Working Girls

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.

"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.

This documentary-like look at the life of a New York City brothel featured several amateur actors and one noteworthy professional: Ellen McElduff, who plays the officious madam. The primary character, "Molly," is attractive, sedate, sensible Louise Smith. The comings and goings of the johns include their personal requests, the most common of which is to meet outside the brothel, which Molly always deftly declines. Richard Leacock, the great documentarian and educator, appears as one of her clients, no doubt an inspiration to Lizzie Borden, who concerned herself with making an honest film about a subject, often glamorized or made maudlin in commercial cinema.

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.

What we see is a day in the life of a brothel working girl. This is no cartoonish whorehouse with supermodels in garter belts sucking poutily on their fingers while lounging suggestively on chaise lounges in a gaudy parlor. These are real-looking women at the workplace.

Nothing unusual happens today. Someone calls in sick, someone has to pick up an extra shift, someone new starts work, lunch is ordered, jokes are shared, co-workers talk about how much they hate their boss, just a normal day, just a normal job.

Only it's not a normal job. This is such an honest film, it blew me away. Prostitution isn't glamorized, nor is its depiction harsh enough to scare you straight. Good script, well worth seeing.

The drawback? Obvious amateurs in most of the roles. Sometimes the acting is wooden -- but it can be forgiven because everything else is anything but.