Because

This movie is probably racist, sexist, and homophobic. And I'm gonna talk about it, even though it's not remotely current.

Femmebot: Bringing you the creme de la crap since 2010.

Showing posts with label Low Culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Low Culture. Show all posts

Saturday, March 9, 2013

"I'm Stupid, and He's Gay": Why I Didn't Hate Goon

On a snide day, I would characterize Goon (2011) as Rudy gets renovated for the Aptow crowd: your average underdog sports movie populated with dick-and-fart (ok, more like piss-and-herpes) jokes and "edgy," gladiator-esque hockey violence. And truly, any demonstrable value Goon gives us is delivered via these crass mechanisms of violence and lowbrow humor. Which I personally enjoy, to a point. I was about 50% sold on the artless fistfighting, the overdone "triumph of the human spirit: SPORTS!" narrative, and writer/supporting cast member Jay Baruchel's over-the-top obscenity. At first I dismissed Goon as the McFishandChips of film: cheap, forgettable, quick to leave the system, and maybe a little unpleasant as it does so. But I am pleased to report that there is at least one secretly gourmet aspect of this film for a low-culture-loving feminist to enjoy.

Masked in the hypermacho raunch of Goon is an alternative expression of masculinity. A quick glance at lead actor Sean William Scott's IMDB page and I realize I have not enjoyed a single movie I have seen him in: from the American Pie Franchise (Four white suburban boys learn the true meaning of Christmas sex? It's the kind of movie that makes me wish Affirmative Action worked the way my racist grandma thinks it works: every single white dude involved in the making of that film has to give up their spot in cinema to a more-qualified, under-appreciated disabled trans person of color), to Old School, to Cop Out, virtually everything in his filmography feels like overgrown adolescent heterosexual white male commercial filler: the blandest haddock of cinema. Despite the absurd overpopulation of these sorts of films, which are made at the expense of nonwhite, nonstraight, And The Rest (TM), kinds of stories that would really benefit English-speaking cinema (Pariah! Girlfight! Whale Rider! The Fall! Get On The Bus! Smoke Signals!), Scott brings an earnestness to main character and goon Doug Glatt, and it is largely this earnestness that makes this film redeemable.

Doug's lack of ulterior motive is often played for laughs; he's the not-so-bright nice guy who never has a witty comeback to an insult. His single "typical" masculine feature is the result of genetic lottery: Doug has an absurd tolerance for punching and getting punched. He's not full of rage, he's actually quite sweet; he just happens to fight well. This is the ticket price, the nod to the idiotic and condescending notion that all commercial films must be made for boys and men ages 14-60; this is how Doug wins the dick-measuring contest and the movie earns its dudely revenues. Physically, he's a rock.

Interestingly, Doug is not dumb. Even moments that are played for laughs at his expense reveal what is truly wonderful about Doug Glatt: he is atypically honest, and has zero ulterior motives. He doesn't play macho, or all-knowing, or studly, or any of the other costumes that men are asked to wear in this culture. It's part of the joke of his character that he lacks these things, and the way he approaches his hockey career shows that he has always felt like a failure as a man in the traditional sense: he just wants the chance to be good at something, and accepts that opportunity with dedication and without question.

One way of understanding Doug's failed-masculinity-as-strength comes from examining his family dynamics. Doug comes from a prominent New England Jewish family of doctors. Early on, we see the family coming out of Temple, and the parents express a kind of wistful dismay at both their sons: they introduce Doug's brother Ira to a nice young woman in the community, and then watch, half in denial, as Ira races to embrace his boyfriend in full view of the community. Between Ira's clear disinterest in women and Doug's unimpressive bouncer career, both parents are clearly uncomfortable with their sons; the scene ends when Eugene Levy as Doug's father, with a mixture of humor and shame, quips (or maybe just mentions deprecatingly) that both are adopted.

