“The Women” has been declawed.
Released in 1939, “The Women” is one of the cinema’s grand catfights. The movie revels in backstabbing and gossip with such glee that some have called it sexist. Certainly, it doesn’t shoot the fairer sex from its good side.
Tabloids pit actresses against each other in cellulite contests. “Mean girls” cause havoc in our high schools. Working moms sneer at stay-at-home moms and vice versa.
The original “The Women” reveled in such female spite – it was a feature-length catfight, and proud of it. Though in black and white, you had no trouble imagining the nail color that its characters favor – Jungle Red.
Norma Shearer starred as Mary Haines, a seemingly perfect New York socialite who discovers her husband has been cheating on her.
As if reclaiming her man from Joan Crawford’s vindictive other woman wasn’t enough, Mary’s “friends” – including a maliciously motor-mouthed Rosalind Russell – respond to her crisis with their own little betrayals.
It’s as if they were vultures feeding on carrion.
No such vindictiveness exists in “The Women” of 2008. Whereas Crawford and company went after each other’s throats (and husbands), Meg Ryan, Annette Benning, Debra Messing and Jada Pinkett Smith mostly share giggles and tearful hugs. These women haven’t only been declawed, they’ve been spayed and neutered.
Writer-director Diane English, making her feature debut, has subtracted much. Everything “new,” meanwhile, has been shamelessly borrowed from “Sex and the City.” There is an early joke about a knockoff purse, but this movie is faker than any pleather handbag.
Consider the four central characters, who are supposed to be dear friends even though they each exist in an entirely different social universe.
Ryan’s Mary Haines is Martha Stewart without the control issues – she tends her own garden and cooks her own meals without having to remind herself to smile.
Aside from a lot of money, Mary has nothing in common with her best friend Sylvia (Benning), who runs a women’s fashion magazine with an iron, immaculately gloved fist.
Then there is Messing’s Edie, a flighty mother of four, and Smith’s Alex, a hard-drinking, night-prowling lesbian. The sight of this group at a table together – especially making nice – is downright laughable. I’ve seen college brochures with more naturally paired foursomes than this.
As for the casting of Eva Mendes in Crawford’s home-wrecker part, the move is a revealing instance of contemporary’s Hollywood’s emphasis on appearance over personality.
Mendes is certainly easier to look at, yet her purring sounds like the coquettish come-ons of a too-old-for-her-age schoolgirl.
English even has to alter one of the original film’s best lines – that Crawford had “eyes that run up and down men like a searchlight” – because Mendes couldn’t live up to that sort of billing.
As a remake, “The Women” is a disaster, but on its own terms the movie has its moments. English is best known for her writing on television’s “Murphy Brown,” and there are some lines – especially spoken by Candice Bergen, Murphy Brown herself, as Mary’s acid-tongued mother – that spark.
These are, tellingly, the movie’s feistiest bits – the very few that remind you of the original film’s bite.
Overall, though, “The Women” sanitizes its sex. The movie doesn’t want to bite anyone. It would rather be petted.











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