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Strong Female Character Friday: Augustus Waters (TFIOS)

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Augustus Waters is a movie girlfriend. And that is totally okay.

This is a topic I've touched on before (with Raleigh Becket in Pacific Rim and Sam Wilson in Captain America: The Winter Soldier), the male character who occupies a traditionally female role. Apparently this is a series of articles now. Just go with it.

Now, obviously, these aren't actually female characters, but they are characters with traditionally feminine traits and roles in the story. Raleigh takes the role of a supportive, "I believe in you!" female character from traditional action movies. Sam is basically Captain America's love interest. And Augustus Waters? He's a movie girlfriend.

Actually, if you want to be really technical about this (and I see no reason why not to be), Augustus Waters is a Manic Pixie Dream Girl. Or a Manic Pixie Dream Boy if you want to be pedantic. He comes into the story as a breath of fresh air, revitalizing Hazel and teaching her to appreciate life with his wacky, untraditional ways. 

But I'm getting ahead of myself. If you're not already aware, the character in question here, Gus, is main male character in this summer's blockbuster weepfest, The Fault in Our Stars. The movie, based on the novel of the same name by John Green, follows Hazel Grace Lancaster (Shailene Woodley), a seventeen year old girl with terminal cancer, as she falls in love with Augustus Waters (Ansel Elgort), a cancer survivor she meets in group therapy. It's a very sweet story, and also quite sad, for reasons that should be apparent.

SPOILERS from here on out. If you don't want spoilers, read this review.

When I say that Augustus is a strong female character, I obviously don't mean that he's actually a woman. He's not, in case you were wondering. What I mean is that his space in the narrative is usually reserved for a female character. In fact, the entire plot of The Fault in Our Stars is very far from being a new and different story, we're just unused to seeing it with this gender arrangement. Basically, if Hazel were a dude and Gus were a girl, we would have seen this movie a thousand times before.

It's called A Walk to Remember. And Love Story. And Harold and Maude. And dozens of other films throughout the years.* In each of these stories, the intense male hero is brought to life by an amazing, wonderful, quirky woman who teaches him to love and live. Then, at least in all of the examples I just named, she dies. 

This is the official TVTropes.org definition of a Manic Pixie Dream Girl. Read it, and then switch the pronouns. That's it, that's the plot of The Fault in Our Stars.
Let's say you're a soulful, brooding male hero, living a sheltered, emotionless existence. If only someone could come along and open your heart to the great, wondrous adventure of life... Have no fear, the Manic Pixie Dream Girl is here to give new meaning to the male hero's life! She's stunningly attractive, high on life, full of wacky quirks and idiosyncrasies (generally including childlike playfulness and a tendency towards petty crime), often with a touch of wild hair dye. She's inexplicably obsessed with our stuffed-shirt hero, on whom she will focus her kuh-razy antics until he learns to live freely and love madly. [x]
Hazel is soulful, brooding, and definitely the hero of the story. She lives a sheltered life, and her best friends at the start of the film are her two parents. She's living as if she's dead already. And then she meets Augustus Waters, who appears out of the blue, tells her he's beautiful, spouts some nonsense about metaphors, and then promptly whisks Hazel off her feet.

He's dreamily attractive, very playful and silly, and totally head over heels for the quiet and serious Hazel. He takes her on impromptu picnics. He arranges wild trips to Europe so she can meet her childhood hero. He gets her to help egg a car. He inspires Hazel to live widely and deeply and wonderfully and to not be afraid of leaving people behind when she dies.

And then, like I said above, he dies. We'll talk more about that later.

Okay, so obviously Gus is an MPDG. But what does that really mean in the context of the story? Is that a good thing? Well, yes and no. On the one hand, I have to say that I find something really appealing in the way that Gus operates in the traditionally female role in this movie. He's the emotional support, the one with feelings and beliefs and dreams, and he's ultimately the one who must sacrifice in order to inspire our hero, Hazel, to live.

However. I tend to dislike the MPDG trope in general because it presents a skewed view of reality. The MPDG tends to not really make much sense if you apply logic to the universe. Now, in the book TFIOS, this is held true. Gus' idiosyncrasies are shown to be exactly what they are: a scared teenager playing at being an adult so he doesn't have to deal with his fear of death. He seems pretentious, and that's because he is pretentious. Very much so.

But in the movie, that doesn't really translate. Gus comes across as being kind of perfect. He's a little bit smarmy, sure, but it's a nice smarmy. We're supposed to like it. Even in his last days, while the narrative tells us that Gus loses his sense of humor and is miserable and scared, we don't actually see that. We see one little moment when he's terrified and sick, and then the rest is whitewashed away. We never see Augustus Waters break, and that's a problem. It's a problem because, like all those other Manic Pixie Dream Girls, he dies prettily so that our hero can fully experience life.

And yet I go back and forth on the issue. Is Augustus Waters a good character? I don't know. I like him in the book, but the movie, as I've said before, kind of hit me weirdly. It felt a little artificial. A little too nice and clean. A huge part of that was the sanitization of Gus' death. We see nothing really objectionable. We have one moment of true fear and pain, and the rest is washed away.

On the other hand, though, I do think there is value, and a lot of value, in Gus' role in the film. It's valuable because this kind of character, this supportive, exuberant, openly emotional and emphatic type of character, is rarely identified as male. You just don't see a lot of guys like him. Especially not in an indie romance like this.

Look. How often do you get a mainstream movie about a bookish young woman and her exuberant, chaotic boyfriend? More than that, how often do we get to see, in any medium, a story where the woman is the one being changed, and the man is the one encouraging deeper emotional intimacy and trust. I'm just saying, it's relatively rare.

I think for me, it doesn't detract that Gus is an MPDG or that he's a movie girlfriend. Those attributes actually add value to his character. Sure, he's smug and pretentious and kind of ridiculous, but those are the reasons his character is interesting. Without those flaws, he'd be another pretty boy with secret angst. 

I don't often like to say this, but as with the other male Strong Female Characters I've profiled here, the gender reversal in this story really does make it more compelling. It wouldn't be half as good if Hazel and Gus were switched. Honestly, I think it'd be pretty terrible.

Augustus Waters is a movie girlfriend. He does all the things a movie girlfriend does: he acts the same ways and has the same narrative impact. And that's okay. Good, even. Because by being that character, flawed and irritating as he is, he creates a new paradigm for masculinity. By being a Manic Pixie Dream Girl, Gus actually opens up new ideas of what it means to be a leading man. I know that's weird, and I'm not sure it's the kind of equality we're really looking for in filmic representation, but it's a start.


*Incidentally, one of the only other examples of the role reversal in this type of story that I've seen is the Bollywood film Kal Ho Naa Ho. It's awesome, and it's about an uptight young Indian woman living in New York City, who falls in love with her eccentric Manic Pixie Dream Boy next door neighbor. He loves her too, but he can never tell her so, because he's secretly dying. I love this movie so much. Seriously. Watch it. You will probably regret it, but do it anyway. 

Crossover Appeal - Episode 84 (X-Men: Days of Future Past)

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Sooooo, apparently last week's episode was actually episode 83 (not 82, like I said it was), which makes this one episode 84. Hurrah!

This week it was just Patrick and I discussing X-Men: Days of Future Past and how Magneto is genuinely terrible at strategy, how Charles and Erik's epic love cannot be denied, and why the movie really should have had more women in it. Because obviously it should have.

Oh, and we have a nice long discussion on how timelines work.



Next week we'll be talking about television, so that should be fun!

I Want My Nine Dollars Back (A Million Ways To Die In The West)

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If any of you are reading this really quickly before you have to go somewhere, I will give you gist of the review right here and now: Do not go see A Million Ways to Die in the West. It is not funny, and painfully long, and I wish I had done something more productive with those nine dollars and two hours. Like bought a really expensive sandwich and stepped on it. Like a lot.

Suffice to say that I did not appreciate this film. The interesting part here is why I didn't like this movie. I mean, I could probably write a solid five thousand words of exactly what about this film I don't like, and it would probably be pretty funny, but it would, like this film, be completely wasting your time. No, the reason I don't like this movie is actually bigger than the fact that it was racist and sexist and profoundly not funny. 

I didn't like it because it was completely pointless.

I mean, it was also racist and sexist and not funny. And that's not just the easily annoyed film critic in me coming out. I was sitting in the theater with at least ten other people, presumably from very different walks of life, and I swear to you, the most laughter this movie got was a smattering of chuckles during a scene of prolonged pooping. That's it. The theater was dead silent for about 95% of the film. And might I remind you, this is supposed to be a comedy. This is actually supposed to be the next Blazing Saddles. It isn't.

The reason this movie is not the next Blazing Saddles, or really the next anything other than a massive flop, is because it's not actually saying anything. It sets itself up as satire, or a parody, but as far as I can tell, the entire point of the film is that living in the Old West must have been terrible. And also that Seth MacFarlane really wanted to make out with Charlize Theron. That's it. I can find no other motivation for the existence of this film.

Allow me to break it down for you, angry nerd style.

The film starts off with a day in the life of Albert Stark (Seth MacFarlane). Albert is a coward, and we know this because he shows up to his own gunfight late, and then proceeds to try to talk the other guy down instead of fighting him. We are meant to find Albert's nebbish cowardice funny, because he's so reasonable and everyone else is terrible and isn't that funny? For the record, it wasn't. It was just kind of happening.

Anyway, because Albert was such a coward, his girlfriend, Louise (Amanda Seyfried) dumps him. She thinks she can do better, and I'm not gonna lie, I agree. Albert is a sheep-farmer, he's a sadsack, and he's incredibly whiny. Good riddance, girl.

But Albert obviously doesn't see it that way, so he goes into town and gets consoled by his two best friends, in the way of movie characters. Said two best friends, who are actually the most interesting and funny part of the movie, are Edward (Giovanni Ribisi) and Ruth (Sarah Silverman). They're a super sweet couple, very loving, affectionate, and supportive. 

The comedy comes in the fact that Ruth is a literal whore, and Edward appears to have absolutely no problem with that. Moreover, they're both very religious, and saving themselves for marriage. But Ruth is a prostitute. And neither of them see anything weird about that. It's kind of the only really funny plotline in the movie.

Albert is sad and continues to be sad for several weeks. Finally, he's shaken out of his funk when a bar fight breaks out and Albert somehow manages to save the life of the lovely Anna (Charlize Theron), who's just come to town with her incredibly violent and looks nothing like her brother. Anna, of course, is not what she seems. She and her "brother" are actually members of a notorious gang of outlaws, and Anna's husband, Clinch (Liam Neeson), is the man in charge. But Anna's marriage is an unhappy one, and she quickly seizes on the sweet and bland Albert as a "nice guy" who she can help while she waits for her husband to come for her.

Obviously Anna and Albert fall in love. Though it is much less clear why. Whatever. The plot demanded it or something.

Still pining after Louise, who has moved on and is now dating Foy (Neil Patrick Harris), a local businessman, Albert and Anna pretend to be dating. You know, to make Louise jealous. Because that always works. Eventually, Albert challenges Foy to a gunfight, and Anna then has to take the next week to turn the terminally terrified Albert into a skilled gunman. Plot.

By the time the gunfight rolls around, Albert has realized that he totally loves Anna (it has been a week), and doesn't even care anymore. Also, Anna gave Foy a laxative (hence the pooping scene), and he can't fight anyway. It's all fun and daisies, except the movie doesn't end. It keeps going. Clinch shows up, finds out some guy has been kissing his wife, and then proceeds to shoot up the town and hunt down Albert and attempt to rape Anna and do other criminal things until Albert nuts up and shoots him.

Also there is some really racist stuff in there where Albert gets kidnapped by "Indians" and then proceeds to win them over to his side because he speaks their language and obviously that's a good enough reason to trust him (ignore the fact that all that stuff about Native Americans randomly attacking white people was complete lies and therefore this makes no sense). They give him drugs, he goes on a "spirit journey" and finds the courage to confront Clinch. Blech. 

Obviously there are a lot of problems with this movie. Chief among them is the fact that it really makes no sense. Or rather, Anna makes no sense. She has absolutely zero motivation to do anything in this entire film. At first, it seems that she's stayed with her husband, whom she does not love, because she is too scared to do anything. She's an abused spouse, and it's actually pretty emotionally affecting. At least until Anna starts talking like she's in the 2000s and not being given a single line that seems to reflect the severity of her life.