Ira "the gay brother" is not a central character, but his gayness functions in the plot as half-embraced and half exploited. Doug's major hockey breakthrough comes when a minor league player calls him a faggot; he responds, "My brother is gay!" They come to blows, and Doug's cement head/fist combo is captured on film and brought to the attention of a local minor league coach. Despite all the latent homophobia of the Aptow-style bromance (seen mainly in Baruch's sidekick, and in Doug's teammates), it is in taking a stand against a homophobic slur that Doug gets his big break. 

Homosexuality is similarly both embraced and mocked when the Halifax coach gives a speech that culminates in urging his team to be "Greek fuckin' underground gay porn hard!" It's somehow adorably subversive AND idiotically homophobic: it reads as training wheels for straight dudes who may be uncomfortable with atypical masculinity and/or intimacy between men (more on the latter in a bit).

Ira is never developed as a character, and really only has one moment of rejecting the tokenism inherent in the way he is treated by the film. Still, a pivotal scene for Doug comes when his parents and Ira visit him in Canada, after he has been transferred and begun to earn acclaim and popularity as a minor-league enforcer for the Halifax minor-league team. His parents urge him to give up on hockey and follow in their footsteps, and Doug has a pivotal moment of tender defiance. Doug, in his typical direct and somewhat inarticulate manner, repeats a mantra of, "I'm stupid, and he's gay," to his parents, exacting a discomfort necessary to get through to them. 

"I'm stupid, and he's gay," he exclaims repeatedly in a crowded restaurant. He uses this phrase as a chisel to chip away at the hardened layer of expectations placed on him: it is his way of owning that he will never be the man that his parents wanted him to be, that he is atypical, and that if he is not a "man" by their definition, he is still a person worthy of love and respect. Doug argues that if his parents are capable of the magical thinking that allows them to push him to go to medical school, than perhaps they are capable of equally magical thinking that would support him on his own terms. This scene could have flopped terribly, but, assuming one is willing to wade through the mask of gay jokes used to pad the theme of failed-masculinity-as-strength, it is actually quite touching. And contrary to his characterization as stupid, it is actually quite a smart speech. Crude, but smart.

Whether I see it on women, men, or people who identify as both/neither, I LOVE seeing alternative styles of masculinity. That is why, for me, sometimes a bromance is better than a romance. While I am absolutely overdosed on the fish-and-chips of the overgrown het male comedy (and the only thing stopping me from explaining why The 40 Year-Old Virgin is the nexus of everything that is wrong with our culture's approach to gender, sexuality, and romance, is that I would have to watch it again), there are some wonderful things that come out of the I Love You Mans and Superbads of this male-dominated genre: Parting the waters of all the tomfoolery and skullfuckery of the hockey team, and even within the excessively obscene performance of Jay Baruchel as the supportive best friend, we get to see Doug breaking down some of the basic isolation that keeps men from getting to be fully human. 

Doug's main challenge as the Halifax enforcer is to protect his roommate and fabulously named teammate Xavier LeFlamme, who is profoundly talented at hockey, but was dealt a concussive hit to the head by Doug's seasoned rival (played by Liev Schrieber) that knocked him off his game, possibly permanently. 

The sports story at its core is about a man who is strong (Doug) who has to find a way to develop a relationship with a man who is skilled but not strong in the same way (LeFlamme), and who is so shaken by the violence of the sport that he is on the verge of self-destructing. The hostility LeFlamme demonstrates for the better part of the movie is an obstacle that Doug slowly melts with his earnest, good-hearted honesty, and [spoiler alert] Doug's ultimate accomplishment in his short hockey career is to redeem his more talented teammate, so that LeFlamme can cease self-destructing and resume his craft of being a great hockey player. 

It's a story about men's intimacy, best typified by the wordless scene where Doug, following one of several pregame blowouts with LeFlamme, responds to a foul against LeFlamme by grabbing the offender's collar, punching him in the face, all the while making steady "I will protect you" eyes with LeFlamme, from the first hit to his skate to the penalty box. 
Just punches the guy like fourteen times.

"Whoa."

"We are gonna have to work in some more dick jokes,
because I am really feeling the love, here, fellow straight guy!"

It's gross, it's overblown, it's bloody and violent and face punchey, but what Doug does is to restore LeFlamme's sense of safety. And it is goddamn touching.

