As reported recently in The Varsity, last weekend Toronto’s fanboys and sycophants left their dwellings in their parents’ basements and lined up at Roy Thompson Hall to drool over their indie-film hero, Kevin Smith. Smith was made famous by his cult hit Clerks, and has made six films featuring his group of twentysomething suburban social misfits. Because of his blend of Gen-X despair, Star Wars references, and lowbrow humour, he has enjoyed being worshipped as a savvy, youth-friendly artiste, his finger on the pulse of the infantile, comic book-loving male.
But don’t get me wrong: even though his characters are largely guys (and not the ladykilling type at that), Smith’s work is surprisingly popular with women. It’s like they find the futureless schlubs he portrays familiar, because they’re so pathetic. They never seem to be able to get the (interesting, hot) girls that show up on their turf, whether it’s a mall or a convenience store. We ladies love to despise the uncouth losers who don’t seem to realize how unavailable we are to them, and we kinda pity the (sorta cute) ones who try and try, and just can’t make it.
It’s indeed smart of Mr. Smith to reel us in that way, getting us on his side through self-deprecation. But maybe there’s another reason this cast of putzes never gets the girl. Maybe that’s because in his comic books and films, the girl is, invariably, “damaged goods” of some kind. Translation: she’s had too much sex. With too many people. And she’s liked it. And poor Kevin, with his Catholic upbringing, can’t stand it. Those girlfriends who do Ben Affleck or Dante Hicks wrong-well, they’re nothing but bitches and ho’s.
I don’t think I need to cite the most obvious example of Smith’s wrongheadedness with regard to women (and non-heteros, for that matter), Chasing Amy. The charming plot of the film involves a guy in love with a cute lesbian chick who turns him down, eventually “falls” for him, and then gets dumped by him when he learns that she used to fuck men, which means that she lied about being a virgin. The twin messages? The lezzies just need the right man to turn them around. And women that decide to change their minds about what kind of sex they like are just sluts.
Want to know how many non-obvious instances there are of girls in Smith’s comics and films who act promiscuously and get punished for it? Seven different characters, by my count. There’s the one from Clerks who stays away from intercourse but gave a lot of head to a lot of different men. Smith has her have sex with a man who has just died with an erection, without realizing it. It disturbs her so badly that she’s committed. The story continues in the Clerks comic book, where Danto goes to the home where she’s in a coma and “wakes her up” by pushing a candy cane between her legs.
Then there’s Smith’s stint writing the superhero comic Daredevil, where he kills off Daredevil’s girlfriend, a reformed former prostitute and porn actress who’s kicked drugs. But first, he gives her AIDS.
In another of his movie-adapted-into-a-comic books, Chasing Dogma, Smith has his character, Jay, rape a woman while she’s in the shower with her back turned. Why? Because she “gave some” to his pal Silent Bob, so why not everyone? It goes on and on.
Of course, it would take a team of equity-rights activists days to find each and every time someone gets called “gay” or “fag” in the Smith canon. You’re fighting a losing battle: for each one you find, ol’ Kev pens five more. Clever, that.
It makes sense to me now why Smith’s stuff is so popular with his audience base of vacant, nerdy boys whose ideas of women have been formed by images from blockbuster films and Vampirella. I just can’t see how no one else has noticed, or isn’t as disturbed as me.
