'Sex' and the rise of Cougar Culture

The Detroit News

Queen Cougar, now your purr is everywhere.

As the second "Sex and the City" film approaches, opening Thursday, it seems time to reflect on the impact one of its characters -- Samantha Jones, played by Kim Cattrall -- has had. In short, Samantha let the cat out of the bag.

That cat being the term "cougar," meaning an older woman who prefers to date younger men. Use of the term has variously been reviled as insulting and hailed as liberating; but without Samantha, whose preference for younger partners was central to the show during its television run from 1998 to 2004, cougar consciousness might never have risen.

Samantha broke the ground and soon enough Gabrielle (Eva Longoria) was having an affair with her lawn boy on the ABC-TV phenomenon "Desperate Housewives." Demi Moore married 15-years-younger Ashton Kutcher, and websites like therealcougarwoman.com began popping up, celebrating older women-younger men relationships.

Now there's a hit sitcom on ABC called "Cougar Town," starring Courteney Cox, as well as a reality show called "The Cougar" with Vivica A. Fox.

How common is the cougar phenomenon these days? ABC is reportedly considering changing the name of "Cougar Town" because the term is too passé.

Meanwhile, websites abound on Cougar Culture, celebrating the best cougar movies ever ("Class," "Risky Business," "Harold and Maude") and offering dating tips. Check out "The Cougar Café," part of the online magazine More (For Women of Style and Substance); these women are serious.

Samantha Jones was hardly the first older woman drawn to younger men -- the elder Mrs. Robinson seduced young Dustin Hoffman in "The Graduate" and actor Tim Robbins had hooked up with 12-years-older actress Susan Sarandon a decade before "Sex and the City" aired.

But such romances were generally considered either plain odd or downright pathetic. The difference with Samantha was she was (and still is) having a blast! She was a powerful woman in charge of her life and getting what she wanted. And what she wanted was boy toys.

Now hardly anyone blinks when cougar hall-of-famer Madonna is reported to be dating a 22-year-old Brazilian model. Of course she is.

And why wouldn't she be? Proponents of the cougar-as-empowerment paradigm repeatedly point to the traditionally more accepted practice of older men dating much younger women.

Clint Eastwood, they say. Woody Allen. Warren Beatty. Good heavens, Mick Jagger.

The ongoing strength of this long-running double standard was driven home this past week when Google announced it was banning ads for cougar dating websites on the basis that they weren't family friendly, while still allowing ads for "sugar daddy" websites where older men court younger women.

Despite such sexism, the new century rise of Cougar Culture makes perfect sense, as does the positioning of Samantha Jones as its standard-bearer.

Baby-boomer Kim Cattrall is now 53, and her entire generation came of age in a youth-obsessed culture both liberated and thoroughly confused by the collision of feminism and the sexual revolution.

It is a generation marked by an adamant refusal to ever give in to "growing up." Its members can expect longer lives -- and thus longer sex lives -- than any generation before it.

And female boomers do indeed enjoy many more choices than their predecessors, even if the road to true equality between the sexes remains long. Who says one of those choices can't be a 26-year-old guy named Chad?

Of course, the work of Samantha Jones will only truly be done when the term cougar no longer matters and the roar of controversy subsides to a meow. That purrfect day, though, is likely far off.

Review of 'Letters to Juliet'

The Detroit News

There's more than a dash of old-fashioned schmaltz in the disarming romance "Letters to Juliet," and that's part of its charm.

A light-hearted, empty-headed piece of sentimental fluff about love young and old, "Letters" nevertheless achieves what it sets out to accomplish : an amusing, touching, reassuringly wholesome romantic travelogue of a film that flies by on its way to the inevitable happy ending.

Amanda Seyfried plays Sophie, on vacation in Italy with her enthusiastic but business-preoccupied fiance, Victor (Gael Garcia Bernal).

