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Another week, another cinematic misogyny row. Last week the silt was stirred up – in a rather intriguing way – by Sex and the City 2, a franchise extension which seemed to unleash an informal contest amongst largely male critics to come up with the most scathing dismissal. I think Philip French probably took gold with his, perhaps debatable, suggestion that "most reasonable people would probably prefer to be stoned to death in Riyadh than see this film a second time". But it wasn't just men who hated the movie. Women writers also weighed in, to lament the way that the characters they loved had been reduced to air-headed clothes-horses capable of nothing more creative than swiping a credit card. The charge of misogyny was aimed squarely at the film itself, with some ingenious bloggers introducing an extra triangulation, pointing out that the writers of series and film are gay, and that this might have fed into less than enlightened views about what women really care about.
They're criticised for being violent and misogynistic, but Jim Thompson's Fifties novels make for compelling cinema, as a new version of The Killer Inside Me proves
She may not have had the biggest of Hollywood hurdles to overcome, being known mainly for low-key but likeable film roles such as Cameron Crowe's hot air-hostess sister in Almost Famous.
Celebrities, religious leaders and politicians join campaign
Tank (Dane Cook) has a gift – he can make any girl think he is the biggest moron in the world.
Just months after her private life was touched by scandal, Anne Hathaway finds herself nominated for a Golden Globe – and a serious contender for this year's Oscars. James Mottram talks to the actress about the ups and downs of fame
Gloss, corn, cliché – what more do you want from a wedding?
Nine years ago, Matthew McConaughey was on a downward spiral. Now he's earning £4m a film – and life's grand, he tells Gill Pringle