And then she ends up in town, with a chaperone, except her chaperone gets arrested and she's left to fend for herself. The first thing she does? Latch onto Albert. I'm sorry? This woman, whose life is a living hell and who hates her husband has decided that the answer to her problems while her minder is locked up and literally nothing can stop her, is to stick around town and get to know the town loser. What about, I don't know, RUNNING THE CRAP AWAY?!

But no. That does not happen. That would make sense and be a logical decision, and apparently women are incapable of those. It gets even worse when the film informs us that not only has Anna been armed this whole time, but she's actually an amazing shot. Annie Oakley amazing. Which brings up another question: Why hasn't Anna shot her husband? Like, the entire premise of the movie is that it is super duper easy to die in the West and no one cares. So why didn't she wait until they were alone and then just brain him with a rock or shoot him or something and then run away?

Furthermore, when she does brain him with a rock (finally), why doesn't she kill him? It makes absolutely no sense for her not to just straight up murder the guy, because he is a terrible, abusive husband who was about to rape her. I would not feel less sympathetic towards her for killing him. And it's not like the movie has any real problems with murder. Albert kills Clinch like twenty minutes later so it's not like we're making a moral stand where killing is bad. And Anna clearly doesn't think killing is bad. So, why?

Or that time that she and Albert are at his farm and Clinch is coming, and Albert shoves her out the back door to run away, and then doesn't go with her for some reason, but sticks around, only to then run away. Why? All of the why? Either they both could have run away in the first place, or, maybe using the fact that Anna is a highly skilled marksman, just have her climb up on the roof and take everyone out Winter Soldier style.

I literally have no idea how the plot to this movie happened. It makes no sense. And it's just super dumb all the time. From what I can tell, the entire point of Anna's character is to facilitate Albert's personal transformation. She serves no other purpose in the narrative. So it doesn't matter that nothing she does makes any sense whatsoever. Her point is not to make sense, it's to make Albert look good. 

There's something deeply uncomfortable about it too. Watching Charlize Theron, an amazing, Oscar-winning actress, contort herself to try to bring some emotional weight to a character who is basically a walking blow-up doll - it's just painful. Theron deserves a lot better, and frankly, so do we, the audience. Since this movie was written, directed, and starred in by Seth MacFarlane, and Theron's character exists only to make out with his, you kind of feel like you're reading someone else's fanfiction. The bad kind.

But that's just one character. What about the rest of the movie?

Oh, it sucks. It sucks too. Yes. Ribisi and Silverman are funny, sure, but only when the scenes explicitly deal with their relationship. The rest of the time, they're just there to give Albert things to react to so that he can go off on his rants. Basically, most of the movie is an extended episode of Family Guy, with MacFarlane just narrating things and waiting for people to laugh. Which, I should add, they didn't. Also those things that he was narrating? Were either offensive or just plain dull. Bleh.

Let's see. Clinch's character also makes no sense, but whatever at this point. Actually, aside from the whole Anna thing, the most irritating moment of the film, for me, was when Anna confronted Louise about being mean to Albert. And Louise came back with, "Excuse me, but who I go out with is none of your concern." I mean, not exactly word for word, but basically.

And then Anna came back and pretty much called Louise a slut because she moved on and she's super shallow and how dare she be mean to Albert! Albert's a nice guy! He meets the absolute minimum requirements for human decency, so obviously Louise should be ashamed for dumping the guy that she had nothing in common with who seems to know nothing about her as a person. How dare she!

Louise is right, MacFarlane. I don't care how much your ex hurt your feelings, it's her choice who she dates. Get over it.

What I'm getting at is that the whole movie felt a little bit uncomfortably personal. In the sense that you could pretty much see MacFarlane's spit flying at the screen in a few places, thinking about how "this will get them!" Or maybe he wasn't doing that. But either way, this movie had no point. And satire without a point? It's just dumb.

Like, literally, this movie is just stupid. It wants to be the next Blazing Saddles, as I said above. I didn't make that up, either. MacFarlane has admitted that this is what he was trying to do. He wanted to make a Western with incredibly modern characters in it, to highlight...something. I think that's where the philosophy behind this ended. He just wanted to see what would happen?

The reason Blazing Saddles is an amazing movie is because it used the setting of the Old West to skewer present day prejudices. Sort of like how MASH was a sitcom about the Korean War that made insightful commentaries on the Vietnam War, when it was airing. It's like that. Satire works because it uses the seemingly different to comment on the familiar. By taking our prejudices and peccadillos out of their usual places, the satire shows us how stupid they are. It's great.

But A Million Ways to Die in the West isn't doing that. Nope. All it's doing is telling us the story of Albert, a "nice guy" who gets the girl, and how the Old West must have sucked. At most, that is a five minute standup routine, not a two hour movie.

So, in very very short, do not see this movie. It is bad. It is not funny, it is not clever, and it is not worth it. Also I want my money back.

These two were great, though. But just them.

Maleficent: How To Explain The Cycle of Abuse To Children

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Maleficent is a lovely, sweet fairy tale film. It has a happy ending, phenomenal performances, a story that manages to be both original and close to the Disney Sleeping Beauty, and altogether it's a joy to watch. It is also, and I say this with no contradiction in my heart, a story about rape.

I know, right? How does that work?

I figured it out while I was watching the movie, sitting in a theater full of children and parents, the only lone adult there, wondering if maybe this movie was too childish for me or too adult for them, when I realized that it is both. And neither. You see, this is most definitely a kids' movie. It's about a fairy and it's full of magic and there are multiple mud fights and the whole thing is a bit silly sometimes. And it is also decidedly an adult film. The movie examines how the chain of abuse can poison relationships for generations, and how choices reverberate throughout our lives and the lives of those around us. It is both a perfectly acceptable movie for children, and a deep and emotional film for adults.

And it's wonderful and amazing and makes me so incredibly happy. Also, incidentally, it does something few films even think to attempt: it gives children a vocabulary with which to talk about feelings of violation and fear, without traumatizing them. That's pretty important.

How does the movie do that, though? Allow me to tell you. SPOILERS from here on.

The movie starts way back at the beginning beginning, when Maleficent was a little girl, the only faerie of her type left after a big war with the human kingdom neighboring the faerie realm left her family dead. Maleficent, despite all of this, is a lovely, inquisitive child. All the other faeries adore her. When a boy sneaks into the faerie realm one day, trying to steal some of their riches, she finds him and helps him leave, but not before he too becomes enamored with the sweet girl.

And she becomes infatuated with him, and so on. They have a cute kiddish romance, that becomes a sweet teenage romance, and eventually it dwindles into an adult affair. But now Stefan, the boy, (Sharlto Copley) is all grown up, and he feels that he needs more than faerie magic to sustain him. You see, Stefan is ambitious. He was born a poor peasant, but he aspires to greatness. He wants to be king. 

He gets his chance when the old king, dying from a wound he incurred in battle with Maleficent herself (now in adult form and played by Angelina Jolie), declares that the man who kills the "winged beast" will become king when he dies and marry his daughter, yada yada yada. And Stefan sees his chance.

So he goes out into the Moors (the faerie realm), has a nice long date with his sweetheart Maleficent, then drugs her and uses and iron chain to tear her wings off while she sleeps. Maleficent wakes up to find her wings and lover gone, her body screaming in agony, and the world a much darker place than it was before. She screams. A lot. I cried.

Maleficent then delicately picks herself up and hobbles up and away, into the ruins of an old castle where she can be alone. She cries. She relearns how to walk. And, eventually, she leaves again. But she is not the same.

Out on the edge of her realm, the realm that she now protects with a fierce fanaticism because humans are so clearly genuinely evil, she comes up on a farmer beating a raven and getting ready to feed it to his dogs. She whispers a spell that frees the raven and turns him into a human, then drives off the farmer and his dogs. The raven, whose name is Diaval (Sam Riley), is grateful for her saving him (less so for her making him human), and declares that he is in her debt. He is now her faithful servant, and Maleficent has use of him. She needs him to be her wings.

The next bit is quite familiar - Stefan is crowned king, and Maleficent uses Diaval to spy on him. When she learns that he has had a baby daughter, she decides to make herself known at the christening. This will be the perfect time to take her revenge. Meanwhile, the faerie realm has become much darker and forbidding, as Maleficent has declared herself queen over the other fae and created a military state - all in the name of keeping them safe from the human menace.

At the christening, like one would assume, Maleficent shows up, does her speech, and curses the baby. But she does it not out of any particular malice towards the child itself. No, her wrath is concentrated wholly on Stefan, whose impotent rage and fear is the first thing that's made her smile in years. 

Now, here is the moment when I realized what was going on. Because all of the children around me were totally fine in this scene. A few whispers about how, "She's mad," and "Why is Maleficent being scary?" But no big heartwrenching sob like I was having. And why was I crying? Because I was watching a scene that Hollywood seems determined to never show. I was watching a rape victim getting to finally confront her rapist. The sheer amount of pain on that screen brought me to absolute tears.

Make no mistake, either. Maleficent is a rape victim. Sure, it wasn't sexual, and it is a children's movie where everything has been a bit sanitized. But Jolie herself has stated that she played the morning after scene precisely the way she would portray a woman after being raped. Her wings were taken, her body was violated. While the sexual connotations are obviously more muted, there should be no doubt in anyone's mind. Maleficent is a woman who was raped by a man she trusted, and now she is standing in a room, staring at this man, and his wife, and their lovely child, and she burns with rage.

And so I cried.

There is also a twist on the curse that the movie puts in here, one that makes me even more invested. Maleficent first curses Aurora to prick her finger, fall into a sleep, never awaken, etc. But when Stefan begs, on his knees, pleading, she relents. Aurora can be awoken, but only by "true love's kiss". You know, that thing that Stefan swore he was giving to Maleficent. 

She also intones that the magic will hold until the end of time. Nothing can ever break the spell. But that doesn't stop people from trying. 

Stefan immediately gives his daughter over to the pixies to raise (the three good faeries from the story, led by a hilarious Imelda Staunton), and they take her into the woods to a lovely cottage right by the faerie realm. Maleficent, obviously, sees them, and in between devastating the human armies coming to kill her, raising a wall of thorns all around the faerie realm to protect them, and ruling the Moors with an iron fist, she comes to watch over the child.

First she's pissed. I mean, yeah, it's a baby, and so she doesn't really do anything to it, but this child represents the horror in her life, so no, she's not super happy. But time goes on. Years pass. Diaval, her raven friend, becomes rather besotted with the child. Moreover, the few times that baby Aurora catches sight of Maleficent, she doesn't react the way she arguably should. There's no horror or fear, just a grin and a childish grab for Mal's horns. It's very cute.

She swears otherwise, but you can see Maleficent beginning to truly care for Aurora. The pixies are absolute crap at taking care of her, so Maleficent and Diaval step in every once in a while to make sure the kid doesn't starve to death or walk off a cliff or anything. Maleficent tells herself all the while, though, that she's just preserving the child so that the curse can come into effect. That's all.

And then the strangest thing happens: Aurora and Maleficent meet. Maleficent, having a much softer heart than she herself would like to believe, lets Aurora into the faerie realm to play, but Aurora (now played by Elle Fanning) is only curious about her mysterious benefactor. And, true to form, when Maleficent finally shows herself, Aurora reacts with glee. "You're my faerie godmother!" she squeals, running up and hugging Maleficent tight.

No one is more confused than Maleficent in that moment. No one.

The years pass, and Aurora grows up. She comes to love the faerie realm and her godmother, and Maleficent loves her too. Finally, it's all too much. Maleficent comes when Aurora is sleeping and tries to take away the curse. To undo it, to blast it away, to release it, something. But she can't. The curse is impenetrable, even to her. 

Far from still hating the little "beastie", Maleficent has now grown so attached to her that she thinks of Aurora as her own daughter. It's genuinely adorable, especially when you factor in Diaval, and you realize that they have this totally sweet family unit thing going on out there in the woods. Unfortunately it's a family that's about to be torn apart by betrayal and hatred. Hatred that has, by now, lessened to more of a dull roar than the scream it was before. But still.

Aurora falls to the curse, no matter what Maleficent and Diaval do. And when they get to the castle to save her (carrying an unconscious Prince Phillip along with them, just in case the true love thing really does work), they find it fortified with iron thorns, precisely to keep her out. It seems that even when she tries to do good, she is still judged by her past actions. The hatred and sorrow between her and Stefan has twisted and burned and rotted between them, and now Stefan is willing to destroy his kingdom, even the daughter he is trying to save, all to take Maleficent down.

The climax is fantastic and I will not spoil it here.

