Seriously, Hollywood. Enough already. I feel like I'm drowning in some frothy pink hell made of Sarah Jessica Parker, Hugh Dancy, and lip gloss. I know I'm not alone, particularly among our Cinematical crew, nor among film chicks in general. All week, sites like Jezebel have been ranting about the New in Towns and Confessions of a Shopaholics.
Look, I'm a girl. I'm a girl who likes boys and runs up massive bills at Sephora. There are chick flicks on my DVD shelves. I own Kate and Leopold, and I have watched it more than once.* I can see why you think women like these movies ... many of them do, and there's nothing horribly wrong with that. Fluff is fun. I don't hate the women who watch them, just as I don't hate you for making them. I'd overlook He's Just Not That Into You if you weren't trying to bury me alive in your pink-and-purple demographic. You just aren't stopping -- and half of them seem to star Jennifer Aniston, who I might just assign all the blame to. As she laughs off that tabloid image of her as some kind of man-hungry, crazy cat lady done wrong by Brangelina, she makes dozens of films that suggest American women are all precisely that. Thanks for that, Jennifer -- as I try to get the plot description and title of The Baster out of my head, could you go do some Shakespeare? Didn't you ever want to play Lady Macbeth?
All I can say is that there's going to be a backlash, and it's starting already. The blogosphere is full of it, and while you may put us down to a bunch of psycho feminist hippies, the box office is proving otherwise. Gran Torino beat out Bride Wars. Taken tromped New in Town ... and on Super Bowl Sunday! Maybe Coraline will beat out He's Just Not That Into You, and really show you executives!