I was just watching Magnum Force, the second in the Clint Eastwood Dirty Harry series. It’s very clearly a male genre piece — specifically an example of dick, with lots of agonized, emotive guy/guy conflict and hardly a woman in sight. In fact, I think that there are only two female speaking roles, and both women involved do little other than throw themselves at Clint Eastwood (he turns down the middle-aged one and goes for the hot young thing.)

So, this is clearly not a movie that complies with the Alison Bechdel’s rule for watching movies — Bechdel only wants to see movies where there are at least two female characters, where they talk to each other, and where they talk to each other about something other than guys. (As was discussed on this blog by Tom a short time back.)

Anyway, watching Magnum Force, I was reminded that the Bechdel rule was propounded by a lesbian, and that, as such, I think it really misses a big part of the reason that straight women watch movies. Specifically, I think a lot of women watch movies for the same reason guys watch movies, which is, visual gratification, or, more bluntly, hot movie stars. It’s true that Magnum Force is clearly aimed at guys and the women’s roles are denigrating and sexist. Nonetheless, I’m sure that many, many women have watched and enjoyed the movie because, you know, Clint Eastwood is incredibly charismatic and smoking hot. The same goes for James Bond movies with Daniel Craig or Sean Connery; not especially uplifting gender politics, but given the choice between uplifting gender politics and serious eye candy, lots of women will choose the latter.

It would be possible to go a false consciousness route here — “women need to stop thinking with their genitals and embrace feminism!” But I’d actually rather suggest that, in a lot of ways, putting a really hot guy in the lead role ends up making a movie — not unsexist, but at least less sexist in various ways. In the first place, it suggests an effort on the part of the filmmakers to reach out for a female audience. And in the second…well, look at Magnum Force. As I said, the two women in the film throw themselves at Eastwood. Kind of offensive? Sure. But the fact is, women really *would* throw themselves at Eastwood. Even women ten years younger than him (as one of the actresses certainly is) would throw themselves at him, because he’s just that hot. I mean, at least you can see what the women are getting out of it and why they’d do that; it’s not a brainless or foolish thing to do. It doesn’t make them sluts. It just means that they’ve got eyes. They’re definitely performing a kind of male fantasy, but they’re also performing a female fantasy (getting with Clint Eastwood) and as a result their motivations aren’t completely ridiculous. Because of who Eastwood is and how he looks, the women in the film — however reduced or sexist their roles — at least seem like they could be real people, not just figments of some male daydream.

On the other hand, when women two decades younger than him throw themselves at Jim Carey, as is the case in Yes Man…well, it seems like icky special pleading. Yes Man does have female characters who talk to each other about things other than men (albeit only briefly), and it isn’t even expressly aimed at men — it’s basically a romantic comedy. But Carrey is in no way the eye-candy that Daniel Craig or Clint Eastwood is, and as a result the decision to make him a romantic lead opposite a woman (Zooey Deschanel) way out of his league starts to look like a fantasy daydream for male schlubs, who think they deserve a beautiful woman as some sort of trophy for just being guys.

I don’t know…what do other folks think? Perhaps, as a straight guy, I’m missing Jim Carey’s ineffable charisma? He just strikes me as kind of repulsive….

Tucker Stone over at the Comics Reporter. I’ll admit I didn’t manage to read the whole thing, but the parts I looked at were thoroughly entertaining.

I’ve added links to Miriam’s web site and Bill’s solo blog; look over on the right there and click over for additional content from Hooded bloggers!

I have an essay up at Culture 11 about Yes Man, the new Jim Carey movie. Here’s a quote:

Indeed, the whole Yes Man concept is charged with a kind of lobotomized libidinousness. Saying “yes” to everything allows Carl to absolve himself of all personal responsibility. By replacing his conscience with an arbitrary shibboleth, Carl escapes from Adam’s curse. He no longer knows good from evil; he now literally knows only what he says. Liberated from moral choice, he is invested with an irresistible prelapsarian glamour. He charms his immediate supervisor, Norm (Rhys Darby) by attending his Harry Potter costume parties; he charms his best friend’s fiancée by agreeing to host her bridal shower; he charms a jumper back from the ledge by leading the onlookers in a rousing singalong. Moroever, Carl’s newfound charisma has a definite erotic edge. Women in bars and in bridal stores swoon and giggle when he flirts, his toothless septuagenarian landlady neighbor comes onto him (and more); Alison falls seamlessly in love with him. Even his ex-wife wants to get back in his bed.

Click over for the whole thing.

I’ll probably be posting only lightly for the next couple of weeks or so, and I assume that’s the case for Tom, Miriam, and Bill as well. I will try to put up some older reviews though, so things won’t entirely grind to a halt. So, without further ado…

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This review ran in Bitch a while back.

The Evolution
Ciara
{LaFace Records}

Ciara’s first album, *Goodies*, had some great hooks but was marred by an odd impersonality. On “*The Evolution*, her sophomore effort, she hasn’t so much transcended that failing as embraced it — she’s evolved (as it were) into a robot. On “Like a Boy” (in which the singer imagines what it would be like to be as emotionally inaccessible as her man), the heavily processed vocals and machined beats strip her of gender altogether; on “I’m Just Me,” she declares that she’s “ghetto” over alienated backing tracks that suggest she actually fell to earth from Saturn.

These incongruities, and the attendant guffaws, probably aren’t quite what Ciara intended. Still, she’s clearly enjoying the sci-fi goofiness — why else would she appear on her album decked out in giant silvery pants like some sort of intergalactic aerobics instructor? And the line-up of A-list R&B producers Ciara’s brought along seem equally thrilled at the opportunity to drop some Afro-futurist insanity. On “I Proceed,” the Neptunes lay down rhythms stiff enough to make Devo involunarily herky-jerk ; will.i.am provides glorious Kraftwerk-like blips and bloops for “Get In, Fit In”; and on “Can’t Leave ‘Em Alone” Rodney Jerkins does the best music box impersonation this side of Aphex Twin. These echoes of space-ages past are expertly blended with current top-40 technology; walls of harmony, intricate songwriting, guest raps, and (as indicated above) lyrics right out of your high-school journal. The combination is ridiculous, exhilarating, sublime, and genuinely startling. I’m glad Ciara has finally found herself — and delighted that the self she’s found is, counterintuitively, a cybernetic organism.

Listen To While Reading: *Do Androids Dream of Electric Boogaloo?*

Danger! Prolonged Exposure Will: Cause you to merge with your ipod.