I'm hoping that after all that you can see where I was going, talking about how this movie explains the chain of abuse in a way that children can understand, but I'll elaborate. Stefan was hurt sometime in the past. We don't know what happened to him, but there are clear signs that his childhood is not a happy one, and no one performs actions that extreme or malicious with some strong motivation. In turn, Stefan hurts Maleficent, taking from her the one thing she assumed she would never be without. It's no stretch to say that her wings are Maleficent's most prized possession, but would go further and say that she has never thought of herself without them. She is her wings. And the loss of them? Is the most profound of violations.

Maleficent then channels her anger and hatred into cursing Aurora. The chain has been passed on. But instead of becoming enraged by the legacy of hurt left to her, Aurora is the first one to break the chain. Eventually she comes to know that Maleficent is the one who cursed her. And she is truly hurt, make no mistake of that. But she also manages to forgive her godmother. She refuses to let anger poison her, and instead works for reconciliation.

These are all very adult themes, and in a real sense, the kind of thing that only an adult would get out of the film. On a childhood level, things are actually a lot simpler. By showing Maleficent's agony and rage, the movie gives children a vocabulary with which to talk about abuse and rape and violation. It's like that whole thing about how useful Winnie the Pooh is to parents whose children might have mood disorders. Instead of saying, "Mother, I am feeling manic this afternoon," the kid can say, "Mom, I feel like Tigger right now!" You get the idea.

So rather than having to rely on a child's understanding of sexual or bodily violation, instead, with the help of this movie, you can ask simpler questions. "Are you hurt? Where are you hurt? Do you feel like Maleficent did when she lost her wings? Are you angry?" It's not perfect, but it's a framework. It gives children an idea that yes, there is pain and hurt out there. But more than that it gives them a character to relate to, one who has been in great pain, and it shows them clearly what happens if you let that pain consume you, and what happens when you start to let it go.

I'm not saying that your average five year old is going to get all of this out of the film. They won't and really, they shouldn't. What I'm saying is that movies matter. The stories we tell matter. And when we don't tell a single story about a character who is violated, whose violation is taken seriously and dealt with, and whose character arc includes deep anger as well as redemption - when we avoid those subjects because they are "too dark" for children, we harm kids. It's as simple as that.

It is vital that we create a world in which we can talk about issues of abuse and pain, especially with children who may not yet have a vocabulary for it. We need movies like Maleficent exactly because they're hard, not in spite of the fact. 

And we need narratives like that, that make it very clear: Yes, someone may have hurt you. Yes, you might be in so much pain you feel like screaming. But no, that does not make it okay for you to hurt someone else. No, you are not automatically forgiven for lashing out. Your actions, understandable as they may be, are still your actions. There are no excuses. 

It's funny to read the reviews of this movie, because it seems a bit like no one knows what to do with it. Maleficent is neither a hero, nor a villain. This is a revisionist fairy tale, sure, but it's also quite close to the original. Maleficent is shown to have a horrible tragic backstory, but the movie never tries to use that to sweep away the pain she causes. In short, it's complicated, and that's great.

Really, it is. While the themes of this film will (hopefully) go over most kids' heads, the basic ideas won't. The ideas of forgiveness and love and reconciliation, as well as an understanding of moral complexity, will stick. Those are things that kids understand, and this movie puts them in a way that makes them perfectly accessible.

That's not the only reason to love this movie, though. There are so many. I'll just list a couple of them here, because yes.
The heart of the story is about female relationships. While the plot is driven by the actions of a male character, the female characters are the core of the film. Similar to Frozen, the true love here is not a romantic one, but a familial one between women. Maleficent loves Aurora, and Aurora loves Maleficent. Their bond is the heart of the film, and that's not a simple statement to make. There's no jealousy here that needs to be overcome, nor is there a core of romantic resentment or anything like that. Insofar as they can be, the two women are equals (by the end of the movie), and treat each other as such.

You can really see this in the scene where Maleficent confirms Aurora's greatest fears and tells her that, yes, she is cursed, and Maleficent is the one who did it. Aurora's eyes grow in horror, and she steps back. Maleficent takes one step forward, as if to explain, and Aurora runs away, shouting at her. And Maleficent? Doesn't follow her. Doesn't insist that Aurora see things her way. She lets Aurora be angry, because she deserves to be angry. Maleficent treats her like an equal, with full rights to her own feelings and reactions.

Another awesome part of this movie is how clearly it shows the way that our choices are not ours alone. Or rather, how they don't just affect us. Stefan's choice to prioritize ambition over love reverberates throughout Maleficent's life. So too does Maleficent's choice to take revenge on Stefan. Her decision to curse baby Aurora indirectly causes the queen's death, the devastation of the kingdom, and sixteen years of misery for the people. Maleficent's choice might have been hers alone to make, but its effects were felt by literally everyone in two kingdoms. And, well, that's true, isn't it?

The choices we make affect us, yes, but they also affect every single person around us, and some people we don't even know will be affected. Maleficent had no way of knowing how her curse would change the world or what the end result would be, but that's sort of the point. You have to take that into account, the idea that your actions will have consequences, and that those consequences might be far beyond what you could consider.

Or how about this for a super amazing lesson: Yes, true love does exist, but true love requires knowledge. There's this whole thing where they bring in Prince Phillip and demand that he kiss Aurora and he does (but not before he argues a bit with the pixies about how that's kind of weird and he barely knows her). The thing is, the kiss doesn't work. Not because Phillip and Aurora are wrong for each other, but because he doesn't know her, and therefore he cannot truly love her.
Crumbled is perhaps an understatement.
To love someone you have to truly know them. That's why Maleficent and Aurora have such a strong relationship by the end of the film - they truly know each other. And that's why Maleficent and Stefan's relationship crumbled. In the end, they did not know or understand each other. That's also what makes Maleficent and Diaval work. Love at first sight? It's nice, but it's not true love. True love is knowing precisely how horrible a person is, and accepting them anyways. Then demanding that they become a better them.

I could keep going, but I've said quite a lot already. There is more, though. This movie succeeds on so many levels, it astounds me. Jolie's performance is stunning, and Fanning and Riley, despite being relative newcomers, do a good job keeping up. Especially Riley, whose Diaval was my favorite character in the film. He also portrayed another role that is worth seeing more of - the man who loves a woman convinced she cannot love, and who is willing to wait.

Like, not in a creepy way, but that's clearly what Diaval is doing. He's in love with Maleficent (they did raise a child together, after all, and they've spent about twenty years together), but he never presses the issue. It's obvious she's not ready to even consider that. She thinks true love is a myth. He doesn't. And he remains devoted to her, even though she may never be healed enough to want romantic love again. It's just...it's really good, guys. It's really, really good.

So go see it, and think about the value of stories like this. They're not easy, no, but they are important. And when they happen to be wrapped up in packaging as nice as this, well, I think they're worth supporting.

OTP.

Robot Chicken and the Normalization of Rape

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Like any nerd who went to college in the 2000's, I've watched a lot of Robot Chicken. It was a thing, just as Adult Swim was getting going, and we would all crowd into my dorm room (my roommate and I were the only ones with a good TV) to watch episodes of Robot Chicken, Lucy - Daughter of the Devil, Drawn Together, and other such quality entertainments. It was funny. I have good memories of that.

So obviously when I got a notification saying that season two of Robot Chicken has fiiiiiinally been added to Netflix, I popped right over there for some nostalgia and laughs while I cleaned.

Only, come to realize, this show is not the show I remember. I mean, it's clearly the same show I was watching - even the same season. I remember the episodes and their jokes and all that, I just...I didn't remember it being so obsessed with rape. And so mean. And kind of really horrible.

What I remembered about the show was the sketches that I did (and still do) find absolutely hilarious. Like the one about Optimus Prime getting checked for prostate cancer. Or the one where Emperor Palpatine yells at Darth Vader over the phone, then orders a sandwich. Any number of other sketches they've done that highlighted the absurd in our favorite nostalgic pop culture vehicles. Those are great.

But what I'd forgotten was that the sketches I love are in the fierce minority. Much more common are sketches about sex and rape and justifications of racism and gratuitous sexual violence. It was pretty awful. I had to stop what I was doing and sit down to take a minute and wonder why I ever thought this was funny. Because it isn't. I don't find rape funny. But apparently I used to?


The thing is, it's been a while since I was in college. About seven years since these particular episodes aired and I was finishing my sophomore year. I've obviously grown and matured in that time, because that's how people work. You grow up. But I have a hard time dealing with the idea that seven years ago, I was the kind of person who laughed at a comedy sketch about Snuggle the fabric softener bear being raped repeatedly because he's "so soft". 

I actually got kind of nauseous during that one when I watched it recently. It's played for laughs, but you're sitting there watching a stuffed bear talk about feeling dirty and used and it's just...he's voiced to sound like a kid. How the hell is that funny?

So, obviously, I thought about it. A lot. How did I not notice all of this the first time I was watching? Or, if I did notice it, why didn't I remember it, and why didn't I seem to mind? I wasn't exactly uneducated at the time. I'd already been a volunteer for Amnesty International, worked with homeless ministries and women's shelters and stuff, so it wasn't like I was unaware of the problems. I just...didn't see it?

After much contemplation, here's my best guess. No, I didn't see it as horrible and wrong, precisely because I wasn't supposed to. Or rather, I did see it as horrible and wrong, but I saw it as just recognizable enough to my cultural understanding of the world that it was funny. It was bad funny. Transgressive. I was cool for thinking it was funny and not getting all offended like those annoying killjoys.

And then, in the years since, I have become more educated on the importance of media towards self and cultural perception, and I have in fact become one of those "killjoys". Proudly.

But the point I'm making is that it didn't really strike me as humor that had gone too far because by the very act of showing us horrible things all the time, the show was normalizing them. By pretending to be transgressive and "gritty", the show was giving images of rape that suggest that it's a totally normal thing that happens. That it's no big deal. Like, whatever, that super horny guy raped a stuffed bear. No big deal, it's just a stuffed bear.

Those Barbie figures were totally asking for it. That's the whole point of the sketch, after all. That one where the kids get sort of conned into taking off their clothes? Hilarious.

It's not exactly that I think that the writers and creators of Robot Chicken think child abuse and sexual assault are funny. Not quite. I think it's that over time they have become desensitized to the issues inherent in them. That by making sketches and jokes about it, and seeing other people's jokes, they've forgotten that rape affects real people. That it's not just a joke to tag on, it's a real thing that affects real live human beings with hearts and minds and television sets.

When we view media like this, it desensitizes us to the problem, because it dehumanizes the participants. The guy raping that teddy bear has no larger motivation. He's just there for the joke. And the clearly traumatized bear? No other narrative aside from existing in the sketch to get raped. Neither of them are characters, they're just a joke. And that means that by extension, rapists and rape victims are just part of the joke too. They're not "real people". "Real" people don't have to deal with that.

It's sort of like when comedian Daniel Tosh makes a joke about how funny it would be if five guys just came up and gangraped a woman in his audience. It's not (I hope) that Tosh really thinks that would be funny, but that he's lost all sense of why that wouldn't be funny. He's lost the outrage, the frustration, the sense of violation. He's lost a very real part of what makes us human: his empathy.

Jokes about rape aren't funny, because there are real people who really experience this. It's the same reason why jokes about genocide or school shootings or suicide aren't funny. You can only laugh if you've numbed yourself to the reality of what those things are. It's only funny if the people involved aren't really human. You can't laugh if you have empathy for the people in pain. So comedy like this works by shutting off your empathy. It forces you to dehumanize the victims. It feeds on your dissociation.

That's seriously messed up.

And it's really disturbing to look back and realize that, yeah, in 2007, I was like that. I was exposed to so much rape culture comedy, jokes about death and sexual abuse, and forced to listen as my friends hurled insults by calling each other different words for female genitalia... It was the background radiation of my life, and I got sick. I came down with a bad case of the dehumanizations. It took me years to recover. All the time I was volunteering at soup kitchens and counseling victims of sexual abuse, I would go home and watch television shows where those things were played for laughs. And I would laugh, because it wasn't real. Even though I absolutely knew it was.

I'm pretty horrified by what I used to find funny. But I'm more horrified by the fact that stuff like this exists at all. Look, I'm a firm believer that media affects us deeply and profoundly. And if I believe (which I do) that even freaking fairy tale movies that don't properly humanize their female characters are damaging to the culture, what the hell do you think comedy like this is doing?

This kind of comedy had a very deep and profound effect on how I viewed myself and my right to my own body. And that had real world consequences. I'm not going to be all sensationalist and say that "Robot Chicken is the reason I got raped!" or anything, because that's not true. The truth is more complex.

