We Bleed, We Fly, We Terrify You

Last night, Kirsten and I escaped to Mt. Vernon, OH, to see "My Super Ex-Girlfriend." Don't judge us. Before the lights dimmed and the previews began, Kirsten asked, "Hey, Sam, are you a feminist?"

And I said, "Yes. I am." Maybe that's the reason why I walked out of "My Super Ex-Girlfriend" feeling angry.

But let's talk about "Buffy the Vampire Slayer," just for a moment. Into every generation, a Slayer is born, one girl in all the world who protects the world from demons. You know that. You should also know Buffy's superpowers don't transform her into an irrational basketcase. Her superstrength is as natural as her menstrual cycle, and it belongs to her.

Now, let's talk about "My Super Ex-Girlfriend." The premise was promising. What happens when you break the heart of someone who can break your face? I thought the question had one simple answer:

Awesome stuff.

I now realize the makers of "My Super Ex-Girlfriend" had a more complicated and sexist list of possibilities (and implications) in mind. Did you know:

--women with power are dangerous? Watch out, boys. A woman with super strength will break your bed--and your penis. And in these uncertain times, no man can be without his penis.

--women with power don't deserve their power? They could use all that x-ray vision and wind-breath to earn a living. Nothing creates mayhem-mayhem-mayhem like a woman with her very own checking account.

--women with power are crazy? Uma Thurman's Jenny Johnson isn't confident; she's neurotic and controlling!

--holding a woman's purse shrivels your testicles? Go ahead, try it, boys. You'll regret it for the rest of your lives.

Halfway through the movie, Kirsten whispered, "This would have made a really interesting horror movie." And she's right. Stephen King's "Carrie" imagines a strong link between female sexual maturity and terrifying female power. "My Super Ex-Girlfriend" does the same. Our heroine--if she can be called such--becomes super-powered and bootylicious when she touches a magic rock from outer space. At least Stephen King admits his--and others'--anxiety about female sexuality. "My Super Ex-Girlfriend" attempts to disguise that anxiety with weak jokes, a little something I like to call "not-humor."

Even the movie version of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" was more bad-ass than this mess. And that's saying something.