How *Late Night* Misses the Mark

First, as usual, let me disclose: to say I am an fan of Emma Thompson would be an understatement. I would gladly pay $10 just to watch her sit on a stoop somewhere. And then I would probably decide that that had been some spectacular stoop-sitting.

So – unlike with Poms - I went in with high expectations, and this cannot be entirely discounted. But there’s more to the story.

I’m glad the film was made. It’s rife with important moments, subtle challenges, and overt messages that are valuable. But just below the surface, it fails.

Thompson plays Katherine Newbury, a late-night talk show host whose show has been on the declined for a decade. The nod to (or jeer at?) Letterman is unmistakable; she has been a tremendous success, is well-loved, but has never had female writers on her show, and is now being accused of hating women. The movie more than nods at #MeToo, but it hops and skims over the depth of these issues like an artfully-skipped stone on still waters.

The plot setup happens quickly and there are no major surprises: she’s snobbish, hard, cold (cruel, even) scary and successful. She strives for “excellence.” That’s her bag.

Enter Mindy Kaling’s Molly, hired entirely to prove that Newbury doesn’t hate women. Molly is unqualified but spunky and determined, with a keen eye and an honest voice. So yes, she saves Katherine. It’s nice, to have a woman saving a woman, right? Katherine’s boss is also a woman, played by the incredibly talented (get her name), and she is also a hard-ass, though as not-nice as she is to Katherine, she’s still likeable, because Katherine is worse. So all women, talking about work and ageism and reproductive rights and even screwing up and sleeping with subordinates and being accountable. Sounds like a pretty well flipped narrative, right? Yay.

Except.

I mentioned in my last post, about Poms, the script about hard, cold, damaged women being “saved.” In the end, they’re rewarded because they are successfully feminized. This ruins many an otherwise potentially-feminist film, headed in the right direction at first, and then nose-diving into the gutter of Real Women Have The Feels. And the appropriately feminine hair, and clothes.

Lo and behold, Katherine’s salvation comes with this tradeoff. It’s heartbreaking to watch.

The show about to be pulled from her and handed to a “wanker,” whom even Katherine points out is a misogynist – a cliché of a sophomoric comedian, Molly provides a fresh perspective, some direly-needed honesty and support. And Katherine – “Katie,” the ill John Lithgow calls her near the end – softens. She hires a publicist (a Black woman and a caricature of a publicist), who prompts her to thrw a party. The (sub-textual) point of the party? The (hetero)sexualization of Katherine Newbury. Out of character thus far (though admittedly, so is the party), she wears a red pantsuit, which I don’t even know how to describe, so here’s a still:

But at the party we also figure out that she’d had a night with one of her writers; he caresses her arm and she tells him it was just one time.

And thus Katherine Newbury is sexualized. On the surface, hey, that’s great. Yay for sexualizing post-menopausal characters. And sexualization, by itself, should be unproblematic. But this particular sexualization turns out to be a main ingredient in her softening, and thus in her reaping the rewards. Harrumph.

Then the rest of it begins. Presumably at the behest of her publicist, she becomes Woman…but she stops roaring. She lets a young teenage guest hug her. The audience likes this because whats-his-face has said she’s smart. Katherine likes smart. The guest physically bowls her over and the audience is touched.

But then the story of her one-night tryst with one of her writers, three years ago, breaks. And so does Katherine. Molly comes to her rescue, but Katherine is unwilling to be saved. She fires Molly (who promptly gets a job with Seth Myers, who is nice to see on the big screen), with the cruelty she had been evolving out of.

But then she changes; she cries in front of her staff, laments the error of her ways. She confesses on screen, is vulnerable and dignified in her accountability. The audience loves her. She keeps her show. She grovels to get Molly back. She expands her horizons. More yay.

A year later, she has changed quite a bit – for the better, sure – but she has also undergone a feminization process. Her hair, a really great butch-ish spikey ‘do until now, is now flat and hangs over one eye. Her clothes - always stylish, but quirky and leaning androgynous, are now super-stylish and fitted. The camera pans across her office; she is pleasant and decidely egalitarian, handing off things and receiving things with equal comfort.

So although it resists ageism and it intends to resists the intersection of ageism, racism and sexism, in the end, well, it just doesn’t. Maybe that’s too much to ask of one film. But it sends two contradictory messages: that white male privilege is everywhere and has been invisible for far too long…that it is so pervasive that women have modeled themselves after it in order to survive in its domain…that it needs to be broken down in order for change to happen…

…and also that when women are at their best, we are kind, compassionate, affectionate, pretty, and with men. Katherine’s entire style has changed – her comedy is warmer, her look is softer and more fitted, her edge is gone. Her husband takes her back and Molly ends up getting a shoulder kiss from whats-his-face, presumably now her partner – a much better choice than the womanizing Charlie. Charlie merely disappears; he does not evolve. The rest of the men are peripheral – again, this is good, but it means that the only journey has been undertaken by Katherine, and that journey is not unproblematic.

These are not only antithetical messages. The latter message is part of the core of male privilege to which the film is objecting.

That’s not to ignore that the world is probably a better place when we’re all warmer, more vulnerable, more loving, more emotionally courageous and intelligent. But the message here is that women are better when they are those things; both Katherine and her boss soften up, become…well, likeable. Likeable women win.

Harrumph.