After another glorious day at the beach, we decided to rent this Whoopi Goldberg movie, despite the dismal reviews it had received when it opened, or maybe because of them. As avid Whoopi fans, Anne and I have boldly loved all her movies despite those frequently luke-warm reviews. Anyway, it was the only video we were able to agree on that night.
Moonlight and Valentino tells the story of deep and abiding friendship among women, the kind of friendship that transcends/survives differences in temperament, emotional stability, personal happiness and satisfaction, serious depression, relationship woes and the unexpected death of a beloved, but imperfect, mate. Yeah, I know all the women are straight but, you know what, girls? I, for one, saw a whole lotta dykes I know in their characters, including myself. So be it.
The movie I saw was about how these women loved and supported each other. Where one was weak, the other was strong. Where one was incompetent, the other was skilled. Where one was emotionally fragile, the other was a mountain of strength. In the end, something remarkable happened. They had all grown as individuals and begun a long overdue healing process. They recommitted their love for one another.
I was more than a little choked up.
Heres what one Male Critic [MC] in the straight press had perceived. He thought that the main characters response to the untimely and unexpected death of her husband was superficial. MC felt that she wasnt sad enough, destroyed enough, etc., etc., etc. I think his working assumption was that this woman had no emotional life/connection outside of this man. Surprise, Surprise! Never mind that she has her own successful career teaching poetry at a university and the relationships with these three woman [her sister, her step-mother and her friend, Whoopi]. MC needed her to fit his stereotype: he needed her to cry, keen, rend her clothes, gnash her teeth, faint, swoon, and throw herself on the funeral pyre.
So heres the scene that MC and I disagree about: he thought that it was preposterous that the "widow" would take a box of Chicklets ["I never knew he liked these."] from her husbands office as her only keepsake and, later on, chew one as she faced another sleepless night. As she chews, her face softens, her hand slips into her pajama top and she caresses her breast. Shortly, the scene fades.
MC said [to paraphrase], "No woman in the proper state of mourning would be so superficial!" I said, "Yeah, I would do that. In fact, I have done that." Anne said, "Of course she would do that. She misses him. How obvious."
Now dont get me wrong; this is not a great movie. I, for one, always prefer to see Whoopi in a lead role, not as an also-ran. They could have left out the house- painter for my taste. [As a former house-painter, Anne sneered, "Huh! How come that never happened to me?"] Sometimes, the whole plot was just too predictable and the characters too stereotyped. But dammit, Ill still gladly sit through any movie that portrays womens lives in relation to other women in a loving and committed way.
Marge Tolchin is a film critic "wannabe" who frequents movie houses in Washington, DC and Rehoboth Beach in search of positive gay and lesbian images.
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8/8/97 Issue. Copyright 1997 by CAMP Rehoboth, Inc. All rights reserved.