I wonder if that poor bastard got fired. That guy who “Donkey Kong’ed” the title in the editor’s office. You know, the one who swapped the obviously intended title “Go’on Girl!” for the now culturally meme’d “Gone Girl”. The perfect storm of femi-ninjary, I’d call it. Write book, sneak the stuffed horse in, kill the messenger upon return. “What, she’s gone after all, isn’t she?”
I guess I’d be remiss if I didn’t share the obligatory spoiler alerts. Yeah, I’m gonna blow it, but it would be the only blowjob worth anything in this two hour Freudian slip from femiscribe Gillian Flynn. Don’t ask her about it, though. “The book is better” would be what I’d expect as a retort.
So where to begin? The anticipation of David Fincher’s (Fight Club, The Social Network) new film? The guilty pleasure of falling for those car salesman tv spots? “Best film of the year!” chided the commercial, as in “what the hell are you waiting for, Idiot?” Ok, maybe my filter, but what can I say, I love movies and this one appeared all so ready to be loved. Even Batfleck looked like he knew how to ties his shoes in this one.
So, I take a trip with Brother in Pressure, White Boy Pat, and we make for the flicks. It’s a common winding down of the week pasttime, right before working through the weekend. We get our popcorn. We sit…
From the beginning of the story there’s a charm, a familiar charm. The chemistry of the film’s couple has been seen before. In high school romances, in the movies of eras past. So in love, so committed, so…traditional. The guy sweeps the girl off of her agenda, wiped that sugar off of her mouth (metaphor much?), and paradise was all but legally binding. Then? Then it happens. With the tact of a dyke in overalls flipping the bird whilst taking a leak, standing of course, on your DVD box set of Arnold’s greatest movies, Gillian Flynn bends over the men in the audience, grabs them all like so many bowling balls, and drags us along the coals of oppression to this new land. A land where half the men are weak, the other half weak AND stupid, and the women play power positions ranging from sociopath to humanity’s moral compass.
“Go on girl! Fuck that cheater! No, not that way. There’s a bunch of sperm banks for that. No, I meant let’s show him we can ruin everything he was, is and will be, then we’ll get him killed, then…well, then we’ll get away with it. Unless, of course, he plays along, in which case I’ll just sacrifice some sexual predator (easily, and at will, of course. They’re sooo dumb!)) to appease the universe’s sense of fairness. We’ll then move on and start anew, because only THEN will you deserve it.” Yep, that about sums it up.
Moral outrage? Justice? Yeah, they’re embedded into this “empowering” tale. The problem is the dumb men just keep getting in the way! Listen to your sister, Batfleck. SHE knows what’s right and wrong. Don’t LIE to her. Maybe the scrappy veteran woman detective will make it ok, you ask? Well, she would, but those bumbling idiot FBI dudes keep sabotaging her headway. She’d put them in their place, of course, if it weren’t for their superior rank. Damn privilege!
What? The hot shot MAN lawyer? The one who’s known for “defending men who kill their wives”? (You just can’t make this up, Folks.) The one who’s being played by that big black guy who became famous playing a woman in his movies? Yeah, you’re right for expecting him to do some good, but alas… I mean, Batfleck keeps ignoring his advice (IDIOT!), and when he isn’t being ignored, Mr. Madea’s warning Batfleck of the only way to survive this debacle: Don’t piss her off or it’ll be worse!
So I sit. This is proving to be a tougher ride than anticipated. BUT, I think loudly in my head…That psycho bitch’ll get her due! Thank goodness for the justice of movies! It’s taken everything from Vader’s hand, to Count Rugen’s innards. Movie justice to the rescue, right? WRONG. There’ll be no JLO Krav Maga, nor JLAW arrow epicness. Nope. What do we get? Ben Affleck gets to shut his mouth, for the sake of their soon to be born uni-ceived baby. Lucky dude. As I stand up, the rush of blood now racing to my dormant legs and away from the furious red hue my face has shone for the past few hours, I finally realize what I just witnessed…
In 2014, that’s called a Win-Win, you privileged cis-sies.