But basically, when I was in college, I made bad choices about my body. I did not value it or myself, because nothing I saw in popular culture suggested that I ought to, and none of my friends really valued their bodies either. I mean, there were a couple of outliers, but no one really speaking up. And that had devastating consequences for my life. I watched shows that made rape seem like a thing that happens every day, that was no big deal, and that it was a sign you were sexually appealing. 

I think you can figure out where I'm going with this. A whole host of my current baggage, things that I am trying desperately to work through, came about in my life precisely because I didn't see my body as something that had value and that belonged to me alone. Now, some of that garbage is from other places in my life, and some of that never had anything to do with me. But a lot of it, a lot of it, came from watching crap like this. From watching shows that laughed it off and that made it all fun and games. Just a thing that happens.

Normal.

And now that I'm slightly older and mildly wiser, I would love to travel back in time and give past-me a hug and a pep-talk. Tell her to turn off the TV and spend more time in prayer or at the very least watch something more feminist. But I can't do that. What I can do is tell all of you the simple truth:

Humor that relies on dehumanization for the punchline is wrong. It's just plain wrong. It's not funny, and it's not right. I don't care if that makes me a killjoy. There are real world consequences for this. Any joke that depends on the audience releasing their empathy is a bad joke.

It's as simple as that.

Why Agents of SHIELD Is Worth Watching All the Way Through

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If you stopped watching Agents of SHIELD, I can't really blame you. Like, seriously, there were a lot of moments this past season where I wanted to stop because I just did not care. And that's a darn shame. I can't blame you for stopping, but as I've finally come to the end of the season, I have to give credit where it's due. I'm really glad I kept watching.

Admittedly, I watched it sporadically, stopping for months before binging on five episodes at a time right before they were about to expire from my Hulu queue, but I did watch it. I made it. I limped to the end of the season.

I feel like I'm not making a very strong case in favor of watching this. Hmm. Let's try again.

Coming out of the gate, Agents of SHIELD was pretty strongly underwhelming. While it does tie in to the Marvel Cinematic Universe, it does so in slightly simple and dull ways. Our "tie-in" to Thor: The Dark World was a scene of the characters cleaning up after the movie and moving rubble around, then having to fight some vaguely Norse bad guys. The episodes were, well, episodic, and usually kind of dull.

The arc-plot of the season, at least so far as was evident for the first fifteen episodes or so, had to do largely with Agent Coulson (Clark Gregg) and how he's not dead, and with the origin of new agent Skye (Chloe Bennet), who is an orphan with a very shady past. That she doesn't know about.

It's not that those were bad storylines, but more that they didn't live up to the promise of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. I mean, we're all used to the concept now, and fully disappointed in it, let's be real, but remember again what this show had going for it as we entered the season: a Joss Whedon produced show about the nitty gritty behind the scenes of the Marvel universe, featuring a beloved character back from the dead and another awesome character played by Ming-Na Wen (who freaking voiced Mulan), as well as cameos by actors from the Whedon-verse and tie-ins to the extremely popular and amazing Marvel films.

It was supposed to be awesome. The best thing ever. So cool. And it wasn't.

Here's the thing, though. The show did get better. Good enough, even, that I don't regret powering through the season and am actually really glad I did. The turning point came after Captain America: The Winter Soldier came out. The episodes from there to the end of the season dealt explicitly with the fallout from the film, which did happen to be a bit about SHIELD. You know, the thing where SHIELD has been secretly infiltrated by HYDRA and the whole organization has been branded as terrorists and is being demolished by infighting, a virtual civil war, and military intervention.

Once we got there, we were good. Why? Because finally, finally the show was about something bigger than its characters. With a larger fight to unite and divide them, at last there were stakes to the show, a reason to keep watching, and the general Whedon-fear that someone you love wasn't going to make it out alive.

I tell you this not to castigate the show, but because I'm actually really proud of it. It improved. It got better. I know that sounds super dull as a sentence, but I don't want to lose the importance of that. It's pretty unusual for a show to manage to go from dull to good within the span of a season, especially without being cancelled. I can think of a handful of examples, but not a lot.

There are so many obstacles in the way of a show shifting gears like this one did. Especially in the way of a show connected to so many franchises and companies. 

Let me be specific. SPOILERS for the second half of the season from here on out.

Captain America: The Winter Soldier dealt extensively with the idea of HYDRA having infiltrated SHIELD. It showed the battle to take back control, and it even gave us an up close and heart-wrenching vision of how SHIELD must ultimately be destroyed in order to root out HYDRA and save us all. Then the movie fast-forwarded a couple of weeks to show us the aftermath and how everyone was coping. What we didn't see was the immediate repercussions. We didn't see what happened to all of the (presumably thousands) of SHIELD agents who weren't at the Triskelion that day.

Which is precisely where Agents of SHIELD came in, and where it ought to have come in. All of a sudden, our heroes, who had split up to deal with their own crisis, were faced with an even bigger problem: the destruction of SHIELD, the defection of HYDRA, and their new classification as agents of a terrorist organization.

To make it even worse, like I said, the team wasn't together, and one of its members, Simmons, was trapped in a SHIELD facility while a battle raged between HYDRA and SHIELD agents. Simmons being a scientist, she wasn't super equipped to deal with it, oh, and she was trapped with the second-in-command of a man they'd just found out was pretty much a supervillain. Not a good day.

What followed then was an intense and emotionally wrenching hour of television, where Simmons and Triplett (the agent she was stuck with) were tested and had to trust each other and shot at and bonded and all that good stuff. Then we found out that while Triplett wasn't HYDRA, our good friend, Agent Grant Ward, one of the series regulars and stars of the show actually was.

And that, my friends, is precisely where the entire season of powering through this show finally paid off. 

All of a sudden, all those scenes of Grant interacting with the team, all that stuff where he slept with Melinda May or bonded with Skye or saved Simmons' life, gained a whole new dimension. And honestly became a lot more interesting.

But more than that, by making Grant a regular cast member, allowing us to love him, and then making us HYDRA forced the audience to humanize the problem in a way that Captain America: TWS, by simple virtue of its plot, couldn't. We now knew a member of HYDRA, intimately and deeply, and we had to figure out what was lies and what was okay and oh my gosh what was going to happen now.

Basically, by making Grant a member of HYDRA, the show forced the audience to feel the betrayal felt all over SHIELD as people discovered that their coworkers, friends, even lovers, were actually members of an underground terrorist organization. By letting us get attached to him and then making him the villain, the show finally did what it said it was going to: it made us look closer and it made us part of the action.

The rest of the season is a whirlwind of great episodes, as we the audience know about Grant's betrayal, but the characters don't for a long time. We had to watch him scheme and plot and kill, while we also saw the team dealing with their new lives and choosing whether to stay or go. And then we got a pretty sweet plot where our little band of misfits had to stop HYDRA and save the world. You know, no big deal.

All of this wouldn't have made any sense or been at all appealing, however, if we hadn't had a whole season of relatively low-key bonding to build up to it. Without the whole first season, bland as it sometimes felt, we wouldn't necessarily feel the same rage at Grant when he defected and we definitely wouldn't feel the same satisfaction when Skye told him off or when Melinda May delivered the smackdown.

Now, I'm not saying that with this ending in mind the season is perfect. It's not. It's still boring as hell. I mean, I get what they did and I appreciate it, but I really did not enjoy it at the time. Booooooring. What I'm saying is that the show finally paid off, and I appreciate that. I appreciate that it finally built on its foundation and gave us a story worthy of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Plus, it was damn satisfying from a storytelling perspective.

The finale itself was thoroughly enjoyable, partly because it was really well written and acted, but also because the storylines covered in it were ones that we'd had enough time to digest and appreciate. Fitz and Simmons, trapped in a box on the bottom of the ocean, with only enough oxygen for one of them to survive? That would be a good setup for any two characters, but these two especially made it sing. It worked because the two of them had spent the whole season up until this point dancing around their feelings for each other. Sacrificing and loving and touching ever so fleetingly but never addressing it until Simmons called Fitz her best friend and he told her that she was so much more than that.

Or how about the scene where Skye and Melinda May, two characters who have been at odds throughout the entire season, bond over dealing with their anger and frustration and rage, then do one better and deal with it. Instead of taking it out on each other, they harness it and take it out on the person who deserves their censure: Grant Ward. More than that, though, I loved finally seeing these two fantastic women sitting down and understanding each other. Why can't we have more of that.

I only wish we hadn't had to wait a whole season to see it.

Finally, who didn't love seeing Samuel L. Jackson turn up unexpectedly in a helicopter and save everyone, snarking all the time, and point out that he was dressed like someone who "lives under a bridge". His rapport with Coulson was, of course, amazing, as was the scene where we discover that the bad guy's entire motivation comes from his mishearing of one of Fury's speeches. That was priceless.

Less thrilling was the overly sentimental way the show chose to close out its "Why isn't Coulson dead?" storyline - because he was an Avenger and way too important blah blah blah - but I did like the twist at the very end. The show finishes its first season with old SHIELD destroyed and a new one to be built from the ashes, by none other than Coulson himself, as the new Director.

Right on, I guess.

There's a lot of promise going into the second season, and I totally love the turn the show took as it developed and grew. Honestly, I appreciate that they managed to course correct so much and so well. That takes skill and guts.

I do have problems with the season overall, like how they killed Agent Victoria Hand, one of the only high-ranking female characters we ever see, and how it took an entire season for two of the most important female characters on the show to have a freaking conversation. I could do without the way that everyone is constantly falling all over Coulson and making him out to be the savior of the world.

But generally, I'm good. I'm glad I stayed. I'm excited for next season. I'm even more excited for the Agent Carter series that we have coming, but I can honestly say that I look forward to Agents of SHIELD coming back. This show surprised me, and rewarded me for sticking with it. It finally did something with its female characters, it finally resolved Mike Peterson's storyline and didn't resort to insulting stereotypes, and it left some good interesting mysteries going for the next season.

So, if you give it a chance, it might surprise you how much this show improved. But then again, don't we all remember how effing terrible season one of Buffy is?

#saveagenthand

Rom.Com - The Truth About Online Dating (And Love)

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New class: Scaring Off Guys 101
I am gritting my teeth with the story I am about to share, but it has to be done. I’m writing about a webseries called Rom.Com that deals with dating websites. I have to come clean.

I, your faithful reviewer, have experimented with online dating. No, I will not say which site, and no, it’s not going well. I mean, I didn’t really think it was going to go well. I mostly joined because I had a paper due, and a long weekend off, and at some point I realized that creating an online dating profile was hands down the fastest and most entertaining way to procrastinate my butt off. 

Effective too. The paper was nearly late.

And I made a pretty kickass profile too. Very snazzy, and reasonably true to life. I’ve gotten messages, and I’ve replied. I even went on one date (got stood up). But the reason I’m telling you all of this is because the morning after I made the profile, I woke up in a cold sweat. Why? Well, I’d just realized that I had done what I swore I wasn’t going to do: I set up that profile because I wanted the validation of random people on the internet.

That’s a terrible reason to do anything, but it’s especially a bad premise on which to base a romantic relationship. And on some level I knew that. I knew that I wasn’t going to really do anything about this. But that made it even worse. Because either I was trying to date people purely because they thought I sounded cool and fun in a highly edited and manufactured profile, or I had no intention of ever dating those people and was using them for external validation. Both of which are super crappy.

I logged back on and re-read my profile. Looked at the pictures. Tried to see it like someone else would. And I realized something: that profile? Not me. Not actually. What it is is the me that I want people to see. It’s the person I want people to want to date. In a real sense, and I’m still working on this, I don’t want people to want to date me, I want them to want to date awesome me. You know?

I want people to want to date the me that is actually responsible about recycling, the me that bikes to the farmer’s market. I want people to want to date the me that’s a published poet and who mentor’s youth kids and who listens to really good alternative music. I mean, all of those things are true of me, but they’re not the whole truth. They’re lies of omission. The real truth is that yeah, I love the farmer’s market. But you know the last thing I bought there? Cake. I do listen to really good alternative music, but I also listen to bubblegum pop and I own every single Katy Perry album because I like it.

It’s true that I mentor youth kids. It’s also true that I use that as an excuse for watching Teen Wolf and going to Starbucks a lot (it’s clearly the best place to have meetings, okay?). I mean, for crying out loud, I’m a grown woman with a deep aversion to doing laundry (I haaaaaaaaate it). But none of this was in my profile. None of this was the stuff I wanted someone to want me for.

I want to talk about Rom.Com, a seriously adorable webseries from Cracked. The show, which has only three episodes so far, and in grand total is probably no more than twenty minutes long, is exactly the kind of feminist, fun, heart-warming but still smart entertainment that we all claim to crave. So why is no one watching it?