Staying in Verona, the setting of "Romeo and Juliet," Sophie stumbles on a wall where anguished lovers post letters daily to the fictional Juliet, and then discovers a group of women who actually answer these letters. While Victor is off doing business, Sophie joins the women and discovers a long-lost letter hidden in the wall.

Your classic hopeless romantic, Sophie answers the letter; and lo and behold, a few days later an elderly British woman named Claire (Vanessa Redgrave, predictably wonderful) arrives in town with her stiff grandson, Charlie (Christopher Egan).

It turns out Claire long ago abandoned the love of her life in Italy, and Sophie's reply has inspired her to come seek him out, a quest Charlie thinks is ridiculous.

Her beau being perpetually busy, Sophie sets out on a tour of most of Italy with Claire and Charlie, searching for Claire's Great Love, despite the fact that Charlie is antagonistic toward her.

We all know what that means, of course. In fact, "Letters to Juliet" manages to squeeze in just about every romantic cliché possible as it trots through quaint villages and past vineyards.

But director Gary Winick, who has had both success ("13 Going on 30") and horrid failure ("Bride Wars") in the romantic comedy genre, holds a steady balance here.

It helps that Seyfried is adorably big-eyed and sweet while Redgrave is ... well, she's Vanessa Redgrave, and she can do pretty much anything, including chew corn with absolute sincerity.

The bi-generational approach of the whole enterprise near guarantees moist eyes for everyone; except for those too cynical to swallow this silly love song of a movie. Pity their black hearts and revel in the foolishness if you will.

Important due dates

June 7 -- first book review due

June 9 -- "Six Feet Under" review due

June 14 -- second book review due

June 28 -- Final paper (themed social criticism) due

assignment for May17

A two-line or less definition of art

A 250-word or more review of the sitcom "Better Off Ted"

Assignment for Weds. 5/12

Write a 250 word (or more) review of the "Homicide: Life on the Street" episode "Prison Riot"

Bring in a pop culture review you enjoy

Materials needed for "Popular Criticism," 5/10

"Rose" by Martin Cruz Smith ($7.99)

"Nineteen Minutes" by Jodi Picoult ($10.88)

"Six Feet Under: The First Season" ($23.99)

Prices are from Amazon.com, where all are available

Review of "Exit Through the Gift Shop"

The Detroit News

There's an understandable temptation to take "Exit Through the Gift Shop" as an elaborate hoax orchestrated by its "director," the mysterious rogue street artist known only as Banksy.

After all, the film questions what constitutes art, good taste, popularity and the relationship between art and commerce. It revels in a story that shows art patrons as little more than sheep while spinning a tale that seems too far-fetched to be true.

But in the end, you believe, even as you shake your head in wonder.

"Exit Through the Gift Shop" is the supposedly true story of French expatriate Thierry Guetta, a used-clothing store owner in Los Angeles who in the '90s becomes addicted to videotaping his life. Then his addiction expands to videotaping street and graffiti artists as they pursue their outlaw projects in the middle of the night.

After years of gathering hundreds of tapes, Guetta finally meets up with the elusive Banksy, the most renowned and reclusive of all street artists, and begins taping him in action, even covering for him when he nearly gets caught setting up an installation at Disneyland.

Banksy then encourages Guetta to assemble what is now a decade's worth of tapes into a movie. The movie Guetta makes is beyond unwatchable.

So Banksy takes over the tapes while Guetta decides to reinvent himself as Mr. Brainwash, a pop-image artist, and to stage a giant show in L.A., depending on his association with Banksy and others to hype the event.

His lack of talent and utter cluelessness is almost as huge as his gift for self-promotion. The show is immensely successful -- he earns more than $1 million -- and he ends up designing a Madonna album cover.

Banksy, always hooded and his voice disguised, hangs his head in despair. His sometime friend Guetta has just proven one of the great esthetic ideals thoroughly wrong: Not everyone has an artist inside of them. Or at least not a good artist.

