The Boss has brassy, bad-ass lady balls

By Katherine Monk

An organization that raises money for ovarian cancer raised eyebrows recently when they came up with a campaign declaring women had balls called ovaries, and the term “lady balls” should be used with the same connotations of toughness and courage that comes with the male equivalent.

Few feminists argued with the sentiment of the campaign. It was the idea of having “balls” that felt like a betrayal of the whole idea of loving, accepting and nurturing the female form.

Then you watch a movie like The Boss and realize the whole notion of gender identity comes second to the PR generated by shock value, because in this movie, Melissa McCarthy has proverbial balls. And boobs. And if I think about it, that seemed to be the whole comic premise. Can we make fun of gender double standards by turning the female into a vulgar, self-indulgent, sexually ravenous stereotype, lady balls and all?

Because it’s Melissa McCarthy inflating the twin helium balloons of comedy cliché and gender convention, we can watch as the air escapes through a series of predictably scripted pricks as we’re given the story of a bitchy boss lady who gets her karmic comeuppance.

The lady take on Scrooge opens in Dickensian fashion as we meet Michelle Darnell as a girl, being dropped off at the convent by unseen parents. A series of further rejections follow, until Michelle vows to never depend on love or family again, and to take control of her own destiny.

Michelle has ascended the throne of celebrity culture by the time we meet her as an adult. Now running a huge company with its own helipad, Michelle goes around from town to town like some demonic ginger version of Suze Orman fused with an archetypal Anna Wintour.

She tells people how to get filthy rich by using and exploiting other people because Michelle has no real friends. She surrounds herself with sycophants. It’s only the plucky single mom Claire (Kristen Bell) who treats her like the stunted child she is, because Claire is the only adult in the frame.

Everyone else is a screaming id, big babies with an insatiable need to suck on the plastic teat of consumerism and swing in the leather swivel chair of privilege. Michelle is a caricature of greed replacing a need for love, and while the character – as an idea – had some potential, the script and direction from hubby Ben Falcone do little to develop the premise into anything more than processed mush.

The only flavor is a crass tanginess, the product of scenes showing young girls engaged in action-movie violence and dialogue so rancid, it feels like something you’d find smeared on the floor of a standup comedy club.

Kristen Bell brings some dignity to the proceedings playing the frustrated and betrayed nice person, and Vancouver’s own Tyler Labine does a good job in the role of the guy nice enough to perform oral sex on the security guard in order to help the object of his desire.

Uh-huh. This movie goes there, and that’s why it doesn’t work. You can yank on bra-straps and slap boobs in a cheeky chick flick, and you can listen to dick jokes all day long in an action movie, but you don’t usually make a pack of girl scouts get on their knees and descend to the lowest-common denominator with you.

Michelle’s resurrection comes at the hands of the Darnell’s Darlings, a self-started girl troupe that takes on the Dandelions’ cookie business, and gives the girls a share of the profits. But of course Michelle strays, feelings are hurt, and Peter Dinklage ends up mocking swordplay.

Some formulas shouldn’t be tinkered with, and packing piss and vinegar into brownie mix is bound to leave a bad taste.

@katherinemonk

The Boss opens wide April 8.

THE EX-PRESS, April 8, 2016

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