Working Girls

A day in the life of a woman who is a prostitute in a brothel-a very high class brothel. Nothing really happens--her and the other girls sit around and talk and serve clients. The movie does not glamorize prostitution. It shows it as a grueling, painful and demoralizing job. The script is sharp and on-target and most of the performances are good. Not great film, but well-made.

WORKING GIRLS is the farthest thing from a Hollywood film. One of the oddest, most original, and refreshing films I have ever seen. Stimulating, without feeling pornographic. Lizzie Borden handles the subject-matter well -- in her tender, loving woman-hands. I wish I could get MY HANDS on some of her other films -- BORN IN FLAMES was what I had in mind. There is an excellent chapter on her in John Russo's (book) MAKING MOVIES. WORKING GIRLS will embarrass those who are not comfortable with the darker side of their nature -- and will bore those who desire no substance, just the old in-out. WORKING GIRLS doesn't feel the least bit exploitive. I loved the film, and I wish that Lizzie was still making movies -- movies that could find their way to my local cineplex.

"Most refreshingly, WORKING GIRLS earnestly but also playfuly takes the stigma off the oldest profession, Borden shows stimulating rapport among the girls, albeit their manifold colorations, uncouth or soft-spoken, frigid or wide-eyed, they might not be each other's best friends after hours, but internecine competition is nonexistent among them whereas sisterhood prevails and they do not stint on camaraderie. It is also awkwardly funny when Molly has to hide her sapphic predilection from a new girl in a girl-on-girl show, who is mortally averse to lesbianism. Indeed, it is through those small vignettes Borden excellently gives us a capsule view of the sign of its times: homophobia, racism (a black girl cannot earn as much as her pale-skinned coworkers, even a black customer is prone to stiff a girl of his own race, the humiliation feels lacerating), and most stirringly, the male chauvinism that is the canker incubates our society's inveterate inequity, and also the unique connection between a prostitute and her clients, it doesn't necessarily be exclusively carnal, interpersonal communication burgeons among human beings every nook and cranny. Borden's overarching critique is on point, totally honest and prescient."

read my full review on my blog: Cinema Omnivore, thanks.

Working Girls (not to be confused with the singular and singularly awful Mike Nichols movie that features Melanie Griffith vacuuming a carpet, nakedly) is an easily underestimated accomplishment, and despite the rampant nudity and unblinking depictions of adult sexuality, a guaranteed sex-deterrent.

It's hilarious, embarrassing, grim, deeply disturbing, cynical, touching, clinical and creepily locker-room-intimate, all at the same time.

There will be those people who can't make it past the low budget vibe that (admittedly) permeates the whole movie, but anyone who criticizes its occasionally stilted acting (and it's an easy target) misses the point: it's PROSTITUTION. Which is to say that paid sex is possibly the root source of all bad acting. Even having said that, the performances are deceptively understated in their squirmy, quasi-nude ease.

The characters of Lucy and Dawn especially, are horrifically too-true. I walked around mimicking Lucy's idiotic "What's new and different?" for weeks. Dawn's gum-snapping hostility, and her impromptu James Brown imitation ("Good God, Mollie- you're a whoooore!") are as grating as they are winning. Singling these two actresses out is unfair though; their characters are especially dynamic, given that they're essentially opposing ends of the same spectrum of self absorption.

Even the least likely supporting roles are realized with unexpected complexity. Witness Lucy, the house's madam, reprimanding Mary, a mousy new 'girl' for her unappealing wardrobe choice on her first night on the job. When Lucy reminds her condescendingly that she is to dress as though she "just came from lunch with her mother, and is on her way to meet her boyfriend for drinks", Mary replies in a small voice, with a discomfiting mixture of stubborness and shame, "This is what I wore."

