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Megan Trudell

Reviews
Film

Thumbs down

(January 1995)


From Socialist Review, No. 182, January 1995, p 26.
Copyright © Socialist Review.
Copied with thanks from the Socialist Review Archive.
Marked up by Einde O’ Callaghan for the Encyclopaedia of Trotskyism On-Line (ETOL).


Even Cowgirls Get the Blues
Dir: Gus Van Sant

When Tom Robbins’ novel Even Cowgirls Get the Blues came out in 1976 it was hailed as a hippy cult classic. Women’s liberation and sexual freedom were firmly on the political agenda at the time, and the novel reflected and promoted the spirit of free love and self discovery that had emerged. Robbins’ book was wacky, strongly influenced by psychedelic drugs, and had at its core a celebration of women’s sexuality – lesbian and heterosexual – albeit strongly tinged with mysticism.

Unfortunately Gus Van Sant (director of My Own Private Idaho) has not succeeded in translating the book to film. Apparently the first draft of his script was very close to the style of the book but was rejected by the studio executives who were ‘baffled’ by the unconventional narrative.

What has been approved by the studio is a pale shadow of the book. The leading character is Sissy, a woman born into the sexually repressive 1950s with abnormally large thumbs. The best part of the film is the first ten minutes which show how stifling that period was for women. It looks promising when her mother, concerned that Sissy’s thumbs will hinder her chances of finding a husband, takes her to a fortune teller (a cameo by Roseanne Arnold) only to be told that her daughter will meet ‘lots of women, lots and lots of women’.

But it’s all downhill from there. Supposedly on an odyssey of self-discovery, Sissy puts her thumbs to use and becomes a famous hitchhiker, models in ads for feminine hygiene sprays and ends up on a ranch run by a camp, woman-hating John Hurt which gets taken over by cowgirls.

The film is nowhere near fantastic enough to carry off this tall tale, and the heroine appears wishy washy rather than assertive. The scenes of sexual love are not remotely moving (unlike My Own Private Idaho), and the whole thing meanders along with no clear direction or statement.

More than just silly, there is also a more covertly reactionary element to the film. The debate about whether women should be assertive and forceful in their fight for equality with men, or whether they should attempt to change things by emphasising their ‘feminine natures’ is resolved by the triumph of the feminine.

And Van Sant has stated that women’s sexual freedom is less on the agenda today than in the 1970s – the ‘updated challenge is to find some personal space where you can feel comfortable with yourself’. All of which assumes that feminism ‘worked’ and we’re all equal now – a theory beloved of media feminists but completely out of touch with ordinary women’s lives.

This film may look like a positive affirmation of female sexuality from the poster, but if you’re tempted you’d be better off spending your fiver on the (now pretty dated) book. Better still, get the excellent kd lang soundtrack or get My Own Private Idaho on video.


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