Lookie! Ah Made Mahself A Bay-Bay! or, "Girl Power!"

The Wench professes that she is annoyed with the central conceit of Waitress, which she recently viewed on DVD. The central conceit being: motherhood as salvation, the mother-child bond as all-nourishing and all-fulfilling.

Kerri Russell's character, the "Waitress" of the title, insists that she does not want her baby throughout the course of her pregnancy. In a letter to her unborn child, she reveals that she thinks very little of most people, and that she feels ambivalent bringing her into such a cold, mediocre world.

Yet the moment her newborn daughter is placed into her arms, Russell does a complete 360. She goes from being a cowering, abused wife to telling her evil hick husband to stick it where the sun don't shine. She abruptly breaks off an affair with a doctor who ostensibly was the only one who took interest in her or made her feel at all meaningful. All this before she's even wheeled out of the hospital. And all this, because all she needs is her bay-bay.

Balderdash, says The Wench. Where's the post-partum depression? The engorged breasts? Hell, where's the extra pregancy pounds? Where's the mind-blowing stress and strain of caring for an infant as a single, self-employed mother?

The Wench is also peeved that yet another female protagonist falls for yet another gainfully employed male. We've seen so many doctor and lawyer love interests (yet sadly, no Indian Chiefs), underscoring that a man's chief attraction to a woman is his earning power. Oh, yes -- and his ability to see the real woman behind the waitress/ugly chick/prostitute.

On to other films dealing with unplanned pregancy: The Wench confesses to being puzzled by recent claims that Knocked Up is sexist for portraying women as demanding and shrill. The character Debbie was indeed an angry, anxiety-ridden shrew, but no more so than many post-feminist wives and mothers The Wench has observed. These are women whose husbands work demanding jobs so that they have the privilege of staying at home with their chidlren, yet insist on splitting household chores evenly for the sake of "fairness".

How fair is it, The Wench asks, to expect one's husband to come home after a long day of sales calls/surgery/depositions and clean up? And really, why must Debbie's character insist on her husband buying "pink cupcakes" or otherwise participating in child-rearing to an equal extent as she?

The Wench suggests that Debbie and other women of her ilk do as all other women with small children have: run to the shrink and procure a scrip for Paxil, Wellbutrin or similar anti-anxiety drug. Surely, that "Waitress" will at some point -- and if she's lucky, her psychiatrist will be cute and charming and pie-loving, to boot.

On Women Who Want It Both Ways: The Pop Culture View

The Wench recently viewed The Nanny Diaries. The Wench was not pleased.

Let us put aside Laura Linney's abrupt character transformation at the end. Let us put aside the fact that Scarlett Johansson's character is whiny and weak of spine. The Wench's real beef is that the movie panders to the base female urge to have it both ways.

Case in point: throughout the course of the movie, Ms. Johansson learns that wealth does not mean happiness, and that she would rather pursue a less lucrative career in anthropology than make piles of dough in finance.

All very well and good, The Wench says. But if this character's epiphany, if the message behind it, is to have a shred of integrity at all, why have Ms. Johansson wind up with the filthy rich (and cute!) guy at the end?

Why? Because women want it both ways. They cling to the romantic ideal that money doesn't matter, that one should search for and find the one who fills the soul -- not the pocketbook. And yet. And yet. Wouldn't it be nice if your soul-mate was conveniently loaded? So that you'd never have to work again? Or so that you could pursue a low-paying but deeply satisfying career like anthropology without sweating it?

The makers of The Nanny Diaries understand this impulse. They also understand that women feel a little guilty about it. That's why they made Chris Evans's character a poor little rich boy whose mommy died when he was a toddler. Awwwwwwwww. See? She's not into him for his looks or money. She's into him because he's wounded.

This creative cop-out has been around for a long time. The Wench first took note of it as it pertained to these gals:

In the final scene of How To Marry A Millionaire, Lauren Bacall announces that she's through with gold-digging and satisfied to be with her very average new boyfriend. At which point, the boyfriend reveals that he is, in fact . . . don't faint, now . . . a millionaire! An updated version of this gag appears in the Broadway production of Thoroughly Modern Millie, wherein an entire show-stopping number is devoted to Millie's declaration of love for Jimmy, even though he hasn't so much as two sticks to rub together. And then, surprise! Turns out Jimmy's loaded, too.

The Wench thinks Lauren Bacall's boyfriend should have stayed an Average Joe. And Jimmy should have stayed a penniless schmuck. But that would risk losing the female audience.

This is one of the many, many reasons The Wench loves Jane Austen: When it comes to women and money, she does not resort to such cheap cynicism and gimmickry. On the contrary: Our girl Jane lays it on the line.

Consider Elizabeth Bennett's visit to Pemberley. Before, she's just not that into Darcy. In fact, she thinks he's kind of a creep. Then she sees this:

And then she gets the grand tour of the grounds, the palatial mansion, and Darcy's ginormous sculpture gallery. And all of a sudden, she goes from Ice Queen to Hot and Bothered:



Let's be honest, ladies. You can believe in love for its own sake, with all its limited-income frustrations. Or you can go for the guy with the deep pockets. If you're lucky, you might find that Mr. Soul-Mate and Mr. Deep Pockets are one and the same. If not -- well, then. Pick a side.