Why is it...?

Why is it that two minutes into a movie you can tell if it was directed or written by a man or a woman? Watched a really bad movie today called 'Helen', starring Ashley Judd and written and directed by a woman. It was about a woman suffering from depression and by the time I struggled through it, I was right in there with her. I think the give-away are the long, meaningful pauses in "chick flicks". Every thime her husband asked her if anything was wrong, the camera glided to a shot of her lying in a ball on the floor and then zeroed in on her face for about five minutes, as she contorted to sad piano music (of course, she used to be a pianist). At one point the only clue I had that I had not paused the DVD myself was the absence of those two little lines in the upper left-hand corner of the screen that tell you you have paused the film. It was just one sad walk along the beach after another crying jag in a restaurant washroom after another freak-out on the floor.........and you never knew why??!!

The scenes in the mental ward were just so unrealistic -- not that I have ever been a patient in one, although some days I am sure my family thinks it would be a great move. Patients were smashing their heads into glass offices and she just sat around not talking to the female psychiatrist treating her. I kept waiting for something to happen, but it never did. Eventually she agrees to the dreaded shock treatment and out of sheer relief I almost phoned in for a few jolts myself. Then she recovers -- sort of, but not really -- and goes back to her husband and her depressing jogs along the beach. The end. Don't rent it. I think if a man had directed it, there would have been fewer meaningful -- or should I say "meaningless" -- vacant stare scenes. I think there might have been a little more action and the husband would not have been the typical male ass who causes all her problems. He might not have been portrayed as a dolt whose only reaction to his wife's depression was to punch out a client (he's a distracted lawyer, natch) in a parking garage. Natch he is subdued by a female lawyer. It just sucked.

Spent an enjoyable morning at the war museum, doing my 'Quickbooks" thing -- although for me it should be "Slowbooks" because I take way longer than whiz kid Gillian, who taught me. "Just go in here and tab to there and input here and tab again and put in the receipt number and the client number and tab, tab, tab and that's all there is to it!" For you, maybe Gillian. For me it is check, check, check and check again. Part of the morning I yakked away with a woman volunteer guide I kept calling Phyll, instead of her real name, Marilyn. Don't you just hate trying to excuse why you can't get her name right!? And I have spent lots of time with this woman talking about very intimate things, like her divorce, and acting like I am her new best friend, but I can't get her name right. Duh! The kicker was that I was complaining about people who don't check to see if "Clarke" has an "e" on the end..."can't people just check out the name and get it right Phyll," I raved. "It's so pathetic, the inattention to detail, Phyll," I continued. Sometimes I am such a loser.