Marathon announcement! Join me in watching some cult horror movies featuring female monsters!

If there’s one thing you might say about me, it’s that I enjoy cracking myself up. To me, I’m hilarious. Which is one of the reasons I had such a very good time last year hosting my own little mini-marathon of cult movies about female rockers — meaning I rented a bunch of cheesy movies, popped myself some popcorn, laughed my butt off, and then wrote posts discussing the relative feminism in each. Some of those films (not all) were just terrible (feminist or not), and I enjoyed every minute.

Naturally, I’ve been scouring BlogLand looking for fresh ideas for a second marathon, when JB’s terrific blog The Fantom Country suggested a vision quest in the form of this amazing title: Gill-Women of Venus, aka Voyage to the Planet of the Prehistoric Women (1968), which has possibly the lowest rating I’ve ever seen (2.4/10). Here’s the capsule of the plot:

Astronauts landing on Venus encounter dangerous exotic creatures and almost meet some sexy Venusian women who like to sunbathe in hip-hugging skin-tight pants and seashell bras.

And yet it’s directed by Peter Bogdanovich, just a few years before The Last Picture Show!

Isn’t it interesting that most of the monsters out there in horror films are male? Now that’s a great opener for a conversation, if you ask me. Just imagine the possibilities, once I’ve set aside the need to find quality filmmaking. Plus, with a marathon focus like this one, I doubt seriously I’m going to uncover much feminism … yet just imagine what such storylines might say about male fears about women. I suspect we’re going to get very deep into the male psyche here — and we might well be laughing our butts off while we do so.

Plus, I’ve always wanted a good reason to see the 1950s classic, Attack of the 50-Foot Woman, which also looks terrible. I can hardly wait.

Sorry, the Alien franchise is out — those are objectively good films, and plus we’ve all seen them before. But I’m looking for recommendations.

A few rules: I’m really not interested in evil women; I want actual female monsters. Also, I do like a good vampire, but not for this marathon. I want Wasp Women, 50-Foot Women, Gill and/or Prehistoric Women, and so on. And I do love the idea of other people out there, watching terrible cult films with me while they eat their popcorn — so once I’ve finalized a few titles I’ll let you all know.

Neurotic woman (Parker Posey), late 30s, is desperate for love. She’s so pretty and has such a great wardrobe but she’s just so pathetic. That’s just the way women are in their late 30s, right? desperate and overly high-strung, till they find a guy?

Stop me if you’ve heard that one before. Also: stop reading if you’re already gagging a bit in your mouth. On Feminéma’s patented Vomit-O-Meter®, this ranks at Red Zone/Full Ralph. Oh yeah, then she meets the Magical Frenchman of the titular Broken English. (Magical Frenchman is not to be confused with the Magical Negro trope; pathetic female protagonists get Magical Men to have sex with and cure all their issues, while troubled male protagonists do not sleep with the Magical Negros who help them discover the true meaning of life. For clarification, thanks to Et voilà! Let’s hold hands in the Métro!

You know what I need, folks? Some kind of mental eraser so I will forget that Parker Posey was so much of a sucker as to say yes to a script this lame. Also: some kind of feminist brickbat to use on director Zoe Cassavetes for using such an array of talent (Gena Rowlands! Peter Bogdanovich! Drea de Matteo!) in such an insulting tale.

(Also need: an image of Vomit-O-Meter®. Tried with a Sharpie and a scanner but I now cannot make my computer recognize the scanner. Do any of you have skillz? For a reward, just say Vomit-O-Meter several times in a row and feel the joy!)

Because that’s what this is: an offensive film for female suckers. Isn’t it bad enough that director Catherine Hardwicke (Twilight, Red Riding Hood, etc.) has sold her soul to make that drivel? I’m sorry, but with a film pedigree that might even outdo Sofia Coppola’s, surely Cassavetes can do better. If not then please, Zoe, just turn producer for Dee Rees or Maryam Keshavarz. In the meantime, I’ve got to get this nasty taste out of my mouth.