The world of a child is certain and absolute, and children's literature and movies reflect this in their use of recurring didactic motifs such as dark forests, evil villains dressed in black and damsels in distress. Because young children do not yet possess the perceptive sensibilities to recognize diversity and complexity in people and the world, these stereotypes, however harmful they may be, serve a function.
But in adolescence, a child begins to see beyond black and white into a richness of character traits and a broader view of social issues such as gender.
Despite the progressive attitudes commonly associated with Hollywood, the films they serve up are primarily cold plates of prepubescent pabulum. Women usually have one of three roles: helpless victim, exploited object or man-crazed drama queen. Not only are such limited options unhealthy, but they are cinematically boring. Movies would have us believe women are Venusians who eat, sleep and breathe men. But apart from those select 13-year-olds still reeling from their latest crush, I don't know of any woman to whom such a description applies. Most such movies fall under the dreaded "chick-flick" label, which is a severe misnomer because these films are never about the "chicks" but about their hot pursuit of some hunk. But even disregarding the social issue altogether, such juvenile characterizations are extremely insulting to the audience.
Although 2005 has been a year of Siths, Dukes and caped crusaders, some of the best and most promising films have featured strong female protagonists that surpass stereotypical characterizations by featuring females who have depth and complexity in their actions, desires and relations.
Two films in particular have addressed the seeming impossibility of making authentic connections in a techno-saturated, impersonal world.
In "Me and You and Everyone We Know," Miranda July writes, directs and stars as a women whose unique personality and emotional language are comparable to a puzzle piece so dramatically altered that it no longer fits the puzzle. But it perfectly matches another puzzle, connecting with one specific piece that completes a most colorful picture. Such is her relationship to the male lead in the film. And in subplots, July intelligently shows the absurdity and isolation of recent forms of communication such as instant messaging.
"Shopgirl" asks why we should risk love at all when we can hide and protect ourselves by becoming enslaved to the monotonous rhythm of daily life. Claire Danes, whose facial expressions are better than most actresses' would be with 20 years of lessons, plays Mirabel, a young woman who is not caught in the typical love triangle but between her own conflicting desires. One man can give her everything financially but not his love. Another can give his heart yet barely has a spare dime or a shred of common sense. But the film avoids the cliche of the girl choosing between two men by focusing on Mirabel's recognition of the selfishness of both men's love and what a rare fortune it is to make a connection with another human being.
There are other films, though, that do not specifically rely on a theme. In "The Upside of Anger," Joan Allen delivers what so far is the best female performance of the year. She plays an embittered, alcoholic mother who finds herself suddenly single when her husband apparently runs off with his secretary. Throughout the length of the film, she plunges into the honest and wretched depths of a shredded, grieving heart. Her rage is a vacuum that not only threatens her own sanity but the happiness of everyone close to her.
On the other end of the spectrum is Amy Adams' performance in "Junebug," a film which is perhaps the most accurate and perceptive portrayal of Southern life and mannerisms. Adams plays a garrulous and piously optimistic expecting mother whose spirit is never squelched despite living with her cynical mother-in-law and her once-passionate-now-severely-cold husband and high school sweetheart.
She brilliantly brings a Faulknerian complexity to a character considered simple-minded and unfortunate by the socially superior.
In "Pride and Prejudice," Keira Knightley's Elizabeth Bennett is every bit as proud and obstinate as the man she comes to desire. And although her mother obsesses over the engagements and marriages of her daughters in order that wealth and respect be brought into the family, Elizabeth does not relish in the giggles and crushes that dominate her obnoxious younger siblings. She, instead, insists that a mate be her emotional and intellectual equal.
Whatever merits these films may have, Curtis Hanson's "In Her Shoes" is the most enjoyable and overall satisfying. Hanson begins with a fairly typical story of the conflict between a younger, prettier and wilder sister and her less attractive stiff of an older sibling. Besides parents, they share only one thing in common, sleeping with the same man. But after Toni Collette catches Cameron Diaz in bed with her boyfriend and kicks her out of the house, Hanson develops each character separately for the majority of the running time. Diaz reunites with her estranged grandmother played by Shirley MacLaine and ceases to be a perpetual adolescent, while Collette realizes she's wasting away while trying to keep everyone around her satisfied by maintaining the status quo.
It is quite hopeful to see female characters who exist for purposes beyond exploitation or to provide the moral grounding for a male protagonist. But Hollywood has still barely begun to mature in its adolescence, hardly any films feature realistic and honest portrayals of women who are racially or ethnically diverse. But there's a good, yet inexcusable reason - scantily-clad white women sell tickets. You can't tell me the majority of those who went to see "The Dukes of Hazzard" went for some other reason than Jessica Simpson's derriere.
Fortunately, such films are so unbearably awful that audiences will hopefully demand higher quality and honesty from the studios releasing these films. After all, we go to the movies to experience something in a new and different way, not to be spoon-fed the same puerile rehash.