And I fully admit the possibility that this is just fucked up and jaded of me, but the same violent trope told in the average romcom, where a strong dude comes along and restores a woman's sense of safety so she can succeed in life, is highly likely to simultaneously offend and bore me.1



Final thoughts:

*Allison Pill does a terrific job as the love interest, despite that the entire barrier to their burgeoning romance lies in her sense of sexual shame, and her self-loathing for not being awesome at monogamy. So kudos to Pill for instilling a sense of humanity in a character whose declaration of love is literally, "You make me wanna stop sleeping with a bunch of guys." 

I'm not going to discuss the romantic aspect of the movie any further because it's not a strong aspect of the film and generally gives me a bad, bad case of The Disinterest. So, you know, thanks, Goon, for couching some alternative masculinity in your gladiator momfuckjoke movie, but fuck you for being another one of the millions of movies with no good parts for women.

*Liev Schreiber did a great job as the veteran Apollo Creed/Megaboss character, and gave great energy to the film in his short bursts of screen time throughout the film. A great example is the very casual, calm conversation he shares with Doug when they meet prior to the third act; the conversation remains respectful, blunt, but absent of macho posturing. This is contrasted with a later scene in which he steals Doug's best line from that conversation, word-for-word, in a pregame speech. Schreiber brought the precise combination of likability and dislikability that was missing from his role as Sabertooth in that really off-script Wolverine movie from 2009. (Also, long live MTV Laertes amiright, Shakespeare fans?)

*Also there is this subtext element of Doug's taboo-like resistance to sharing food or drink with people that breaks down after he conversates with Schreiber in a restaurant, and I think this demonstrates the respect he has for Schreiber's character, but might be about his germphobic doctor-upbringing and signifying a subtle relinquishing of some vestigial upper-class behaviors. Or something.

*Ultimately we need more diversity in filmmakers, in casting, in writing, and every other aspect of commercial cinema. And I'm pretty sure we've made enough bromances for the century. But part of dismantling kyriarchy is that men need to learn how to be closer to other men. And if what it takes for that to happen is that men need a cushion made of 1,001 dick jokes, I can deal with that, for now. It's still more interesting to me than watching any movie about a straight woman trying to get married.





1 I don't know this for sure, though, because men and women in romances are so rarely equals the way that Glatt and LeFlamme are as teammates. If anybody can think of romances involving restored senses of safety (NOT involving Manic Pixie Dream Girls or Twilight) that aren't really awful and Safe Haven-looking, please let me know some titles, and in half a year I will get back to you with a full report.

Friday, August 17, 2012

Convalesce and Confessions

So, I torqued my vertebrae, very low on the lumbar register, creating the curious sensation that my pelvis is actively trying to divorce my spine. I am technically in good health, but if you told me that after the nine days I've spent in bed, alternating heat and ice and IcyHot, and making the most out of entirely too few drugs, I would consider shucking your heart out of your chest and swallowing it down like a raw oyster.

What I've been watching: I've seen three seasons in three days of Queer as Folk (US version; I can't understand what British people are saying), but I had to cut myself off when the season three finale made me cry thrice in the span of half an hour. I'm going to be a WRECK when Brian gets ball cancer.

So instead, a moment with a few B-actors I love.

There is an engrossing show that has not yet been cancelled: the objectionably spelled ScyFy channel's Haven. It's got a good Stephen King/Coastal New England foundation, and while it may be unremarkable in large doses due to some formulaic issues, it also has a lot to offer. There is the will-they-or-won't-they love story between the man who can't feel physical sensation and the only woman who can penetrate his numbness. There is the distinct relationship between the supernatural and the dysfunctional, as the impossible disasters inevitably link back to a single "troubled" soul. There is a clever "add a cast member from 90210" Hail Mary that actually WORKS. There is also the charming B actor presence of Eric Balfour.

