Give Us a Real Wonder Woman!

Oh dear. You know you’re in danger of becoming an old crank when everything you remember from the crappy 1970s seems better than the latest, slickest incarnation.

Et tu, Wonder Woman?

When I was a young girl in the ’70s, you had to take what you could get. Female heroes weren’t as plentiful as they are now. You had limp old Lindsay Wagner as the Bionic Woman who made funny noises when she ran, rather like a creaky weather vane. There was also the tri-part boobs, hair, and teeth ensemble of Charlie’s Angels jiggling about, doing the world’s worst kung fu and still taking orders from a man. And then you had Wonder Woman (Lynda Carter), who spun in circles, dispensed with her honking giant glasses and prim secretary outfits, and became the Princess of the Amazons. In her satin tights, fighting for the rights of women and men, she was the best of the bunch. At least she got to punch, kick, and occasionally make out with Captain Steve Trevor (played by Lyle Waggoner, the blandest human being to ever walk the earth).

Flash forward to 2017, and we have the newest iteration of Wonder Woman, played by Israeli model/actress Gal Gadot. To be fair there is some fun stuff here, especially in the first third of the film, in which we mortals are introduced to the Greek mythology that created the Amazons. A tiff between the gods over humans and power led to a scuffle between Zeus and Ares, the God of War. The result was the mysterious Island of Themyscira, home turf to a race of super-duper women charged with saving the world. This preamble is related by Queen Hippolyta (Connie Nielsen) to her young daughter Diana in the form of a storybook narrative. Diana was made from clay by her mother, brought to life by Zeus, and has grown to statuesque perfection under the watchful eye and careful tutelage of her aunty Antiope (Robin Wright).

Life on Themyscira largely resembles a Sapphic sleep away camp filled with big tough women having a gay old time, shooting arrows, galloping about on horses and wearing big breast plates. The ladies spend most of their time jumping through the air like so many sexy kangaroos, and there are no pesky men to wreck up the place. It is hard not to watch this opening idyll and flash back to one of the best episodes of Futurama called Amazon Women in the Mood. If you haven’t seen it, drop whatever the hell you’re doing and track it down. The primary plot twist is that when men arrive in the kingdom of women they are consigned to death by too much sex (aka “snu snu”).

In Wonder Woman, good old snu snu comes in the form of Captain Steve Trevor (played by button-nosed, big-eyed Chris Pine) who crash lands his plane, is rescued by Diana, and immediately takes off all his clothes. Steve is full of sly jokes, and the proud owner of an above-average uh… wristwatch. Diana takes it in, along with Steve’s story about being a spy, stealing German secrets, and his predilection for bondage. Actually I made that last part up, although if you will recall Wonder Woman came about from the fevered fantasies of one William Marston, a radical psychologist with an interest in kink, feminist Utopias, and comic books. Marston dreamed up a female superhero who would tie men up with her golden lasso, occasionally put them over her knee and spank them silly, all in an effort to create a glorious new matriarchy.

If you would like an in-depth look at the origin story, there is a lovely documentary entitled Wonder Women! The Untold Stories of American Superheroines. Director Kristy Guevara-Flanagan covers a lot of ground in her film, from the creation of Wonder Woman, to the second wave feminism, to the Riot Grrrl scene, and more.

Wonder Woman’s kinky beginnings are also referenced in the new film with Diana’s introduction to the wonders of the penis. After subjecting Steve Trevor to her truth lasso (he groans, flutters his eyes, and eventually comes clean about his mission), the pair enjoys an extended bout of wordplay in a glowing hot spring. (I kid thee not.) The audience at the opening night screening greeted this romping campiness with hilarity. “Woooooo!” went the entire theatre, descending in Grade 4 giggling as Diana and Steve traded repartee like a hot sex potato. “Do you sleep with women?” she asks him, and then goes on to explain that men are necessary for procreation, but not for pleasure. If the film had stayed in this sly little dance of double entendres we might have had a camp classic on our hands. But alas, more cranky men arrive, shoot everything to shit, and Diana is dragged off to save the world.

Ahh, crap! Can’t we just stay on the island making sex jokes for a while? But no, out in the real world, the war to end all wars is raging. The First World War has locked all of Europe in a deadly mudslide of trench warfare, mustard gas, and senseless death. Determined to make it to the front lines, find and kill Ares, and release the human race from their apparent lust for carnage, Diana enlists Steve and a squad of randomly assembled types. For no apparent or discernible logic there is a Scottish sniper (Ewen Bremner), an Algerian actor (Saïd Taghmaoui), and a First Nations smuggler named Chief (Eugene Brave Rock).

At this point in the story you might want to smack yourself in the forehead. It won’t help; things don’t really make a great deal of sense from here on in, so resign yourself, or maybe fall asleep for a little while and wake up in time for the big showdown between the nasty Huns and Wonder Woman’s magic bracelets. A few million explosions later, and a battle with yet another old white man who craves power, and the film cues itself up for the sequels yet to come.

Women are being encouraged to head out and support the film on its opening weekend on the basis that it is the first major superhero film directed by woman (Patty Jenkins). That’s not really a good enough reason, and the film has a strangely enervating effect. Unlike the ’70s version that twirled gently in place, this new version is spared from the laws of gravity, and I do not mean Wonder Woman’s bustier that thrusts her bosoms to the sky. Our heroine leaps through the air, spinning like an arrow, but the action has so little weight, emotional or otherwise, that one feels nothing. CGI is something of a curse, I think, but even worse is fake feminism.

Gadot does what she can, but she seems almost burdened by her beauty. Her dewy-eyed looks at Steve Trevor bog things down and add a sickly treacle note of billing and cooing about love. Your inner 11-year old girl will most likely be rolling her eyes, fake retching and screaming “GROSSSS!” And she has every right to do so.

Women still need heroes, perhaps even more than they did in 1975 when Wonder Woman first took to the airwaves. Or even in 1941, when the very first of image of our beloved Amazonian princess appeared in the pages of All Star Comics #8. But this film is not the genuine thing. It feels as auto-generated as the CG images. Nothing touches you. Nothing sticks. I pity the little girls who head into the film looking for a hero and find only candyfloss marketing.

Women, men, children, and even small pets would be would be better served watching Wonder Women! There is more emotion, power and tear-jerking moments packed into five minutes of Guevara-Flanagan’s documentary than there is in the 2.5-hour running time of the new Wonder Woman movie.

As the documentary notes, the very first cover of Ms. Magazine featured the tagline “Wonder Woman for President” with an image of Amazon punching forward, lasso in hand. This seems particularly (almost painfully) relevant at the moment. It would be nice if some wondrous woman could save the world from the predations of the large orange stool currently installed in the White House, who’s consigning the entire planet to rape and pillage. Where the hell are the real super-heroines when you need them?

Why, they are all around you! In the form of Rebecca Solnit, or Jackie Wong, or your aunty, or your sister, or your hilarious and tough-minded colleagues. We all need to save the world, sisters, with lassos in hand, and a little ‘snu snu’ on the side.