Pussy whipped

Halle Berry as Catwoman

When Culture Snob announced the Misunderstood Blog-a-Thon, my mind headed straight for Catwoman (2004). Yes, that Catwoman: Halle Berry in black leather, directed by someone claiming to be called Pitof, a picture denounced from hither to thither. Despite the disapproving bobble-headed minions, it’s really not that terrible. But my objectivity may be a tad clouded. A cherished ‘comfort’ flick, I’ve seen Catwoman well over ten times and would gladly watch it again right now.

    One would think that at this point, with blogathon at hand, I’d be heaping up superlatives for Catwoman to prove how very, very wrong everyone is. But closed minds usually remain shut, and when the bobble-heads gather en masse—as an assembly of fans and critics bent on contradicting their own professed love for innovation and nonconformity—there’s little chance to sway their stiff, conservative dogma. But why bother trying? And why give them the satisfaction of enjoying my beloved Catwoman? As they say in the trenches: fuck ‘em.

    Truth be told, it’s leaner and more engaging than any of Richard Donner’s ponderous Superman movies and makes Tim Burton’s two Batmans look dour and awkward by comparison. As a narrative, Catwoman is more coherent and less grating than Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom or The Lost World: Jurassic Park. As an action picture, it transcends the gee-whiz-bang of Michael Bay’s The Rock and Armageddon. As superhero flicks go, Catwoman is nowhere near as boring as The Fantastic Four, a movie I should appreciate given my lusty longing for Jessica Alba.

    All of those movies made vast fortunes while Catwoman never earned back its cost during a limp theatrical release. Poor reviews certainly had no impact: made on a budget of $100 million, Fantastic Four, numbing drivel that no critic in their right mind would recommend to anyone, made $154 million in first run. Cynics used to say you can’t underestimate the taste of the American people, but I think it’s always been a global thing.

Above: The late, mild-mannered Patience Phillips (Halle Berry) is given new life by the sacred Egyptian temple cat, Midnight.

    Assuming for a moment that newspaper columnists affect opening weekend, consider Roger Ebert’s take. “Although the movie’s faults are many,” he wrote, “the crucial one is that we never get any sense of what it feels like to turn into a catwoman.” Ebert recognizes “the ambivalence that Peter Parker has about being part nerdy student, part superhero” in Spider-Man 2, but attacks Catwoman for not providing “the scenes where a woman comes to grip with the fact that her entire nature and even her species seems to have changed.” To date, I’ve yet to encounter a superhero movie which had me “feeling” like its lead character. And while we’re at it, I hope I never arrive at Roger’s place—for if ever I demand ‘realism’ from this loopy genre, please take me out to a field and shoot me.

    The box office failure of Catwoman shouldn’t be blamed on bad reviews or Halle or the handling of the material, but rather on the title and premise. It’s a case of history repeating: when Helen Slater played Supergirl and Jennifer Garner did Elektra, both pictures grossed only half of their production costs. Although both pictures, for lack of a better term, suck, those low numbers don’t reflect their quality so much as remind us that comics are the province of little boys of all ages who are afraid of women—especially mature, empowered ones. (Fear of castrating maternal figures must have something to do with it.) The films didn’t flop because they were poor; the 18-to-25 male demographic simply avoided them on principle. A (male) Netflix friend of mine who undoubtedly hissed at Catwoman before seeing it rated it one sad little star, but awarded Spiderman four. Granted, Spiderman is the better movie, yet is the gulf between them all that wide?

    I don’t believe so. But, again, objectivity is not on my side. What are Catwoman’s qualities—real or imagined—that impel me to watch the damn thing at least twice a year? Wouldn’t you like to know!

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