The Death of the Chick-Flick
There is a famous scene in Clueless where Cher (Alicia Silverstone), ironically named after the pop-superstar, pulls a string of gum from her lip, stretching it with her pointer finger. It is time for the big debate and Cher is dressed for the occasion in a yellow plaid skirt and blazer combo, which has, 25 years later, become an iconic look. I dare say this ensemble has become the sexy Halloween costume of choice for those not yet born in the decade in which the movie was released. Attempting to equate United States-Haiti relations to a garden party she fabulously planned for her father, Cher exclaims, “So, if the government could get into the kitchen and rearrange some things we could totally party with the Haitians.” With a squeal of satisfaction at her performance, she sucks the gum off her finger and plops it back into her mouth. “And may I remind you it does not say RSVP on the Statue of Liberty,” she says with a convincing presidential stare. And there you have Cher, confidently clueless.
When someone utters the words “classic movie,” most people think of Titanic or The Godfather. I think Clueless, and here is why. If one learns anything by examining this pop culture relic, it is that the beloved chick-flick genre has been murdered by distasteful, hyper-sexualized comedy. Gone are the witty one-liners, as they have been replaced by poorly constructed jokes built on bodily functions and the misuse of drugs. Audiences must miss cheesy love stories where our heroine falls for the boy-next-door who is suspiciously too hot to be that nice, movies oozing with predictable storylines and shrewdly written comedy. What happened to pebbles being chucked at windows and boom boxes being thrust upon shoulders with Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get It On” blaring from their speakers?
Clueless is everything a good chick-flick should be. Its characters are so quirky they are charming, and its storyline is unrealistically romantic, fostering false hope in all girls under the age of fifteen that love does work that way. There are no huge explosions or high-speed chases, rather Cher annihilating potted-plants with her white Jeep is the greatest amount of action the audience gets. That is the point, to romanticize the mundane.
Upon opening her report card, Cher is shocked to see that she got a “C” in her debate class. She does not get C’s, mainly by talking her way into most grades, a skill that her father, a litigator, is more proud of than any straight-A report card. So, Cher does what any logical person would do in this situation, and goes on a quest to orchestrate the love story of the decade by the only way she knows how, makeovers, or “projects” as she likes to call them. “It’s her sense of control in a world full of chaos,” says Cher’s best friend, Dionne (Stacey Dash), explaining Cher’s obsession with assisting those who are not as stylistically fortunate. If you think about it, Cher is philanthropic, but in the most selfish way possible. Following her deductive reasoning, making her teachers fall in love is a ticket to a glowing report card.
A stereotypical Beverly Hills teenager, Cher’s biggest concerns are the number of calories she consumes and wiping out the mall with daddy’s credit card. While stranded at gunpoint in a parking lot in the San Fernando Valley illuminated by only a glowing neon clown, Cher is more concerned about ruining her cherry-red designer-slip than she is about getting mugged. It is Cher’s absurdity that makes her lovable and the blatant sarcasm in which everything is presented that makes the film so entertaining. It is like the film is laughing at itself.
But what truly makes Clueless a classic is its irreverent one-liners and ever so subtle innuendos. Lined against a chain-link fence, girls are waiting to be up to bat for P.E. softball. Gum is popping as the girls make excuses, “My plastic surgeon does not want me doing any activities where balls fly near my face” to which Dionne hilariously replies “Well there goes your social life,” a line that I have just caught after watching this movie over 20 times. It is in these moments, the nuanced, if-you-blink-you-will-miss-them moments that make Amy Heckerling’s film so ingenious.
For us twenty-five years later, Clueless is the epitome of nineteen-nineties nostalgia. If that is not evident from the film beginning with an electric guitar busting out “Kid’s in America” by the Muffs like you were listening to it on your Sony Discman, then phones the size of bricks, pens adorned with fluffy pink balls, and hair-barrettes placed way to close to hairline will have you feeling like you woke up in 1995. Comedy has evolved, obviously, but there is something about a syrupy chick-flick that is unlike anything else. So, how could we ever let the beloved chick-flick die? “Ugh, as if!”
