Hollywood filmmakers like their women like they like their coffee: shrill, stupid and submissive. And usually not black.
As evidence, all you need to do is look at the "romantic" movies which are targeted toward women, yet somehow embrace every negative assumption about females that males have ever dreamed up. Movies like...
In what we've determined to be an actual documentary, Mel Gibson is an alcoholic, cigar-chomping, divorced chauvinist prone to unsolicited butt-slapping and overt boob-ogling. After electrocuting himself while in a drunken stupor, Mel awakens to find he can hear the women's thoughts--because that's totally how electrocution works, right? Imagine his shock when he hears what a prick all the ladies around him think he is.
How Does This Hate Women?
According the lady-thoughts of this movie, most women are either:
A. Mindless, shallow shells of nothingness; their empty skulls filled with sleepyheaded flies lolling around musing banalities such as whether or not they left the coffee pot on, or
B. Obsessed, either positively or negatively, with Mel Gibson. His butt, his sorry attitude, his crotch. All Mel, all the time. It's like a Jewish nightmare inside the heads of the women in this movie. The only way our leading lady distinguishes herself is by managing not to immediately fall for the guy who coined the phrase "Sugar Tits." Of course, when she finds out that he's been reading her mind without letting on that he was literally reading her mind, she melts like warm, implausible butter.
Above: Something women find irresistible.
To be fair, this is Mel Gibson's movie. We couldn't expect the women to all be mulling over conditions on the ground in Sarajevo or whatever. But it was also Helen Hunt's movie. Back in 2000, the year that Helen Hunt played every single leading role of every movie produced, including Highlander: End Game. If leering at Mel Gibson's crotch was the best Helen Hunt could do in the year 2000, then the women of Hollywood should just give up now. They had their chance. Game over.
Accepting her award for the year 2000.
In Twilight, a boring-ass twitchy girl named Bella falls in love with a shiny vampire named Edward. And for some reason not explained by the movie, he loves her back. So just be your clumsy, mouth-breathing selves ladies. Someday, if you're skinny enough, someone exotic will love you for just being "you."
And How Does This Hate Women?
Take the vampirism from this movie and all you're left with is Ike and Tina right before Tina refuses to eat the cake. Edward stomps, broods, sneers and snidely tells his love interest to fuck off, but that's just the forbidden fruit angle Bella needs to stand around like a dumbass waiting for her stalker/boyfriend to confess his love/violent lust for her tasty blood. He'll confess a few MURDERS while he's at it. Bella sees his murderous lust and raises him a dead-eyed vacant stare and the flippant assurance that he'd never hurt her. This entire movie is one black-eyed-teen away from being a PSA from 1989.
I've killed people before.
It does not matter.
I wanted to kill you at first. I've never wanted a human's blood so much, before.
I trust you.
Any girl with the self-esteem of a shoe would call it a day right there. And the next time a Cracked intern with a violent boyfriend hobbles into the office on a broken leg with a cockamamie story about falling down the stairs, then out the window, we're going to believe her. Thanks, Twilight.
Bella and Edward, circa 1975
Diane Keaton is a single mom to three accomplished adult daughters and, like most moms, she can't sleep at night over fear that her youngest child isn't gettin' any penis. So she starts a quest to find her daughter the perfect mate (penis-wise). Along the way she meets a penis of her own, and we all get to listen to some frank, eye-gougingly graphic sexy talk blaring from the rambling mouth of Grannie Hall.
Still, we have an older, single woman who successfully raised her daughters and has a seemingly healthy relationship with all of them. Kudos, Hollywood. Let's get you that cookie.
And How Does This Hate Women?
Did we mention that Diane Keaton is a shrilly, hen-pecking, shrieking pterodactyl version of a person? Whereas her new beau (penis) played by Stephen Collins is just a regular, salt of the Earth kind of guy? Think your girl is sweet now? It won't be too long before she's a nagging, screeching frump of quadruple-stranded pearls and estrogen... yet still arrogant enough to think she's smarter than everyone else in the room when it comes to love.
But what was really whack about this movie is the underlying assumption that the daughter needed a man in the first place. And that the single, seemingly successful mother was so so so fervent in her belief that her single, successful daughter needed a man that she desperately placed an Internet ad looking for one. Because it was 2007 and someone had to fight off the bears who attack the homestead, right?
You don't have a boyfriend in there, do you?
We can only conclude that the single, successful mother's life has been an aborted travesty of hopelessness and deprivation for her to stoop so low.
Being single is like an abortion. Something that's unholy and evil, Michael.
Zhang Ziyi vows to learn the art of the geisha in order to win the affections of an older man who bought her a snow cone when she was 10.
Half of the Cracked staff would turn gay tricks for a piece of this action.
Thanks to her blue eyes and stupid gobs of face beauty, Ziyi rises above the geisha rabble, World War II and some wicked cruel pimp-madams to eventually get her man. This is a movie with good intentions, and a lot of care is taken to describe geishas as anything but fancy hookers, since they can sing and dance and hold a conversation. Maybe if your parents sold you to a whorehouse you wouldn't be so judging.
And How Does This Hate Women?
Other than our heroine, just about every woman in this movie is one ripped kimono away from shredding the faces off of her rivals with her elegant geisha claws; devouring their featureless heads with her blood-red mouths, then vomiting their half-digested skulls onto their headless bodies, just out of spite. When not getting set on fire, Ziyi gets the white make-up slapped off her face, which is a very hard thing to accomplish. It's not the men of the world Ziyi has to fight to get ahead, it's the women. And if we were up against these women, we'd probably just fall on the sword and call it a day.
So help me, I will cut off your feet and shove them down your throat.