Possibly the most remarkable aspect of this movie is the realization that prostitution, at least at this elevated level (the 'girls' work in a clean, modern apartment, and schedule 'appointments' through phone ads listed mostly in upscale skin magazines) is just another daily grind, a job, plain and simple. Ellen McElduff's Lucy is every thoughtless, self-absorbed boss you've ever wanted to throttle; the difference is that she's seen you naked, and can talk about your sex life with no legal repercussions.

That's glib, of course; each of the 'girls' is seen to struggle with the work, and what it means in a larger sense, politically and personally. Finally though, just as it seems uncompromisingly grim, the film sneaks in a remarkable twist. It's essential to watch to the very end of the closing credits though, or you might miss a moment that offers a lovely moment of reassurance, and tender domesticity.

Here is one film from 1987 that stands alone. I've seen this movie numerous times. I love it. Everyone else, that I've given this movie to, hates it, or just doesn't like it. It''s my brother in law's worst movie. He was pulling incredulous looks, when he watched it with me and my sister, he actually thought it was that bad. I'm sure most escorts would tell you, this film is true to fact. It opens up, where our main character Molly, who's into photography, and shares her New York apartment with her lesbian lover and kids, is getting ready for the day. Hardly any dialogue takes place here, and we have this interesting piece of music that accompanies it. Then it's off to work on her bicycle and we get into the story. It's basically Molly's story, a day in the life of a brothel worker. There in this ordinary looking apartment that operates as a brothel, we meet some other girls. Only a couple of them are moderately good looking. Their male clients are mostly ordinary looking, intellectual forties to sixties types, a mixture of pathetic, obscene, degrading, cruel, some who are good hearted types. A younger client, a musician who's been harassing Molly to get together with him on the outside, gets forceful with her, providing a dangerous touch to the film and shows you that small minority of clients you don't need. Most of the actress's here, have only done one or too films, which gives it that documentary feel and it works. One of the exclusions is Ellen Mcduff (that kooky waitress in Maximum Overdrive) who's the star performer as the heartless Madam Lucy. She's fantastic. Another good performance is Amanda Goodwin (Whore) one of the younger, fiesty, and more popular workers, Dawn, who Lucy rides a lot, but our independent Dawn dishes it back, one scene provoking Lucy to slap her. I love it. It's the characters of the tricks that make the movie work, some of them wanting some really weird requests. We have one character, Fantasy Fred, a big burly guy, again, ordinary looking type, who sees all the new girls, like Molly. Here, Molly plays the blind virgin, and Fantasy Fred, is the one who can cure her blindless-follow. We have a sixties client/lawyer, another of Molly's fans who wants to get together on the outside. He, a valued client, likes dominatrix. They have a special room, called the jungle room. While being tied down and whipped, right in the middle of it, he interrupts the middle of the show by asking the time. Nearly all of the film takes place in the apartment, save for a couple of scenes that has Molly out, buying a heavy inventory of contraceptives, etc. The male pharmacist, saying "You don't take any chances, do ya?". Another scene has her spying on her lesbian's daughter, in the playground of her kindergarten. Then it's back to work. We really get to be part of the story with these girls, even sharing a rushed lunch hour for em'. We even celebrate a worker's fiftieth birthday, as well as meet a new girl starting, the second best looking, to Gina. One of her first jobs has her making out with Molly, which she's phobic about, and it isn't soon before this young lass is packing her bags. We have madam Lucy out at lunch with her boyfriend, married of course, who has to rush back as the phones are kept putting on hold. She's goes absolutely ape. This woman really doesn't give a s..t about her girls, just money and jewellery as it so happens. After being drained with clients and considering an offer from the latter of em', it's great how Molly finally confronts her at the end, before quitting, you almost want to be there with her. The end is very much like the start with Molly cycling home, hypnotic music again (a great New York night shot, stopping on the way to by some flowers. What I love about Working Girls, is it doesn't try to be something it isn't with flashy sets, big stars, or larger that life characters. What we have here is real life. And if you can't accept that, you're probably not gonna like this. Highly recommended.