Cinema Sunday
Now that you have obtained your Mad Science degree, I thought we could try studying something REALLY challenging: gender differences.
So, here's the first half of the Subliminal Cinema chapter entitled "Chick Flicks Vs Ick Flicks." It's by Scott C. (dialogue by me), and I think you will find it enlightening. And manly.
*****
CHICK FLICKS VERSUS ICK FLICKS
Since the days of the women’s Suffrage movement, society has sought to answer one enduring mystery: are the endowments of the sexes equal not only in degree, but also in kind? Recent studies utilizing Magnetic Resonance Imaging (MRI) technology suggest that the male and female brains are structurally distinct. But does this translate into a difference in the way men and women think? As serious social critics, we turn, as always, to the wisdom and insight offered by Hollywood movies, and find that this lingering social debate can be resolved in two simple words: Body Count.
Exhaustive study of Hollywood output demonstrates that both men and women enjoy watching people die. In the average Man’s Movie–or what we might call the "Ick" Flick, due to its profusion of airborne viscera--lots of people die in a lot of interesting ways. In the average Chick Flick, only one person dies, but she does it slowly and exquisitely. These differences are solely a matter of style and degree, and in the end, both sexes get what they want: human sacrifice.
But are there deeper forces at work here? Let us examine two representative films, one from each genre, and see if content can offer a clue about the differing ways in which men and women satisfy their blood lust.
Dick flicks
Wait, wrong image! The above is one of the many fine movie posters for our time available at The War Office.
The real one features Bruce Willis as George, Liv Tyler as Rummy, and Ben Affleck as Dick. So, the sex scenes in this version are just as disturbing.
Anyway, on to the movie . . .
ARMAGEDDON (1998)
Before we begin, a warning: This movie is 2 hours and 31 minutes long, so Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here.
A hail of flaming meteorites bombard New York City, cratering Broadway, decapitating the Chrysler Building, demolishing Grand Central Terminal, and wreaking a toll in human lives and suffering the like of which has not been seen since "Cats" opened at the Winter Garden.
Meanwhile, at NASA headquarters, the homicidal nincompoop from "Sling Blade" (Billy Bob Thornton) is in charge, and he announces that an asteroid will strike Earth in 18 days, destroying all life. ‘Not even bacteria" will survive, he informs the President, implying that the asteroid is a far more effective toilet bowl cleanser than Lysol.
Cut to an oil-drilling platform in the Gulf of Mexico, where Bruce Willis is hitting golf balls at a Greenpeace boat. Bruce represents the last of a vanishing breed of wildcat oilmen, rugged individualists who live life by their own rules, as they carelessly rape the fragile ecosystem. And yet, when he finds his daughter (Liv Tyler) in bed with Ben Affleck, he shows a surprisingly sensitive side by chasing Ben around the oil rig, and attempting to blow his head off with a shotgun. This tender scene is interrupted when black crude starts gushing all over the cast in a series of dizzying, rapidly edited images intended either to convey that they’ve just struck oil, or else to induce epileptic seizures in Japanese schoolchildren.
Billy Bob decides to send Bruce and his team of handpicked stereotypes into space, where they’ll land on the asteroid, drill an 800-foot hole, and explode a nuclear warhead at the bottom of it. There follows a series of light-hearted scenes in which Bruce and his crew of dullards comically appall and exasperate the NASA brass with their sociopathic fetishes, gross ignorance, and inappropriate body-fat content. Becoming, in effect, interplanetary Sweathogs.
Now comes the scariest part of the film, as Bruce secretly watches while Liv and Ben make out. Granted, their necking consists largely of Ben French-kissing her left shoulder blade, but still–he’s her father, and he’s just standing there, watching! I once dissected a fetal pig in a poorly ventilated classroom when I had the flu, and felt less queasy than this.
That is, until the next scene, when we watch as Ben attempts to seduce Liv by molesting her with animal crackers, and talking in the voice of that Crocodile Hunter guy from the Discovery Channel. For some reason, this apparently works.
Cut to Shanghai, where a meteorite kills millions. But the previous two scenes have left the audience so shaken and depressed that we can’t help envying the dead.
