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7 Popular 'Chick Flicks' That Secretly Hate Women
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Erica Cantin ·
Hollywood filmmakers like their women like they like their coffee: shrill, stupid and submissive. And usually not black.
As evidence, all you need to do is look at the "romantic" movies which are targeted toward women, yet somehow embrace every negative assumption about females that males have ever dreamed up. Movies like...
In what we've determined to be an actual documentary, Mel Gibson is an alcoholic, cigar-chomping, divorced chauvinist prone to unsolicited butt-slapping and overt boob-ogling. After electrocuting himself while in a drunken stupor, Mel awakens to find he can hear the women's thoughts--because that's totally how electrocution works, right? Imagine his shock when he hears what a prick all the ladies around him think he is.
Say WHAAAA?
How Does This Hate Women?
According the lady-thoughts of this movie, most women are either:
A. Mindless, shallow shells of nothingness; their empty skulls filled with sleepyheaded flies lolling around musing banalities such as whether or not they left the coffee pot on, or
B. Obsessed, either positively or negatively, with Mel Gibson. His butt, his sorry attitude, his crotch. All Mel, all the time. It's like a Jewish nightmare inside the heads of the women in this movie. The only way our leading lady distinguishes herself is by managing not to immediately fall for the guy who coined the phrase "Sugar Tits." Of course, when she finds out that he's been reading her mind without letting on that he was literally reading her mind, she melts like warm, implausible butter.
Above: Something women find irresistible.
To be fair, this is Mel Gibson's movie. We couldn't expect the women to all be mulling over conditions on the ground in Sarajevo or whatever. But it was also Helen Hunt's movie. Back in 2000, the year that Helen Hunt played every single leading role of every movie produced, including Highlander: End Game. If leering at Mel Gibson's crotch was the best Helen Hunt could do in the year 2000, then the women of Hollywood should just give up now. They had their chance. Game over.
Accepting her award for the year 2000.
In Twilight, a boring-ass twitchy girl named Bella falls in love with a shiny vampire named Edward. And for some reason not explained by the movie, he loves her back. So just be your clumsy, mouth-breathing selves ladies. Someday, if you're skinny enough, someone exotic will love you for just being "you."
And How Does This Hate Women?
Take the vampirism from this movie and all you're left with is Ike and Tina right before Tina refuses to eat the cake. Edward stomps, broods, sneers and snidely tells his love interest to fuck off, but that's just the forbidden fruit angle Bella needs to stand around like a dumbass waiting for her stalker/boyfriend to confess his love/violent lust for her tasty blood. He'll confess a few MURDERS while he's at it. Bella sees his murderous lust and raises him a dead-eyed vacant stare and the flippant assurance that he'd never hurt her. This entire movie is one black-eyed-teen away from being a PSA from 1989.
I've killed people before.
ISABELLA SWAN
It does not matter.
I wanted to kill you at first. I've never wanted a human's blood so much, before.
I trust you.
Any girl with the self-esteem of a shoe would call it a day right there. And the next time a Cracked intern with a violent boyfriend hobbles into the office on a broken leg with a cockamamie story about falling down the stairs, then out the window, we're going to believe her. Thanks, Twilight.
Bella and Edward, circa 1975
Diane Keaton is a single mom to three accomplished adult daughters and, like most moms, she can't sleep at night over fear that her youngest child isn't gettin' any penis. So she starts a quest to find her daughter the perfect mate (penis-wise). Along the way she meets a penis of her own, and we all get to listen to some frank, eye-gougingly graphic sexy talk blaring from the rambling mouth of Grannie Hall.
Still, we have an older, single woman who successfully raised her daughters and has a seemingly healthy relationship with all of them. Kudos, Hollywood. Let's get you that cookie.
Did we mention that Diane Keaton is a shrilly, hen-pecking, shrieking pterodactyl version of a person? Whereas her new beau (penis) played by Stephen Collins is just a regular, salt of the Earth kind of guy? Think your girl is sweet now? It won't be too long before she's a nagging, screeching frump of quadruple-stranded pearls and estrogen... yet still arrogant enough to think she's smarter than everyone else in the room when it comes to love.
But what was really whack about this movie is the underlying assumption that the daughter needed a man in the first place. And that the single, seemingly successful mother was so so so fervent in her belief that her single, successful daughter needed a man that she desperately placed an Internet ad looking for one. Because it was 2007 and someone had to fight off the bears who attack the homestead, right?
You don't have a boyfriend in there, do you?
We can only conclude that the single, successful mother's life has been an aborted travesty of hopelessness and deprivation for her to stoop so low.
Being single is like an abortion. Something that's unholy and evil, Michael.
Zhang Ziyi vows to learn the art of the geisha in order to win the affections of an older man who bought her a snow cone when she was 10.
Half of the Cracked staff would turn gay tricks for a piece of this action.
Thanks to her blue eyes and stupid gobs of face beauty, Ziyi rises above the geisha rabble, World War II and some wicked cruel pimp-madams to eventually get her man. This is a movie with good intentions, and a lot of care is taken to describe geishas as anything but fancy hookers, since they can sing and dance and hold a conversation. Maybe if your parents sold you to a whorehouse you wouldn't be so judging.
Other than our heroine, just about every woman in this movie is one ripped kimono away from shredding the faces off of her rivals with her elegant geisha claws; devouring their featureless heads with her blood-red mouths, then vomiting their half-digested skulls onto their headless bodies, just out of spite. When not getting set on fire, Ziyi gets the white make-up slapped off her face, which is a very hard thing to accomplish. It's not the men of the world Ziyi has to fight to get ahead, it's the women. And if we were up against these women, we'd probably just fall on the sword and call it a day.
So help me, I will cut off your feet and shove them down your throat.
