforts to break free from rom-com typecasting. However, I think she was completely the wrong choice for this dour, confused character. Remember, Julia Roberts had only had one role, in the sleeper Mystic Pizza, before SM. Perhaps Ya-Ya would have been better served by casting an unknown in this pivotal part.
The casting issues are compounded by the shaky debut directorial debut of Thelma and Louise writer Callie Khouri and a less-than-stellar screenplay, whose liberties with the original source material serve to weaken, rather than strengthen, the characters and storyline. The contrived kidnapping of Sidda by the Ya-Yas is unnecessary and only seems designed to highlight the group’s eccentricities. Several film critics have commented that it is impossible to tell the difference between the three supporting Ya-Yas other than that Maggie Smith has the oxygen tank, Fionnula Flanagan chews gum, and Shirley Knight is the whiny one. None seem distinctive characters on their own and only serve as a chorus of nutty southern alcoholics. Indeed, the screenplay and direction of the film comes across as insulting to southerners in general, expecting the audience to laugh at, rather than with, the characters. In Rebecca Wells’s books (and SM), each woman is a distinct person with her own unique personality, producing laughter and tears that seem natural rather than forced. The Ya-Ya filmmakers should have given more credit to the strengths of the original novel.
Finally, perhaps the most telling mark of an iconic film is the memorability factor. SM has lasted, in part, because it contains so many images and lines that stick with the audience. Who can forget the armadillo groom’s cake, the Pepto-Bismol colored wedding, the locker room “color commentary,” Truvy’s shop, the cemetery scene, or lines like “that looks like an autopsy,” "all gay men have track lighting . . and are named Mark, Rick, or Steve" or “I’d rather have thirty minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special.”
Nothing in the Ya-Ya film has entered the lexicon in the same way. To be honest, after viewing the film, the only images that really stuck with me were the flashback scenes involving Ashley Judd as the young Vivi. That is the one characterization the film replicates accurately from the novel. Judd perfectly embodies the strong, vivacious young woman whose spirit is dampened by her own mind. The novel makes it clear that Vivi’s detachment from reality proves both her greatest strength and her greatest weakness. Her childhood belief that she is destined to be famous helps her survive a harrowing home life and horrific reform school. As an adult, it contributes to her mental breakdown when her spirit can’t handle being reigned in by domesticity drudgery. These nuances are somehow lost in the film version.
While familiarity with original material can enhance the film-viewing experience, movies should be able to stand on their own. Likewise, they should not rely solely on repetition of a successful formula to assume success. Too often film studios think they can fool audiences with the “If you liked X, you’ll love Y” appeal, especially when it comes to films for women. We’re smarter than that. We know that using the same cookie cutter does not ensure the same results if the ingredients are not mixed correctly. Ya-Ya had the perfect recipe for success, but the Hollywood cooks wasted their ingredients, thinking the cutter, not the batter, created the appealing flavor. Here's hoping that, should TPTB ever try to produce Wells's works on film again, they do her creations justice this time around.
Yours in Sisterhood — VB
The formulas follow the same pattern: stories of a multi-generational group of Louisiana women who share laughter and heartache, based on popular source material, with all-star casts of respected actors. But Steel Magnolias (1989), based on the play by Robert Harling, became a box-office hit and the defining canon of women’s films. Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood (2002), based on the popular books by Rebecca Wells, has all the same ingredients, yet performed below expectations and now reigns among the second tier of chick flicks. While the Ya-Ya film certainly has its share of fans, overall it has been dismissed as a lesser Steel Magnolias wanna-be. Understanding why reveals much about the state of women’s films, what works, and what doesn’t.
Certainly part of the difference lies in timing. Simply by being first, and successful, SM serves as the point of comparison for Ya-Ya. The ad campaign for Ya-Ya relied heavily on this comparison, clearly pitching the worn-out claim, “If you liked X [Steel Magnolias], you’ll love Y [Ya-Ya].” Even today, one can rarely find a review of Ya-Ya that does not draw comparisons to SM. Indeed, based on Internet reviews, one would think that the Steel Magnolias vs. Ya-Yas debate is as much a cultural marker as the “Mary Ann vs. Ginger” or “Betty vs. Veronica” divide. Which side you fall upon in the debate reveals as much about your own personality as it does about the films. Once again, film execs underestimate the effectiveness of the tagline.
Disregarding the timing and ineffective marketing approaches, what about the two films themselves accounts for the difference in popularity and legacy?
