My Weekend Crush

Before “Bridesmaids” opened to stellar box office last weekend, the prevailing critical buzz was a plaintive plea for men to see this movie despite the fact that it starred a bunch of women. It’s not a chick flick! Funny for everyone! Guys will love this! And while those things are all very, very true, it also irks me a little. Because there’s also nothing wrong with saying this either: Ladies, you will love this movie. No, really, you will love this movie. Laugh until the verge of bladder control issues. Bury your head in your friend’s shoulder from disbelief. Even, yes, maybe mist up a little. This movie is what women have been waiting for from comedies. It is the opposite of everything we hate about the movies we’re supposed to like. In place of treacle and triteness, it gives us hilarity and heart.

The industry always frets that “women’s films” don’t make money. But the truth of the matter is bad women’s films don’t make money. And, let’s be perfectly honest, most chick flicks suck. But when instead you give us quality, fleshed-out characters and whip-smart writing, and we will come to the tune of a $26 million opening weekend. And, heavens, I haven’t even started on the performances. Perfect cast is perfect. Kristen Wiig, Maya Rudolph, Rose Byrne, Wendi McLendon-Covey, Ellie Kemper, Melissa McCarthy. Good God, Melissa McCarthy. You all know I love Kristen to bits and pieces already, but Melissa nearly stole the show from some of the best show stealers in the business. If this cast doesn’t finally and forever put to rest the idiotic “women aren’t funny” bullshit, then nothing ever will.

I think one of the best things about this film, other than the free ab workout from the ugly snort laughing, was leaving the theater made me feel good about being a woman. Too many films make us feel bad about our womanhood. They say only the happily ever after will make us truly happy. But “Bridesmaids” reached for a different kind of aspiration, the sort that says it’s OK to let your freak flag fly. We’re too complex for the stereotypes, too interesting for the Hollywood ending. We women are weird and wonderful creatures, and it’s nice to have a film that celebrates that for a change. Boys, you are more than welcome to come along for the ride. But this movie, this movie is all ours, baby. Happy weekend, all.

Sucker Princess

Oh, “Sucker Punch.” How you’re still disappointing me days later. It wasn’t just that it was bad, which it was. It’s that it had so much potential to be awesome, which it wasn’t. Girl power isn’t just a girl with a gun. Girl power is giving women the power to control their own destinies, to decide their own fates, to carve out their own places in the world. All that lovely talent and whiz-bang CGI wizardry and what you’re left with is an ugly mess that manages to be as unsexy as it is unfun. How do you make two hours of hot girls in tiny skirts kicking ass boring? Like I said, disappointing.

But you know what’s not disappointing? “Sucker Punch” and Disney Princess mash-ups. Certainly the Disney damsels too often represent their own set of gender stereotypes and problematic perpetuations. But they never wallowed as much in their unapologetic misogyny as Zack Snyder’s little porn fetish rape fantasy. Plus, their villains were way, way better. Steampunk zombies have nothing on Ursula the Sea Witch.

You don’t know how much I wish I had seen this movie instead.

SGALGG: Sucker Punch Edition

As counterintuitive as this may sound, there are considerably better ways to spend a Saturday night than with five hot girls in tiny shirts kicking ass. So, yeah, “Sucker Punch” is not a good movie. It’s a bad movie. And not good bad, but bad bad. It’s like they gave a 14-year-old videogame addict $82 million dollars and told him to go make the movie of his dreams. Except they told him he wasn’t allowed to show nudity or sex. So he made up for it with more samurais and more robots and more dragons and more zombie German soldiers. Oh, and a lot of threats of rape. Sigh. Also thanks to all the slo-mo CGI green screenery, I never noticed how short Emily is. She’s a good head shorter than all her co-stars. She’s practically elfin. Has anyone checked her ears?

Of course, none of this complaining about the film is meant in any way to disparage the movie’s lovely leading ladies. Emily Browning, Abbie Cornish, Jena Malone, Vanessa Hudgens, Jamie Chung and Carla Gugino are very lovely. In fact, I think I might have enjoyed the film more on mute, just to gaze at their loveliness and forget the huge fucking mess around them. Still, I am grateful to the movie for bringing these delightful women together, and giving them the opportunity to do their best Straight Gals Acting Like Gay Gals renditions at the film’s premiere last week. In short, save the 10 bucks and just enjoy the eye candy here. You can always make your own popcorn at home.

Carla & EmilySqueeze a little tighter, darling. It’s working.

Emily & VanessaSo that’s why she broke up with Zac.

Abbie & EmilySignature short-girl second base move. Trust me, I’m short.

Emma Roberts, Emily & some girl who went for itHey, you’ve got to take your shots when you see them.

Vanessa & JenaNo, wait, clearly this is why she broke up with Zac.

Jamie & AbbieWhatever Abbie is doing, Jamie likes it.

Abbie & CarlaSomewhere Ryan Phillippe is seething.

Malin Akerman & CarlaHer ex-costars keep coming back for more snuggle time.

CarlaAnd now we know why.

Read my full “Sucker Punch” review on AfterEllen.

