This comment definitely contains spoilers.
Has Hollywood ever known what to do with Jamie Lee Curtis, whose calling card seems to be making unwatchable movies watchable? Blue Steel might reveal the answer: no.
Everything happens between the opening sequence and the titles that follow. You can turn off the movie after that, unless you want to skip to the furtive sex scene between Megan and Nick (zzzz, snore).
Too bad Ron Silver's absurd Nebauchadnezzar imitation is completely non-credible, even as a late 80s yuppie skank. Too bad they have to go out of their way to reassure us that the rather androgynous Megan sleeps with guys by having her fall in love with the same stalker-sociopath who will eventually rape her, and inadvisedly (if predictably) bedding her gap-toothed boss. Too bad males are still instructed to be intimidated by the very ideal of female equality that excites them. But then, that would be the appeal of Jamie Lee Curtis in the first place, right?
Reams have been written on the feminist, misogynist or post-feminist implications of Blue Steel: the vulnerable naive (i.e. innocent) female with "father" and "poor judgment" issues; the self-realized, Laurie Strode post-victim, no longer hampered by incompetent adult and authority figures, etc.
But those analyses almost purposely seem to avoid the blindingly obvious, even as betrayed by the film: Megan in her snappy uniform is, well..."dapper", and Megan knows it, and smiles at it. Why else to keep the strut sequence with the punk chicks giving her the once over and vice-versa, or the black socks and patent leather oxfords montaged in with that showstopping bust line being buttoned up into a shirt and tie. Megan can barely relate to her "best friend's" brainless, conventional lifestyle, and is unable to tell the supposed "best friend" matters of life and death. Not so distant film history seems lost on these analyses; other female cop movies, most notably 70s films starring Pam Grier (Sheba, Baby) Teresa Graves (Christie Love), Tamara Dobson (Cleopatra Jones), and Angie Dickinson (Police Woman) opened the door for something like Blue Steel.
Updating the genre, Blue Steel addresses the troublesome idea of a female with a hard-on ("blue steel" being a colloquialism for "erection"), without caricature or camp those 70s movies counted on to get produced and watched, and also with masculine clothes on some of Hollywood's most notable curves. It is through the "Jamie Lee Curtis" star persona that Blue Steel is able to even broach the topic of "is Megan, or isn't she" and resolve it with a decidedly Hollywood ending. Megan even consciously cross dresses on the way to the climax.
In 1989-90, this, I suppose, was "progress". (shrug) So be it...all I can say is, thank heaven it's 2005.
Though this is not an enjoyable film, it might get you to thinking, even when you'd prefer to write it off as over stylized Hollywood crapola. I can't tell if that's a good thing or not; perhaps that in itself is one merit of Blue Steel. 6/10.
Has Hollywood ever known what to do with Jamie Lee Curtis, whose calling card seems to be making unwatchable movies watchable? Blue Steel might reveal the answer: no.
Everything happens between the opening sequence and the titles that follow. You can turn off the movie after that, unless you want to skip to the furtive sex scene between Megan and Nick (zzzz, snore).
Too bad Ron Silver's absurd Nebauchadnezzar imitation is completely non-credible, even as a late 80s yuppie skank. Too bad they have to go out of their way to reassure us that the rather androgynous Megan sleeps with guys by having her fall in love with the same stalker-sociopath who will eventually rape her, and inadvisedly (if predictably) bedding her gap-toothed boss. Too bad males are still instructed to be intimidated by the very ideal of female equality that excites them. But then, that would be the appeal of Jamie Lee Curtis in the first place, right?
Reams have been written on the feminist, misogynist or post-feminist implications of Blue Steel: the vulnerable naive (i.e. innocent) female with "father" and "poor judgment" issues; the self-realized, Laurie Strode post-victim, no longer hampered by incompetent adult and authority figures, etc.
But those analyses almost purposely seem to avoid the blindingly obvious, even as betrayed by the film: Megan in her snappy uniform is, well..."dapper", and Megan knows it, and smiles at it. Why else to keep the strut sequence with the punk chicks giving her the once over and vice-versa, or the black socks and patent leather oxfords montaged in with that showstopping bust line being buttoned up into a shirt and tie. Megan can barely relate to her "best friend's" brainless, conventional lifestyle, and is unable to tell the supposed "best friend" matters of life and death. Not so distant film history seems lost on these analyses; other female cop movies, most notably 70s films starring Pam Grier (Sheba, Baby) Teresa Graves (Christie Love), Tamara Dobson (Cleopatra Jones), and Angie Dickinson (Police Woman) opened the door for something like Blue Steel.
Updating the genre, Blue Steel addresses the troublesome idea of a female with a hard-on ("blue steel" being a colloquialism for "erection"), without caricature or camp those 70s movies counted on to get produced and watched, and also with masculine clothes on some of Hollywood's most notable curves. It is through the "Jamie Lee Curtis" star persona that Blue Steel is able to even broach the topic of "is Megan, or isn't she" and resolve it with a decidedly Hollywood ending. Megan even consciously cross dresses on the way to the climax.
In 1989-90, this, I suppose, was "progress". (shrug) So be it...all I can say is, thank heaven it's 2005.
Though this is not an enjoyable film, it might get you to thinking, even when you'd prefer to write it off as over stylized Hollywood crapola. I can't tell if that's a good thing or not; perhaps that in itself is one merit of Blue Steel. 6/10.