Richard Gere was my age today when he made Pretty Woman. Which makes him 58 today, which is odd. But I digress.
I have the kind of insomnia that makes you jumpy tonight, and I had to get out of bed before I hurt myself. So I came downstairs and turned on the telly and Pretty Woman was just starting, so I grabbed some clementines from the fridge and sat down to watch it.
For starters, may I just say that in 1990 the dress and hip boots Julia Roberts was wearing when he picked her up were skanky ho clothes. From the perspective of 2007, they look like something a 20 year old would wear clubbing on a Friday. That icks me out.
As does the fact that old-man Richard Gere falls in love with this childlike prostitute. Forget the whole ingenue as prostitute thing, which feminists much smarter than I have lambasted ad nauseum. She's not just a small town girl...there are times that she seems positively stunted. Less mature than my 12 year old nephew. And by the end of the movie she's seduced by a power-mad 41 year old multi-millionaire. He's not unable to commit. He's a sexual predator.
How is this a love story?