Punch drunk

You guys, I’m kind of ridiculously excited about “Sucker Punch.” It’s three weeks and a day away now and I’m practically hopping around the room in anticipation. Do I think this will be a “Citizen Kane*”-esque work of cinema to be discussed in film theory classes for generations to come? Well, no. Do I think it’s going to be a ridiculous amount of fun watching five girls flip around in tiny skirts while kicking major ass? Hell yeah. And, yes, we could get into a long conversation about why girl heroes need to be in body suits, short skirts and bitty bikinis to get seen while male heroes need only to show up in a tuxedo, T-shirt or occasionally Batsuit. But, let’s face it, that’s the world. It sucks and it’s tiring and it’s everywhere. And while I will happily rage against it any other day, today I’m going to celebrate the fact that five female leads – regardless of what they are or aren’t wearing –get to headline a big-budget action spectacular. Women just don’t get to do that all that often and definitely not in such large numbers. So, I’m taking it, tiny skirts and all. And, truth be told, I’m not entirely against tiny skirts as a concept. Ahem.

p.s. I’m also pretty damn excited about “Hanna.” And Saoirse Ronan doesn’t even have to wear a tiny skirt.

Bring it, ladies. Bring it.

*Damn, I got too carried away with the alliteration. Or was thinking of that other, less Oscar-worthy “Citizen Cane” which can be found in the backrooms of seedy video stores across the country.

Our stories, Ourselves

I try to write about women’s issues a lot on this blog – not just because I’m a woman, but because it matters how 51 percent of the population is treated in this world. I would hope that even if I wasn’t a woman I’d still care a lot about women’s issues. Women’s rights, women’s representation, women’s equality – they aren’t just about how women are treated, but what we value as a society. Even though this is mostly just a silly site that merrily muses about effervescent pop culture and pretty, pretty ladies, I try to do my small part to advocate for more, better and total inclusion of women in all forms of entertainment. This year I made an informal resolution to myself to stop watching TV shows that don’t pass the Bechdel Rule. So that killed “Hawaii Five-O” (Grace Park in a bikini is great, but it’d be even greater if she had another regular female castmate to talk with each week.) In TV – where we follow characters for years, not just 90 minutes – it’s even less excusable to not pass the simple test of having two female characters who talk to each other about something other than a man.

But what we see on screen is one thing, what happens behind the screen is another. The simple fact, the undeniable truth is that we women simply are not in command of our own stories. You see, who tells a story matters. Yet according to a new study by the Women’s Media Center, only 8 percent of all film writers are women. That means 92 percent are men, telling all of the stories we see on the screen. In 2009, women directed 7 percent of the top films that year. That’s the same percentage as in 1987, more than two decades ago. Last year, everyone crowed about the great stride for womankind with Kathryn Bigelow’s win as the first woman in 82 years to win an Academy Award for directing. She was only the fourth woman ever to receive the nomination. This year no women were nominated, despite two female-directed films landing best pictures nods. One step forward, yet we’re still looking up from the bottom rung.

These kinds of stark imbalances are sadly not sequestered to the world of entertainment. Women represent less than 25 percent of all op-ed pieces written, 13 percent of Sunday morning news show guests and 3 percent of the decision makers in the media. And we haven’t even reached the halls of real power. Out of 435 members of the House of Representatives, only 79 are women. Out of 100 senators, only 17 are women. We’ve only ever had one female Speaker of the House, who has now been relegated to minority leader. We are still waiting for our first-ever female vice president or president. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

Just yesterday it was revealed in The New York Times that just 13 percent of Wikipedia contributors are women. And Wikipedia is a self-selecting group that can create, edit, contribute at will. So we’re self-selecting ourselves out of 87 percent of the information shared on one of the world’s largest information databases. Fantastic.

These numbers should make us furious. We should be livid. We should demand and accept nothing less than an equal place at the tables of power. Yet, here we are, chugging along. We coexist calmly in the face of inherent inequality. And, sure we frequently bemoan our fate and raise a righteous fuss, but otherwise we kind of just accept it. Maybe it’s that we've been conditioned to pay no attention to the man behind the curtain. So we’ve been fooled into not caring. But it matters who tells our stories, who makes our news, who controls our power.

I guess this is my long and rambling way of saying, I’m mad. I think we all should be mad. That informal Bechdel resolution is now a permanent one. Same goes for movies. Same goes for whatever I put out there every day in my small of slices of that media pie. I’m going to try harder, be madder, get louder. Our stories deserve to be told, and we deserve to tell them.

