It was the Age of the Mustache — and of men who acted genially boyish while exuding testosterone-fueled swagger. It was also the Age of the Burgeoning Female Gaze, when women shed the last vestiges of being the “finer,” relationally attuned sex and began to participate in the pleasures of objectification.
The man for that ’70s moment was, unmistakably, Burt Reynolds, who died on Thursday, and who embodied — in a world before the advent of gender fluidity, metrosexuality and queer theory — an easygoing sexuality seemingly free of conflict. With his gridiron build, manifestly hairy chest and crinkly dark eyes suggesting an abiding sense of humor, Reynolds — hard though it may be to believe now — topped the list of box-office stars for five years, from 1978-1982, a feat equaled only by Bing Crosby before him.… Seguir leyendo »
You can be sure that this weekend at the Golden Globes, Hollywood celebrities, not exactly known for their independent thinking, will turn the red carpet into a #MeToo moment replete with designer duds. Many have promised to wear black dresses to protest the stream of allegations against industry moguls and actors. Perhaps Meryl Streep will get grilled — again — about what she knew about Harvey Weinstein. The rest of us will diligently follow along on Twitter, sharing hashtags and suitably pious opprobrium.
But privately, I suspect, many of us, including many longstanding feminists, will be rolling our eyes, having had it with the reflexive and unnuanced sense of outrage that has accompanied this cause from its inception, turning a bona fide moment of moral accountability into a series of ad hoc and sometimes unproven accusations.… Seguir leyendo »