Let’s begin with casting. To many fans, the key difference can be summed up in two words: Julia Roberts. Granted, this film did much to launch fair Julia’s reign as America’s Sweetheart (and secured her first Oscar nomination), but I would posit that all of the roles were perfectly cast (the physical dissimilarities between Julia and onscreen parents Sally Field and Tom Skerritt not withstanding) and portrayed by all the actors. Even Dolly Parton, an entertainer whose charisma can sometimes overwhelm her limited acting range, was perfect for the role of hairdresser Truvy. Credit must be paid to casting director Hank McCann for fitting actors to characters.
Secondly, related to casting, was the screenplay, which retained enough of the witty banter and memorable dialogue to entertain and balance out the more dramatic moments. In many ways, SM is the perfect bipolar movie, with both gut-busting laughs and gut-wrenching drama guaranteed to make the viewers shed tears of laughter and joy. Both the high and low moments are delivered perfectly by the cast, whose characters remain distinctive individuals.
On paper, the Ya-Yas casting seems perfect as well: Ashley Judd, Ellen Burstyn, James Garner, etc., etc. Rarely does a film boast such a fine pedigree, with a host of actors I admire and love to see in just about any role. They even cast the other “America’s Sweetheart,” Sandra Bullock, in the adult daughter role, ala Ms. Roberts. Therein lay the problem. The producers were trying too hard to emulate the SM formula in the all-star casting, especially with Sandra Bullock in the key role of Sidda Walker, a serious character more reminiscent of Meredith Grey than Shelby Eatenton. Yet the casting choice almost required this unfair comparison between the two actresses. First of all, let me say that I personally adore my fellow Austinite Sandra Bullock, a charming and down-to-earth lady who can be highly entertaining the in the right role, and I appreciate her efforts to break free from rom-com typecasting. However, I think she was completely the wrong choice for this dour, confused character. Remember, Julia Roberts had only had one role, in the sleeper Mystic Pizza, before SM. Perhaps Ya-Ya would have been better served by casting an unknown in this pivotal part.
The casting issues are compounded by the shaky debut directorial debut of Thelma and Louise writer Callie Khouri and a less-than-stellar screenplay, whose liberties with the original source material serve to weaken, rather than strengthen, the characters and storyline. The contrived kidnapping of Sidda by the Ya-Yas is unnecessary and only seems designed to highlight the group’s eccentricities. Several film critics have commented that it is impossible to tell the difference between the three supporting Ya-Yas other than that Maggie Smith has the oxygen tank, Fionnula Flanagan chews gum, and Shirley Knight is the whiny one. None seem distinctive characters on their own and only serve as a chorus of nutty southern alcoholics. Indeed, the screenplay and direction of the film comes across as insulting to southerners in general, expecting the audience to laugh at, rather than with, the characters. In Rebecca Wells’s books (and SM), each woman is a distinct person with her own unique personality, producing laughter and tears that seem natural rather than forced. The Ya-Ya filmmakers should have given more credit to the strengths of the original novel.
Finally, perhaps the most telling mark of an iconic film is the memorability factor. SM has lasted, in part, because it contains so many images and lines that stick with the audience. Who can forget the armadillo groom’s cake, the Pepto-Bismol colored wedding, the locker room “color commentary,” Truvy’s shop, the cemetery scene, or lines like “that looks like an autopsy,” "all gay men have track lighting . . and are named Mark, Rick, or Steve" or “I’d rather have thirty minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special.”
Nothing in the Ya-Ya film has entered the lexicon in the same way. To be honest, after viewing the film, the only images that really stuck with me were the flashback scenes involving Ashley Judd as the young Vivi. That is the one characterization the film replicates accurately from the novel. Judd perfectly embodies the strong, vivacious young woman whose spirit is dampened by her own mind. The novel makes it clear that Vivi’s detachment from reality proves both her greatest strength and her greatest weakness. Her childhood belief that she is destined to be famous helps her survive a harrowing home life and horrific reform school. As an adult, it contributes to her mental breakdown when her spirit can’t handle being reigned in by domesticity drudgery. These nuances are somehow lost in the film version.
While familiarity with original material can enhance the film-viewing experience, movies should be able to stand on their own. Likewise, they should not rely solely on repetition of a successful formula to assume success. Too often film studios think they can fool audiences with the “If you liked X, you’ll love Y” appeal, especially when it comes to films for women. We’re smarter than that. We know that using the same cookie cutter does not ensure the same results if the ingredients are not mixed correctly. Ya-Ya had the perfect recipe for success, but the Hollywood cooks wasted their ingredients, thinking the cutter, not the batter, created the appealing flavor. Here's hoping that, should TPTB ever try to produce Wells's works on film again, they do her creations justice this time around.
Yours in Sisterhood — VB
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