To infinity, and beyond

What is it about our childhoods? The holding on, the reaching back. I guess it’s because things were simpler, we were simpler. Nostalgia, on its own, is a powerful thing. But when coupled with other emotions – love, loss, regret, hope – it can comfort us better than any blanket. Over the weekend my mother’s best friend, a woman I’ve known since the fourth grade, died suddenly. Wife, mother, grandmother, friend. She was one of the most gracious, hard-working and thoughtful persons I’ve ever known. Our families were close. We spent almost every Christmas Eve together – including this past year – for decades. Yet there, on the other end of that phone call, I wished I was closer. But the 2,000 miles between us meant I could only offer condolences and platitudes. Once the call was over, I was left alone with just thoughts of her family and my mother and all those shared holidays and meals and laughs. So I sought out my own comforting nostalgia. And what I turned to for a surrogate hug was Pixar. It may seem silly to find solace in movies. But that, after all, is what they’re there for – entertainment, diversion, understanding, truth. This weekend I marathoned all the “Toy Story” movies. Can you believe I’d never seen them before – and I’m a Pixar fangirl. And then, when I had trouble sleeping that night, I pulled up “Finding Nemo” on my iPhone and let it help me drift off to slumber. Yes, I’m a childless adult with “Finding Nemo” and “WALL-E” on her phone. While they’re not a part of my childhood, they bring up the universal emotions from childhood. Regardless of age, they’re a reminder of what mattered then isn’t really so much different than what matters now. Love, laughter, loyalty and how lucky we are to have good friends pass through our lives.

Always a bridesmaid

Unless all the other nominees fall into a “Rabbit Hole” (puns, puns!) and therefore clear the field for a Nicole Kidman upset, whoever wins for best actress or supporting actress this year will be taking home her very first shiny naked gold man. Well, fine, I don’t want to make any assumptions about these women’s sexual peccadilloes so to be safe let us say their first shiny naked gold man named Oscar – without private parts or facial features, and holding a sword. Right, so my point is that the vast majority of the actresses nominated for Academy Awards this year haven’t won before. No wins for Annette Bening, no wins for Natalie Portman, no wins for Helena Bonham Carter, no wins for Amy Adams. Nada. But that could all change for two lucky ladies. (Though until then, please feel free to ogle their award-winning tank top form as a consolation prize.)

Still, there are so many other ridiculously talented actresses who won’t have that chance this year and are likewise trophyless. Like, did you know Greta Garbo and Judy Garland never won an acting Oscar? No wonder Garbo wanted to be left alone – the shame. And there are plenty of modern-day actresses who have never gotten their proper due. Here is a look at a ten of today’s continual bridesmaids, never a bride when it comes to the shiny naked golden man.

Julianne Moore

Julianne has been nominated four times (“The End of the Affair,” “Boogie Nights,” “Far From Heaven,” “The Hours”). More often than not, Moore picks interesting, off-beat projects over commercial, big-budget offerings. And she is ready and quite convincing at playing gay from “The Hours” to “The Private Lives of Pippa Lee” to “Chloe” and “The Kids Are All Right.”She should have been nominated alongside Annette. I mean, if she can make a totally ludicrous stalker flick like “Chloe” watchable, she should have a whole separate room in her house just to hold all of her Oscars already.

Glenn Close

Glenn Close has not won an Oscar. Yeah, let that sink into the little gray cells. Five nominations (“The World According to Garp,” “The Big Chill,” “The Natural,” “Fatal Attraction,” “Dangerous Liasons”) and no wins yet Mira Sorvino, Cuba Gooding Jr. and Roberto Benigni all have acting Oscars.

Sigourney Weaver

Everything I said above, ditto. Three nominations for Sigourney (“Aliens,” “Gorillas in the Mist,” “Working Girl”) and no wins. Don’t make her get into that hydraulic robot suit from “Aliens” and crush some heads, people.

Naomi Watts

The first time I saw Naomi was in the dream within a nightmare within a blue box that was “Mulholland Dr.” When she made the transformation from Betty to Diane, I didn’t even recognize her for a minute. And then I knew – I knew this one was special. Only one nomination so for “21 Grams,” but that’ll change. It has to.

Angela Bassett

Angela only has one nomination for 1993’s searing “What’s Love Got to Do With It,” but that’s not for lack of talent but the paucity of strong roles for actresses of color, period. Come on, she’s been giving us two tickets to the gun show for years, the least we could do is invite her to a few more award shows.

Michelle Pfeiffer

I think the problem with Michelle is that she is so damn beautiful that sometimes you forget she can act. Three nominations (“Dangerous Liasons,” “The Fabulous Baker Boys,” “Love Field”) prove she can. But once you see that face, you’re all, “Um, wait, what were we talking about?”

Laura Linney

Laura is one of those people I fear will never win because she is always good, always. In fact, she is so good we take her for granted. But being that consistent isn’t luck, it’s hard work – like her three nominated roles (“You Can Count on Me,” “Kinsey,” “The Savages”). Well, at least she is doing well for herself on TV.

Catherine Keener

Nominated twice (“Being John Malkovich,” “Capote”), Catherine is another one of those unendingly dependable actresses. But just because it looks easy, doesn’t mean it is. Also, dude, she’s Dawn Denbo’s sister.

Salma Hayek

Don’t let the accent fool you, Salma is good. Her one nominated turn in “Frida” was great. And – think about it nominating committees – why would you ever pass up the opportunity to have Salma in a form-fitting ball gown on your red carpet? That opportunity you’re missing is golden.

Lauren Bacall

In 1996, when Lauren lost in an upset to Juliette Binoche after her first and only nomination for “The Mirror Has Two Face,” you could almost see her mentally telling Juliette to put her lips together and blow.

So many snubs, so many ways that blows.

