"The Hurt Locker"
The Holy Mountain (1926): When women work in macho genres, people often waste a lot of time looking for stereotypical signs of “femininity,” which is not only patronizing but, more important, the least interesting way to analyze their work. For instance, you could ponder endlessly how Leni Riefenstahl—well before her Nazi period—managed to make this muscular “mountain film” without a Y chromosome. Or you could examine its images of strength and power for what they are.
The Hitch-Hiker (1953): After her acting career hit a snag in the mid-‘40s, Ida Lupino figured she’d be a director. Her sixth film became the first noir helmed by a woman, and the film’s assured bleakness and psychological acuity are the signs of a great filmmaker—period.
Pet Sematary (1989): Both here and in its even more ludicrous sequel, music video director Mary Lambert staked a claim as trashy horror’s premiere female voice, churning out stylish, brainless gore as well as (or better than?) someone without a vagina.
Boxing Helena (1993): Jennifer Chambers Lynch, daughter of David, is getting decent reviews for the new Surveillance, but she was all but blacklisted after this drama about a surgeon who amputates the limbs of his unrequited crush. But here is where a female perspective is a priori novel: It’s a look at male infatuation from the other side.
Boxing Helena - More related videos from Asterpix
In the Cut (2003): Well post- Basic Instinct, Jane Campion took on the sex thriller, and while I guess you could huff over the rough fucking and intellectual-obsessed-with-man’s-man as insights into “womanhood,” it’s far weirder as a sex thriller made by Jane Freakin’ Campion.
The Hurt Locker (2009): Kathryn Bigelow has long been tagged as a freak—a woman action director!—but her gender is the least interesting aspect of her work. Her Point Break is more compelling for the way it submerges the viewer in the crime world than for the fact that, hey, a chick crafted that kickass backyard chase scene.
The Iraq war movie machine, much like the war itself, hasn’t been going swimmingly. The movies, earnest and ham-fisted in a way that would shame even Stanley Kramer, have stunk and bombed, all while genre films that brutally comment on the Bush II era (The Bourne Ultimatum, Manderlay, various zombie movies) have succeeded.
It’s been a long road from the classic bloodsuckers of urban legend and Universal horror classics to the tomato juice-sipping, noble-intentioned, fanged pansies of the Twilight franchise. But sensitive vampires come in more shades than emo.
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