Like, seriously. No one is watching it. I had to ask my friend (Elizabeth) to screencap the episode because there were no images available online. Seriously. None. I checked a lot. Which means that not only has no one really watched this show, no one is really talking about it either. And that’s crap because it is wonderful. Allow me to tell you how wonderful it is.

The show is about a couple of employees at a dating site - Josie (Kaitlin Large), Max (Michael Swaim), and Elise (C Ashleigh Caldwell) - who have vastly differing opinions of how love works. The plot is loose at best, but still cute. Josie is the main character, the websites tech guru who has invented and perfected their algorithm to match couples. Josie is convinced that all love has a scientific explanation and that science can form the perfect match. She’s a cold headed realist, and she’s perfectly comfortable with that. At least she is until her boyfriend dumps her in the work breakroom for being too obsessed with compatibility and stats.

This prompts Josie to do some real soul-searching about whether or not there is a non-numbers component to love. And it means that she has to actually talk to Max, who believes that love is magic and wonderful and feelings and people are unpredictable miracles. It’s obvious that Max and Josie are endgame (he looks at her like she hung the moon, even though she seems pleasantly oblivious), but the show doesn’t bash us over the head with it. Mostly? They’re really good friends who call each other out on their crap.

And Elise is also there. Elise is less of a character with feelings and motivations and more of a terrifying robot with designs on world domination. Josie refers to her as a crazy dragon lady. It’s apt. She’s the CEO of their company (FindLove.Net), and obsessed with the idea that by matching couples together, she is creating life itself. Elise has a bit of a god-complex, and it’s kind of amazing. More on that later.

The first episode has them competing to see whose understanding of love will appeal most to investors. The second episode finds the group interviewing focus group users, the people who use datings sites, to determine what can be changed about their site in order to make better matches. And the third episode has Josie and Elise betting against each other that Josie cannot create a dating profile so horrifying that men will not contact it looking for sex.

I mean, that’s what technically happens in these episodes. But it’s not what happens.

What really happens is that we get to see the world in which these characters live. And far from being a cynical, snide place full of people scoffing at the idea of love because they work for a dating site and therefore they must be dissatisfied sellouts, the show’s actually really upbeat. All of the characters, in their own ways, really and truly believe in love. They just believe really different things about it, and from that comes the comedy.

But what really gets me going about this show, the reason I am so desperate that the thing get more views and get renewed for another season and so on, is the way each and every character, all three of them, is a fully realized human being with wants, needs and flaws. Josie most of all.

I guess what I’m getting at is that the show is effortlessly feminist. It doesn’t feel feminist when you’re watching it, it mostly just feels light and funny. But it is. Josie, the main character, is both incredibly compelling and lovely, and kind of a total mess. She’s obsessed with her job, blind to her own faults, and willing to break people’s privacy just to prove her own ideas right. I mean, she creates a fake dating profile, then texts guys from it just in order to win a bet. She’s not really firing on all cylinders, if you know what I mean.

But then, she’s also the character with her feet most on the ground too. Josie is a realist and a scientist. She’s very practical, she’s not flighty or flaky like your average romantic comedy heroine. She’s not even comically clumsy! She does a high kick and not a single thing gets kicked that isn’t supposed to get kicked! It’s almost like they wrote real flaws into her character (like her hubris and denial of human emotions) instead of relying on cheap tropes. Weird.

And Max might be the voice of reason, but he’s not really a champ at life either. While Josie is off trying to prove that science can cure everything, Max is sort of in the background, spouting off about love conquering all and how people need to believe in something. 

And that’s true, but while Max might have his head and heart on right, he never actually does anything about it. He’s single, a romantic, and seemingly unwilling to really risk anything enough to be in a relationship. I find that oddly interesting. Not particularly surprising, but interesting.

Elise isn’t exactly well-rounded so much as she is alarmingly intense in one specific direction, but I also like that about her. How often do you watch a show where the terrifying boss with delusions of power is actually a lady in a power suit? I mean, I’ve got Better Off Ted, and that’s pretty much it.

Incidentally, Better Off Ted is really good and you should totally watch it. Very similar tone, now that I think of it, and there’s a lot more of it.

Which brings me to my next point. All that stuff I was talking about above? All that character crap and the funny things and the goodness? Happens in three episodes that are only about seven minutes each. That’s it. Hot dammit I want more of this show and I want it now.

It feels fundamentally unfair to me that this show gets so little love when it is exactly what we are all professing to be looking for. It’s feminist and funny. The humor doesn’t come from a place of cynicism or anger, it comes from the real-world hilarity of people with different opinions bumping up against each other all day. It’s a show about love that believes in love. Yeah, they work for a dating site. And yeah, they all kind of think dating sites are skeevy. But they don’t think that this demeans their work or even that it really changes what they do. Their goal is to make the best dang dating site they can, and haters gonna hate.

How can you not love that? 

And did I mention that it’s hilarious? Because it so totally is. It’s written by the people who make Cracked so much fun to read, and it’s written with that same worldly-wise but still hopeful tone, and it’s just…I like it a lot, okay? I like that they really use the web-series format to its best potential, I think the whole thing is really well acted and written, and I enjoy the ever loving crap out of it. Sure, it’s only twenty minutes, but those are twenty minutes I’ve now watched probably five times. So, you know, that’s got to count for something.

Going back to the beginning, though, I think I really love this show because it recognizes the real truth about relationships, online and off. As Josie realizes after her boyfriend dumps her, she never took into account who he wanted to be. She knew who he was, but she was so focused on the present that she missed wondering who he wanted to become. And that, as it turns out, matters.

It’s not that I’m ashamed of who I am right now. I actually like myself pretty darn well, thank you very much. But I do want to change and improve and grow. Doesn’t everyone? I want to publish more poetry and I want to go back to the farmer’s market and come away with actual vegetables this time and I want to get over my weird thing about laundry (still hate it). I am a messy, flawed person, and I’m okay with that. But I want to be better.

When it comes to relationships, I think we kind of need it both ways. We both need to be loved exactly as we are (validation), and we need to be encouraged to be better. You can’t have real love without both acceptance and judgment. You are accepted as you are, and you are pushed to be more. Real love doesn’t settle for less than the best of you. 

That is, for the record, why I love this show, and why I believe that Max and Josie are endgame. They push and prod and demand that they become better people. But more than that, the show itself is a surprisingly nuanced view of love and relationships. It’s deep. A lot deeper than it arguably should be. It’s true.

Josie’s algorithm failed because she didn’t take into account the people we want to be, but the important part of that episode isn’t the failure. It’s the part where Josie realized that she failed, and thought about what that meant. The cool part isn’t that all of this is happening in the plot, the cool part is that the characters care. These questions aren’t just academic. The show is written in such a way that the characters really care about the answers. And I like that.

Plus, it’s a cute fun silly show that has two amazing female characters, one and a half really rad male characters (Daniel O’Brien’s character is mostly just a punchline about statistics - funny, though), and a sense of humor that is compassionate and optimistic. Who doesn’t want more of that in the world.

As for the saga of my online dating adventures, well, they’re probably coming to a close. While I understand the concept much better now, and I think I’m past the part of only doing this for external validation, I think, in a very real sense, I’m not going to find what I’m looking for in an online profile. But then again, who knows? Stranger things have happened.

Please watch this show so that it makes another season and I get to see more of it. Please.

There's An Easy Solution: Just Add More Ladies (Edge of Tomorrow)

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I wasn't originally going to write about this movie, Edge of Tomorrow, because I wasn't originally going to see it. It's got Tom Cruise in it, being all Tom Cruise and things, and also there were aliens and an invasion of Europe, and I just wasn't super enthused about the concept. Mostly because it looked like a videogame, and while I have the greatest of respect for videogames as a storytelling medium, I just don't get them. No idea why, I just don't.

However, as you may have gathered from the existence of this article, I did go see Edge of Tomorrow, and I am reasonably glad I did. It's a good movie. It's fun and interesting and raises some really cool philosophical questions. Mostly, the movie is about the cost of survival and the importance of selflessness, which is rad. Tom Cruise's character goes on a great journey of emotional development, and that development happens to be facilitated by well-shot and pretty funny action sequences, so that's nice.

It's not the thing that stuck out most to me in the movie, though. Nope, that honor goes to the female lead, Rita Vrataski (Emily Blunt), a kickass action chick who kind of falls into Trinity Syndrome but also kind of doesn't, and it's complicated. I would therefore like to take today to talk about the complications inherent in Rita Vrataski and her character and her role in the narrative. So strap in guys, today we're going to talk about tropes, stereotypes, and "strong female characters".


The film, which is based on the manga All You Need Is Kill by Hiroshi Sakurazaka, follows Cage (Tom Cruise), a high level recruiter for the global military. For years now the Earth has been engaged in on-the-ground combat with an alien race they call "Mimics". The Mimics came and quickly took over most of Asia and Europe, combining amazing camouflage skills and superior numbers with a seemingly uncanny ability to anticipate the military's actions and maneuvers. 

Cage's job is to go on television, then, and encourage people to enlist in the military to save their dying planet. It's an important job, to be fair, since this is the difference between life and death for the planet, but Cage goes about it in a particularly flippant way. He has a nice cushy life and a nice cushy position, so when the General (Brendan Gleeson) calls him to London to talk, Cage assumes that he's getting a commendation. He's there to help "sell" their counter-invasion of the European mainland, right?

Well, no. The General wants Cage himself to be on the front lines, with cameras, in order to show what the battle is really like. Cage does not like this idea, and tries to get out of it any way he can. Bribery, flattery, lies, and flat out running away. None of it works. He wakes up on a pile of duffel bags with a drill sergeant standing over him, only to find that he's been stripped of his uniform and rank, and will be on the front lines anyway, just now it's without the camera crew. As his new commanding officer, Master Sergeant Farell (Bill Paxton) is so fond of reminding him, he is now to be reborn in "glorious combat." He is a "master of his fate", and he will change it through "hard work and determination." Etc, etc, etc.

Cage is embedded with J Company, who hate him, and given absolutely no training before they're flown out over the English Channel, strapped into giant mech-armors, and dropped on the beaches of Normandy. Where the Mimics are waiting for them, and slaughter pretty much everyone.

By some miracle, Cage is able to live a tiny bit longer than his comrades. Just long enough to run into a different looking Mimic, and kill them both with a grenade. We are treated to a wonderful shot of the Mimic's blood melting Cage's face off as they both explode, and then the screen goes black. It opens back up again...on Cage, lying on some duffel bags, getting yelled at by a drill sergeant.

Huh.

Cage goes through the day all over again, baffled and terrified. He has no idea what's going on, then he finally reaches the beach, and then he dies. And then he wakes up. Again. And again. And again. He has absolutely no idea what's happening until the time that he, having by now memorized a fair amount of the battle schematics by sheer bloody repetition, saves another soldier, Rita Vratasky (Emily Blunt), from getting blown up. 

Rita Vratasky isn't just any soldier, though. She's the very literal poster girl for the war, called alternately the "Angel of Verdun" and the "Full Metal Bitch". She's famous for having single-handedly swung the tide of the famous battle of Verdun, defeating the Mimics on their own turf and probably saving humanity. In other words, she's one terrifying chick.

She also, it seems, knows what's happening to Cage. When he rescues her, he does so in a way that shows he knows where the Mimics are going to be before they get there, and Rita stops him. As she says, "Find me when you wake up," it becomes clear that something larger than just Cage's eternal purgatory is happening.

The next morning, Cage has to figure out how to escape from the drill sergeants and Farell and J Company (it takes a few times), in order to track down Rita. But finally he finds her, and then has to explain again who he is. But she listens, and she tells him why he's there: the same thing happened to her. The time loop? It's how she turned the tide at Verdun. The loop always reset when she died, and she was able to figure out how to best fight the battle. More than that, though - with the help of a now-disgraced scientist, Dr. Carter (Noah Taylor), Rita and Cage are able to piece together what the Mimic strategy is. They also figure out that the Mimics work as a hivemind, and that hidden somewhere is the giant Mimic brian. Kill that, and the war will be over.

Oh, and this time looping thing? Is actually a Mimic power. They use the time loops to win battles, but when Cage killed that weird looking Mimic and it bled on him, he somehow tapped into the Mimic hivemind and hijacked the power. They would like it back, please.

