The patriarchal world we live in has very little interest in women beyond whether we can f[uck] them, feed them, or foil them. Hence, we get the ubiquitous, mostly mute strippers, prostitutes, and arm candy. We get the supportive-but-still-largely mute girlfriends, wives, and mothers who hand the Action Man™ a cup of coffee while wearing vague expressions of constipated sympathy and concern as they watch him Racing Toward Danger from the other side of the screen door. We get teenage girls who are Lolitas, Troubled Daughters, Vicious Cheerleaders, or Vapid Shoppers. Manic Pixie Dream Girls. Angry Black Women. Mentally Ill Bright Stars Who Touch the Hero’s Life but Who Ultimately Are Too Unstable to Stay, Which Is, Like, Hella Sad for Dude McWiserNow. And, my personal fave, unhinged bitches out to fuck up a man’s good thang by neutering him through their ceaseless, bitchy demands or by boiling a bunny on his stove — i.e., She Who Must Be Stopped.
We don’t often get women, though. Real women.
Libba Bray on Hollywood women.