This slays me

So last night, in a moment of weakness and because nothing else was on TV and it was a free preview weekend for Showtime, I cracked and finally watched “Twilight.” I’d resisted watching a single “Twilight” movie for more than two full years. Of course, I heard all about them. Unless you lived in a cave (without cable service or the internet service or subscription service to “Entertainment Weekly”), it was impossible to ignore the phenomena. But until last night I’d just scoffed on principle. Now, well, now I feel I can scoff with authority. It’s not necessarily that I thought “Twilight” was terrible – I take it back, every time Bella and Edward spoke to each other it was terrible. It’s just that it’s such an outmoded kind of love story. Really, the weak girl needs a strong man to protect her? Really, stalking as a form of romantic courtship? Really, “You’re like my own personal brand of heroin,” really? Whuck?

I guess what “Twilight” really does is make me miss “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” even more. Because instead of being about a fragile girl and her gallant, broody vampire protector, it was the story of a gallant girl who protected the world and, OK, occasionally dated broody vampires. But at least none of her vampire boyfriends sparkled in the sun like a sullen disco ball. Buffy also had Willow and Xander. And Willow had Tara and extra flamey candles. It also has the L Word (Lllll-esbians!) and the F Word (Fffff-eminism) and the P Word (Ppppp-op culture zingers!) I need to go pull out my DVDs immediately and hug them tight.

I know it’s unfair to compare “Buffy” and “Twilight,” really. One is about a romance set to appeal to teen girls and people’s inner teen girl and the other is about subverting of all those teen girl romances and carving its own path. But just in case those of you watching at home had forgotten, Buffy is better. And all those teenage girls sleeping soundly on their Team Edward or Team Jacob pillows should instead be sleeping under a big Team Buffy comforter. Because that’s the real stuff dreams are made of. Also – come on – Buffy would clean the floor with Edward. Seriously, not even close.

Buddy can you spare a fuck

So, say you’re the star of one of the most critically acclaimed films of the year. Say it has already garnered a slew of awards and nominations. Say it is on the short list for Oscars as well. How best would you follow up said stint in the limelight? A) By taking your time and selecting a worthy follow-up film of equal prestige? Or B) By signing on to a fuck buddy movie with some goofy male co-star and dropping trou repeatedly? If you chose B, you are Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis.

Yes, somehow the actresses filmed rival fuck buddy movies (and they say romance is dead) as their follow ups. Both have blandly generic idioms for titles: “No Strings Attached!” “Friends with Benefits!” Both have mildy annoying, definitely smug male co-stars: Ashton Kutcher! Justin Timberlake! Both have released sexy Red Band trailers to entice the horny masses: Natalie Portman naked! Mila Kunis naked! Ugh, ladies, really?

Look, I know lame rom-coms are a rite of passage in almost any young actresses’ life. I know they’ve run out of “meet cute” ideas. So now they’ve move on to “Already met, let’s fuck.” But how is it that both actresses from “Black Swan” are now in dueling movies with the exact same concept? So now the only question remains, which one looks better? The answer is probably dependent on which male co-star you find less irritating. But as always, in the interest of science, I think we should examine the evidence. To the videotape!

No String Attached


Friends with Benefits

Gosh, will they end up falling in love and having more than just sex? I can’t see that coming at all, in either movie, at all.

You know what, I take it all back. These movies don’t look bad and clichéd at all. In fact, they’re brilliant, but with one minor tweak. Drop Ashton and Justin and just put Natalie and Mila together. Call it “No Strings with Benefits” and have them be two lifelong friends who decide to start having sex instead. We already know they look amazing together. Are you listening, Hollywood? Now that, that is box office gold. GOLD.

Stop trying to make fetch happen

So last night while attempting to watch and understand my first episode of “Pretty Little Liars” (admittedly, jumping into a “Scooby-Doo with lesbians who aren’t Velma” teen mystery show in its second season is a little tricky), I saw an ad for an abomination. As in hell fire, eternal damnation, do not pass go do not collect $200 abomination. Why is there a “Mean Girls 2?” What fuckery is this? The direct-to-DVD sequel to the 2004 film that lacks a) original star Lindsay Lohan, b) original writer or co-star Tina Fey or c) any of the stars, story or – from the more than bland trailer – sophisticated sensibilities of the original. Boo, you whore! After a little research, I found out that Tina wisely declined (repeatedly) to be involved in any sequel shenaniganery. Instead lesbian director Melanie Mayron (the red-head from “thirtysomething”) directed the whole thing. For shame. As I was saying, an abomination.

So to cleanse the palate of such horrors (why, Disney, why must you resurrect something that was perfect and turn it into a Frankenstein monster no one wants?), let’s just celebrate the original. Watching it for the first time in the theater I discovered that a) this Lindsay Lohan girl can act, I hope she grows up nicely, b) this Tina Fey person can do a lot more than tell jokes behind a desk, I want to go to there and c) this movie is like “Heathers” for another generation, but in an amazing non-derivative way. You go, Glen Coco.

“Mean Girls 2” doesn’t even go here.

p.s. The original also gave us this Tina Fey in her bra. No sequel could ever improve on that. Ever.