The rest of the film is a thoroughly enjoyable action version of Groundhog Day (complete with a love interest named Rita). Cage and Rita have to figure out every step to get off of the beach and track down the Mimic brain, and it's hard because for Rita, she has to relearn it every day. It's hard for Cage, because he has to die every day. For some reason, he doesn't like that.

As the movie progresses, we see Cage begin to grow and develop. While at first he is defined primarily by his self-interest and craven focus on his own survival, he becomes a genuinely good person. By sheer exposure, he comes to know and care about all of the people in his life on this day, from Farell to Rita to Dr. Carter to the entirety of J Company. Slowly, over time, Cage becomes the kind of person he was always pretending to be.

Which is a pretty cool character arc, when it comes down to it.

But the real interesting thing that happens, at least to my mind, is that Cage eventually falls in love with Rita (that bit's not interesting, we could tell that was going to happen from the get-go), and then has to parse what this means in terms of his decision to save the world. Also, if he's gotten this far because he has the chance to relive his day no matter how many times it takes to get it right, what happens when he suddenly loses the power?

I'm not going to tell you, though obviously it does happen because it would be terrible writing not to include that. Instead, I'd like to segue into talking about Rita herself. Because Rita is a weird character. She is both representative of a trope that I haaaaaaate, the badass strong female character with no character development, and also perfectly written and suited for her role in the movie.

It's this frustrating duality. On the one hand, Rita Vratasky doesn't really do anything. Like, she's just there to give exposition and be all damaged and wounded and stuff and train Cage, but the movie makes it clear that none of this in any way makes her a weaker or less interesting character. As is pointed out in that really awesome article on Trinity Syndrome (seriously, go read it), Rita's status as mentor and love interest, and even the fact that Cage's character is advanced because he is distressed by always seeing her die, actually serves to make her character more compelling, not less. It's the rare case where the trope, the cliche of the strong female character, actually kind of works?

And I feel weird about that. I mean, Rita's amazing, and I love that she is shown to be the brains behind this whole operation, as well as being the single funniest character in the movie, but there's something a little unnerving when you consider that her entire role in the film is to facilitate Cage's transformation. That's problematic.

However, since Cage is stuck in a time loop, and he is effectively alone in that loop, everyone exists to facilitate Cage's transformation. As a result, it's kind of okay that Rita doesn't have a life outside of her intersection with Cage. No one does. The movie is hyper-focused on Cage's actions and his time loop, and therefore no character is relevant except insofar as they move Cage along.

I will say that I find it annoying that Rita is one of the only female characters in the whole film, though. The only other named female character (that I can think of) is Nance (Charlotte Riley), a member of J Company and one of the people Cage comes to care about very much. I really like Nance, but she's not in the movie much, and her role is even more curtailed than Rita's. She doesn't get to know about the time loop, though she does get to do some pretty kickass stuff. 

Still, that's pretty much it. There's really only the two of them, and that seems frustrating. I mean, there is absolutely no reason why one of the other really interesting male characters couldn't have been female. Both the General and Farell would have made really compelling female characters. For that matter, why couldn't we have had Gina Torres or Cate Blanchett playing Cage, this mid-forties talking head who has to suddenly learn how to fight and then finds herself with the power to save the world?

Come on, you know that would be an amazing freaking movie.

For that matter, while I was watching the film, I realized I wasn't watching the movie I really wanted to see. I, personally, really wanted to watch the Battle of Verdun, where we see Rita Vratasky, a green recruit who's never been in combat, suddenly gain the power to manipulate time, and then learn how to turn the tide of the war, fighting and dying over and over again, telling her superiors and then being turned over for dissection and study, then rebooting again... I just came out of the movie feeling that even though I understand why they made Cage the main character, and why it works much better in a film to have a mentor figure who's done it all before, I want to see that. I would love to see this movie from Rita's point of view.

Because Rita is a static character. She has no transformational arc of her own, by sheer virtue of the fact that from her perspective, only two days pass, and then she always resets. Rita is always the same. Now, that works for this film, but it doesn't work nearly anywhere else.

As my friend Kyla pointed out, while she sat across the kitchen table from me and patiently listened to me talk about this movie for twenty minutes, it's always a tricky topic when you're dealing with tropes and cliches. Because they are terrible and lazy writing, usually, but for every fifty or so terrible stories where the female character has no arc and exists only to support the main male character, there's one where that's true, but it's okay because it works. So, what? Do you throw out the ones that make sense just because of the overwhelming number of them that don't? I honestly don't know, but I do think it's important to think about.

The real upshot here, though, is that Edge of Tomorrow is a good movie, really and truly. Do I think it would have been ten times more kickass if Gina Torres played Cage? Yes, obviously, because I think Gina Torres makes everything better. Or, oooooh, Lucy Liu. 

Oh man. Lucy Liu as Cage, the smarmy self-involved recruiter, and then Emily Blunt keeps her role as Rita because let's be real she's perfectly cast. But pulling in Meryl freaking Streep as the General, and Maria Doyle Kennedy as Master Sergeant Farell, and, well, I'm pretty sure I just made the best movie known to man. Emily Watson can come along as Dr. Carter. Because here's the thing about damaging tropes of female characters: they matter most, and arguably they only matter, when that trope is the only woman we meet in the movie.

Rita Vratasky is a rockstar, but she's problematic not because of anything inherent in her character. She's difficult because she's the only major female character in the movie. If every major character in this movie, or even just one other character of note, were female, then it wouldn't really matter, would it? But because she's the only woman, and she exists only to facilitate Cage's journey, her story is a bit thorny. 

There's a very easy solution to that, and it's one that we need to stop ignoring.

You're wonderful and I love you.

Think of the Children! Tuesday: Sailor Moon and Feminine Diversity

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I don't know if you know this, guys, but Sailor Moon has been remastered and is being re-released on Hulu. Possibly on other non-internet channels as well, but I'm less up on that. The exciting bit is that this Sailor Moon is the original Japanese version with freshly translated subtitles, cleaned up images, and no weird story changes in order to make it more "palatable" for an American audience. 

What we're left with is the pure, unfiltered show as it was always meant to be, and that's amazing. I've been watching it because of course I have (only the first season is up on Hulu so far), and I have to say that it's wonderful. Also, though, I'm finding that there is a lot more going on in this show than I remember. Probably because I was a little kid myself when it was first airing in the US.

The thing is, sometime in the past fifteen years or so, I kind of forgot what the show is actually like. I remembered the plot, of course, because how could you forget a plot like this? But I didn't remember precisely how the show manages to show a complex understanding of feminine strength in various forms and how it never privileges one form of strength over another. In other words, I forgot precisely how much this show rules and needs to be watched by everyone ever.

There's no angst. Like, I feel like it's hard to remember why that's a big deal, but it is. Just think about it. When else have we seen a portrayal of a teenage girl who gains magical superpowers, and who doesn't immediately start angsting about what this means and how she can no longer live a normal life and being all sad. It's become an incredibly accepted trope, that one cannot have superpowers without being conflicted about how they impact your life. I mean, Buffy was always buried under the weight of her chosen-ness. She loved being a "hot chick with superpowers", but she also worried about how it led to a lonely road and how it changed her life.

Usagi does not have that problem. Usagi does not think that having superpowers negatively affects her life. Usagi really liked having magic powers that help her solve problems, and even when they don't help her in an obvious way, she still doesn't mind them. Usagi, and this is the most important bit for me, is excited to have powers and even more excited to meet other girls who also have powers. In other words, this show is incredibly progressive because it's doesn't just feature a teenage girl with magic abilities saving the world, it also shows her teaming up with other super-powered teenagers and being friends with them.


That shouldn't be a big thing, it really shouldn't, but it is. And it's the large bulk of what I forgot about the show. I forgot that as much as Sailor Moon is about fighting evil and saving people, it's much more fundamentally about being friends and loving who you are. And that's absolutely amazing. In fact, I would go so far as to say that this is precisely the show that I want any preteen girl to be watching. No, it doesn't get it right 100% of the time, but it gets it right a lot more than most shows can boast.

Before we get into that, though, let's take a minute and remember what the show is actually about: Usagi (voiced by Kotono Mitsuishi) is a clumsy, lazy, food-obsessed high school student who rescues a mysterious cat on her way to school one day and gains magical powers. She gains the ability to turn into Sailor Moon, the "pretty guardian who fights for love and justice". Basically, an awesome superhero in a cute costume who stops weird monsters from sucking people's "energy".

It's a bit silly, and that's okay.

As she goes through her adventures, Usagi starts to pick up some friends: namely, Sailors Mercury and Mars. Sailor Mercury is a bookish girl named Ami (Hisako Kanemoto) who relies on her intellect to solve their occasional mysteries, and Sailor Mars is a shrine maiden named Rei (Rina Satou) with anger management problems. I relate best to Rei, and I try not to read all that much into that.

The show itself is very episodic, with each episode (in the first season at least) starting when the bad guys hatch some scheme to hurt people, and then we cut to Usagi and her friends vaguely noticing that something bad is happening before they realize that maybe they ought to do something about it. I wish I could give a more concise explanation, but you get the drift. Eventually Usagi manages to get her head above all of the random crap going on in her life long enough to save the day and defeat the monster, and then everything is cool again. Hurray!

When I put it like this, it's actually a little hard to see why this is such a feminist show. I mean, shouldn't the ultimate feminist show be more serious and self-aware and intentional? 

To my mind, no, it shouldn't. Look, Usagi is a pretty useless character. She's not very smart, she's not particularly hard-working, she's wildly irresponsible, and she cries all the time. Arguably I should hate her. But I don't hate her, and I don't really know anyone who does. More than that, for all that she's pretty much the worst candidate for getting superpowers that I can think of, she's actually really great at being a superhero. Not because she's self-assured or capable of resisting the enemy's tricks,* but because Usagi really loves people and wants to help them.

It's not that she's an inherently good person or even a particularly capable one, it's that Usagi wants to be a good person and a capable one. She's a great hero because she wants to help people. She's a leader because she genuinely enjoys other human beings and wants them to be well. I mean, for crying out loud, she goes in one episode from thinking that Ami is a monster who must be defeated to declaring them best friends and spending all of her time with her. And that's not out of character. That's just what Usagi does.

And for all that I find it hilarious how ill-equipped she is for being a superhero, I actually stinking love that the greatest defense Earth has against trans-dimensional monsters is a fourteen year old girl who fantasizes about food all the time, is chronically late for school, is super sensitive and over-emotional, and who moons over cute guys. I don't find that anti-feminist at all, actually. I find it incredibly, wonderfully feminist. 

I find it feminist, and healthy and commendable and stuff, because Usagi isn't considered less because she likes girly things. She's not a worse person because she's a bit silly sometimes, that's just who she is. And sure, her tendencies to get distracted can be a little frustrating to everyone around her (mostly Rei and Luna, her magical cat), but they aren't inherently bad. Oftentimes, it's Usagi's distraction and wandering mind that ends up helping defeat the monster.

I guess the big thing I get from it is that the show makes it clear that you, as you are, are a hero. You don't have to wait until you're some big grownup who can make reasonable choices and it's a complete and total mess before you can save the world. You can save the world right now, as you, you beautiful mess. That appeals to me.

Because, to be fair, that's much more true to life, isn't it? As someone probably very famous said, "God doesn't call the equipped, he equips the called." You don't automatically start out with the skills and talents and inherent abilities to do the thing that you need to do. You have to learn those along the way. And not being qualified to do something doesn't mean you don't still have to do it.

Obviously this does not hold true in all cases. I don't want my surgeon to be learning things as she goes along, I would like her to already have all of the training and information she needs in order to make me not die. But it is very true of life. You have to start living and taking care of yourself well before you feel ready. I don't actually know anyone who genuinely and truly felt that they were prepared for adulthood when it came. You just go with it. You save the world even though you failed your last math test.

Which is sort of another thing I love about this show: it makes the incredibly valid point that you just plain old won't ever be good at everything. Usagi is great at being Sailor Moon and saving the world. She's awesome at friendship and videogames and loving people well. She is terrible at school. Really, objectively terrible. And that's okay. That makes sense. In fact, it makes more sense that she would be in some way flawed than that she wouldn't be. A show where the female superhero character is always perfect would actually be more regressive than a show where she has flaws. Because if she has flaws, she's a person, and I've always believed that women are people.

What makes this even better is that Usagi isn't the only female character in the show. A lot of stories fall into that trap, of making a really amazing and progressive female character as their leader, and then surrounding her exclusively with dudes. I get why that happens, but I also think it is bad and shouldn't happen. Fortunately, Sailor Moon doesn't do that. Arguably, it does the inverse. There are very few dudes in this universe, and instead of seeing male characters, what we get are really complex and interesting differed views of femininity and female power.