A very lionish Meg Ryan discovers her husband is having an affair with a very hot Eva Mendes. She kicks him out and embarks on an inward journey of self discovery. One where she literally creates a dream board with the words "WHO ARE YOU?" emblazoned on it. Written by, produced by and starring only women, this movie should have been a two-hour Tampax commercial filled with empowered, complex ladies horseback riding and shit.
Name five cliches Hollywood gives its female characters. Got them? Now look at the picture below:
They're all there, aren't they? We've got your sassy black girlfriend; ditzy but lovable earth mother; childless career lady; hot ethnic stereotype. And in the middle of it all is the muddle-headed former America's sweetheart who should've known better than to put her trust in a script that caricatured women so bluntly. And don't think for one second that the cliches were subtle.
In spite of an all female cast, the women in this movie are essentially playthings in the hands of their invisible male controllers. Suit Lady is at the mercy of her male boss who thinks all her crappy ideas are crap; Baby Lady is pregnant with her fifth child in the hopes that this time she'll get that boy she's always hoped for; and Lion Lady is not only employed by her dad but dependent on her successful, millionaire husband for her maid and au pair allowance. The jaded black sassy friend escapes this alternate reality of Lady Puppets, but that's because she's a lesbian.
The one character who seems to be in control of her world is the gold-digging, lower-class mistress who works behind the perfume counter at Saks, and is also called "The SPRITZER Girl" by Le Lioness and her sneering rich friends.
Meg Ryan's character seems more offended that her husband is sleeping with someone from a different caste than by the fact that he's screwing around at all. Moral of The Women: Don't trust the help. Stay classy, Hollywood.
How To Lose a Guy in Ten Days
Trapped in romantic comedy purgatory for crimes against humanity, Kate Hudson creates a Cosmo-ish article project with the sole purpose of destroying a man's faith in romantic relationships. COINCIDENTALLY, Matthew McConaughey, in a role that requires Holocaust-denying levels of suspension of disbelief, is an advertising executive who bets he can get any woman to fall in love with him. His co-workers select Kate Hudson.
Horrific tragedies Hilarity ensues when Irate Hudson tries to drive the poor, dedicated bastard away in 10 god-awfully long days. So this time Hollywood presents a smart, confident, single woman who is so control of her own love life that she thinks she can best Matthew "alright alright alright" McConaughey. Good luck with that, babydoll.
You can't best this.
By presenting us with a heroine who has the emotional empathy of Josef Mengele, that's how. This is a character who tortures her fake lover with the subtlety of a sadistic Freddy Krueger/Leatherface/Edward Cullen hybrid; only instead of finger-knifing him in his dreams, chainsawing his face off or psychologically torturing him with her dazzlety, this playa full-on acts like a girl for ten whole days. And in this movie, here's how a girl acts: she talks during a movie, leaves tampons in his apartment, sings Carly Simon songs, spontaneously becomes a vegetarian, makes her man miss the big game and publicly accuses him of being the source of her eating disorder. Hudson has to learn and fake all of this normal female behavior, since she's much more special and deeper than the average woman. And we know this because she cares about politics and basketball, not like most women who only care about boys and shoes.
Hollywood's average woman.
This is also a character who is too stupid to understand why her Cosmo-ish magazine won't let her write about Tajikistan, which would be like a Cracked columnist getting pissed over not being able to write about... well, Tajikistan.
This is also a character who must estimate that the intellect of her audience is somewhere in the mid-to-upper-retard range if she thinks they'd actually be enlightened by her punk behavior. We'd love to get that Pulitzer for "Top Six Ways to Be a Raging Jackwad (That You Already Knew About)," but we're not betting the farm on it.
Julia Roberts is Vivian, the harlot with a cardiac muscle of bullion who is picked up by Richard Gere's Edward, the millionaire businessman with a heart of regular heart. Charmed by her big-ass grin and goofy persona, he asks her to stay with him at his HO-tel for a week. Which is just enough time for Vivian to get some new clothes, pass as his non-hooker girlfriend, get not-quite-raped by his business rival and metaphorically steal the heart of reformed gigolo Richard Gere.
Roberts shines as a beacon of kooky but lovable sunshine next to a dead-inside-and-out Edward, and everyone from Roger Ebert to the Oscar Monkeys screamed orgasmically when she got her fairy tale happy ending. Be you whore or non-whore, ladies, it's never too late to stop believing in yourself. NEVER!
By tying 100 percent of a woman's self-worth to her clothes. Not the love of a man, not a renewed sense of dignity, not even the ability to pass as a member of the upper class. Expensive, designer clothes are all it takes to pull a hooker out of the gutter and into the opera house.
During a 45 minute makeover scene Vivian walks into a Rodeo Drive boutique all pouty-mouthed and gangly--a big-lipped, shamefaced fallen woman who knows she doesn't belong in the same room as regular folk. Give her some expensive clothes, some flattery and overt groveling from the service caste, and she walks out of there like the honest-to-God Queen of Sheba. Her posture is straightened, her gait is elegant... just look at the joy on her face:
Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Thanks to her millionaire john's line of credit, Vivian can enjoy the respect and admiration that she's always deserved, since she was a good person and all, but didn't have access to, since she dressed like a cracked-out tranny. She wasn't the first to think a new wardrobe was all it would take to fool the masses. And she wouldn't be the last.
Do you have something funny to say about a random topic? You could be on the front page of Cracked.com tomorrow. Go here and find out how to create a Topic Page.
For strike two in the female representation arena, check out Hollywood's 5 Saddest Attempts at Feminism. Or find out about some how Hollywood can't even get computers right, in 5 Things Hollywood Thinks Computers Can Do.
And stop by our Top Picks to see how Cracked.com loves boobies women.
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