I love women. Always have.
Not just the way they look and feel, but the very fact that they’re simply different. If they didn’t exist I’d have to invent one. Or at least buy a blow-up one. But the differences are way beyond the physical, way beyond anything that could be represented in mere vinyl. They’re different psychologically, physiologically, hormonally, temperamentally and logically. Or illogically sometimes.
Natalie Portman is a wonderful woman. Actress. And mother. Or mutha. Whatever.
And she reckons that Hollywood has it all wrong when it tries to depict ‘strong women’ in ‘feminist movies’. Because they’re stuck in that ‘Lara Croft’ mode in which a ‘strong woman’ is one who can kick the shit out of 10 armed men without smudging her mascara. A woman who is stunning, pneumatic, brilliant, beautiful, courageous, dangerous but never bigger than a size 12.
Is that ‘a feminist’? Is feminism about the ability to beat the shit out of men? Odd, I thought it was about living in peaceful, harmonious equality.
Man and his main bitch in glorious egalitarianism. Which is a suburb of Watford.
So our lovely Natalie is soon to play a superhero called Jane in a movie about Thor. Not exactly the Viking god but a superhero with a hammer from an old comic strip.
The problem is that the type of true feminism Natalie craves is all well and good but doesn’t necessarily make for good movies. Ok, it might make good movies but not ones people want to watch. She claims that being a mother is the ultimate work, pure and more difficult than even acting. But do people want to watch a mother’s daily routine? School runs, trips to Tescos, bit of ironing, maybe. Not exactly blockbusting stuff. Though the Kardashians seem to get away with just that.
Erin Brokovich was a strong woman. Strong movie. Proper feminist. Yet really it was just another story of a woman kicking ass, just in a more metaphorical rather than Superwomanesque literal sense.
Women will only gain true equality when they learn to play football properly.
Oh, they do that already. The women of Liverpool won the women’s cup yesterday and, as a staunch post-feminist metrosexual icon, I should have watched it. But I didn’t. Because oddly, the combination of my two favourite things in the world; football and girls, kind of leaves me cold. And much as I’m passionately against the objectification of women, I’ll only watch their football if it happens to be raining in their game.
The men of Liverpool won yesterday and thus Spurs dropped to 3rd in the league.
Manchester United lost, again, and may soon be looking for a new manager. A woman. Now that would be equality. But not just any woman. They need a Lara Croft of a woman, an Anglelina, with guns and all.
Happy monday; keep it real, keep it equal
A xxxx