Cut to Cape Canaveral, where Bruce and company are suited up and heading for the launch pad. But first, Ben and Liv pause to sing an off-key rendition of "I’m Leaving on a Jet Plane," and suddenly, the audience shakes off its mood of apathetic despair and begins actively rooting for the asteroid. Giant foam fingers are thrust aloft. "Asteroid Rules!" T-shirts go on sale in the lobby. And the state champion Asteroid Cheerleading Squad performs a series of snappy basket-catches in the aisles.
The team has to take two shuttles, because no one wants to sit on the hump. They strap in, heroic music starts to blare, and the shuttles rocket into space. At last we’ve got some action, which comes to an immediate halt as they pull into the Mir for gas. (You’d think they could’ve thought of that before they left.)
Ben screws up the refueling, sets everything on fire, and blows up the space station. On the ground, Liv pensively removes her engagement ring and entertains second thoughts.
Although the team’s incompetence inadvertently provided an action sequence, director Bay senses our boredom, and attempts to relieve it by violently shaking the camera around and having everyone in the cast open their mouths and show us their tonsils. It doesn’t help.
The two shuttles approach the asteroid from upwind. Predictably, Ben’s ship crashes into it, while Bruce’s shuttle lands in the wrong place.
Ben loads the survivors in their self-propelled drill rig, which is also equipped with a machine gun. "I’ll show you how we do things where I come from," he bellows, and shoots a bunch of holes in the side of the shuttle with the machine gun, which somehow works in a vacuum. So apparently where Ben comes from, the laws of physics don’t apply.
Cut to Bruce and crew, who are saying things like "Drop the hammer!" and "Let’s chew this iron bitch up!" in an effort to make digging a hole seem exciting. But all they manage to do is blow the drill rig’s transmission, and the audience is filled with dread by the prospect that at any moment, James Brolin may appear on behalf of Aamco.
Some of the cast members attempt a coup, and try to save their careers by just detonating the nukes and ending the movie. But, as with everything else, they screw it up, and we’ve got another 42 minutes to go.
Meanwhile, Ben tries to drive to the other shuttle, but he spends most of his time screaming and smashing into things.
Back at the landing site, Bruce and his crew blow up their drill-rig and one of themselves. The mission has failed, and humanity is doomed. On a happier note, thanks to another rogue meteorite, the French go first.
Suddenly, Ben shows up in the second drill-rig and finishes the hole. Director Bay correctly deduces that by this point, nobody cares, so he starts blowing stuff up and showing us tonsils again. During all the ruckus and horseplay, however, they damage the bomb, and can no longer detonate it by remote control. Unsurprisingly, Ben is chosen to stay behind and blast the asteroid, since he’s destroyed just about everything else in the film. But Bruce, who hasn’t really had much to do, is so sick of it all that he decides he wants to stay behind and touch off the nuke. He and Ben cry and scream that they love each other, in a moment reminiscent of two fishwives performing a scene from "Spartacus."
The survivors lift off, and Bruce presses the button that controls the bomb (it also apparently controls a slide projector, since along with the explosion we get a montage of Bruce’s vacation snaps.)
The crew returns to earth as heroes, the saviors of mankind. Despite this, their shuttle gets a crappy parking place, and they have to walk all the way back to the terminal.
*****
It’s easy to see why men like this movie: the world is faced with a crisis that can only be solved by blowing up stuff. Nobody suggests talking things out. There’s no need to reach a concensus with the asteroid. Nope, just blow up the sucker and go home and be a hero. No foreplay needed, no cuddling after. If this approach had been used in so-called chick flicks, we’re pretty sure men would like them. For example, here’s the Jerry Bruckheimer version of 2002’s biggest chick flick, My Big Fat Greek Wedding:
Woman: I love you, but I’m worried that my family won’t accept you because you’re not of my ethnic group.
Man: The reason they won’t accept me is that they are evil terrorists! From outer space! I must blow them up to save all life on Earth! BOOM!
Woman: You have solved my problem AND demonstrated your superiority to all other men! Let’s have sex!
The End.
So, now you know what makes an "ick" (or "dick") flick. Next time, we analyze the chick flick, and see what makes it tick. Be there, or be dead in an all-singing, all-dancing nuclear holocaust.
1:41:19 AM 
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