What can I say? Eric went to high school with Buffy (ok, he tried to eat her in the pilot), he was sympathetic in the only season of 24 I could stand to watch, and he was heartbreaking in Six Feet Under. Was there ever much character variation? Well, no. He's pretty much the Troubled Manslut with the Heart of Gold (and some facial hair) in everything he plays. But that's not really a problem for me, because it seems like he's genuinely trying to hit bottom in every role; it's so depressing, it's almost admirable.

Another actor I've been following is Laruen Lee Smith. She had a nice little affair with Dana the tennis player in the L-Word, and was oddly memorable in the 2001-'03 equally oddly memorable X-men ripoff tv series Mutant X. I'm three minutes into the pilot of Mutant X, and the usage of the crane alone scores it high on the Squalid chart. Smith plays Jean Grey the psychic one, and I'm looking forward to a thousand close-ups of her furrowed brow which indicate she is using her powers. I can't remember if she uses the hand-on-the-forehead gesture to emphasize her skills; only time will tell.

Excitingly enough, these two actors bone like crazy in a movie that amounts, for me, at least, to a bisexual sundae: 2005's Lie With Me. I've only watched half of it (I sense a bad case of disaster syndrome coming on), but I like a) how the film is narrated in the voice of a sexually voracious woman, for once, and b) there is fairly convincing chemistry and extremely convincing sex. I'll report back to you on Lie With Me when I feel I can stomach whatever after-school-special/dangers-of-sex trope they throw in the last 45 minutes. Best guess based on pattern: Eric gets shot.

Let's see.. in my misguided enthusiasm for the future Ms. Bonanza (that's what I call illustriously out bisexual Anna Paquin), I watched Margaret (2011), and was too busy being annoyed that Paquin has been playing teenagers for longer than anyone spends in their actual teens (and also being annoyed by her character) to have any fun. It did spark the idea for a future blog post about two actors, one male, one female, who are so pigeonholed for teenage coming-of-age roles that they have each lost their virginity in at least a dozen movies. I'm looking forward to holding them up to the Gender Analysis Lens, and seeing which one bursts into flame and which one just melts. It's going to be "tits," as the kids like to say.

Squalor of the month goes hands down to In the Cut (2003), a tawdry whodunit complete with dismemberment, voyeurism, slang vocabulary lessons, and really talky, dirty sex (dirty for the MPAA, that is) between Meg Ryan and Mark Ruffalo. The poor film was despised by critics and audiences alike, despite its irregular romance and almost-grindhouse appeal. I think maybe I've been single and/or without sex for too long, because I rewatched this squalid classic out of the bizarre sensation that if I met Ruffalo in person, I would hold some part of him over my mouth and nose and inhale as though he were an oxygen mask. In the Cut: a fair substitute for a kind of sex I should probably not be having. And some nice work by Jennifer Jason Leigh.

Ok, I promise to get back to rape in film as soon as I can sit upright. In the meantime, friends, stay squalid.

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Movie Review Haiku: What the Hell I've Been Watching Lately While Neglecting this Blog

I will chalk up my disloyalty to the precise Haiku form to... creativity! Yeah, creativity, that's it. These are listed from worst to best. Also, I am maybe going to spoil some things.


eXistenZ (1999):

Lots of biological materials,
gutted wildlife, and a routine series of mindfucks
equivalent to an unpleasantly aggressive jerkoff.

The only good thing
was Jude Law's US (and occasionally Canadian) accent.
At least he got the continent right?

[Sidebar Haiku, for Jude Law:

Jude Law, handsome
like a portrait of a WWII hero
who never came home.

Seriously, the guy's not even white;
he's sepia.]


The Grey (2012):
The only women
in the whole damn film
were the hallucinations

as, one by one,
the men against nature
were released into death;

woman = nature's silencer.
PS: Dear movie, some idiot
gave away the last 45 sec. in the trailer.


[Also: I'm fairly certain
Liam Neeson's next movie
is just going to be

120 min close-up
of Liam Neeson's cock.]


God Bless America (2011):

Best and worst trait was its preachiness.
Very articulate, and pathologically clever.
Good vigilante fantasy fun for Godless Liberals.



