Skip to main content

Oscars 2021

 My husband and I very much liked "The Assistant."

In case you missed this, it's the story of a recent Northwestern grad who goes to work for Harvey Weinstein, or someone like Harvey Weinstein. (We never see the boss onscreen.)

The assistant has brains, and she knows something is wrong. People make jokes about Weinstein's gross casting couch--which is, literally, a gross couch, a few feet away from a big desk. If you stop by HR, you might overhear someone murmuring: "They have nothing....They really don't have a case...." You might hear this *quite a bit* .....

Also, Weinstein feels free to berate people in public: "You're a joke. You're the dumbest one I've hired. I thought the last one was dumb, but my God...."

All of this is gripping and unnerving to watch, but I liked even more the *very subtle* ways in which a secretary is abused: how powerful people will use a secretary as an object of aggression, so the powerful people don't actually have to square off against *each other* ....How men in an office will require the female secretary to deal with the "difficult ex-wife" ....("She asked for YOU.") How you're forced to draft disingenuous apologies, because you yourself might one day have the chance to be a producer, and the world really needs "women producers" .....

If this were a big Hollywood movie, the tension would build to a startling and ultimately life-affirming climax, an Aaron Sorkin-ish exchange of ideas, a satisfying final curtain. But "The Assistant" is smarter and quieter. The movie shows how a terrible system keeps churning along, how difficult it is to make a real change.

I liked the script, and I liked Julia Garner. I'd be happy to see this movie enjoying some kind of triumph at the Oscars.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

The Death of Bergoglio

  It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...