The Women
Despite eschewing the deluge of confusing messages that the media subjects women to, The Women, ostensibly, does that just.
Based on the 1939 film of the same name, this contemporary version has been touted as an updated tale, more in keeping with the progression of social values since the original was filmed nearly eighty years ago.
Mrs Haines, a socialite (Meg Ryan), discovers that her husband is having an affair, when a gossipy manicurist in Sachs Fifth Ave (Debi Mazar) accidentally lets the cat out of the bag. Her wise mother (Candice Bergin who, incidentally, has some of the best lines), has advised her daughter not to tell her friends, as it is likely to be more trouble than it’s worth, having to console them and nurse their damaged pride from not having told them earlier, or telling one before the other.
As it turns out, they already know (damn that indiscrete manicurist), so the galpals rally around (Sex and The City style) to support their friend during her time of need.
There are significant changes to the storyline, but not significant enough to haul this tale into the 21st Century. The contemporary Mrs Haines embarks on a journey of self-discovery, pursuing the career she had hoped for in her youth. She asks herself just what it is that she wants. As it turns out, it isn’t a tree-change, or to downsize her extravagant life and focus on doing good in the world. No. It’s to design a fashion line. Deep stuff. So she sets about designing clothes for the thin models whose dietary deprivations were the butt of a couple of nose-thumbing derisive comments earlier in the film.
In her endeavours, Mrs Haines is sending a marvellous message to her daughter, a teen verging on an eating-disorder, if an earlier scene in which she scoffs at the offer of a cookie( “...it’s a whole five points”) is anything to go by.
Still, this is Mrs Haines’s journey, and she is entitled to some selfishness, after all her years of sacrifice. The fact that she has been quite an absent mother, makes one wonder just what she was sacrificing and for whom, but let’s put that aside for now...
In the course of her life-changing voyage of freedom and self-discovery, she trades her curly mane for a high-maintenance silicone-sheathed straight ‘do (how liberating), and focuses her energies on designing clothes (someone hand her a Nobel prize). Ironically, in stark counterpoint, Mrs Haines’ journey is contrasted with that of her best friend, whose life is transformed by a new, easier to manage hairdo, and the resignation from her high-powered, stressful job as a magazine editor.
So, we have one woman insisting that a career in the world of fashion is vacuous and requires unacceptable compromise. On the other, we have a woman whom we are supposed to believe is becoming “successful”, who chooses to do something along the lines of what her disillusioned best friend took years to discover simply wasn’t worth it.
Sure, there’s a brief moment near the end, where there is a glimmer that Mrs Haines will choose her family and quality of life over an ambitious career and superficial accolades, but the enduring message, as she tosses her impossibly straight locks around, is that she has finally “made it”.
If her best friend had truly been a best friend, perhaps she’d have taken Mrs Haines aside for a reality check a little earlier in the film. In many respects, the way Mrs Haines looked and behaved for the first two thirds of the film are far more genuine and satisfying than the path she ends up travelling.
At any rate, for the most part, the women in this film focus on mind games: a typical mainstay of female passive aggression. “What is this – a film from the 1930’s?” Mrs Haines asks. Yes, Mrs Haines; it might as well be, except Kukor did it with more panache.
Then there’s the product placement by Dove. In one scene, a soapie is screening on a TV, which cuts to an advertisement with a very familiar looking cake of soap. Could it be...? Well, there’s no mistaking it, when, in a later scene, we see a character penning a letter on stylish personalised notepaper. And what’s beside the notepad? A wax seal? A pot of ink? No. We see what every good scribe has at hand when writing: a bottle of Dove lotion. But why not? As anyone who’s been to a good finishing school knows, a letter should be folded with two creases: preferably not between the brows. And wasn’t it Oscar Wilde who, after a post-banquet brandy declared: “The only thing worse than feint lines on a page, is heavy lines on one’s face”. Nods of assent and chortles all ‘round, so the story goes.
Still Dove’s conspicuous presence in a film that somewhat over-earnestly markets – er, applauds womanhood is probably consistent with the mixed messages contained in the film. On the surface, Dove’s campaign for real beauty is commendable. However, Dove is manufactured by Unilever, the same company that makes Lynx after-shave products – responsible for some of the most abominable messages about women in current and recent television advertising.
There’s even a sickening epilogue following the credits, where key cast members tell us how important it is to be true to oneself. Take a look at Annette Bening on the movie poster and tell me that’s being truthful to anybody. Oh, and Jada Pinkett Smith believes that being a woman is - wait for it - a “gift”. If that doesn’t have you wretching and reaching for an empty popcorn tub, nothing will. Where does Ms Pinkett-Smith’s comment leave the other half of the human species, I wonder? One can only deduce that the test audience that gave their seal of approved of this weird post-credit platitude-fest was abducted from a taping of Oprah. They’re probably still in the cinema, looking for a freebie under their seats.
In The Women, as in the Dove marketing campaign, women are being duped by glossy messages with little substance underpinning them. The mixed messages in this film are reminiscent of a recent release aimed at teenage girls: Wild Child. These films espouse one thing, then back-peddle as soon as the feel-good factor has made its mark.
Mrs Haines’s mother (great role model that she is), succumbs to plastic surgery. In a bizarre exchange when she visits her convalescing mother, Mrs Haines says that she hopes that when she has surgery in her advancing years, her daughter will love her as much as she loves her mother at that moment. Way to be truthful to yourself, ladies. And when did plastic surgery become mandatory, or at the least, inevitable?
That aside, how does this film fare as entertainment? It boasts a truly impressive cast. There’s no impression that any of these women are competing against the others to look better, be funnier, etc. Debra Messing, in her typically Lucille Ball-like fashion, casts vanity aside in favour of schtick, playing a ravenous house-frau. Bergen, Leachman and Bening are also marvellous.
In fairness, there are some very funny moments in this film. However, unlike Caramel, another film focusing on women (but greatly enjoyed by men and women alike), this is really a chick flick. Believe it or not, quite an amusing one at times, if you go in with tepid expectations. Enjoy the laughs and don’t let the inconsistencies irritate you too much.
Although, was it Oscar Wilde who said:”The only thing worse than getting irritated by socio-political inconsistencies in a film, is not being able to see that they are there”.
That’d be a nod and a chortle from my corner of the salon, Mr Wilde. Now, pass me the brandy.