The movie. I liked it. But it also made me angry, and here’s why (this is your one spoiler alert, so if you haven’t seen the movie and want to, do with it what you will): I resent that Julianne Moore’s character, Jules, a monogamous lesbian with two kids, gets together with Mark Ruffalo’s Paul, the donor whose sperm helped create those two kids. I’m not angry because it’s such a huge betrayal to her kids (which it is) and her partner (which it is). I’m angry because Jules is a lesbian.

Now, before you start: I am not saying this couldn’t happen. I’m not even saying it doesn’t happen. What I’m saying is why can’t a lesbian just be a lesbian?

Filmmaker Lisa Cholodenko (my sister in kick-ass enko-ending Ukrainian surnames) plays a lot with the theme of sexuality in her work. She does it well in High Art and even better in Laurel Canyon, one of my very favorite movies ever of all time ever ever. (High Art addresses it in reverse of Kids, with an up-until-now straight woman falling for a lesbian photographer.) I get that sexuality is fluid, perhaps more so for women. (Whether that’s nature or nurture—or worse, simply because it’s what men prefer to watch—I couldn’t tell you.) I certainly get that people sometimes connect because of external factors—art in High Art, a life so unlike your own in Laurel Canyon and, apparently, literal possession of the seed that brought your children to life in Kids—and that can supersede what has until now been your orientation or taste.

In fact, when I told a few friends that the movie made me angry, they said it didn’t bother them, that it was clearly more about Jules’ connection to Paul through her kids than any actual sexual urge; it was, as she says, the fact that she keeps seeing her kids’ expressions on his face. My response to that is, um, ok, maybe. But when she stares at his package and moans ecstatically before they have sex for the first time, I’m pretty sure it’s not her kids she’s thinking of. I’m pretty sure she just really, really wants to fuck him. And that she does. Repeatedly.

There’s a moment right before Jules and Paul first kiss when they sort of hesitate. I felt relieved, like, “Oh thank god they didn’t go there.” But then they did. I was astonished—That’s what this movie is about? I drifted off for most of the rest of the film (I was won back at the end, due to a semi-satisfying resolution and the standout performances of Bening and Mia Wasikowska). But more than anything, I was mad.

Part of what makes me angry is that the addition of Ruffalo as a love interest makes a still-sort-of-alterna story more mainstream accessible, and it’s hard not to wonder if that’s intentional. These lesbians are somehow less scary because guess what—one of them actually likes sleeping with men! But really guess what: Just as not all of us straight women hook up with our female friends (sorry to burst your Girls Gone Wild bubble) not all lesbians want to screw men. (I mean, right? Can somebody please back me up on this?)

When Paul calls up Jules at the end with his whole, “C’mon, let’s do this, let’s run away together and be in love” thing, she barks, “I’m gay!” and then hangs up. “Um, yeah,” I thought. “But then, you know, you got really, really excited when you saw his junk, so like…are you? And if you’re not, can we explore that? Because that’s a movie I’d like to watch.”

As a writer, I don’t think filmmakers or artists or any of us are responsible for creating work that is politically correct or makes us feel all happy-gooey inside. The best art is complicated, subversive, challenging. (Ayelet Waldman’s now infamous piece on parenting and desire in the Times a few years ago fascinated me as a writer while repulsing me as a human; as the former, I absolutely support her right to say what she wants, even if I don’t necessarily, y’know, what to have dinner with her. Just an example. But I digress….)

Cholodenko’s only responsibility is to herself as a filmmaker. But to me, the twist felt like an inorganic deus ex machina moment. Maybe it’s a question of performance—I wasn’t as drawn into Julianne Moore’s character as Annette Bening’s. Her hippy-dippy persona felt removed and somewhat false; ultimately she just never felt as much a part of the family. Bening’s Nic was much more present for me. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe that’s what makes what happens happen.