Swan Dive

The line between awestruck appreciation and smutty sensationalism is lovingly straddled here at Surrenders. I will freely admit to giving in to my weaker (boobs) impulses (tank tops) sometimes (usually on Tuesdays). So today, I had a bit of an internal struggle about whether or not to post this. You see, it is most definitely smutty, but it’s also pretty fucking sensational. It’s the sex scene between Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis from “Black Swan” that leaked onto the internet earlier this week. But it’s also Christmas. And at Christmas you tell the truth. The truth is this is just too hot not to post.

Though here is the thing, if you plan to see the movie you shouldn’t watch. No, really, you should watch it in the theater. In context, it’s even better. In context, it’s a revelation. In context, it’s not just two incredibly hot actresses going down for a little stimulating simulated sexytime. Context is everything. Of course, the urge to click play is probably irresistible and you won’t listen and you’ll watch and rewatch and rewatch. Honey, I do not blame you one bit. I’ll take my ladies loving – and other things that start with an “L” – on other ladies wherever I can get it. But you’re doing yourself a disservice and you’ve been warned. Don’t worry, I also realize how incredibly mean it is of me to post something and then tell you not to watch it. What can I say, sometimes I suck.

Though if you were somehow still on the fence about seeing “Black Swan,” perhaps this clip will be the one to, shall we say, sway you. I saw the film again last night and can attest to its continued magnificence and madness the second time around. The second time around, you can really enjoy its masterful claustrophobia and punishing perfectionism. And, yes, you can really, really enjoy each and every delicious moment of stimulating simulated sexytime – oral or otherwise. Though, the film is so much more than those two minutes in heaven (see, the conflicted thing again). The sex isn’t even really about the sex – it’s about control and release, passion and paranoia, unrealized longings and unexplored selves. The movie is a grand temple to the elegant, invigorating pursuit of art at any cost. Yes, fine, OK – it’s also hot. Right, at this point you’re probably thinking, “Jesus, Snarker – shut the fuck up so we can click play already.” Which I will now do. Hope it’s as good for you as it was for me.

[I would hope it’s already explicitly implied, but NSFW]

Black magic woman

Perfection is madness. It is a never-ending, all-consuming, ultimately unattainable quest. So then to single-mindedly strive for it is, in itself, a form of insanity. And it is that madness at the center of “Black Swan.”

The film is a thing of horrifying beauty, a gorgeous nightmare set in the world of elite ballet where grace is only achieved through years of punishment. That unforgiving world is Nina Sayers’ whole life. Played in a virtuoso performance by Natalie Portman, Nina is a technically brilliant but emotionally stilted dancer with the New York ballet company who dreams of leaving the corps and becoming the prima ballerina. She gets her shot when the arrogant artistic director decides to put on a reimagined production of “Swan Lake.”

And that is when things start to get freaky. The story is a story within a story. Everything, it seems, has a mirror image. The ballet company is performing “Swan Lake,” about a good swan and her evil twin. Nina looks remarkably like the new ballerina in the corps, Lily (played with irresistible smolder by Mila Kunis), who is also her understudy. And like in “Swan Lake” where the Swan Queen is rivaled by the Black Swan, uptight Nina feels threatened by seductive Lily.

Nina is sheltered in every way – she is a slip of a woman who still lives with her overbearing, stifling mother (played with creepy abandon by Barbara Hershey) and gets tucked in to bed every night in her pink childhood room surrounded by overstuffed teddy bears. Their relationship is the very definition of toxic, and not in the fun, dance-club Britney Spears way.

It’s hard to overstate how beautiful and how powerful Natalie is in this role. Some actors inhabit their parts, she shrinks into hers – both literally and figuratively. She does most of her own dancing and much has already been made of the months of rigorous training and strict diet she underwent to prepare to become this tiny dancer. Her Nina is brittle, driven, timid and obsessed. She is transcendent and terrifying and you can’t take your eyes off her magnificent face – nor can the camera. If Natalie isn’t a lock for the Oscar, she will certainly be in a caged death match with Annette Bening for the trophy come February.

In a way, “Black Swan” is the perfect female companion piece to director Darren Aronofsky’s last picture, “The Wrestler.” Both are about bone-crushing physicality and living solely for one’s art. But “Black Swan” takes the fetishism of ritual, discipline and pain to new heights. Nails split, toes crack – even a hangnail is not just a hangnail.

What is real, what isn’t real, what is a phantasmagorical paranoid lesbian fever dream? The experience is intense and trippy and gory and sexy and crazy and beautiful and painful, all at once. But mostly, just really fucking intense.

Things become unhinged in the best possible way. The movie is grandiose and overblown, preposterous and campy. Parts are even a little cliché. But it’s those very imperfections that make “Black Swan” so viscerally exciting. Like a dancer spinning precariously on point, the movie teeters on the edge of disaster.

But let’s get to why you’re really here. How was the sex between Natalie and Mila? Short version: Hot. Long version: Really hot. Seriously, even if the film wasn’t great – which is it – that scene alone is worth the ticket. Once this comes out on DVD I predict much rewinding, so much so that there might be a slight skip at one particular point on the disc. Have I mentioned that it’s hot?