Let's just take the main three sailor scouts from the first season as examples. First you have Usagi the beautiful mess. Her reaction to becoming a superhero is pretty much, "Sweet! I have infinite power! I want a cookie!" Which is totally a valid response. Then there's Ami, who reacts with a calm and determined, "Okay, I guess I now have to go to the library and read every book ever written on the topic of celestial powers because if I'm going to be a superhero, I need to know what I'm doing."

And then there's Rei, who reacts with a very simple, "Of course I'm a superhero I was already a superhero, get out of my way I need to be superheroing." 

All three of these are totally valid reactions to suddenly gaining massive amounts of magical power, but they're all completely different. Not one girl reacted the same way as another at all, but they all reacted well and complexly and in fitting kind with their characters. Women are complex. Female strength is a large category. Heck yes there is a diversity of reaction here!

I love this show because it gives us both Usagi and Rei and doesn't tell us that either of them is wrong. It gives three completely different approaches and privileges none of them. What this means for a teenage (or younger) girl watching the show is that she can look at this wealth of female characters (I mean, I haven't even mentioned the other sailor scouts, or the friends hanging around, or the villains) and she can decide who she wants to be. Who she wants to emulate. What pieces she relates to.

That matters.

Also, incidentally, the male characters are also pretty cool. Tuxedo Mask largely works as a deconstruction of female superhero types in other media - in that he always shows up to give Usagi a pep talk and then mysteriously disappear without doing anything useful - and he's honestly just a fun character. Umino is a cute little weirdo, and Jadeite is about as complex as you expect a villain to be in this kind of show. What's notable here is that while these male characters aren't as complex as their female counterparts, they are still complicated, and more than that, they show a multiplicity of masculine forms. That matters too.

But most of all, if you're looking for something to watch this summer, you should watch Sailor Moon because it's fun, and it makes you feel good inside. I think of it as the emotional equivalent of drinking a fruit smoothie. It's good for you, sure, but not as good as like eating a head of kale or something. It tastes great, and it won't make your insides hate you. What more do you really need?

Usagi and I share a favorite hobby: sleeping.
*My friend Kyla and I were discussing why Usagi always falls for the villains' schemes, while some of the other Sailor Scouts don't. We weren't sure if this was a writing inconsistency, or if it was, as Kyla put it, "Because she's weak." Either way, I'm okay with it. It makes for a better story.

RECAP: Game of Thrones 4x10 - The Rise of the Murder Child

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At last, at last I have finally gotten around to recapping this episode. Oddly, it's not because I hadn't seen it. I saw it a few days ago, but it's more because I've gotten so in depth with my recapping here (don't lie, you've noticed), that it takes me for-freaking-ever to finish a single episode recap. I'm not really saying that's a bad thing, since I do appreciate the ability to parse every single minute detail of the episode, but it is, well, time consuming.

Also I'm on vacation, and it's weirdly hard to find a couple hours to sit down and write when you're couch-surfing. Funny thing.

But here it is! Done at last. The recap of the finale of the fourth season of Game of Thrones. Oh yes. 

When it comes to the season as a whole, I feel like this was a season of very high highs and very low lows, particularly as regards female character development. On the one hand you have Arya and Sansa's developments into two very different but both incredibly formidable women. Arya has grown ever more bloodthirsty, while Sansa has learned the truth of political machinations. Daenerys has had her own thing going on, which seems to be neither particularly bad or good, and Brienne has been Brienne, because she never really changes that much and that's okay.

On the bad side, however, we have seen the destruction of Shae's character, which is problematic at best, as well as Cersei's rape and character assassination. Margaery Tyrell was retconned as a naive adorable little princess, while Lysa Arron was basically a psychopathic shrew from every misogynist's nightmares. There was bad and there was good. But, tragically, mostly bad.

I mean, this season had an incredibly high level of sexualized violence even for this show, going so far as to show casual rape in the background of exposition scenes. It featured a teenage girl being blamed for her sexual harassment, and was chock-a-brick full of male characters demanding control of female characters' sexuality. All deeply and meaningfully problematic. The show couldn't and didn't go a single episode without a reference to sexual violence. Just in general? Not a great year.

Which is really sad when you consider that a lot of this isn't from the books. A lot of this is new, added into the story to create "color" and "depth" and "realism" by the television adaptation. It unfortunately takes a relatively feminist book series (relatively) that deals explicitly with the bad implications of a patriarchal ruling structure, and turns it into a sexist fairy tale.

But that's enough ranting for now. What actually happened in the episode?

Picking up literally seconds after we left off last episode, Jon Snow is walking out onto the battlefield to have a chat with (and attempt to assassinate) Mance, the "King Beyond the Wall." Jon knows that they the Black Brothers have virtually no resources left to withstand more attacks, and he also knows that Mance does. So he needs to bluff like hell, and ideally kill Mance. 

Mance, who as you may recall last season saved Jon from being murdered for being a member of the Night's Watch, is a bit miffed to find that his little protege is back to being a "crow". Mance was really rooting for you, Jon! How dare you! But Mance, being a shockingly nice guy, agrees to parlay. They meet in his tent-hut-thing, where Jon reveals that yes, he was lying the entire time he was cozying up to the Wildlings. Also they talk about how Ygritte is dead, and it is sad.

Interestingly, Mance offers Jon a drink and they speak much as equals. I don't want to read too much into this scene (though I'm not sure that's humanly possible in this story), but I do find it interesting that before sitting down to negotiations, the two of them share refreshments. It's an old tradition in the real world, that when you share a drink or meal with someone, you are then family, or at least not enemies, and therefore refreshments are typically served during negotiations. Whether or not one party eats and drinks is a big political statement. Anyway. I just think that's interesting.

Jon and Mance talk about the battle and the good soldiers who will be missed. Mance eulogizes the giant, Mags. Jon talks about Ren. They drink a toast. And then they get down to business. Mance knows that Jon has almost no men left and that he can't sustain another battle. He's willing to offer Jon a deal: let the Wildlings over the Wall (through the tunnel, specifically) and Mance's army will not kill another man. If the Night's Watch continues to fight, then they will lose.

For obvious reasons, Jon doesn't want to take that deal. But he does listen as Mance explains what they're doing. I mean, it's not like the Wildlings are just out for a stroll. They're running. Running and hiding from the White Walkers, and they want to hide behind that giant Wall just as much as everyone else does. 

Which brings up the really solid reason why Jon should take this deal: Ultimately, Mance is not the enemy. The White Walkers are. And every Wildling they leave unprotected on the other side of the Wall is a potential White Walker. That's a looooooot of potential unkillable zombies, you know? Makes sense to bolster your numbers and face the real threat together. I mean, how much more effective would the Night's Watch be with an army of a hundred-thousand fighters manning the Wall. A hundred-thousand fighters who know exactly what they're fighting and why it is imperative that they win.

I'm just saying. Logic.

But Jon doesn't really do logic. He considers it for a minute, but then he reveals his real purpose in being there: he wants to kill Mance. Mance isn't super surprised. We never get to find out what Jon will do, though, because a horn sounds. The Wildling camp is under attack, and it's definitely not the Night's Watch. They don't have the men. It's also not the White Walkers. 

They're being attacked by an incredibly coordinated army on horseback that ride through the Wildling horde like knives and meet in the center around Mance. Who the heckity heck is this? Mance and Jon stand at the center of the attack, and Mance orders his men to stand down. There has already been too much death (Mance is, for the record, pretty much the only good king we've yet seen on the show - he is a legitimately good and just ruler). 

The leaders of this mystery army come forward and...it's Stannis Baratheon and Davos Seaworth. I guess they got that army they were trying to buy. And their attack strategy seems to be conquering the North. Not a bad strategy. Still, Stannis is as charisma-less and dour as ever (I kind of wish they'd cast Christopher Eccleston in the part, but that wouldn't work since Eccleston is so stinking charismatic in everything). He demands that Mance bow to him, because he is the "One True King". 

Mance rightly points out that they're not in Stannis' kingdom, but Stannis will hear none of it. Jon intervenes eventually, and demands that Stannis recognize and appreciate what Ned Stark did. Ned Stark, if you recall, died an honorable death in support of Stannis' claim to the throne. Jon successfully shames Stannis into not killing Mance for refusing to bow, and they take Mance prisoner instead. After all, Mance has good information to tell them.

But Jon isn't done. He also warns Stannis, "Your Grace, if my father had seen the things that I've seen, he'd also tell you to burn the dead before nightfall. All of them." Clever boy. He's learning.

Down in King's Landing, Gregor Clegane, the Mountain, is dying from the manticore venom that Oberyn dipped his blade in. Oberyn might be dead, but his influence is still being felt, in the vengeance-y, killing a dude from beyond the grave kind of way. Maester Pycell, who as you may recall is completely useless, doesn't think anything can be done, but Cersei refuses to believe that. Instead, she turns to a rogue healer who was too radical to be a Maester. This guy very well might be able to save the Mountain. But the Mountain might come back a little different. As in more murder-y. Cersei has no problem with that, and that's not comforting.

She then goes to have a chat with her Daddy, good old Tywin Lannister, about how she is absolutely, definitely not going to marry Loras Tyrell. Partly because she doesn't want to marry a gay guy (but then again, who is she to judge who Loras wants to sleep with, I mean, really?), and partly because she refuses to leave Tommen alone on the throne. She knows that Margaery has sunk her claws in, and she knows that Tywin would love nothing more than to manipulate the boy around his own finger. She won't let that happen. Lion mom!

Tywin, however, will hear nothing of the sort. He is sure that he has the upper hand and that she'll fall into line. But Cersei has a trump card. The trump card, really. If Tywin tries to force her to marry Loras and abandon Tommen, she will burn their House to the ground. She'll tell everyone the truth, that Joffrey and Tommen and Myrcella are Jaime's children, not Robert's. Tywin refuses to believe it, but she knows he knows she's not lying. Because she isn't. Those are some incest-babies. Tywin's legacy is a lie.

Tywin is not having a good day, is he? I mean, he's a jerk-face, but it's still not a good day. Also I should note that this episode aired on Father's Day, and that just makes me giggle. In a mean way.

Next on her tour through abandoned plotlines, Cersei goes to see Jaime and crow about her victory. She affirms her commitment to her family, and when he points out that Tyrion is her family, she denies it. She calls him a sickness, blames him for killing their mother, everything. And then they have sex. Confusing messages, guys. Not feeling like Cersei is particularly well written.

And then we transition over to Meereen, where Daenerys is still ruling, and unfortunately still having to hear the problems that her salt and burn style of conquering has caused. I think it's excellent writing, to force her to face her issues, but it's not particularly fun to watch. You want to cheer Dany on, right? And yet here she is, getting another much deserved punch in the face. Sigh. 

This particular punch comes in the form of a lovely old man who actually quite liked his position in the household where he was a slave. He understands that she needed to kill the Masters, but points out validly that when he left his home with his Master, he was put out onto the streets. The barracks and homes for the freed slaves are poorly managed and full of abuse, because that's how they are. That's how people are. 

The man has one desire: that Daenerys allow him to sell himself back into slavery and return to his old life. And there are more men outside ready to beg the same. Dany is unhappy with this concept, but as she rightly understands, she conquered the city in order to allow men to make their own choices about what they do with their lives. He may sign a contract to put himself back into the service of his old master, but the contract may not be for more than a year. Huh. So Dany is learning.

I mean, as Barristan points out, this will be easily abused, but there's not a huge amount she can do about that other than what she is already doing. She will simply have to keep a close watch and continue to keep a close watch.

Then the next petitioner comes in, and his case is a little more complex. He holds a bundle in his hands: it's his daughter. Burned to death by dragonfire. Ugh, my heart is breaking, and so is Dany's. She consults with Missandei and Grey Worm after. Drogon, the dragon that did it, is missing and has not been seen in days. But she can do something about the other two. Dany calls her other two dragons down into the catacombs. She has meat for them there. And also massive freaking chains.

Daenerys comes down and sits with her boys. As they fall into a drugged sleep, she puts the chains around their necks and walks away. Holy crap this is heartbreaking. Which makes me a little sad, actually. I mean, people dying? No problem. Dragons getting chained up? I am made of tears. It's not proportionate, no, but it is, well, understandable. These dragons have done nothing wrong, not really, and yet I can understand why Dany would do this. She has to do this. It's just still heartbreaking. I find the situations that have no clear answer to be the most tragic.

