hypermasculinity

Some thoughts on hypermasculinity I've been having recently:

• Just finished re-re-re-watching The Social Network, one of the best films of all time. Thinking about how at heart it's about a nerd guy who wants to one-up the jocks who have always been cooler and more popular than him and gotten more guys than him. The movie is quite misogynistic; women are plot devices or dumb bimbos rather than people –– but that's to be expected, since it's all told through the perspective of nerds and that's how they view women, merely as secondary or background characters in TV shows starring themselves. Of course the movie puts Erica at its heart. All Mark ever wanted was to win her back and by extension show that he was the kind of guy who got girls. So I was thinking about the California chapter and all the debauchery and fucking around that they do, and this new concept of male virility being not about the toned body or the money but about intelligence –– or not even intelligence but a certain kind of nerd quality. 
• Watched the play RED with Gabriel in London last week, starring Alfred Molina as Mark Rothko and Alfred Enoch as his young assistant. I didn't enjoy it because it represented everything that's wrong with art history: the veneration of the artist as a mythical genius figure and how strongly that's tied to the male ego. Which is enhanced by the Abstract Expressionist context, with the extremely hypermasculine art of Jackson Pollock. I'd never seen Rothko as part of this archetype of the self-aggrandising, self-important male artist –– I'd always loved him and thought that his paintings were really contemplative and thought-provoking and a religious experience, just like how he wanted it to be –– but now I kind of hate him after having seen this play. Even though, as Gabriel said, he's portrayed as this stubborn old man whose time is up and who doesn't want to let go, it's part of the writer's conception of him as this artiste maudit who is misunderstood by the world. I think ultimately the play still completely worships Rothko. It starts and ends with the same dialogue: "What do you see?" "Red." The assistant, the real main character, is shown as having learned about life from experiencing the greatness and divinity of Rothko, who remains unchanged, a catalyst. It's just two men standing on a stage being men at each other, monologuing on and on and on because obviously nothing is more important than what they have to say. Rothko inspiring the next generation of (also male) artists. I guess it's a little bit hypocritical for me to criticise monologuing since this entire blog is me assuming that people care what I think. I don't know I'm just rambling. And I've already forgotten some things. So whatever. 
• Also art and phallic symbols and stuff. I've run out of steam and I'm tired so I'm gonna go to bed now.