Taut, claustrophobic, intimate, alive, the film crackles with manic energy. This is a movie that reminds me why I love the movies. To sit in the dark for two hours and become completely absorbed by a story is a sort of black magic. And when the spell is cast as bewitchingly as it is in “Black Swan,” you’re more than happy to fall under its exquisite madness.

UPDATE: To see when “Black Swan” is coming to a theater near you, check out the upcoming rollout dates. Then go see for yourself how everything is terrifyingly beautiful at the ballet.

Baby, it's cold outside

Wow, tomorrow is December. I know this because I’ve switched to a long-sleeve sleep shirt and can no longer wear flip flops while running out to the grocery store (hey, it’s California, after all). Now, certain things about December always bum me out. The fact that it’s pitch black by 5:30 p.m. The fact that I’m assaulted by cloying holiday muzak everywhere I go. The fact that it’s the last month for me to cram in all the resolutions I failed to accomplish during the year. But other things about December always make me smile. The fact that I can finally drink hot cocoa (Hey, it’s California, it’s too damn hot here most of the time). The fact that cuddling on the sofa under a blanket it considered a perfectly acceptable recreational activity. The fact that I can watch all my favorite winter movies. Now, these aren’t just holiday movies. I mean, I watch “It’s a Wonderful Life,” every year like everyone else. But these are those seasonal treats that only seem right when there’s a chill in the air. So pour some hot cocoa, grab a fluffy blanket and come cuddle on the couch. It’s movie time.

Love ActuallyNecessary actually. In fact, with all due respect to Frank Capra, this is my favorite holiday movie, period. Every time Snape makes Ms. Trelawney cry, I start bawling. Though I’m glad to see the poor lovelorn best friend has finally moved on from pining for Keira Knightley and is now happily fighting zombies.

FargoAs soon as Marge Gunderson said “So, you were havin’ sex with the little fellow, then,” I knew I’d love Frances McDormand forever. Admit it, nothing says happy holidays like a foot sticking out of the wood chipper.

Doctor ZhivagoJulie Christie! Omar Sharif! Snow! Romance! Fur hats! (Normally, I’m really against fur. But it was the dead of winter during the Russian Revolution. So I’ll cut them some slack.)

The Cutting EdgeToe pick! This is my 100 percent, No. 1, favorite, if-it’s-on-I-must-watch, guilt pleasure winter movie of all time. I can’t tell you how many incredibly mediocre 90s movies I sat through because of my subsequent love of Moira Kelly.

So, let’s have it. Share your favorite winter movies. Though if you say “The Shining,” I’m going to have to seriously reassess sharing my blanket with you. And, for those of you preparing nativity scenes this season, remember that there was, indeed, more than one lobster present at the birth of Jesus. Merry December, everyone.

“I have just met you and I love you”

I knew I loved Pixar for a reason. On Monday the fine folks at Pixar released an It Gets Better Video. Two things about the video. 1) You will probably cry. 2) You might want to also get the phone numbers of all of the cute lesbians who work there. Seriously, that place is just brimming with gay ladies. Now, I’ve watched a lot of these videos. They’re all wonderful and touching in their own way. But I think the Pixar one is especially so because these are the people who make some of my favorite movies. The movies I turn to when I need instant perking up. The movies I carry around with me on my iPhone. “Finding Nemo,” “WALL-E” and “Imagine Me & You” as the three movies I always have with me in my pocket everywhere I go. So that connection, coupled with that kind of honesty and empathy from the people behind the pictures, well that’s going to put a lump in my throat every single time. But in the best possible way, you know, like a Pixar movies. Here are a few of my favorite Pixar moments, which make me smile and feel better, no matter what.

“Just keep swimming.”


“Ta-da!”


“I was hiding under the porch because I love you.”


Finally, my guaranteed mood lifter. Why, yes, I do speak whale.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

My Weekend Crush

How I love a smart girl. As a child, I was never one for princesses. Well, I take that back, I was all for Princess Leia. But it wasn’t the Disney princesses with their flowing gowns and petite waists I daydreamed over. Caring about whether my prince would come was, obviously, not high on my list. But what was high on my list was smarts. So when other girls wanted to be Cinderella dancing at the ball, I wanted to be Anne Shirley acing her exams. The girl heroines I have always loved are far from the damsel in distress and always do their own rescuing – and then some.

So my inner little nerdy girl swells with pride each time I see Hermione Granger on the big screen. The smart girl, the plucky girl, the girl who does her own rescuing – and then some. Now there is someone amazing for girls, young and old, to aspire to be like. Intelligent, brave, loyal, a little bossy, a lot resourceful. She follows in a long line of great smart girl characters from literature (and subsequently film): Elizabeth Bennet, Jo March, Anne Shirley, Scout Finch. That’s mighty fine company and mighty important company, too. While it’s probably impossible to accurately measure their impact on generations of young women, they have given us a desperately needed alternative to the Barbieification of womanhood. Hermione makes girls, and women, everywhere want to be smart and strong and wield a wand like a fucking bad ass. Now that is what I call hearing us roar. Happy weekend, all.

p.s. HARRY POTTER SPOILER ALERT: When you go see “Deathly Hallows,” watch for when those sly Potter kids slip in a sneaky “Twilight” joke. Cheeky little monkeys.

p.p.s HARRY POTTER SPOILER ALERT II: OK, since you asked, here was the sly little joke.

