When I see previews for movies like "The Women" (in theaters now), I long for a third gender with which to identify; female predilections can baffle me as much as male ones, sometimes more so. In this case, I'd rather eat a Hardee's Thickburger than sit through "The Women," or any movie that contains the bulk of the following "female" film cliches:
Grass-is-greener tension exists between two central female characters, one whose husband has zero libido, the other whose husband has an overactive one. Cue boring marriage counseling scenes, at which the dude is late to buy into therapy, but eventually has an epiphany when the therapist says something he finds insightful.
Children are the point of conflict for the other two ladies (four is the magic number with chick entertainment). The stay-at-home mom wonders what may have been if she hadn't given up her career in acting/modeling/photography for domesticity. The other, a workaholic, deals with guilt about missing the young lives of her offspring.
Leading sources of one-liners: shopping addictions, mind-altering prescription drug use, vibrators, menopause, chocolate.
A group argument where all four hens are crabbing at once, wide-eyed and with high-pitched voices, in some crowded locale. Scene ends when the crowd goes silent long enough for one of them to say something really inappropriate for all to hear.
Junk food binge ripe with blather about evil carbohydrates, middle-age butt and a walk down fad diet memory lane.
"Let's get soused on wine" scene featuring the following: Two of the women find they unknowingly slept with the same guy back in the day, another tries to sell her friends on the benefits of the Brazilian wax and all dance to a feel-good 70's hit. Most likely "I Will Survive," by Gloria Gaynor.
Martini lunch between main character and an older female role model. Old gives the young some straight talk, changing the momentum of the movie and possibly sparking a montage.
The montage: shopping, lunch, a spa package, wacky fitness attempts and voila! All are poised to conquer their personal battles.
Ladies compare numbers on how often each was a bridesmaid.
A character deals with anxiety over aging by telling off some young, hot girlie for a very minor offense, such as stealing her parking space or spilling a coffee-based drink on her scarf.
Making light of a cosmetic treatment gone awry. Chemical peel burn. Botox paralysis. Wacky vanity.
Ruse carried out allowing main character to stalk her romantic competition, be it by shopping in her store, dining at her table in a restaurant, staring at her through the fence bordering the elementary school where she teaches or sitting in the car outside her apartment.
Consumption of three beverage types: alcohol, diet soda and high-calorie coffee-based drinks that require at least seven words to order.
Pregnant chick's water breaks in a public place, and with not one man in her life to depend on, her gal pals conduct a slapstick dash to the maternity room that culminates in the stupid, sweaty howls of Hollywood birth. And don't forget mom-to-be's roar for an epidural.
Credits roll within five minutes of a wedding reception scene.
All characters resolve conflicts and live happily ever after. Or so we assume. Chick flicks rarely force a sequel upon us.