Dear Kathryn,
Congratulations on your DGA win and Oscar nom!
Now let's get right to it: Many of your fans have been with you since "Point Break," and we saw this day coming. Your filmmaking chops have reaped the admiration of directors — men and women, far and wide — for well over two decades.
But has everyone forgotten that you work in show business, the most superficial industry on the planet? Who cares if backstage crew at the DGA awards ceremony could be heard off-camera whistling at your gams and calling you "gorgeous"? Enough about your triumph being one step forward for female filmmakers but two steps back for women.
I say it's a big plus. Besides, you work in the same business that has served up helpings of boy-toy Brad Pitt, sex goddess Sophia Loren, stud muffin John Travolta and Hollywood heartthrob George Clooney. It's a business that's invested in sex appeal and non-stop visuals; filmmakers obsess over hair and lighting, and spend an excruciating amount of time (some over a decade) crafting spectacles to bedazzle, titillate and devour us.
Did you see "Avatar"?
Whether you're in front of the camera or behind the lens, you're game for this kind of glory. It's Hollywood, so soak it up. (By the way, I'm glad you've made Lee Daniels question his sexuality. We can talk about how he's more than just the masterful artist who gave us "Precious." He's confused.)
So, from woman to woman, I'm hoping you truly savor all the off-screen siren remarks you can get. Quite frankly, people think you're lying about your age. You look like you're 25. So don't be surprised if the Birthers, who are bored and still pissed about the whole "Prez-is-a-real-American" thing, target you. People want to see your birth certificate. If you're 58, prove it. And why would you round up your age when younger women in the biz are busy getting their faces Photoshopped? For gravitas, "elderly worship status" and to win awards.
Your distributors are tickling themselves and not just because DVD sales for "The Hurt Locker" are bound to blow through the roof but because you pulled off the impossible. "The Hurt Locker" is a cultural phenomenon. You crafted a brilliant film about war, sweat, addiction, testosterone, guns and that quixotic force: the male psyche.
You put us on the edge of our seats with their torturous emotions, their ticking time bombs, and their hubris, and you're a woman. There, I've said it. Call me sexist, but it's mind boggling. We're used to female directors giving us pretty interiors with weepy women on their periods. Not only did you dump the double X chromosomes, you put the subconscious mind smack in the middle of your bare and precarious landscape.
Yes, I was completely engrossed. But there were at least 25 millisecond moments, in between gunfire, when internal flash cards went off in my head: "This is not a Ridley Scott film"; "She's more badass than Mel Gibson"; "Scott Rudin, you know you want this".
Newcomers to the game who will be watching your film for the first time are now free to take cues from the Lee Daniels Playbook. They can go to the theater wearing buttons that say, "The Bigelow Rocks It." In the world of standard pop culture, you and your movie don't add up.
And that's why we love you both. You defy all the boxes. Many thanks, Kathryn, for smashing the ceiling, trashing the walls and blasting the doors out, Hurt Locker-style.
Cheers,
Laurene Williams