Start Dating essay girlhood loss matching motherhood underwear wacky womanhood world

Dating essay girlhood loss matching motherhood underwear wacky womanhood world

Mars wastes no time informing us that "bonin'" is his chief motivation for seeing Nola and, true to his riotous intro, he's a hoot: entreating Nola over the phone to "just let me smell it" before hitting her with the film's oft-quoted "please, baby, please, baby, please, baby, baby, baby, please"; ridiculing a poem Jamie's written as if its writing-class earnestness were literally causing him pain; wearing Nola's panties on his head and calling himself a superhero named — what else?

She has no original thoughts, no real identity beyond walking female id — Players Magazine centerfold given life by the devious Dr.

Frankenstein (emphasis on the -stein) of cult-Marx sexual politics.

Lee as Mars — both here and in his once-ubiquitous pop-icon ad blitz pushing Nikes alongside Michael Jordan — will undoubtedly surprise those working their way back to this from his post-Do the Right Thing career schadenfreude.

Though his films, excepting Malcolm X and perhaps one or two others, have never fully lost their outlandish comic setpieces, their black-comedy-club banter and stop-and-smell-absurdity's-roses detours, Lee was given to sly-dog impishness here in a way we'd never truly see again.

Dependability), via his honing of some skill or talent that might lead to financial reward or personal accomplishment (the preening cover model Greer).

Yet, the men of She's Gotta Have It aren't quite three-dimensional — they merely appear so in contrast with Nola.

They're nifty screenwriter's shorthand, a nod to the film's Wizard of Oz reconfiguring; as the Tin Man, the Cowardly Lion and the Scarecrow each sought to attain crucial characteristics of the Ideal Person, so the men in Nola's life each represent a single facet of her Ideal Boyfriend that they combine, Voltron-like, to provide for her.

They sum themselves up for us with pithy statements of belief: there's Jamie the Romantic, proffering 'til-death-do-us-part with talk of soulmates; there's Greer the Physical Specimen, who pulls up in his convertible and tells us he was God's gift to Nola; there's Mars the Comic Relief, careening toward us on his bike over a primitive early hip-hop beat, condensed for us into a giggle-inducing jumble of Cazals eyewear, oversized Nikes, and tacky gold nameplate with matching belt buckle.

no male characters as self-engrossed and as carnally-fixated as Nola, it's because a man can't exist solely as physical extension of his libido; as sperm is a plentiful and comparatively inexhaustible commodity in relation to a woman's precious eggs, society places absolutely zero value on swinging dicks for swinging dicks' sake.

(Camille Paglia: "A woman simply is, but a man must become.") It's the way of the world that estrogen-blinkered ideologues and oppression-of-the-vagina fantasists refuse to understand: a female's worth is internal, it's based on her God-given (and eminently finite) fertility whereas a man's worth must be proven; it has to manifest itself to the world, via his having worked to develop an intriguing aura (Mars' joke-laden super-confidence), via his display of ability as provider/protector (Jamie as Mr.

"If they do what men do they're labeled whore, prostitute, nympho, etc. " Lee may have set out — or, so he claimed — to explore black female sexuality as force of nature, to salute his heroine's love canal as the Underground Railroad bringing her Kneegrow Spirit to its aesthetic liberation: beholden to no one's rigid parameters, unchained and unchainable. Before we even see Nola's face, we register her as a lump stirring under a mass of sheets on what Lee's script refers to as her "loving bed" (a "whoring bed" to match that of her kindred spirit, Joe, in Lars von Trier's two-part Nymphomaniac epic).