Posted on 06/17/2005 5:22:27 AM PDT by bmweezer
I must admit that one of my weakest areas of overall knowledge is the “chick flick” genre of film. I basically avoid seeing movies designed to appeal specifically to women as I don’t happen to be a female, and this, unfortunately, precludes my interest in a good deal of the Harlequinisms passed off as blockbusters by the motion picture industry.
However, that’s not to say that I haven’t been exposed to many of these specialty productions because I have, although, generally, under duress. The foulest one I ever experienced was Bridges of Madison County which not even Clint Eastwood could enhance. It was a monstrously cliché-ridden calamity. I recall walking around the theatre lobby every half hour before reluctantly reentering to be mauled until the movie ungraciously ended. Slightly better was the J-lo vehicle, The Wedding Planner, because I saw it at the Brew & View where I could ogle audience members instead of the film, and also numb myself with two dollar Miller Lights.
Despite my smugness regarding this anti-art form, I happened to be sitting on a plane yesterday for a three hour plus flight, and, to kill time, connected my headphones to the chair allowing me to see and hear the recently released, Wedding Date. I knew it wasn’t going to be meaningful or educational, but I had little else to do in my coach seat. Reading was not a possibility as the Vegas sun had deprived me of most of my alertness and concentration.
The biggest compliment I can give the movie is that it was not as awful as I thought it would be, yet there’s no reason to beat around the church pews here. Its overall effect is to insult the intelligence of intelligent, or average to low average functioning, viewers. The plot is bizarre and must have been written by a serious lu-lu because it brims with more irrationality than Charles Manson. Luckily, there are no swastika tattoos inked onto any of the characters, but that’s the best thing that can be said about this big screen moronity.
Debra Messing is the main character and she calls a gigolo to arrange his attendance at her sister’s wedding in England. They then fly to the British Isles together in an attempt to make Messing feel secure for the weekend while also arousing jealousy in her ex-fiancé. She then (yawn) falls in love with Dermot Mulroney who plays the escort. Then, unbelievably, he falls in love with her–so there is Wedding Date its 90 minute neurotic totality.
Immediately, the main character’s physical beauty delegitimizes the plotline. Even though the story is fifth class, Debra Messing is a first class beauty whose face is a pleasure to see. Her body is equally radiant, but her rich, scarlet locks may be her strongest feature as they transfix one’s eyes for the film’s duration. Yet, physiognomy is the beginning and end of her merits. As far as acting talent is concerned, she’s been powerfully whacked by the B-movie stick. Messing is not just a poor actress; she’s a horrendous actress. Many of her lines make you wince and Mulroney, no Olivier himself, is quite competent in comparison.
Messing’s allure causes one to defer suspending disbelief as there is no way in the world that a gorgeous minx like that would ever need to spend a cent, let alone six grand, to find an attractive male to accompany her practically anywhere she would want to go. All she’d need to do to find suitors is to walk around any American metropolis for thirty minutes and appear receptive. This would result in numerous greetings, solicitations, (even marriage proposals from a few crazy bastards) and the pandering of tons of passerby. How can we believe that a woman such could ever resort to such behavior? It’s impossible. Therefore, the plot becomes absurd within ten minutes.
Yet, it gets far worse. Mulroney’s character makes one wonder about the rationality of those charmed by Wedding Date. The question, “are logic and reason dead?”, must be posed. Here we have a male escort, read: prostitute, who supposedly offers sex as a secondary element for his business transactions. Maybe it is to his somewhat rare female customers, but it would not be to the 90 to 100 percent of his clientele who happen to be male. It is amazing that Messing falls in love with him yet she never inquires about his bisexuality or homosexuality. It is the fate male gigolos to service males–period. What woman would not be concerned about having a sexual partner with a gay and completely unknown past? Obviously, not Ms. Messing who gets drunk and then proceeds to have unprotected sex with Mulroney on her father-in-law’s boat. Nice!
The only thing I buy about Mulroney is that he supposedly graduated from Brown with a degree in comparative literature. Only at a Top 10 politically correct horror show like Brown could produce a person who considered a life of prostitution intriguing or valuable. I’m waiting for the day when one of these institutions changes its motto to, “Don’t judge, but do everybody.”
