Noah Berlatsky

At first, this looks like sexism. And then you realize, hey, this is sexism. Hope isn't allowed to do the dangerous job because Pym has put her on a pedestal, and won't let her off it.

Action movies don't usually bother much with romance. The trailer for The Transporter: Refueled certainly doesn't. The hero is cool — sexy women, plural, throw themselves at him, or at least stand near him and things blow up; there are fights and revenge and high production values. Romance is, at best, a secondary concern.

Genre boundaries are conscious of race—and, in the case of rock, conscious of gender too.

While Atwood's feminist dystopia remains our favorite nightmarish future, Marge Piercy's Woman On The Edge Of Time is far superior.

Bulimia.com has reworked superhero images to show more realistic body types—and their efforts are valuable in more than the expected ways.

Metal aggression isn't sexual, but existential. As a result, women in the genre are both rare and unexpectedly equal.

If you want America to relearn how to hate white Jews, the quickest way to do that is to associate them with black people.

Hating sex workers—and treating them as things—can get you money.

David Ress' Aphexswift is genius precisely because it's so unlikely.

Fifth Harmony is nobody's idea of a roots band.