With the World Cup looming, Hollywood has a cunning plan: deploy a host of shiny entertainments to keep womenfolk occupied during the month-long footie fest, when multiplexes will fill up with movies aimed at the lovelier gender. TARA BRADYon the chick flicks meant to divert you from the free kicks
THE WORLD CUP traditionally makes for a trying time in a young woman’s life. Given that the buttercups which occupy the appealing space between her ears do not allow for the retention of information pertaining to the offside rule, a lady is not well equipped to savour the intricacies of the beautiful game. She is, moreover, likely to be “put out” when her husband’s attentions are diverted away from her lovely self.
As top scientific studies of Jennifer Aniston movies have conclusively and repeatedly demonstrated, the fairer sex is incomplete without the firm, steadying influence of a romantic male partner. Starved of compliments and Gerard Butler, a lady will often gorge on self-pity and ice cream – hardly ideal preparation for her bikini summer.
Now that the option of chattering among themselves about Cheryl Cole’s ringside frocks is no longer available, early summer might have been a particularly grim season for the girls. Confused by the idea that – after all the unpleasantness – Thierry Henry still looks dishy, there is an additional danger that the fragile female brain, an organ ill-suited for dialectics, might simply explode clean off the dainty, swan-like neck that supports it.
Help, however, is at hand.
Those clever chaps in Hollywood – they don’t call it the ideas factory for nothing – have prepared a host of shiny, attractive entertainments to keep womenfolk out of mischief (and earshot) during that crucial early summer period.
Soon, the cinematic calendar will be heaving with films aimed squarely at the lovelier gender. Plots have been simplified accordingly.
If, for instance, the trailer for Sex and the City 2is to be believed, the makers of that film have perfected their winning formula by dispensing with such intricacies as narrative and character altogether. Instead, a series of glossy tableaux take the winsome quartet around the world for a veritable gallimaufry of uncomplicated fashion shoots. At the time of writing, it is unclear if Ms Sarah Jessica Parker's travels through the Orient will extend to a peacekeeping stint in Afghanistan (Insurgents 0, Fabulousness 1) but, rest assured, there will be cupcakes.
In the sanctuary of the library, the golf course and the gentleman's club, the SATCfranchise has long been recognised as a gift that keeps on giving. Many of the modish items featured in the film are already available to purchase online – order now and you can still get the Lady Dior Pink Lizzard handbag for $6,650 – as this particular franchise is unafraid to acknowledge that in every woman, however intellectual or emancipated she might appear, there is a strong element of childishness and an undying affection for shoes.
The modern female is, of course, capable of more sophisticated tastes. To this end, the studios have produced a vast array of female-oriented pictures. This year's extensive ladies' season kicks off today with Dear John, in which a young star-crossed couple broods over the war, and concludes mid-July with Twilight: Eclipse, in which a young, star-crossed couple broods over a war between humans and vampires.
While the rest of us marvel at the Iberian invention of Messrs Xavi and Iniesta as they storm up the pitch, ladies can savour the novelty of watching Kristen Bell go on a sunny Italian holiday in a remake of When in Rome. Pictures of exotic destinations – particularly those featuring emotionally distressed young damsels backpacking through Italy – are known to produce the same neurological changes in the lady population as chocolate and dress sales, so within weeks, the girls can head back to the multiplex to watch Amanda Seyfried go on an entirely different sunny Italian holiday in Letters to Julia. The fun just never ends.
It would, alas, never do to leave one's significant other without a male chaperone for months on end. Hence, studio executives have helpfully scheduled several male-driven romantic comedies, notably Get Him to the Greekand She's Out of My League, for the down days after the group stages. These titles, which perpetuate the notion that all men secretly think like Bridget Jones, may be enjoyed by all for the purposes of "dating".
The same cannot be said of such specialised pictures as The Rebound, in which Catherine Zeta-Jones is romanced by a much younger neighbour (Justin Bartha), or The Back Up Plan, in which Jennifer Lopez decides to go it alone as a single parent and then thinks better of it. Such exercises in wish fulfilment hold little interest for the well-rounded intellect. But for the lady, such a film is a paradise of earthly delights; show any gal a loft apartment, a presentable suitor and a well-appointed throw and all is right with the world.
Readers and their wives should take note, however; not all “chick flicks” are created equal. Generally speaking, it is true that one can settle down to popcorn safe in the knowledge that femme fatales will get their comeuppance, corporate climbers will become homemakers, and that supermoms will be even more super by the closing credits. But be vigilant; just as Hollywood has counterprogrammed against the World Cup, smaller, less reliable film imprints have rushed out women’s pictures from the independent sector to counterprogram the counterprogramming.
Mostly, these films (think Whip Itor Greenberg) are harmless enough marriage comedies or, like Girl on the Trainor The Happiest Girl in the World, they just happen to have the word "girl" in the title. But certain incoming releases (see I Am Loveor next week's Dogtooth) contain heretical ideas, character development and no bridal gowns to speak of. Such reprehensible projects, it hardly needs to be said, are designed to angry up the blood and are best left to unmarriageable malcontents.
Luckily, there is an entire system in place to keep spinster recruitment films in check. At least 60 per cent of box-office profits come from international markets, where, studios argue, depictions of women’s libbers don’t play well. Indeed, to present anything other than Megan Fox on a motorbike to these foreign cultures is confusing, grotesquely unfair and perhaps even racist.
Nowadays, it may be de rigueur for young Irish women to enter the workplace or walk around hatless, but Hollywood must think of its international audience; there is no use in asking the circumcising tribes of Sudan and Burkina Faso to cheer for some hothead in a boiler suit. The studios need shallow, preening, dependent, wittering, neurotic female stereotypes to translate in a global marketplace, and we need them so our ladies have white, painfully thin role models with impeccable taste in cushion covers.
In a series of interviews with advertisers and industry insiders, writer Paul Krumins found a prevalent belief that women are “less picky” in their viewing habits and are primarily motivated by “anything to get to snuggle with their boyfriend or husband”. Ladies, being uncomplicated creatures, are perfectly happy to watch movies “as a bit of fun” regardless of the quality or the familiarity of the product.
"Oh look", they'll cry. " Our Family Weddingstars Ugly Betty and has the word 'wedding' in it."
"Oh my," they'll say. "Letters to Julietis directed by the guy who did Bride Wars. It must be brilliant."
But we know what you're thinking. I want to watch the football right now. Compromise is the key. Pack her off to The Bounty Hunterwith a big packet of Revels and rest easy knowing that, thanks to Hollywood, women will continue to get the films they deserve.
Tara Brady is film correspondent for Hot Press.
Dear Johnoperns today.