Most uproarious, and also offensive, is that the beau of her sister, the one getting married, is informed of the bride’s infidelity seconds before vows are set to be exchanged. He then forgives her within an hour’s time and returns to go through with the ceremony. In this way, the director and the screenwriter reveal their low opinion of men. They are from the “men are dogs and we’ll tell them what’s in their interests” school of thought. Men are less than human. They are only clay predestined to be shaped by female hands. I would venture to guess that only a man pathetic enough to visit a dominatrix would ever commit the act of marrying a cheating wife whose actions were revealed to him seconds before his wedding. Such husbands are a dominant female’s fantasy and hers alone. That such depictions demean half the population, the serf minority if you will, is not something Hollywood would find unnerving.
Of course, even within bad movies there a few moments or scenes that are redeeming. Wedding Date is no exception. The theme of “all women have the sex life they truly desire” is repeated and is a most intriguing concept. I have never thought of it in those terms but agree completely. Women can find as many carnal partners as they’d like, regardless of their own appearance, simply by entering a bar and shouting, “Here I am boys! Come and have it!” This would be as effective an aphrodisiac for men as a million dollar salary would be for women.
We also are given a Juliana Hatfield, “I hate my sister”, subplot which turns out to be the most successful component of this chick flick. The mother of the bride notes at a dinner that sexual competition between the sisters has ruined their relationship. It began when they were quite small and continued to the point in which the film transpires. Without giving the climax away, I can only say that it is integral to most of the action observed. Women crave the most popular men, and serious antagonism often arises in the battle to obtain high status males. Acknowledging this is very politically incorrect and welcome. It is an affront to the mythological notion of “a sistahood.” I am perplexed that, amid these hallucinations, such a reality is elucidated, but even such a believable rivalry cannot save this movie.
Wedding Date was crafted with society’s lowest common denominator in mind, and I’m sure it will not fail to appeal to its base. However, any valuable trinkets and information it shares are meaningless when juxtaposed with its offensive depiction of men and the mindlessness of its plot.
Half of the dialogue of Titanic was,
Rose: "JACK"
Jack: "ROSE"
Rose: "JACK"
Jack: "ROSE"
Rose: "JACK"
Jack: "ROSE"
Repeat for two hours....
My favorite part was when he drowned.
Books and a second TV helped keep my second marriage an outstanding success, although I did force myself to watch some of Sheryl’s favorite movies just to show I loved her. I would buy her favorites on tape – and she would watch them over and over and over and over and over and over and over…
The naked chicks fighting with swords scene was a thoughtful touch, too!
There is virtually no movie that couldn't benefit from a scene that has naked chicks fighting with swords..cases in point:
A)The Hours
B)Mona Lisa Smile
C)Anything by Merchant Ivory
D)Smokey and the Bandit
E)An Affair to Remember
Then the dialogue went to, "JACK, JACK, JACK!"
And the chemistry was so believable... /sarc
Yes.... my husband does like that scene too.... Personally, I like it when Rachel Weisz is shooting the guys trying to stop B.F. from getting to their son... but I guess thats just my maternal instinct coming out. ;P
My mom said "Titanic" was the stupidest film of the last 15 years, until we saw "Star Wars Episode 3" last week.
Both films lacked naked chicks fighting with swords.
You mom is wise.
Titanic was a beautiful film - the dialogue and the chemistry were horrible.
Leo is not (yet?) a romantic lead - he'll need chin hair first.
My husband doesn't like gangster movies. Maybe I'll check out the "Godfather" series when he takes our son to Webelos camp.
The problem for us chicks is - naked guys fighting with swords is a gay flick.
That is true, but so does "Fort Apache."
The last few chick flicks I was forced to endure were on airline flights. Enough to make me wanna take the bus.
I saw "Moulin Rouge!" on a plane, in Dutch with French subtitles, and it still reeked.
Only because the main character is named Tracy Lord(s) and she looks so good in riding pants (Spencer Tracy and Howard Hughes were lucky men).
LOL! Yeah I think the best part of the movie was the historic elements, but the more I thought about it, the more that movie annoyed me.
Ditto!
Say 'allo to da BAD GUY!
Funny, I dated a girl who talked like Tony Montana once.
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