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Posted by Dain, Wednesday, June 08, 2005 4:08 AM (Eastern)
I just watched Mona Lisa Smile, pulling a big list of heavyweight stars—Julia Roberts (of course), Kirsten Dunst (whom I think has zero talent, but she's rather good here, very convincing... as a rigid, cat-eyed bitch, no less!), Maggie Gyllenhaal (absolutely adore her... I can never take my eyes of her), Julia Stiles ("You look like Julia Stiles" whispered a friend of mine in math class one day. "Don't be ridiculous," I scoffed, "I'm not white. Or blond." "You do," she insisted. Actually, I can kind of see it... and I couldn't tell you why), Marcia Gay Harden (lovely heartbreakingly brittle).
Actually, it's kind of a stupid movie. Lots of fuzzy warmth, classic chick flick—i.e. "women who rock and hold sway for no man" kind of thing. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but... I don't know. I guess it strikes me that people should worry about being decent people first, before one starts worrying about being a woman. But then, I've never been subjected to gender-related suppression, so what do I know? In any case, I like the movie, moreso than similar movies like Bend It Like Beckham, which is great, but since I'm more of a nerd than a jock... like likes like, as they say (though the "lessons" in this movie are rather stupid, as lessons go). They're always making movies about great teachers at uptight boys' schools reinventing minds, etc., so it's just nice to see it on the other side of the gender line. Funny how preoccupied the girls'-school version is with men, though—irony, sage perspicuity of the completeness of duality, or plain ole liberal hypocrisy? Ehh... you decide. The movie is single-mindedly liberal, almost to the point of close-mindedness, but I suppose there are worse crimes these days (though that depends on whom you ask).
My friend C., who goes to Wellesley, hates this movie. Which makes sense to me; it's probably not a fair portrayal of the school (I hate Gilmore Girls for a similar reason). Wellesley is certainly not the least bit like this now, though I've been told, that for some girls it still remains so. Perhaps I had been putting on airs and this was a set-down (perhaps not), but I was dining at Fig's (at Wellesley, I was visiting) with C. and her friend, A., who fixed me with a mild remonstration: "Yes, some girls do intend to get married as their final goal... some, not many. They expect to find a Harvard, Princeton, or Yale man. Wellesley is an excellent school, but it's not threatening to a man, the way a Yale degree would be." Ouch. Fair enough. (Though, I've got to say... who'd want such a man, intimidated by his wife's alma mater?)
Anyway... I love the clothes. Nary a miniskirt in sight. And they look fantastically tailored, albeit boxy. Though drab. Nothing's overtly sexy, not even the quirky wardrobe of Maggie Gyllenhaal's character. But even more... the makeup. Remember when red lipstick used to be part of the female zeitgeist? Odd how it's changed. Cold cream, face powder, hair rollers, perfume (and it was just "one", perfume, not a dozen), and red lipstick was the arsenal of the polished woman.
And I thought I was making progress by having reduced my collection to six (or so... it depends how you count it) eyeshadows! Would the woman of the fifties have envisioned electric blue eyeshadow as "essential"? Ahh... not. Thank god for the sixties and seventies (freedom from all the confines of feminine stereotypes), and the eighties (freedom from all the confines of good taste). I can wear blue eyeshadow without impunity, and red lipstick too, if I so wish. The availability of choice, and the proliferation of accepted means of expression, is a good thing, even if it means that most of us will unavoidably fall into pitfalls of taste and... But no matter. I'd rather see an industry of rote, soulless fragrances intended only to rake in the money, rather than a whole glut of soulful masterpieces of artistes, if it means that everyone is at least wearing something that she really likes, instead of walking into a room and realizing that every woman is wearing Chanel No. 5, without variation (though I like Chanel No. 5, just far away, on other women).
And before you ask, my signature perfume is Givenchy Organza Indécence, which no one I know wears, and thereby satisfies any fear of ubiquity. More importantly, though, it suits me—to a tee. And my favorite period to mimic, in fact, is not the fifties, nor the eighties (Rated R or no), but the classic "English rose" look: flawless, porcelain skin, rose-tinted cheeks and lips, very minimal decoration on eyes (which I can't legitimately do, given my eyes). This is hardly a conscious aesthetic, but I prefer—not exactly a "natural" look—a heightened naturalness, that emphasizes the fineness of what has been inherited and maintained, perhaps, rather than altered (it's similar in theory to a very close "beauty shot", but in black and white). Art mimicking life, if you will. If I may get a bit frou frou with you... it's a look that begs the question: is art illusion, or truth? You tell me.
So, we have run full circle back to Mona Lisa Smile, which is, among other things, about art. (And don't tell me that makeup isn't art!)
Labels: culture notes, retro
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