Apparently, there is an impossible-to-ignore disconnect within the mindspace of my moviesense with regard to the latest flat, emotionless offering of yet another superhero(ine) comic meme, in the form of DC® Comics amazonian tower of power, "Wonder Woman". I fell victim to the (seemingly) endless positive reviews of this film, prompting me to add my attendance and my input to the pop-culture stew.
It was directed by the talented Patty Jenkins, notably of "Monster" fame, which is a scary, earthy, bulldozer of a film, helmed by the star turns of the irrepressible Charlize Theron (who won an Academy Award® as best actress for her portrayal of real-life serial killer, Aileen Wuornos), and her more-than-durable co-star, Christina Ricci. These elastic actors demand our attention even in minor roles, which seem always to morph into something greater than what they have been given.
Okay. A disclaimer: There are no spoilers here, unless among them you care to include my disillusionment with the movie.
So I watched the Wonder Woman movie, and remained unfazed by nearly the entire presentation, aside from a few scenes early on, during genuinely enchanting childhood struggles depicting Youthful Diana’s determination to embody and embrace her destiny. Portrayed by the young inimitable Scottish actress, eight-year-old Lilly Aspell, with grit and disarming enthusiasm, represented for me the best moments of the film. But apart from this sweet diversion, the balance of the afternoon was wasted, excepting the seductive allure of my popcorn.
Now, I must take you briefly on a divergent, though tangentially related path, by bringing your attention to what I consider to be a truly ground-breaking film of the superhuman, superhero class in moviedom. "Logan," which made its appearance a scant four months ago in the United States on March 3, 2017, produced waves by creating CGI (Computer Generated Images) integral and scaled to a very human plot and its earth-bound sensibilities, while simultaneously creating characters who dwarfed the special effects.
The effective methodology of standing convention on its ear (at least with regard to the comic, superhero, and mutant varieties of cinema preference for overwhelmingly large operatic CGI set-pieces as a substitute for credible characterization), will alter the way in which most subsequent, successful, and faithfully referential movies of the same genre are constructed. Never underestimate the value of gritty realism coupled with patient character examination and development, peppered sparingly (if at all) with scenes that strain an audience’s indulgence and credulity. The best stories always include a preponderance of the real as opposed to the fanciful.
I would be neglectful if I failed also to mention that the young mutant heroine, played with wild abandon by the charming yet scarily intense newcomer, eleven-year-old Dafne Keen, stole her fair share of the feminist spotlight from her gruff male companion, international star Hugh Jackman. Now here, and not to be denied, is the stuff of which future women dream: to steal scenes and demand attention on equal terms with the best actors of their generation. “Nuff said,” in the words of the most famous web-slinger of them all. Now back to the review, and topics at hand remaining to be examined.
Okay. A disclaimer: There are no spoilers here, unless among them you care to include my disillusionment with the movie. In which case, you must be discouraged from reading any further, should you be in search of a glowing review, and the details of well-worn insipid plot devices, employed nearly without end during this movie’s interminable running time of ~141 minutes.
You might well be forgiven for asking what novelties are to be found within the body of a movie nearly universally acclaimed as a buoyant feminist manifesto, promulgated and embodied by likable actress and newcomer, Gal Gadot. No doubt, she has her charms, particularly in the way of predictably overblown physical attributes, and a stone-like beauty that is emblematic of Hollywood in its austere, remote nature. And her fulsome eyebrows are akin to a natural wonder. (Move over, Maisie Williams.)
Do you know, that the British populace and its talented group of BBC producers and writers offer something that is as rare as hens teeth way over here across the pond, and that they manage to do it over and over again successfully? Namely, they present ethically strong women in positions of authority, whose facial characteristics and body types play nearly no significant role within the dramas that they create. Imagine that. Real women of common looks who wield power and grace and emotional depth as typical and believable role models for women everywhere.
This is a big-budget, summer-blockbuster studio movie, of nauseatingly predictable scope and a lamentably typical series of plot tropes and character motifs written to be easily digested, momentarily celebrated, and subsequently forgotten shortly following our exit from the theatre. If this is your thing, far be it from me to impugn what floats your filmic boat. But if you are traveling to your local cinema expecting a bold new flavor of feminine bravura because of the reviews which you have read, and unless you have fallen asleep past the first ten minutes or so, the heroine and her buffoonish male consort could switch roles, and no one would be the wiser.
And perhaps this is key to what has been celebrated so vociferously within the reviewosphere: There is a woman who has replaced the man usually helming a production of this size and global promotion. Well, all right. But is this a triumph for feminism? Are we really so unused to granting hero status to the women in our daily midst, that this warrants joy and veneration?
I put it to you that this represents a regrettable state of affairs. When I vote in local and national elections (and despite whatever justifiably jaundiced hesitation and suspect reasons which I may espouse from time to time, all while threatening not to exercise my rights at the election booth), I nearly always mark my ballot for qualified third-party, feminine-gendered candidates. Why? Because I style myself a feminist? Because I think fondly of my 1968-1970 summers of protest, and I wax nostalgic for anarchic thinking? Because I am an iconoclast, whose frustration at the status quo requires and demands impotent venting somewhere? Anywhere?!
No. Those aren’t the reasons. I want our leaders to exemplify what is ordinarily ubiquitous in women, and sometimes woefully and extraordinarily lacking in men. Strength of character; tolerance for pain; the ability to be nurturing while offering guidance; to resist a rush to judgment; to be accepting of other viewpoints, and to be willing to discuss them; and yes, praise god, to compromise. Lord knows we have suffered the manifold and intransigent indignities of the male’s sensibilities for entirely long enough. It is not simply that we can do no worse. It is that we can do so much better.
So if you are in the market for a large-screen, very loud, so-called powerful feminist fantasy, that incorporates all of the pedestrian plot and character commonalities usually located in abundance within the male versions inherent in the genre, on you go. You’ll probably enjoy your socks off. As for me, I am going to re-watch a hauntingly sad visual tone poem of a British movie called, "Away," directed by David Blair, and starring UK national treasure Timothy Spall, alongside relative newcomer, Juno Temple. Almost relentlessly mournful, yet tenderly redemptive, and due nearly exclusively to the powerful acting bona fides of this dynamic pair working together, the essence of cinematic triumph can be found in every minute of this honest, touching film.
And so it goes…
Wow…does Gladwin have a need for a movie reporter? . Will be sure to watch the movies you mentioned. Thank you!
Thanks for your comment. All of the movies mentioned deal in some way with women and societal attitudes (and their consequences) toward them, their empowerment, and their disenfranchisement, through the multiple discouraging, largely male-centered attack fronts of convention, historical precedent, and persistent religious dogma. Gender is not a real issue. Our shared humanity is. The woman-centered struggle for equal rights by law and by common consensus began in earnest in this country in 1869, led by Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Susan B. Anthony, and Lucy Stone. It is a difficult fact to swallow that women in the United States were granted the right to vote less than 100 years ago. Victoria Woodhull, who ran under the aegis of The Equal Rights Party, was this nation’s first female candidate for President of the United States in 1872. History has demonstrated that those with power prove exceedingly reluctant to relinquish it, and will use nearly any means at their disposal to retain it.
This review flies in the face of everything I’ve heard about the movie. Not having seen it myself, I now have no desire to do so. Your other two recommendations sound like a more productive use of my time. Thank for sharing your thoughts.
The preponderance of opinions to the contrary are rife. Upon viewing the movie, your thoughts about it may swing in accord with the consensus. I certainly did not intend to discourage your attendance. After all, my opinions boast the underwhelming weight of one. :>)