Enter Nowhere (2011):

Lovingly framed as a slasher
only to become No Exit
among the trees;

drinking an open bottle of 1925 wine
like it hadn't turned to vinegar.
Even though I had it figured out

before the 45 minute mark,
compelling, refreshing for its genre,
(even if it is a film

predicated on saving a Nazi from an airstrike).


Tucker and Dale Vs.Evil (2010)

A little bit Texas Chainsaw,
a little bit beauty and the beast;
reverses stereotypes, mild gore,

light on T&A,
not explicitly feminist,
but a nice nod

to the impracticality of camping
in "stripper shoes."


Fright Night (2010):

Colin Farrell plays vampire,
and I quote, "PURE SEX." Ebullient
fear and humor scene-to-scene.

Probably the best movie
about Anton Yelchin
losing his virginity

(of which there are approximately two dozen).






Saturday, October 16, 2010

Quick and Dirty with Eliza Dushku: Tru Calling

Eliza Dushku is best known (among Whedonites, at least) as the brooding secondary (aka "not blond") slayer in Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel, as well as the super-composite Jill-of-all-trades/potential savior of mankind in the short-lived series Dollhouse. She's the tough-yet-vulnerable brunette, the queen of the one-season wonder. Between her anti-cheerleader charm, her deadly physique, and her inability to oust her Boston accent, she is a hero to low-culture lovers everywhere.



In addition to a repertoire of horror films that inevitably have the words "coeds" and "deadly game" in the description, Dushku has had numerous bit parts in more successful, conventional films and the occasional television show. If she's the feature of something, it's either a made-for-TV movie or a flop, such as 2008's woefully unsatisfying Alphabet Killer, where she plays opposite Cary Elwes, who himself seems to be working rather hard to hit bottom when it comes to a lack of discernment about projects (see also: the feel-good incest movie of the summer).

She's not a showstopper, but she's not a show-killer either; Dushku operates in a strange Bardo between the A-list and invisibility. To fill the gap, she has posed for a bevy of Maxim-type magazines, with a steady reward of spots on every list of "Sexiest Women" from here to Australia. Only time will tell if she's the poor woman's Juliette Lewis or simply the next Juliette Lewis. Either way, we at Femmebot would totally add her to our list of women-objects with ta-ta's. She's gorgeous: alto voice with a bit of a crackle to it, slim yet formidable, femme-y in wardrobe yet butch in poise. Best of all, her better-scripted performances hint at intelligence, depth, and possibly even integrity. It awakens in us a sort of simultaneous admiration and machismo: "I'd like to tap that potential." Or at least see it tapped.



In the meantime, there is 2003's Tru Calling. Femmebot is currently working its way through Season 1, in which Dushku plays opposite an agitated, possibly stoned Zach Galifianakis. The show lasted one-and-a-half seasons; apparently the "add someone from the cast of 90210" gambit of Season 2 could not save it from Fox's bloody axe.



The show's conceit dooms it from the start. Dushku, as the inexplicably named "Tru" works at a morgue, where she has to relive the occasional day in order to save the stray corpse. Get it? She has to repeat a day. Which is not at all monotonous. Each episode focuses on the mystery of Who Killed The Corpse, with heavy-handed hints and unnecessary flashbacks. In almost every show, Tru works her way through two theories before finally stumbling on to the third and correct one--and just in time! The show also deals with the lives of Tru's best friend, sister, and brother, all played by anonymously pretty blond people (possibly Canadian?) who are fairly flat and difficult to care about. On the plus side, there are endless scenes of Dushku in low-cut tops, running. Like, a lot.



Is it terrible? Well, yes. There are only so many times one can watch Dushku save a glass from dropping to the floor, lie to a man she's dating, or agitate the people she's supposed to save by stalking them and/or plying them with impossible knowledge.



Are we at Femmebot going to see it through? Of course! It pleases us to loathe most of something and worship the rest. On a related note, it turns out that Dushku is an accomplished musician and dancer; we can only hope that she gets famous enough to defile her career with some sort of over-produced, auto-tuned pop album. Fly, Icarus, fly!



In the meantime, we will pray for small graces: Please, please don't let Tru get a car.