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December 29, 2009

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cgeye

The other weird thing about UITA? It's simultaneous approval of feminist and post-feminist sexual mores, and its unambiguous condemnation of those mores when they fuck over a newly-souled Ryan Bingham.

And, the lapses in refrigerator logic, to wit:

Do you know of any woman who'd attend a wedding ceremony as her lover's date (where of course in these modern times pictures would be taken and posted on the Internet), and spend many hours sharing intimate time with said lover, who'd fail to mention she had a husband, so as to avoid those pesky visits to her home?

Do you know of any man who did such who'd *not* be called the worst kind of dog?

And, how can we square that behavior through the lame excuse that she 'warned' Bingham through her monologue of the type of man she'd optimally desire, then settle for? We're supposed to believe that her "kids... lots of kids" comment was a waving red flag? Really?

Her deception's effect on Bingham's supposed to be the emotional climax, something bigger than the unnecessary 'o hai ur fired gal jumped the bridge' deal, but all it does is sever us from the one emotionally healthy person we identified with, to serve the spectacle of the Permanent Batchelor's Broken Heart. It's dirty pool, and if it was in the book, it wrong straight down the line.

And as for that suicide? Sure, the family's lawyers will have such a problem getting a damning deposition out of a worker so tramatized by the death that she quits her job and moves. Not to mention that the one CYA solution Bingham's company has -- implement a teleconference solution that easily incorporates recording of both parties' responses -- is discarded for road warriors whose unaccountability (and desperation, due to their own ongoing downsizing) will lead to more lawsuits.

The deceased's family can sue either for the gross negligence shown in having a clueless newbie perform the firing with minimal supervision, or for not implementing the teleconference solution that would have at least caught her despair in time. In either case, the damage done emotionally to Bingham and his newbie would be fresh meat for trial lawyers finding sympathetic juries in this economy.

By the end, I was daydreaming about Michael Clayton interrogating Ryan Bingham... and ain't a fucking shame that I found this line of thought more diverting at the end than what poor George was going through in his latest Oscar run?

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