Girls on Film

This week, for the first time:

I watched 'He's Just Not That Into You'.

Rom coms, chick flicks, whatever you want to call them, I have never been massively sold on the idea in the past. There was clearly something not quite right with me, as box office figures, Academy Awards and the rest of the general female public frequently begged to differ and while 'Titanic' was selling out in cinemas all over the world, I was more than happy to sit at home munching on a bowl of Butterkist glued to the latest Korean horror picture.

After watching 'He's Just Not That Into You' on Sunday, I have somewhat changed my mind. With a star-studded cast (Jennifer Anniston, Ben Affleck, Drew Barrymore, Jennifer Connolly, that guy from Alias who's in everything at the moment), I initially switched on this film as the perfect antidote to my post-birthday party fatigue, but after just a short time, discovered that I was enjoying every second thank you very much. There was even a brief moment when a genuine guffaw took control of my body and during some of the more sentimental scenes, dare I say it, my eyes filled up.

The storyline covered a spectrum of characters and focused on how signals from the opposite sex can be misinterpreted (in particular women misreading men). Thankfully, the movie avoided taking stereotyping a degree too far and built on some interesting scenarios; Jennifer Aniston's character, desperate to marry long-term boyfriend who refuses to pop the question; Drew Barrymore's portrayal of a young woman disenchanted with the ins and outs of dating in the modern world (I am eternally thankful that I settled down with my better half before times when it's necessary to log into five different devices until it sinks in that you've been dumped); Jennifer Connolly as neurotic sour puss whose husband strays with a literally scarlet (Johansson) woman. They all lived happily ever after is a foregone conclusion with most chick flicks, but what I liked about this was, it wasn't a deliriously happy ending for all of the characters and, now and again -shock, horror - there was something I could more than vaguely relate to.

The conlusion that I have drawn is that, like any other film genres, there will be movies that are good or even great and others that are just simply awful and, maybe I am just difficult to please when it comes to chick flicks. Take 'Bridget Jones's Diary'. I have had to sit through so many conversations in the past ten years listening to intelligent women shrieking in delight about this movie and I have simply sat there nodding and smiling at the appropriate moments. Well now it's time for me to come clean; I can't stand Bridget Jones. The film; the book; the woman; the whole concept. I find the 'let's all have a jolly good laugh at a big pair of knickers' humour a little on the patronising side. Bridget Jones makes me feel pigeon-holed and stereotyped and, while the message is supposed to be 'it's ok if you don't look like a super model and you're not a size 6', it's also saying that the alternative is to be this goofy, clumsy, irritating, man-hungry horsey type. Other than dress size issues, we have little in common; a broken heart would not lead me to sit at home wringing my hands and listening to Eric Carmen power ballads. Nick Cave murder ballads maybe. On first viewing, the giant pants thing is possibly mildly amusing, but I genuinely find these 'we're all girls together, nudge nudge, wink wink' conspiratorial gags tiresome. I'm not a miserable sod, honest. But for me, as Bridget Jones masqueraded as a positive role model for the new Millennium, she actually represented three steps backwards in the evolution of my gender.

And don't get me started on 'Mamma Mia'. I had the misfortune to encounter this alleged piece of entertainment a few weeks ago when I was stuck at home, under the weather. 20 minutes was all I could stomach and that was being open-minded (and too lazy to reach for the remote control). Implied in every second of this cringeworthy tat is that, once a woman hits her 50s, her sense of dignity hits rock bottom and she is completely justified in indulging in the most vulgar, raucous and downright uncouth behaviour. Just because we maybe aren't blessed with the same youthful beauty as Jane Seymour or Honor Blackman, doesn't mean that any decorum or femininity should be straight out of the window. Meryl Streep should be obliged to return her Oscars after her ill-advised appearance in this tripe. Such a shame as I quite like Abba. Our American cousins have managed to perfect the chick flick, in a way that currently escapes us. Usually harmless enough, their leading ladies are often too-good-to-be-true, but it doesn't stop us all from aspiring to be like them anyway. Despite her somewhat questionable profession, everybody wants to be the Julia Roberts character in 'Pretty Woman'. And let's face it, when it comes to romantic hero, they get it far more on the money than the Brits do. You can give me twinkly-eyed Richard Gere over dull-as-ditchwater Colin Firth any day and even a pushing septuagenarian Clint Eastwood ('Bridges of Madison County') rates way higher in the sexy stakes than faffing buffoon Hugh Grant ('Notting Hill'). I have just finished browsing through several lists of 'Top 100 Chick Flicks' (there's even a full list of 100 written for the male audience for the purposes of wooing unsuspecting females, complete with quotes). Admittedly, there are more than a handful that I have never seen (The Joy Luck Club, The Truth About Cats and Dogs), some that I have every attention of avoiding at all costs (My Big Fat Greek Wedding, anything with Whoopi Goldberg), but there are others that I've seen countless times which will never get stale (An Officer and a Gentleman, Love Story). There are probably too many gory Asian arthouse films out there to prevent me from wading my way through these entire lists, but I'm more than happy to borrow Julia Roberts's thigh length boots from time to time. Bridget Jones can keep her big pants, though. Will I try this again?: I'm waiting for your recommendations, ladies...