Chick flicks and chick lit are under discussion these days. In a review by Jane Smiley of Jennifer Weiner’s Certain Girls, Smiley bemoans the pinkness of the cover, which relegates the book to the girl ghetto. Actually, she laments Weiner’s evident decision to aim for the chick lit shelves.

Smiley writes:

In her latest novel, she seems boxed in by her chosen genre, and it's a shame, because she's got the intelligence and the ambition to address larger questions than the psychological ups and downs of her nice Jewish characters. For whatever reason, though, she doesn't dare.

Meanwhile, Hollywood is trying to figure out what the Next Big Thing in chick flicks will be, now that Meg Ryan is getting long in the tooth. (OK, Hollywood didn’t say that, I did. But to me, Meg Ryan epitomizes the last round of chick flicks. She’s just so cute and inoffensive.)

My first question: Why is chick lit considered a ghetto while guy lit is considered the real deal? Why should the psychological ups and downs of Martin Amis’ characters be more respected than Weiner’s?

For that matter, why wasn’t Wally Lamb’s massive bestseller, She’s Come Undone given a pink cover? I wonder if Henry James was considered chick lit in his day, since his stories are all about intimate relationships? What about Jane Austen? Is Anne Tyler chick lit?

I have similar questions about chick flicks. I love the entire Bette Davis canon—are those chick flicks? What about Gone With the Wind? (Movie and book, actually.) If a book or movie has staying power, does that move it out of the ghetto into the good neighborhood?

I guess what is considered hardcore chick lit today is written to a formula that includes lots of shopping, brand name-dropping, cocktails and looooove. And chick flicks basically are boy+girl= happily ever after, eventually. Unless they’re a about somebody dying. (Beaches—which I’ve seen and didn’t care about.)

I don’t read a ton of hardcore chick lit, but I read The Devil Wears Prada and was surprised by how well-written it was. I also enjoyed the movie. Then I read Lauren Weisberger’s second book, Everyone Worth Knowing, and found it to be the exact same story, different career (public relations). Tedious. I read Bridget Jones’ Diary and enjoyed that and the movie, but decided not to read the follow-up for fear it would suck. (I rarely see movie sequels either, for the same reason.)

I am a sucker for a few recent-ish all-out chick flicks. Although I usually find Julia Roberts irritating, I do have a soft spot for Notting Hill. (I suspect my aversion to Julia Roberts has something to do with my loathing for her breakthrough movie, Pretty Woman. No, don’t get me started.) I catch Legally Blonde on TV whenever I come across it. I love the fact that Elle gets the degree and, only incidentally, the good guy.

Most of my favorite chick flicks are moldy olides, though. An Officer and a Gentleman got me through some hard times when I first moved to Texas and things weren’t going well. I saw it several times in one week because I needed escapism so badly. I love Private Benjamin, with Goldie Hawn, in which she is widowed on her wedding night and joins the army. The ending tickles me every time I see it (and it’s been a while—I might have to find it for fun). I also like Rich and Famous, with Candice Bergen and Jacqueline Bisset, which follows a friendship over decades.

I suppose my favorite chick lit and flicks involve women going for something other than the guy. You know, finding a guy is great, but that’s not all there is to us.

Labels: books, feminism, movies, writing