In the movie when Harry, Ron and Hermione arrive at Mr. Lovegood’s house, he mentions “The Tale of the Three Brothers.” Hermione begins to read it from Dumbledore’s copy of “The Tales of the Beedle Bard” and the story begins: “There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight.” Ron stops her and says “Midnight, mum always said midnight.”

Now, that’s all in the book, but then in the book Ron says, “Sorry, I just think it’s a bit spookier if it’s midnight!” and Harry retorts “Yeah, because we really need a bit more fear in our lives.”

But in the movie Hermione shoots him a glare and then Ron sheepishly says, “Twilight is fine, better actually.”

That cannot be a coincidence. And that is also very cheeky. Nicely done, Potter kids.

Who’s your mamma?

So, I had this wondrously wicked rant planned on ageism in Hollywood. I mentioned the space-time continuum and wormholes and the very fabric of the universe. Heck, I even did a little math. I went all out. But then, well, then I actually did the research on the object of my rage and I had to scrap the whole damn thing. Pity really, I got off quite a ripper.

So, here is what got me so steamed, initially. News came out over the weekend that Olivia Wilde had signed on to play Justin Timberlake’s mother in an upcoming movie. Olivia’s age: 26. Justin’s age: 29. Um, I’m no math whiz but those numbers just don’t pencil out.

I had seen this news tidbit in headlines and in some harrumphy tweets the last few days. Hollywood’s ass-backwards view on aging! She is three years younger than him! What the fuckity fuck!?!

But then those pesky facts got in the way. Because, you see, Olivia is playing Justin’s mom in a futuristic thriller about a society where all aging stops at age 25. So, um, that whole crazy age conundrum where she could never, given the laws of physics and basic math, be his mother thing now actually works. But I still have all this anger? What will I do with it?

Of course, almost any anger at the entertainment industry’s obsession with youth – particularly female youth – is justified. Women are past their prime by 40 while men are still happily headlining into their 60s. And May-December romances are just part of the everyday lexicon. Try to think of five recent adult dramas where the male and female romantic leads were the same age. Or give me one where the woman was older and it wasn’t used as a gimmick. Keep thinking, I’ll go make a sandwich.

While Olivia’s age non-disparity with her supposed son makes sense within the confines of the story, this Oedipal Aging Complex is actually also nothing new. Mrs. Robinson (Anne Bancroft) was only six years older than dear, sweet Benjamin (Dustin Hoffman) in “The Graduate.” And Alexander the Great (Colin Farrell) was a year older than his mama Queen Olympias (Angelina Jolie) in “Alexander.”

Though, if you really want to get into the serious math of the situation, Olivia’s newest as-yet-untitled project actually still follows in the same ageist footsteps as always – though on a slightly smaller scale. Now stay with me here: Olivia is three years younger than Justin, who is playing her son. Justin is five years older than Amanda Seyfried, who is playing his girlfriend. And Amanda is seven years younger than Vincent Kartheiser, who is playing her father. So a guy can have a mom that is three years younger than him and a girlfriend who is five years younger, but a gal still needs to have a guy be older than her to play her dad, if only by seven years. Whew, math.

OK, at this point you’ve probably glazed over what with the numbers and the physics and math. But my point, and I do have one, is that even if my meticulous rant didn’t work out in this instance, it wouldn’t kill Hollywood to have the math work out in the ladies favor for a change. Age is just a number, but numbers doesn’t lie. Well, that and everyone loves looking at pictures of Olivia Wilde, right? Right.

Pull the Trigger

I love movies because, unlike most TV, they are an experience shared at the same time in the same room with a bunch of strangers. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love TV, too. And thanks to the globe-shrinking powers of the internet, watching TV has become one of our greatest communal experiences. But there’s just something about stories told in the dark that always makes my pulse quicken. I am also a person who enjoys watching the trailers. In fact, if you come late and make me miss the trailers I will hog the popcorn in revenge.

Now, once again, the series of tubes has made trailer watching a different experience than it once was. It’s rare that I see a trailer for the first time in the theater anymore, rarer still that I haven’t heard of the movie altogether. But that’s just what happened when I got an email recommending “Trigger” last week. [Big, swooping hat tip to Babs!]

“Trigger” is the kind of movie trailer that makes me want to run out and see the movie immediately. It makes me excited about movies. It makes me want to share it with strangers. So, I will.

I know, right? A movie about two women rockers and their friendship and possibly more? Ticket – I want one. Now.

So, as I do with anything that excites me, I try to find out more. A little digging and the story of “Trigger” unfolded, and, once again, only made me want to watch it more.

Indie film regulars will recognize its stars: Canadian actresses Molly Parker and Tracy Wright. You might know Molly from “Deadwood,” “Six Feet Under” or the intense and disturbing “The Center of the World” (where she shares quite a kiss with Carla Gugino). You might remember Tracy from “When Night is Falling” (as the circus director’s wife, and the circus director was also her long-time, real-life husband Don McKellar) or “Me You and Everyone You Know.”