Despite this turn of events, "Exit Through the Gift Shop" is great fun to watch, a lot like giving an inmate at the asylum a camera and carte blanche.

Guetta is such an oddball character, and the artists he tapes are such dedicated goofs, that you join in their thrills.

Then when Guetta begins his art career it's like watching a delusional person announce his candidacy for president. Except in this case, the nutcase wins the election.

Hoax or not, "Exit Through the Gift Shop" ends up energizing, aggravating, enjoyable and revealing. Is it art or isn't it? Who knows? Apparently no one.

Review of "Babies"

The Detroit News

Blessed with no narration, an absence of gimmickry and an embracing love for its subject matter, "Babies" is as sweet, joyful and filled with curiosity as a you-know-what.

Frenchman Thomas Balmes turned his camera for a year on four babes born into very different circumstances and cultures, and the result is a study in both development and the commonality of the human experience. Along the way, it's really, really cute, too.

Ponijao (boy) is born in a hut in remote Africa, surrounded by a dusty terrain. Mari (girl) is born in high-tech Tokyo. Bayar (boy) calls the plains of Mongolia home. And Hattie (girl) is raised in San Francisco.

Hattie has hot tubs and earth-consciousness classes, while Ponijao crawls around in dirt and chews on whatever finds its way into his mouth. Bayar puts up with cattle, cats and a rowdy brother while crawling naked across rangeland, and Mari is spoiled with a life of crowded comfort and bright-colored toys.

But they all progress in the inexorable way tykes (hopefully) do, becoming ever more aware, more curious, more daring. Life, Balmes seems to be saying, is as same as it is different, and we are all joined by these waking experiences.

The nice thing, though, is that Balmes says nothing of the kind; he just lets the film work as his proof. There is no overbearing point or moral to this story; it is just the story of us all, which is one heck of a point.

Oh, sure, the film is being marketed to mothers this Mother's Day weekend, moms having much to do with kids. But then this is ground we've all crossed. Who won't smile in appreciation?

Review of "Iron Man 2"

The Detroit News

There are too many new characters, too many crossing story lines, not enough romance and our hero's a smug jerk for the first half hour.

Who cares? "Iron Man 2" still rocks.

Where the first "Iron Man" film started strong and ended weak, its sequel starts out a bit shaky and ends strong, certainly the better way to go. Along the way, it indulges in a bit too much iron-on-iron fetishism and gadget worship, but it also features Mickey Rourke covered in tattoos and Scarlet Johansson in a gasp-worthy skin-tight suit, two factors that make it easy to forgive minor sins.

Also along for the ride is Sam Rockwell as a weaselly arms dealer out to build his own Iron Army, Garry Shandling as an overbearing senator who covets Tony Stark's Iron Man suit and Don Cheadle, taking over the much-expanded role of Stark's friend, Col. James Rhodes.

Add those faces to the returning Gwyneth Paltrow as Stark's right-hand woman and low-buzz love interest, Samuel L. Jackson's mysterious Nick Fury and director Jon Favreau as chauffeur Happy Hogan -- plus, of course, Robert Downey Jr. as Stark -- and you do have a bundle of bodies to balance.

Happily, Favreau and screenwriter Justin Theroux manage to juggle all these personalities while keeping Iron Man the central attraction -- somehow avoiding the dreaded "Spider-Man 3" curse of too many uninteresting distractions.

And no one shines brighter than Rourke, giving "Iron Man 2" that most essential ingredient for a comic book movie: a great and somewhat sympathetic villain, the most notable ingredient lacking from the first film.

The movie begins a year after the first ended, in a world where Iron Man has become an integral part of the geopolitical landscape. His existence has tipped the balance of power heavily toward the United States as he's become a deterrent against unjust aggression around the globe.

