Bring back the red-blooded bitch
Once women knew how to deliver a good, honest dig, says Julie Burchill, but now great bitching has been replaced by half-hearted hand-wringing and hypocrisy
The Guardian
Julie Burchill
One of my favourite films ever is The Women, the 1939 comedy by George Cukor. A sparkling cyanide soda-pop of a confection, it is remarkable for two things - the absence of men from the 130 speaking roles and the extraordinarily high quality of the bitchy repartee. "Good grief, I hate to tell you, dear, but your skin makes the Rocky Mountains look like chiffon velvet!" "If you throw a lamb chop into a hot oven, what's gonna keep it from gettin' done?" "He could crack a coconut with those knees ... if he could get them together."
Over the past decade there has been the occasional buzz about a proposed remake, the most recent allegedly featuring Meg Ryan and Lisa Kudrow. Well, if it does finally happen they can start polishing up that Golden Raspberry Award right now. Because the standard of bitching in the time that has passed since the original will surely render it about as sparkling as a bottle of Tizer with the top left off.
Read the rest here: Bring Back the Red Blooded Bitch
3 comments:
haha very funny. now back to the kitchen!
love. this.
we should start a joint effort to update the catalog of Burns for Bitches. You in?
it'd be hard to match the author's linguistic finesse, though.
"Hypocrisy runs like a yellow streak through the limp bitches of the modern media. In my day - the shameless, shimmering 80s - we used sentences like shivs, sticking them right in the ribs of our adversaries while looking them straight in the eye and asking, "Want some more?""
let's show 'em.
hilarious!
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