It's been a compelling weekend at the movies for those of us interested in the portrayal of women. First comes Robert Altman's "Dr. T. and the Women," a tedious film at best, that introduces us to the rich and bored in Dallas. The setting is the surgery of Dr. Travis, the town's best gynecologist, played with bizarre naivete by Richard Gere. Dr. T., is surrounded by women, including his wife and two daughter's, his wife's sister and her three daughters, his surgery staff and his plethora of patients.

        And in all this critical mass of estrogen, there's not one woman who appears sane and/or logical. Altman only shows us only a small segment of Dallas's society, here. All the women are very, very rich. They dress in such finery it oppresses them. If we buy into Altman's misogynistic portrayal of women in Texas as scatterbrained idiots, then it is perfectly plausible that someone from Texas might mount a political campaign telling the public he want trusts us, with everything that is, except our own bodies.

        Politics is the topic of the second film I wish to discuss, the new D.C. thriller, "The Contender." At issue here is the appointment of a new Vice President midterm. The president, played with Clinton-like suaveness by Jeff Bridges, wants to pad his legacy by appointing a woman. Enter Joan Allen, as Laine Hanson, a senator with the poise and beauty of Elle McPherson, and political savvy to boot.

        But the chairman of the house committee to approve her appointment doesn't want a woman. What would happen if she had a baby? Would she take time off for maternity leave? What if she had pms during a world crisis? So he quickly uncovers a skeleton in Laine's college closet, a sex scandal no less, with incriminating photos to boot.

        There's a hearing. The questions are repulsive and personal. But Laine refuses to answer any of the allegations, claiming that they are nobody's business but hers. The result is that as the vultures hone in and various would be Samaritans surface with ammunition for a counter attack, she remains firmly silent and dignified.

        The film is beautifully done. Gary Oldman as the Shelly Runyon is so evil I desperately wanted to throw things at the screen. And I could sing Joan Allen's praise all day. Not only is her character a breath of fresh air, but Allen's performance is commanding yet understated. If only Laine Hanson were real, then some not too distant first Tuesday in November would be a day worth remembering.

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