Flawless and Feminist...
Last night we tried another Watch Again movie and opted for Flawless, the heist movie (complete with Michael Caine) set in 1960's London with Demi Moore as the career-woman Miss Quinn who hits the glass ceiling (metaphorically) at the London Diamond Coorporation and in an unlikely act of revenge collaborates with cleaner Mr Hobbs in pouring all LonDi's assets down the drain (literally).
It was good to watch in the way heist movies are though I didn't think the subsequent 'secret millionaire' afterlife of Quinn was particularly interesting. More intriguing would have been some psychological enquiry as to how she came to devote all her time and energy to her tough career, particularly when, as the film made very clear, she would have been regarded as something of a faulty female for sacrificing or not having in the first place the desire for husband, children, family. Her backstory, indeed, as we're always telling students to think about.
Although is it presumptuous to assume something had tilted her into the path of all-consuming work, rather than it just being a natural preference? Perhaps not in the sixties; it would be now. Not that I've not had my share of antifeminist unpleasant comments, especially in some of the East Anglian venues I used to teach evening class in as part of University Continuing Education some years ago. One or two older gentlemen especially didn't seem that willing to accept feedback or comments on their work, or even discussion; one wonders why they signed up in the first place.
One particular class on gender and voice in poetry, which usually inspired quite interesting debate, had such a gentlemen dismiss 'feminism' as the sad province of 'women working into their late thirties who suddenly find they're alone and will never have a family life'. A stupid, antediluvian response I know and I knew at the time. But it was intended to wound and in an odd way still did. Another older gentleman student took me to task during a class break and declared that after his lifetime of experience, 'the husband is always the captain of the marriage'. I'm not sure what literature had been under discussion to prompt it but I remember the unexpectedness of the statement. Fortunately, I had sufficient wit about me to say that although this may well be his opinion, I was, unfortunately for him, still the captain of the class, so he had better go and sit back down. He took it in good spirit. But I digress.
Interesting though I thought that Miss Quinn didn't wear any diamonds herself. Well she did dismantle and pack away some diamond earrings early in the film which helped lead her to the denouement; but otherwise she was all big dark pearls, the professional woman's adornment of choice. Pearls, fitted skirt suit, cigarettes. Red Wine in the bars at night. Dangerous living.
Diamonds, the hardest substance - the only danger to a diamond is another diamond, as one of the characters said. Powerful in more ways than one. Millions of years old too. Not that the film was flawless; more of a diamond in the rough, with something powerful hidden in there, as Philip French said in his Guardian review.
I had a dream a couple of years ago that I'd been holding some brilliant faceted diamonds in my hand and for some reason had compulsively swallowed them, as one would tablets. Jagged little pills. I remember being subsequently very worried (still in the dream) that I'd taken too many and done myself an injury. A sort of overload anxiety I suppose; that I'd over-committed myself. And life - working life that is - continues to feel like overcommitment at times. Especially with all the deadlines coming at pretty much the same time.
Better than pouring them all down the drain though.
It was good to watch in the way heist movies are though I didn't think the subsequent 'secret millionaire' afterlife of Quinn was particularly interesting. More intriguing would have been some psychological enquiry as to how she came to devote all her time and energy to her tough career, particularly when, as the film made very clear, she would have been regarded as something of a faulty female for sacrificing or not having in the first place the desire for husband, children, family. Her backstory, indeed, as we're always telling students to think about.
Although is it presumptuous to assume something had tilted her into the path of all-consuming work, rather than it just being a natural preference? Perhaps not in the sixties; it would be now. Not that I've not had my share of antifeminist unpleasant comments, especially in some of the East Anglian venues I used to teach evening class in as part of University Continuing Education some years ago. One or two older gentlemen especially didn't seem that willing to accept feedback or comments on their work, or even discussion; one wonders why they signed up in the first place.
One particular class on gender and voice in poetry, which usually inspired quite interesting debate, had such a gentlemen dismiss 'feminism' as the sad province of 'women working into their late thirties who suddenly find they're alone and will never have a family life'. A stupid, antediluvian response I know and I knew at the time. But it was intended to wound and in an odd way still did. Another older gentleman student took me to task during a class break and declared that after his lifetime of experience, 'the husband is always the captain of the marriage'. I'm not sure what literature had been under discussion to prompt it but I remember the unexpectedness of the statement. Fortunately, I had sufficient wit about me to say that although this may well be his opinion, I was, unfortunately for him, still the captain of the class, so he had better go and sit back down. He took it in good spirit. But I digress.
Interesting though I thought that Miss Quinn didn't wear any diamonds herself. Well she did dismantle and pack away some diamond earrings early in the film which helped lead her to the denouement; but otherwise she was all big dark pearls, the professional woman's adornment of choice. Pearls, fitted skirt suit, cigarettes. Red Wine in the bars at night. Dangerous living.
Diamonds, the hardest substance - the only danger to a diamond is another diamond, as one of the characters said. Powerful in more ways than one. Millions of years old too. Not that the film was flawless; more of a diamond in the rough, with something powerful hidden in there, as Philip French said in his Guardian review.
I had a dream a couple of years ago that I'd been holding some brilliant faceted diamonds in my hand and for some reason had compulsively swallowed them, as one would tablets. Jagged little pills. I remember being subsequently very worried (still in the dream) that I'd taken too many and done myself an injury. A sort of overload anxiety I suppose; that I'd over-committed myself. And life - working life that is - continues to feel like overcommitment at times. Especially with all the deadlines coming at pretty much the same time.
Better than pouring them all down the drain though.
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