While the 1987 drama takes place in a Manhattan brothel, its true concern is labor. (And it’s is definitely not to be confused with Mike Nichols’s rom-com.)
A fictional day in the life of a Manhattan boutique bordello, Lizzie Borden’s “Working Girls” is as witty, gimlet-eyed and discomfiting as when it won a special award at the 1987 Sundance Film Festival.
The movie, not to be confused with Mike Nichols’s 1988 rom-com “Working Girl,” has been digitally restored and, in advance of a Blu-ray release, is having a theatrical run at the IFC Center in Manhattan.
“Working Girls” opens with Molly (Louise Smith) waking at 7 a.m. in an East Village tenement, making breakfast for her partner’s young daughter and bicycling uptown to her place of employment. Her first order of business is inserting a diaphragm — the matter-of-factness provides the movie’s first jolt.
Borden’s previous film, “Born in Flames,” (1983) is a vision of urban insurrection led by a largely Black and lesbian army now considered a classic of revolutionary cinema, militant feminism and Afro-futurism. “Working Girls” is no less political. Sex is almost incidental; the movie’s true concern is labor, much of which consists in massaging the egos of the brothel’s clients.
While offering a smorgasbord of mildly kinky tastes, “Working Girls” is far from prurient. When, midway through, Molly makes a drugstore run to replenish the supply closet, the movie suggests a Pop Art composition of brand-name packages: Listerine, Kleenex and Trojans. The New York Times reviewer Vincent Canby noted that, although fiction, “Working Girls” “sounds as authentic as might a documentary about coal miners.”
Coal miners with ambition, that is: Molly, who has two degrees from Yale, is an aspiring photographer. Dawn (Amanda Goodwin) is a volatile working-class kid putting herself through college. Gina (Marusia Zach) is saving to open her own business. The women, who have amusingly little difficulty handling their generally well-behaved johns, are in control but only up to point. Midway through, their boss Lucy (Ellen McElduff) sweeps in, and as a gushingly saccharine steel magnolia, she is far more exploitative, not to mention manipulative, than any of the customers.
Borden belongs to a group of filmmakers, including Kathryn Bigelow and Jim Jarmusch, who emerged from the downtown post-punk art-music scene of the late 1970s. Back then, “Born in Flames” and “Working Girls” seemed like professionalized versions of the incendiary work produced by scrappy Super-8 filmmakers like Vivienne Dick and the team of Scott B and Beth B. Revisited decades later, “Working Girls” appears closer to Chantal Akerman’s epochal “Jeanne Dielman, 23, Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles.”
The similarity between the films is not so much subject (Akerman’s eponymous protagonist is a housewife prostitute) as attitude. “Working Girl” is notable for its measured structure, analytical camera placement and straightforward cool. Borden only tips her hand once, when she allows Molly — who has been sweet-talked into working a double shift — to ask Lucy if she’s ever heard of “surplus value.”
“Working Girls” is an anticapitalist critique that has scarcely dated, save for one bit of hip social realism I neglected to note when I reviewed it in 1987 for a downtown weekly. Asked how she heard about the job, a new recruit reveals that she answered a want ad for “hostesses” in The Village Voice.
Working Girls
Opening June 18 at the IFC Center in Manhattan; ifccenter.com.
Source: Movies - nytimes.com
