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...
7What Women Want
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