Anyway, there you go. I’ve trolled the internets to see if anyone else has had even a shade of this reaction to the movie (which, I iterate, I liked, just not as much as I wanted to). So far I’ve found one gay male friend who was flustered by the twist, and Cholodenko herself, not criticizing the choice but at least acknowledging it, in a New York Times piece about the film from earlier this year: “[Cholodenko is] aware that it is ‘politically incorrect,’ as she put it, to show a lesbian character caught up in a torrid heterosexual affair.”

So what do you think?

Also, I’m currently taking topic requests for the meeting. Want me to talk about my ethical dilemma as a fan of Celebrity Rehab? I’ll do it. In the mood to hear me perform my favorite karaoke song of all time? Provide me with a wind machine and some scarves and consider it done. Care to hear me expound on the deliciousness of Trader Joe’s soy nuggets? Say no more!

Ok, I’m kidding: I’ll probably read my essay “What the Guys Don’t Know” and take some questions, but I’d still love to see you there!

c.

I also suspect, in the case of the celebrities on these shows–almost all of whom are C-list or beyond–the glimmer of a refurbished career, delivered to them gratis if they only promise to get clean (or to fail stunningly, but to at least fail stunningly on camera) in front of millions of viewers is truly the motivating factor. It’s a sort of tree-falling-in-the-woods proposition: If rehab happens and no one is there to watch it, is it really worth it? The answer, of course, is no, so if our witnessing them have psychotic breaks and get the DTs and crumble under the agonizing pain of detox and then the worse pain of group therapy means they have a shot at a better life, then ok. And if some viewer out there struggling with meth or coke or Xanax is also somehow helped by bearing witness, then really really ok.

But….

This season of Celebrity Rehab makes me feel particularly slimy, and here’s why: I’ve always liked Dr. Drew. He strikes me as a fame whore, but he does good work. (He’s also dreamy, so telegenic it’s hard to imagine him not being on TV.) But this season, Drew’s reunited meth addict Heidi Fleiss (who is, surprisingly, very likable) with her ex Tom Sizemore. He’s likeable, too, in a way. Here’s the thing: Tom Sizemore once beat the crap out of Heidi Fleiss. As she tells it, when they broke up, she left with her head split open. I’m guessing they were both high as kites and probably both bear some responsibility in the violent, tragic end of their affair. Watching them reunite (we get to see it–of course we do; we get to see everything) is touching and sad and confusing. But I can’t imagine any other situation in which a doctor would place someone who is essentially a battered woman in a rehab facility with her abuser, can you? Of course not. Well, not unless that situation makes good TV.

Drew acknowledges this conundrum in voiceover after a scene in which Tom, starting to detox, lies on Heidi’s lap for comfort. Drew says he’s “concerned that their complicated, volatile relationship will cause them to turn on each other at any moment” (even better TV!) so he’s “going to keep a close eye on them.” Hey, here’s an idea: How about keep them separate? Y’know, in different treatment facilities?

I imagine Dr. Drew would say that Heidi and Tom have a difficult relationship, that they care for each other, and it’s clear that they do. He would probably say that they wanted to film the show together. (He might not say that neither one would consent to rehab unless it were part of a televised show, but that’s also probably true.) But wouldn’t many women whose boyfriends have beat the crap out of them make the same claims? Isn’t that battered wife syndrome? An abused woman would need treatment, and so would her boyfriend, but they’d need treatment separately. And they’d probably also need never to lay eyes on each other again.

All the people on these rehab shows have been exploited in some way in their life. Whether it’s Celebrity Rehab 3‘s Mackenzie Phillips, who so famously did very bad things with her father, or every single castmate on Sex Rehab. They’ve been used by relatives and spouses and hangers-on. It’s hard not to think that they’re being exploited all over again, and I’m sure it seems worth it to them.

Those of us who watch reality TV know we’re in for an unseemly experience; hell, it’s why a lot of us watch. But this crosses a line. I’m on board when the therapy seems like good treatment and also happens to be good television. But I can’t for the life of me think how Heidi Fleiss and Tom Sizemore going through rehab together could be a good idea beyond a cheap ratings trick.