Then along came “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?,” a devastating cinematic portrait of poisonous marriages and repressed lives that featured Elizabeth Taylor shrieking her way to winning one of the film’s five Oscars. But even as that 1966 film presaged the social revolution and decades of divorce to come, it seems that it also resulted in any serious portrayal of marriage being filled with hatred and negativity, in which “’til death do us part” became as much of a fairytale concept as “once upon a time.”

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This week marks the release of another low point in movie marriages, as “Blue Valentine” hits theaters with the red-hot indie-actor coupling of Ryan Gosling and Michelle Williams. The film has already stirred up reams of headlines because of the battle surrounding its rating, which originally was NC17 for a graphic sex scene that appeared to border on rape, but which the film’s head distributor Harvey Weinstein successfully appealed to be released with an R.

Weinstein won his battle without having to cut a frame of film, and now is advertising “Valentine” as “uncut and uncensored,” no doubt hoping to draw in couples looking for sexy shenanigans. But unlike the much more enjoyable and vastly sexier recent release “Love and Other Drugs,” the scene in question here is beyond depressing and will prove to be more of a turnoff than turn-on to anyone with a healthy sexual attitude.

The plot of “Blue Valentine” – or what little there is of one – follows the relationship of Dean (Gosling) and Cindy (Williams) as they meet, fall in love, marry, and fall out of love over the course of six years. Director Derek Cianfrance and his co-writers Joey Curtis and Cami Delavigne jump back and forth in time throughout in what really appears to be an attempt to mask the fact that the story is so threadbare and often unpleasant.

The biggest problem with “Blue Valentine” isn’t the fact that an unhappy marriage is depicted, for of course there are plenty of those and cinema needs to reflect all aspects of life. The problem is that if you’re going to put the audience through an emotional wringer, then the characters involved should all have their good points and bad points, or the “bad guy” in a relationship should really be bad.

Here, the couple’s core problem seems to be that Dean is a blue-collar guy with simple ambitions who loves to play with his young daughter on her level. Cindy, meanwhile, used to have bigger dreams of medical school and feels like she’s the more responsible party raising two children including her husband. The guy may have his childish moments, but considering the epic sacrifices he makes for Cindy early in their relationship, it’s easy to demand that she cut him some slack and put more work into the marriage.

Everything deteriorates to the point that Cindy is so dispassionate about sex that she appears to be squeamishly resigning herself to it during a one-night attempt at a romantic getaway. The scene itself isn’t that much more graphic than plenty of other “R” films, but the emotions it lays bare are extremely awkward and uncomfortable to encounter.

Kind of like the movie as a whole. Which makes one wonder: does Hollywood really think the masses are going to want to see a story like this on date night, after a hard week at work? And after seeing miserable people suffer in miserable movies that always bomb, such as the also-current Gosling film “All Good Things” or the massive Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet misfire “Revolutionary Road,” when are the millions of Americans who are still happy in their home lives – or heck, even those who escape to the theater with dreams of happiness – going to get a positive portrait of a marriage gone right again?

What a crew:

we’ve got Mike Baker, Martha MacCallum, and the great actor, Robert Davi!

What is noteworthy, however, is that much of television during that time period was considered politically incorrect but in a strange way was actually more honest. How can that be, you may ask? The fake domestic bliss of “Father Knows Best,” the racism of “Amos and Andy,” the sexism of “I Love Lucy” and so on. Yet there was a lot more credibility in those shows as entertainment than in the supposedly PC programming that probably started with Norman Lear’s “All in the Family.”

Many critics thought that show was daring but it wasn’t anything but a Hollywood liberal bashing conservatives. Archie Bunker was the bigot with the heart of gold arguing with Lear’s true hero, his son-in-law, Meathead, who was able to spout leftist rants that enraged and ultimately flummoxed Archie. The mere fact that Bunker lived in Queens, NY and not in the Deep South was a giveaway to Lear’s prejudice and cowardice. New Yorkers have always been more socially liberal than the rest of the country so it was all just a spineless way to trash the blue collar Christian white man. In actuality, Lear who was born in New Haven, Ct. based Archie Bunker on his own salesman father, a middle class Jewish man who regularly railed against women and minorities.

By the mid 1960’s, my family had moved out of the rat-infested tenement and were lucky to move into a housing project but we were still in crime ridden Spanish Harlem.  Eventually the Age of Aquarius arrived in full bloom and television producers’ liberal guilt presupposed that people like me could not identify with the characters on prime time TV. Thus we were treated to the stereotypes of “Chico and the Man” and “Good Times.” We were supposed to be thrilled at seeing minorities like ourselves on the little screen. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

I could relate better to “The Goldbergs” than to Chico and I could never understand why the NAACP forced the cancellation of “Amos and Andy.” The character Kingfish was no less of a buffoon than Ralph Kramden or Lou Costello. For that matter, I found Jimmie Walker’s “Dy-no-mite” or Gary Coleman’s, “watchoo talking about, Willis,” to be even worse negative stereotyping.

Perhaps TV producers should take a gander at one memorable film that comes to mind in relation to the subject of entertainment for the masses- ‘Sullivan’s Travels.” It’s a story of a director noted for making comedies who decides that he wants to direct a serious drama about the troubles of the downtrodden poor. In order to relate to the harsher side of life, he sets off to experience life as a hobo without any cash or identification. He ends up being arrested in a case of circumstantial evidence and sent to a chain gang where he meets the harsh vagaries of prison life.

