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Chick Flick

Rich Cerow

I think I know women, and I think I know what they want when they go to the movies (Actually, for the record, I know absolutely nothing about women. I wrote for a website, though, so you probably already knew that). They want high-octane drama, with explosive emotional maelstroms. Also, car chases. And probably everyone needs to learn a lesson at the end about being a strong woman while retaining your femininity in a strong, masculine world. And relying on the other women around you to pull you through, when you need them most. Because you guys are my real family. Which is why, Faceless Hollywood Executives, I am here to once again provide you with a valuable money-making opportunity by pitching you this, the greatest movie for women of all time.

It’s called Fried Green Magnolia’s Oil, and it revolves around a beautiful young woman (probably we should get, like, Ashley Judd to play this part. You know, attractive, but in a wholesome way. Someone who seems like a real person, except way better looking) who just wants to know what love is and what life has to offer, but she’s been struck by a terrible, rare genetic disorder that is slowly killing her yet not drastically hurting her looks. Luckily she has the support of all her wacky friends in this small town.
At some point that vital sign readout will flat-line and all sorts of shrieking will ensue.
There’s the overweight one who has a zest for life and all its sensual rewards, and isn’t afraid to give a man what-for when he’s badmouthing one of her friends. She might have a southern accent, I don’t know, I’m flexible on that one. Then there’s the friend who has a couple of hell-raising kids, and she wishes she could spend more time with “her girls” but she’s all tied up in married life and raising those little scamps. She’ll have short hair, because, since she’s a mom now, she has become totally asexual. She’ll probably have a third friend who’s black or Latina or something. This will be that person’s only distinguishing characteristic, and she won’t have a major role in this movie. Maybe she has a rambunctious grandma, too, who always talks about “That Simmons boy has one cute behind” and then everyone yells “GRANDMA!” because they’re so embarrassed.

Anyway, she has a rare genetic disorder, and there’s a bunch of scenes in the hospital where, like everyone is crowded around her and they’re crying, but also remembering the good times they all had together. Like the one time the overweight girl woke up after a night of drinking and couldn’t find her pants so she had to run across town in just her underwear and the ten-year-old paperboy saw her in the altogether. Oh, that Lucinda, she’s so vivacious (the hefty girl’s name could be Lucinda)! But then the girls learn that there is one cure for this disease, and it’s found in a rare enzyme that’s only produced by wife-beating husbands. Then the girl who doesn’t have time for them breaks down and admits she is being beaten, and everyone learns a lesson that it’s never the victim’s fault and if it can happen here it can happen anywhere. So the girls hatch a plan to kill the abuser and feed him to the sick girl in order to save her life. Covered in barbecue sauce. While they’re scheming, we can show a montage of the plan coming together with “Sisters Doin’ It for Themselves” playing over it.
Anti-freeze with a squeeze of lime.
In the dramatic confrontation, the abused woman faces down her soon-to-be-ex-husband and actually finishes him off, after he says something totally inappropriate like, “Oh, you were asking for it,” and then she shoots him and says “Nobody asks for that, nobody” while one tear slowly falls down her cheek because you should always have a witty retort ready when you’re refusing to be a victim anymore and taking your life back. And the other girls come over and put their hands on her shoulders and tell her that everything’s gonna be all right now.

They cure the girl with the enzymes and then they open a chain of diners that serve deep-fried spousal abusers with cornbread and baked beans on the side. It’ll be called Dr. Twisty McSpinnerson’s and they’ll be, like, road signs and old Coca-Cola ads on the walls, and they wait staff will all sing “Happy Birthday” (or “For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow,” since it’s in the public domain) while they present somebody with a cupcake with one candle in it. Oh, man, and they’ll be all kinds of crazy drinks for you to order, like a Mega-Conga Line, which is blue and comes in a huge glass with pineapple slices hanging over the top of it and it’ll be totally hilarious when a big, burly biker comes in and orders it, with its little umbrella sticking out and the swirly straw you need to drink it with. I can’t wait for the look on the other patron’s faces when that guy walks in.

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