In case you missed it, She Said, She Said is a new feature here at BAD wherein Ms. Borders and I assume we have lady readers chomping at the bit to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth. The current topic up for discussion is Bridesmaids (read Devin’s review here) and Meredith got the ball rolling yesterday with her double-take response to the superb comedy’s misleading marketing campaign and some the most baffling critical responses that followed.
On that note, several reviews and many hours later I’m still embarrassed by this man’s declaration that Bridesmaids is an “estrogen-fueled adventure”. Honestly, that strikes me as a better description of (and I’m in no way am I speaking from personal experience) a mad dash to the nearest CVS Pharmacy for an emergency pack of Plan B.
I want to shed some light on the fact that like it or not, our average, misinformed movie going male will be zeroing in on the aforementioned e-word this weekend and as a result opt for a ticket to Pirates of the Carribbean: On Stranger Tides rather than run the risk of emasculation. If by some chance he stumbles upon this, I’d also like to be the first to tell him that the fear rings true for a good reason. Because you’re probably going to laugh your dick off. They’re going to be flying all over the place.
Which brings me to the topic of social responsibility. Personally, I see it as mine now to ensure theater goers are provided the appropriate, OSHA-approved safety goggles for this very reason.
All kidding aside, Rebecca Traister’s Salon article is quite poignant. She makes some super valid points and it’s worth a read. Similar to Meredith, I agree with some of them on a certain level in that I’m also urging every sidekick and acquaintance, whether you’re a lady, gentleman, whatever the hell you have dangling to get off your keister and purchase a ticket to see Bridesmaids at the multiplex.
Here’s an example of where it’s a touch beyond for my tastes:
“I just keep thinking about Wiig, the driving creative force behind the existence of the film, having been thrust, apparently unwillingly, into the role of feminist figurehead. I imagine her holed up in a hotel room, Hillary Clinton style, waiting for the polls to close and the weekend box office numbers to be finalized.”
If we’re to believe Mumolo and Wiig drew from any personal experience at all for their script (they did), I’m willing to bet they’re just somewhere amidst a discussion of unexplained penis shapes and diarrhea hoping their film inspired a wholly positive response from us and that we laughed our faces into a Grimace-y shade of purple (we did). They’re a brilliant pair of quick-witted, talented storytellers. To me, the fact that they also happen to be women is merely a bonus onion ring in my basket of already awesome french fries.
What I also find perplexing is that some seem disappointed upon hearing the news that Feig had to reel them in at times and tweak the now deservedly notorious dress-shopping scene to “save the ladies’ movie from itself.” Boy, am I ever glad he did. Apparently, without Feig’s cootie-ridden man hand in the mix that scene would have featured Annie in a perfume-ad-like daydream where Christian Bale is…brushing her hair while she drinks tea?! That’s not a joke. Can we not agree that no matter how incredibly funny and smart these women might be, they still welcome and require editors and directors?
*Soiler [sic] alert. Even the Sex and the City movie had a pants-shitting! If you don’t recall, that’s probably because they referred to it as “Charlotte Poughkeepsied in her pants”. And the great amount of pleasure I just took in Googling, “CHARLOTTE SHITS HERSELF” is hopefully not in question.
I’ll end this on a brown note and reiterate that you’d be doing yourself a disservice to put Bridesmaids on the back burner. I’m already contemplating crawling out of my old lady York Pattie cave past ten on a “school night” for a third viewing.
Let’s put the film on a balanced pedestal capable of being reached by the masses because it deserves one. It’s unfair to expect a rewrite of decade-long disheartening romantic comedy history with one outstanding representation of what used to make the genre itself so fucking great. Let’s celebrate the latter and with any luck, what we’re witnessing and supporting is a redirection of the comedy course.
So here’s a bold statement you can make: “One for Bridesmaids.” Please don’t mistake my reasonability for laziness.