This has given the already narcissistic Tony Stark an even more swollen head. It has also created a great deal of Iron Man envy. The Pentagon, led by Senator Stern, wants the plans for an Iron Man suit so it can field an indestructible army. Arms dealer Justin Hammer wants to be the one to build that army.

But Stark declines to share his design, pointing out that no one else is near equaling his creation and the secret's safe with him.

Unbeknownst to Stark, Ivan Vanko, the Russian prison-toughened son of one of Stark's father's collaborators, is very near equaling the power of Iron Man.

Also unbeknownst to anyone, Stark is dying from the very power source that keeps him alive, his blood poisoned by an enemy element, which explains his increasingly erratic behavior.

Wielding some sort of electrical whip contraption, Vanko attacks Stark while he's out of his Iron Man suit and competing in a high-gloss car race. Stark survives and Vanko is jailed, but the snaky Hammer breaks him out and puts the brilliant thug to work building an army to defeat Iron Man.

And where does Scarlett Johansson fit in? She doesn't really; she sort of runs alongside the story as Natalie Rushman / Natasha Romanoff, Stark's new assistant and a secret ally of Nick Fury, who's trying to recruit Iron Man into the upcoming Avengers movie.

At the center of all this, obviously, is Downey, whose Stark is something of an American composite -- capitalist, inventor, irresponsible self-absorbed egoist, lone cowboy, Hugh Hefner quip machine and spoiled brat. Oh, and good-at-heart hero. It's hard to imagine any other actor pulling off a character of such cartoon complexity so casually.

Ultimately, director Favreau manages off the same trick. "Iron Man 2" never seems to strain for your attention. It starts slowly, gets a good run going and then jumps for the sky. Fly with it.

Review of "A Nightmare on Elm Street"

The Detroit News

'A Nightmare on Elm Street" may be the most unneeded movie of the year. And that's saying something.

Not that it's outright bad. Veteran video director Samuel Bayer has delivered a perfectly serviceable, if somewhat more serious and less campy, remake of the slasher classic.

But let's get real here. Between 1984 and 1991 there were six "Nightmare on Elm Street" movies, eventually augmented by two TV series and the mash-up "Freddy vs. Jason."

Did we really need to see this story again? Especially since it adds nothing new to the canon?

Yes, "Hamlet" has been done a million times, so why not Freddy Krueger?

Simply put, Freddy is no Hamlet. Six times was more than enough.

But here Freddy is, with Jackie Earle Haley taking on the role made famous by Robert Englund (who, at 62, was probably a bit long in the fang for a comeback).

The story is the same. Freddy starts appearing in the nightmares of a group of seemingly unrelated teens, and in those nightmares he guts and slices them to death with his unique razor fingers, at which point they die in real life.

As it turns out, Freddy was a child molester who terrorized a pre-school before the parents burned him to death. Now he's back to kill all the kids.

Why he waits until the kids are teenagers probably has more to do with potential bathing sequences than any actual logic. Happily, we haven't yet gotten to the point where 8-year-olds are disemboweled in slasher films.

Anyway, the last two teens, Quentin (Kyle Gallner from "Jennifer's Body") and Nancy (Rooney Mara, "Youth in Revolt"), realize if they stay awake they can't be killed. So they promptly begin taking turns nodding off.

Much mayhem, blood and scraping of razor fingers along rusty pipes and blackboards ensues.

One has to wonder with alarm at the psyche of Jackie Earle Haley. Once a child star ("Bad News Bears"), Haley disappeared for decades only to return as a pervert in "Little Children," a sociopathic superhero in "Watchmen," and now this. Here's hoping his self-esteem classes are working.

But Haley is actually a bit more frightening than was Englund, a reality that may well chafe diehard "Nightmare" fans who long for the old monster's wisecracks.

Speaking of monsters, the scariest people in the theater were the couple who brought a child of 3 or 4 to see this movie. They may as well have enrolled the poor kid in Future Serial Killers of America.

Hopefully they won't be bringing the poor kid to a sequel in two years.