And now, well, there’s no way to sugar-coat this, so I’ll just say it straight. This next part is sad part. Tracy died in June of this year from pancreatic cancer. “Trigger” was her final film, made in only nine days as everyone rushed to work with her before she became too ill. I know, tinges the excitement with melancholy and weight.

>So now, not only do I want a ticket but I want the movie to be special. And, from the glowing review in Cinematical, it really is. Reviewer Monika Bartyzel calls it perhaps the best example of female friendship put on the screen: “Quite simply, Trigger is to female friendship what Before Sunrise/Before Sunset was for romance.”

Some wonder what it takes to make a realistic woman for the big screen. Can a man write a well-formed female character? If they do, is it just a result of collaborations with a woman in their life? To me, the success of a female character depends not on the person writing it – Daniel MacIvor wrote the film – but on the humanity put into it, and how a female actress can then infuse that with their own gendered experience. In Trigger, these women are about as real as they come.

It also probably must be noted that the male reviewer for The Hollywood Reporter was considerably, condescendingly less impressed with the film saying that nothing said between the women in the film’s conversation-heavy dialogue makes it “the least bit compelling.” I guess two chicks just chatting to each other doesn’t do it for him. He also bums us out even more by revealing that “There’s also a hint-- more a perfumey whiff really -- of homoeroticism in their relationship, but it vanishes quickly.” Sheesh, dude, even lesbians don’t get that bitter when the lesbianism fizzles out in movies.

Look, we all know movies about women and their relationships outside of those with men are a rare breed. Think back to the movies you saw this summer and count how many passed the Bechdel Rule. That is a movie with at least two women in it who talk to each other about something other than a man. How many did you get?

So, naturally, any movie that both satisfies that rule and brings together such tremendous talent and is about women in rock-and-roll is a no brainer in my book. Take my ticket. Dim the lights. I’m going to the movies.

Brought to you by the letter R

So last night in a fit of late-night iTunesing, I had to muster up all my willpower to resist buying “Imagine Me & You” to carry around with me in my pocket forever, always. (I already own the DVD. I don’t want to wear out its welcome. I need to be sensible and eat my vegetables, young lady.) So I turned to Twitter for support (y’all are a bunch of enablers, by the way). But, instead, what you really did was draw my attention to something very, very odd and very, very frustrating.

“Imagine Me & You” is rated R. Which means here in the United States no child under the age of 17 could see it in a theater without an accompanying parent or guardian. In essence, that means that the Motion Picture Association of America thought there was something so objectionable about this movie that children must be shielded from its potentially harmful effects. Its official MPPA rating says it earned that R for “for some language and sexual material.” Now, normally R is reserved for movies with explicit sex scenes, sexualized nudity, extreme foul language and/or graphic violence. All the “Saw” movies (including the upcoming third “Saw” in 3-D no less), which feature murder, torture and dismemberment of every imaginable variety, are rated R. “Boogie Nights,” a movie about the porn industry and a man who uses his enormous penis to become a star in it, is rated R. The first two “Scary Movie” films, which were all about supposedly satirizing sexy flasher films by showing excessive sex and slashing, were rated R (the last two only were rated PG-13).

Does “Imagine Me & You” have nudity? No, because I sure as hell know I would have remembered seeing Lena Headey naked, or Piper Perabo or even Giles Anthony Stewart Head. Does “Imagine Me & You” have murder, torture, dismemberment, blood, guts or any of those in any combination in 3-D? No, though the awful stock broker boss does make me feel momentarily stabby for being such an ass. Does “Imagine Me & You” have extreme foul language? Well, No. 9 might argue this but I really don’t think there’s too much past a “fuck” here or there.

But what it does have is two women kissing and falling in love. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, HIDE THE CHILDREN!

Now, if you’ve seen “This Film Is Not Yet Rated,” this is not news to you. Gay-themed movies are often rated much more harshly than straight movies. “But I’m a Cheerleader” was given an NC-17 (No children under 17, period, even with an adult) at first, then downgraded to an R after cuts. “Boys Don’t Cry” was initially given an NC-17, then trimmed to get an R. “American Psycho” was initially given an NC-17 rating, but then when they cut not the axe murder or the chainsaw dismemberment or the serial killing in general but the one three-way sex scene it was graced with an R. Message: As long as there’s no sex in your violence, you’re A-OK. Also, if there happens to be gay sex in your violence you’re totally screwed – and not in even a remotely kind of fun way.

While the ratings are “voluntary,” they mean everything to both the film’s exposure and eventual bottom line. Many theaters won’t play a NC-17 movie. Many distributors won’t stock a NC-17 DVD. A R rating, in turn, will limit a movie’s potential box office because a whole segment of the population is excluded. But money and audience aside, what this is really still saying is that gay relationships are so different, so frightening, so unacceptable, so deviant that we have to protect the young impressionable minds from seeing them.

The only scary thing about these two women together is that someone would look at them and think, “Shit, they’re scary.” And the only way this movie could ever really be rated R is if the “R” actually stood for “Repeat Viewing.” Which I think I’ll do now. On my iPhone. Just to prove a point. And that point is: “You’re a wanker, MPAA!”