Happy Christmas! Behold, misogyny combined with the worst writing this side of Twilight!
It all started when a certain sack of old balls named Owen Gleiberman (gee, I hope I’m spelling his name correctly, but if I’m not, there is absolutely no loss – the douche nozzle deserves anonymity) wrote an article opining that, as it had been 15 years between Bridget Jones movies, and as Renee Zellwegger looked different because of time and reality and stuff, was she the same person?
The mind reels.
Do you think Woody Harrelson, Al Pacino, Paul Newman, Robert Redford and every other male actor who has ever existed MAGICALLY TURNED INTO WOOD SPRITES WHEN THEY GOT KINDA OLDER? How about when certain male actors deliberately went after a different physical image? Did De Niro convert to Islam after he gained weight for Raging Bull? Are Russel Crowe, Edward Norton, and Patrick Stewart a bunch of neo-nazis because they appeared onscreen with scary tattoos?
Then some masturbatory word-jizz came down the pipe when a failed writer (of the now-cancelled, Martin Scorsese sponsored TV show Vinyl) wrote some claptrap personal profile of the Australian actress, Margot Robbie. To wit:
It goes on and on. This is sadly par for the course whenever some male writer needs to throw together some bullshit under a deadline when he a) has no idea who the person was, and b) had nothing to say on his own. And so, you have pasty white creepy middle aged, middle class Elmer Fudds writing weirdly proprietorial articles on women who are several LIGHT YEARS out of their league, who normally wouldn’t waste their piss on these writers if they were on fire. Whenever some asshole male writer starts focusing on the physical attributes of a woman, ALWAYS investigate what Rico Suave looks like himself. Then post those lovely, sexy shots of music critic lotharios somewhere public – if anyone deserves to be outed, if words have to be raised in defense when anyone is dismissed/judged solely by the incredibly arbitrary standards of personal attractiveness, hypocrite misogynist assholes are an excellent place to start.
A number of people (beyond lunatics such as myself) aren’t taking this shit as a given anymore – as I’ve said a million times before, we are living in a nouvelle vague of feminism, particularly in light of the atrocity which took place in the States a month ago. Clinton may have barely lost, and she may not have been as representative of Women (or those identifying as women) as others, but the feeling remains in the air, and this oppositional attitude will continue in the face of reaction.
Not only are female actors, writers, artists, and everyone else that contributes to the cultural conversation taking a stand against the kind of bigotry that can be found from sea to shining sea (from dog-mud Twitter eggs to Vanity Fair writers and their lax editors), these first responders are no longer doing so alone. That inane competition which seems to govern (and I do mean govern) the entertainment industry, and which fractures and divides those who should be allies, is being left to one side in the name of survival and solidarity. Most people don’t use my language, and would consider me a radical relic, but their actions are nevertheless the same. We use different words – that’s all.
Anyway, for a much funnier look at this stupidity, and the manner in which drooling male journo-bots with nothing to say and the retarded articles they produce (including the Robbie article, which describes Australia as “America fifty years ago”) see – http://tinyurl.com/hjhjcwv
Do yourself a favor and watch something like Born In Flames or the new season of Crazy Ex Girlfriend (which has lasted a lot longer than fucking Vinyl or Roadies or the other tributes to the male wannabe rockstar), or check out Take My Wife, an amazing new TV show which is about the trials and tribulations of a lesbian comedy duo who are also married (both on the show and in real life). Or listen to Rhea Butcher’s very rad comedy album, imaginatively entitled Butcher. Or, I don’t know, find out where any given male writer for dinosaur publications like Variety or Rolling Stone or Vanity Fair, and kick his balls in, while mocking his appearance. It may not change the world, but the visual image of dozens of fortysomething “journalists” rolling around on the ground and gripping their nuts makes me laugh and laugh.
Ho Ho Ho!