When Sullivan the Director starts out he has the same romantic idea of the less fortunate that many Hollywood liberal celebrities have today. What he learns during his experience is that people live within the constraints of their own design set from their personal experiences and moral fiber.

During a respite from the prisoners’ harsh routine, they are all treated to movie night and laugh heartily throughout the comedy feature. Sullivan joins in and when he is finally rescued from jail and the studio tells him that he can make his dramatic film, he tells them he wants to continue making movies that bring joy and laughter to the lives of those who have little to laugh about.

So perhaps Father didn’t always know best and Beaver’s Mom wasn’t really a stay-at-home mother who wore pearls with her apron. The comedy and drama were still fascinating and represented another side of life that seemed much more peaceful then my own. I’m afraid today’s reality fare is far too grim and uninspiring not to mention ugly. I may cringe a little at Lucy Ricardo having to kowtow to Ricky’s demands but I still laugh at her antics fifty years later. It also helps to know that in reality Lucille Ball wore the pants at Desilu.

If you haven’t seen it, it stars Liam Neeson as an ex CIA badass who has retired so he can be near his teenage daughter. She lives with her mom (Neeson’s ex-wife) and her stepfather, a rich, nice guy who you hate just because he makes Neeson look like a shmo – but not for long! 

Neeson’s daughter is kidnapped by white slavers in Paris and Neeson is very, very serious about getting her back.

You can learn all that from the trailer or the commercial, so I’ll put the real spoilers below the fold. 

Again, I was taken with “Taken,” but you can be sure that some post-modern, critical-whatever-studies types will hate this movie, what with the not-too-subtle “Death Wishy” attacks on non-Americans and the patriarchal revenge fantasy of it all. This is “Thelma and Louise” for fathers.

Okay, for starters, the film starts with Neeson appearing to be a kind of loser. Life has passed him by. He lives in a sad little apartment only a few notches better than a seedy motel room. Maybe he drinks too much. Regrets: he’s clearly had a few. Moreover, we learn fairly quickly that he quit his shadowy CIA work to make up for being an absentee dad and ruining his marriage. His daughter’s stepfather, meanwhile, is super rich. Neeson gets his daughter a Karaoke machine for her 17th birthday. Stepdaddy Warbucks gets her a horse. Neeson looks three feet tall.  

She wants to go to Paris for youthful adventure. But Neeson, like all fathers, knows better. We fathers are wise. Father knows best, damn it. It’s a dangerous world out there. Mom mocks him for being a smothering dork. The daughter wishes her dad could be cool like other dads. 

Neeson finally relents — but only because the ex-wife and daughter lie to him about her real plans. If they hadn’t failed him by lying, and instead told him the truth or listened to him everything would be ok. But no. The trouble with wives and daughters is they don’t blindly follow Dads’ perfect understanding of how the world works. Neeson lets her go to Paris. And, of course, within hours of landing, his daughter and her slutty blonde friend — who seduced Daddy’s little girl into going in the first place – are snatched by brutal Albanian white slavers.   

It’s the mother of “I told you so” moments. But fathers never get to enjoy such moments because we always have to fix the problems that inevitably arise when our women don’t listen.

Indeed, Daddy’s little girl is actually on the phone with him when the kidnapping takes place. Daddy tells her to calm down and if she follows his instructions he will come to the rescue (with a supersized can of whup-ass, the audience immediately understands).  The girl, who is absolutely useless save as metaphor for how girls should always listen to their fathers, follows daddy’s instructions while being kidnapped – giving him seemingly meaningless, but in reality, vital clues to her abductors’ identities — and that’s all he’ll need to save the day.  

Suddenly the soft, rich stepdad is useless except when he too recognizes Neeson’s mad badass skills. After one quick dressing down about whose you-know-what is bigger, the stepdad does the only thing he’s good at: he opens his wallet.  Neeson might as well just say, “Get me a plane, Poindexter.”  

Neeson goes to Paris. He quickly works his way through the handsome young man (they can never be trusted!)  who tricked the girls at the airport. He kills the small army of swarthy Albanians who took the girls (with some really gratuitous torture, as well). And eventually he slaughters Arabs and even another fancy pants rich American. He more than bitch slaps an old (French!) colleague who had the effrontery not to follow Neeson’s orders, but who is also a careerist sell-out who only managed to keep his family together by compromising his principles (something Neeson would never do!). 

In other words, not only is it payback time for anyone who would dare violate his little girl, it’s payback time against anyone who might think they’re better than Neeson. The trampy friend who was abducted with Daddy’s girl? She’s dead from an overdose – serves her right for not staying a virgin! Meanwhile, Daddy’s girl has been sold to high-rent pimps who at least understand the value of staying pure. 

Neeson rescues his daughter and kills lots and lots of people in the process, proving that he didn’t waste his life. After all, Stepdaddy Warbucks could never have rescued her. 

The film closes with the wife all but declaring with her eyes, “You are a real man, not like my castrated ATM machine of a husband,” and, in the very last scene, Daddy makes it possible for the little girl to fulfill her real dream of becoming a singer (Neeson had saved a Britney Spears type singer’s life earlier in the movie and now, like the mouse who pulled the thorn from the lion’s paw, she returns the favor by bringing real happiness to his daughter).  

It is an absolutely brilliant film. If that’s your kind of thing.