RUTHERFORD ON FILM: ‘My Super Ex-Girlfriend’: Camp Fest, Not Laugh Riot, Many Smiles on Terrors of Breaking Up
By Tony RutherfordHuntington News Network Writer
Huntington, WV (HNN) -- Adding new meaning to the “strong woman” phrase, Ivan (“Stripes,” “Father’s Day,” ”Ghostbusters,” “ Six Days, Seven Nights” ) Reitman’s “My Super Ex-Girlfriend” tackles the complexities of modern romance and sexist correctness in a delicious but severely flawed send up to the superhero genre.
Luke Wilson (Matt Saunders) , a laid back, nice nerdy dude, has a problem with attracting psycho women in his past relationships, so he follows a friend’s advice and approaches a plain, glasses wearing brunette named Jenny (Uma Thurman ) who’s comfortably reading a newspaper with other straphangers. After her “no” to coffee or any other drink, fate steps in.
A purse snatcher grabs Jenny’s purse and our man in search of a date gives chase.
Retrieving the stolen purse catapults his stock to buy now in Jenny’s eyes. After all, no one has in the past rescued her; she’s the woman saving people and nations from catastrophic peril. Under her brown wig, glasses, and conservative attire, she wears the costume for G-Girl (wonder if that stands for Google or a spot?), the current extraordinary power gifted heroine patrolling NYC.
Falling hard, Jenny turns into a love sick, jealous, controlling basket case. And, unlike her abilities to save the world, G-Girl lets her emotions rule. Clinging and obsessive behavior lead to Luke calling it quits. The super woman turns into a revenge minded stalker utilizing her powers to bash Luke’s car (pulling it out a hole busted in the garage), frying a goldfish and leaping through his ceiling in a single bound.
Thurman, though, has difficulty convincingly (or farcically) flip flopping between mild mannered art museum employee and destructive rages. Uma’s portrayal of the alter ego, Jenny, and G-Girl’s intervention to save lives work, but her hormones fail to believably boil. Thurman can not get the meanness part right. Maybe it’s the script that calls for a confident flying heroine who wimps unconfidently when interacting with the opposite sex. Yet, for ordinary ‘bad hair days,’ ‘pleasant conversation,’ and ‘flying through the air,’ she’s on the mark adding just the proper concoction of “The Greatest American Hero” stumbles.
Her co-star Saunders displays greater depth and adaptability than his super ex-love. He’s wonderfully comfortable as either a caring nice guy or jerk in training, particularly since mostly his best friend pulls his chords. However, his confidence and good lucks betray the attempt to paint him as a man with a problem finding dates.
“My Super Ex” sticks with its light hearted near aura, even as the director settles for the contrived happily ever after. But I love the jostling for gender correctness, particularly as these common 21st Century role reversals would test the most open minded and flexible individual of whatever gender.
Relationship analogies favor the ultimate male emasculation fear that ignites fertile territories from the ‘how to break up’ to the dicey after effects, which naturally depend upon an on cue new romance with the friendly office goddess who just caught her ‘model’ boy friend cheating.
Frankly or “G-ly,” I’ll admit to not catching on to the neediness and lack thereof boundary in a relationship where both lovers proclaim, “I want to spend all my time with you!” Then, after weeks of walking on romantic clouds, she suddenly starts expressing concerns about clinging (not cuddling), neediness (not nurturing each other’s dreams), and space (not sharing it). How do those passions of romance melt into icy hatred, disturbing disinterest and changes of heart when it’s not about me? I thought the greatest gift comes not from abilities to exceed mortals, but to find someone you love who loves you back? Does that make me “G-Boy?”
Folks, you can not take this film seriously. The more you challenge the sexist stereotypes you either laugh harder, futilely stretch symbolism beyond the obvious, or come to grips that super heroines or heroes are human too. Could this have been a lampoon of Stan Lee’s Marvel comic characters whose personal lives wobble? How many of them need anger management therapy from a super shrink?
Truly, G-Girl strongly resembles D.C. Comics’ Superman (or should I say Super Girl, the tight costume with high heel boots) in powers and vulnerabilities. On the other hand, the Man of Steel would not allow himself to be seen in a non-wholesome display of not knowing her own strength when making love. (I wonder if there will be a campy, raunchy R-rated version on DVD?)