I am a lesbian mom with two kids under the age of eight, and in any given week I have approximately 4 minutes and 30 seconds of disposable free time during which my kids aren’t yelling, “Mama!” because they want me to find their wooden flute, sit on the edge of the bathtub while they pee or hand them the charger for the iPad (that is on the floor right next to them) because the iPad ran out of juice and they need to finish Girl Meets World.
On that rare Saturday night when my lady and I both manage to stay up past 8:57 pm and we decide to watch a movie, it better be good.
Picture this scenario, Amazon Prime because this is exactly what happened Saturday night.
We threw caution to the wind and decided to watch a lesbian movie so we could relive the glory days of new love, gals about town and life without kids. We fixed a cocktail, made some popcorn, sat on the couch and prepared ourselves to be entertained.
I picked up the remote.
Click. Click. Click.
Whoa.
Elisabeth Shue, stared back at us from a thumbnail on the screen. The movie wasn’t free, but we could purchase it for $1.99. This felt like a commitment, but when you weigh that cost against a lesbian movie where Elisabeth Shue plays a therapist, the choice is an obvious “Are you freaking kidding me? Yes!”
As I bought the movie in high definition (because it’s Elisabeth Shue), I imagined middle-aged lesbians all over the globe clicking the “purchase” button at the same time.
Memories of that time in college when I grew out my mullet so I would look like Elisabeth Shue in Cocktail floated about my head. I either worshipped her or was in love with her or maybe both.
As you can see, the result of said hair experiment was less Elisabeth Shue and more lacrosse player with a perm.
We sipped our cocktails and started the movie.
10 minutes went by, then 15, then 20 and no one was making out with Elisabeth Shue.
At the 40-minute mark there was a flashback scene that was meant to show how out of control and crazy the main character’s (not Elisabeth Shue, mind you) life had gotten. Somewhere in the middle of a dream-like sequence, the not-Elisabeth-Shue-20-something kissed a girl in the bathroom ever so chastely.
No. No. No.
Amazon Prime wouldn’t do that to us. Would they?
At this point, we both leaned forward as I frantically fast forwarded through the movie. We got to the end and sat in silence staring at the screen. Elisabeth Shue made out with no one, and to add salt to our very exposed wounds, there was absolutely no lesbian business in the movie whatsoever. There was, however, way too much screen time devoted to this millennial that locked herself in her apartment with a video camera, so she could figure out if she wanted to live. She would do this by recording all her rambling and disjointed thoughts confessional style. It was clear that growing up, this gal’s mother told her that all her thoughts were very valuable and must be heard as well as recorded for posterity.
Now Amazon Prime, I’m not going to get all politically-correct-lesbian on you about how this movie uses imagery of a girl making out with another girl to show that she’s having a psychotic break (although, maybe I just did), but what I am going to say is for the love of God, if you’re going to put a movie in the lesbian section, it had better be a lesbian movie.
It doesn’t have to be good. Lord knows I’ve seen my share of horrendous lesbian movies. I mean I own It’s in the Water. I don’t care if the plot centers on a softball team. I don’t care if one or both of the main characters are gym teachers and play basketball in the nude (talking about you Late Bloomers). I don’t care if every lady in the film has hairy arm pits (well, actually I do, but that’s just a personal preference). I don’t care if the lesbians are played by straight starlets who got a short haircut so they would seem more gay.
My only requirement is that if you call the movie gay, it’s gay.
In closing, Amazon Prime don’t pray on my 90s love for Elisabeth Shue. Don’t bait and switch me. And don’t mess with me. I might be a tired middle-aged mom, but I’m not afraid to take off my Tevas and wage war. Sort out your movie carousel and do it quickly or I’m coming for you.
When you least expect it, expect it.
Sincerely,
Robin Hopkins