And then we're back at Castle Black, with Maester Aemon eulogizing the dead. Now their watch has ended, and he sends them off to whatever depressing afterlife Westeros has. They do have the presence of mind to burn the bodies, fortunately, saving us all from yet more ice zombies stumbling around next season. The camera lingers on Ren and Pip, Jon and Sam's two friends who died in the battle, and we watch as flames engulf the bodies and Jon Snow is baptized in smoke. Metaphors!

Jon goes back into a storeroom at Castle Black, apparently to talk to that big mean Wildling in charge dude. I really wish I were better at remembering names. The guy wants to know what will happen to him now. But Jon is more concerned with dealing with the dead. They will also be burned, and Jon wants to know what the Wildling's funeral practices are. They really only have one, and it's about Ygritte: she belongs in the North. The real North.

So Jon carries his dead lady-love up through the Wall and into the real North, where he then burns her on a pyre. Sadness is felt, but you know it's one of those things where this is all going to make Jon a better leader and more interesting character. You know, because the lady died to give him character development. Hurray.

Further up North, Jojen, Meera, Hodor, and Bran are continuing their quest to find the "three-eyed raven". Meera is afraid that they're not going to make it, since Jojen is already collapsing in the cold, but Jojen assures her that "we're already here". Not sure if that's supposed to be comforting or not, because it isn't. Still, Bran calls them over, and it's true. They are "here", wherever "here" is. They're staring out across the barren, snowy wilderness at a giant freaking tree, divinely lit and covered with autumn leaves. I am sure this is in some way really important.

As they approach the tree, though, Jojen falls on the ice and gets grabbed by what appear to be much more literal zombies. Not just White Walkers, these are straight up zombies. And reanimated skeletons. It feels a little out of place, not gonna lie. But yeah, Jojen falls, and everyone else books it for the tree, while crying and being really sad and stuff. Bran uses his Warg skills to control Hodor and fight off the zombies so they can get away. I wonder if Hodor is okay with this. I mean, I know that he's clearly some form of neurologically atypical, but we really don't know what kind. All we know is his verbal tic (saying Hodor instead of any other word). Just saying.

And then a horrifyingly creepy child shows up and says, "Come with me, Brandon Stark!" and they're just like, "Okay, seems legit. It's not like you're a mysterious creepy child standing in the middle of an arctic snow field or anything." Also the child can throw zombie defeating fireballs. This is weird. Very very weird.

But whatever, our gang has now finally reached the giant tree. In fact, they're not just at the tree, they're actually inside it. When asked what it is, the child replies, "The First Men called us the Children. But we were here long before them." Well that's ominous. And spooky. Then she (he?) brings Bran to another part of the tree where "he" is waiting. They come to a more open area where an old dude is sitting on a wooden throne. He's the three-eyed raven.

The Raven explains that Jojen always knew that he would die in the attempt to get there. Also the Raven tells them that he has watched them all through all of their lives. And now they're here, "though the hour is very late." Bran thinks for a moment that the Raven is going to help him walk again. He won't. But he will teach Bran to fly.

It's interesting. I really do enjoy these scenes that give us more explicit information on how Westeros was formed, since it is becoming increasingly clear that the "First Men" were nothing of the sort, and that whatever was there before was more powerful and a bit scarier. Sort of like how I always wish we could get more information on the Godswood and the Old Gods of the North. That crap is interesting. Then again, little interludes like this feel very weird and out of place in the show. I'm not sure what the solution is here, but it's a problem I would like to see resolved. 

Further South (quite a bit further), Brienne and Podrick wake up to find their horses gone. Good job Podrick. And now they have to walk to the Eyrie. Fun times for them, huh? They walk on a bit, and then come upon a strange little girl practicing her dancing. Arya. She's working with her sword, and when she sees people coming she makes the Hound stop going to the bathroom so they can greet them. 

Brienne and Pod are still on their way to the Bloody Gate, and ask for directions. Arya gives them, and then Brienne and Arya have the conversation we've all been waiting for, wherein our two favorite lady fighters talk about sexism and frustrations and fighting. Nice. Unfortunately, it devolves as soon as Brienne recognizes Arya and spouts off about her vow to Lady Catelyn and how she's supposed to take care of Arya. Neither Arya nor the Hound are comfortable with this proclamation. Especially when Brienne reveals that the reason she didn't save Catelyn because she was escorting a Lannister. 

Finally it breaks down into a fight between the Hound at Brienne. It's interesting because the Hound has come to really care for Arya, and thinks of her as his daughter. He watches over her. It's a solid character arc, even if we do have to remember that Arya still wants him dead. What follows is a fight that is both brutal and cringe-inducing in its realism. This isn't pretty, it's not graceful, it's just a slugfest with swords.

Nobody wins, in the end. The Hound is mortally wounded, and Brienne is left wondering where Arya has gone. She and Pod go after the girl, who honestly just hid in the rock and comes down to watch the Hound die. He begs her to kill him. She doesn't. She just watches, then takes his money, then goes away. Because Arya is a terrifying murder child. Kudos to Maisie Williams, though. That scene was fantastic.

It's also really interesting to wonder at what precisely Arya is doing as she watches the Hound bleed out. He begs her to kill him, reminds her that he's on her list, even tries to incite her to violence by shouting about the butcher's boy he killed and how he murdered her sister's wolf. But Arya doesn't kill him. We don't know if this is because she loves him, as he is her protector, or if it's becaues she hates him, as he did kidnap her and also murder her friend. The ambiguity seems to be largely what defines Arya's character.

In the King's Landing jail, Jaime comes to spring Tyrion. He might be willing to let his little brother suffer a while but he's not about to let him die. He's got a ship waiting, and he's ready to get Tyrion out of the city. Tyrion, however, has other plans. He's not about to rush away from the city with all of his unfinished business hanging out. Jaime and Tyrion say a heartfelt goodbye, and Tyrion runs.

Not very far, actually though. He runs upstairs into the castle, where he finds Shae lying in Tywin Lannister's bed. To be fair, she is a prostitute, so it's not like this is the most surprising turn of events ever. It's honestly rather hard to blame her too, since we have no idea whether or not this is consensual, and, well, we never did get to see things from Shae's perspective. Anyway, Tyrion attacks her and goes nuts and proceeds to straight up murder the woman he called the love of his life.

I am not okay with this. I am not even a little bit okay with this.

I mean, not only is this an incredibly brutal scene of domestic violence and murder, of specifically sexualized murder as it is a man killing his former lover in a fit of rage, but it's also, well, Tyrion. I like Tyrion, or I want to like him, and I had always thought of him as a character who respected women more than the average Westerosi male. Apparently I was wrong in that, since his immediate reaction on seeing Shae is not, "Hey, remember how you lied on the stand about me? What was up with that? Is that really how you remember it?", it's murder.

And this is a bit problematic in the narrative because Tyrion is our hero. He's a "good guy." So when Tyrion refuses to even consider the possibility that his girlfriend didn't see their relationship the same way he did, it gives us license to discount her testimony. It wasn't like that, because Tyrion says it wasn't like that, and obviously Tyrion is right. Except for the part where that's not obvious or necessarily true at all. Most insulting of all? He says sorry afterwards. 

Tyrion leaves the scene of the crime, goes into the privy, where he finds his father. Then he shoots Tywin with a crossbow. Like a lot. Tywin says that Tyrion isn't his son. He also admits that he's always wanted his son dead. He admires that Tyrion keeps on refusing to die. Which is nice, I guess. But when Tyrion asks why Tywin would sleep with Shae, and Tywin points out that she's a whore, Tyrion freaks the crap out. He doesn't want Tywin to call her that. Somehow he is managing to completely ignore that he also paid her, and that most importantly, he literally just murdered her.

Ignore all this and look at murder child.
Then Tywin calls her a whore again, and Tyrion shoots him, and he's dying. Tywin says that Tyrion isn't his son, and Tyrion affirms that he is. Personally though, I think Tywin was trying to actually get some information across in that moment, that Tyrion really isn't his son. He's a secret Targaryen. 

But that's not the really salient point here. Let's talk about Tyrion murdering his girlfriend for daring to contradict his version of events, and basically for being a whore, then murdering his father for admitting that she was a whore. The problem here is that Tyrion's actions are being framed as good and right. He's doing this not because he's a crazypants murderer, but because these people have wronged him. And that's an issue in and of itself. But it's even more frightening to think that literally moments after he murders her, Tyrion kills his own father to protect Shae's dignity. No one's allowed to call her a whore, even if Tyrion did just murder her for being one.

This is the kind of double-think that is particularly endemic in rape culture. We're supposed to understand why Tyrion killed her, and then applaud him for standing up for her honor afterwards. We're not supposed to question or mind the issues inherent here. But I do. Question and mind.

Okay, back to the story. Varys turns up, is all shocked at what Tyrion did, and then packs him into a box, loads him on a ship, and gets him the crap out of King's Landing. Thanks, Varys. But as he's turning to leave, Varys hears the bells in the sept ringing, and apparently that makes him get back on the boat and sit down right next to Tyrion's box. I guess Varys is leaving too?

Finally, we come across a lone Arya, who rides her horse through the hill country. She spots a shipyward and races up to see the Captain. She asks him to take her North to the Wall. But the ship isn't going North. Its going to Braavos. And at first the Captain brushes her off, but Arya has something for that too. She hands him the piece of iron she got from Jacquen Hagar, tells him "Valar morghulis", and he lets her on the ship. Our baby Arya is off to learn how to murder people more and better.

End of episode. End of season.

Well that was devastating.

MINI-BREAK - I'm on Vacation, Dudes.

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Yeah, so I know that I should be writing those two recaps of Orphan Black episodes, and also probably writing about Queen Catherine from Reign, because she is amazing. Also, brewing some fun stuff on a couple of kids' movies and the always entertaining world of comics. 

But for the moment, all of that is taking a backseat to my visit home, where I am chilling with my family, enjoying the sun, and generally wondering why on Earth I moved away from such a wonderful place.

Be jealous.


I'll be back with a review of Snowpiercer on Monday, which you should all watch over the weekend because yes.

Snowpiercer - What Is the Cost of Your Survival?

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Back in grad school, all those ages and ages (about three years) ago, my friends and I liked to talk a lot about the apocalypse and what we would do if an apocalyptic event were to hit. Part of this was because, as grad students studying movies and television, we watched a lot of movies about this stuff, and another part was because we were all at that time living in Los Angeles, which is particularly bad place to be in case of emergency.

But I think the main reason we talked about it so much, and we really did, was because we never really came to a satisfying conclusion on the subject. We always fell into three separate camps. There was camp "I hope I just die immediately and then don't have to worry about it," and camp "I've got this you guys, no seriously, I am so ready," and camp "Isn't this kind of morbid? We should talk about something else."

Personally, I wavered between the second and third camps, always trying to figure out if I was one of those people utterly convinced of my ability to live in terrible situations, or if I thought considering the concept of mass slaughter was a little icky. In my mind, though, I guess I always thought of myself as the hero of the story. We all do. I imagined the end of the world coming, and I figured that I would be that one character who gets to live to the end, scarred but relatively untouched by all the horror, who escapes out into the world and lives happily ever after in a sanctuary in the wilderness.

I bring this up because now, in light of having seen Snowpiercer, I think I need to add a new category to that discussion. I still don't want to die immediately, but I am no longer comfortable banking on my own survival. More than that, though, I've gotten past the part of myself where I think this a morbid and icky question to ask. I mean, it is. It is morbid and icky. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't ask the question. What it actually means is that we must. And we must ask it now.

Snowpiercer is a dystopian sci-fi movie from the awesome South Korean director Bong Joon-ho (he did The Host and Mother), based on a French comic from the 1980s. The premise of the film, which is very high-concept and honestly bizarre, is that our attempts to fight global warming have brought on a new ice age. All life on Earth has frozen to death, except for a thousand survivors or so, all trapped on a single train that perpetually circles the planet, sustaining the population inside and presumably waiting for the day when it's safe to go outside. But not so much that last part.

The movie itself takes place seventeen years after the planet froze, which means that the main characters of the film have been living on a train for almost two decades. The train itself isn't just one big party, either. It functions as a microcosm of the world: in the front, you have the first class tickets, who live in luxury and excess. Then, the economy class, who work for the first class passengers and go about their lives further back. Finally, in the very tail of the train, with the least space and the worst conditions, are the freeloaders, who have no tickets, and live in less-than-third-world squalor. 

These are our heroes.

It's clear from the first ten minutes or so that the conditions in the tail, where everyone is grimy and grubby, covered in matted filth and struggling to keep warm, are horrific, even when compared with the literal unseen. We have no idea what the rest of the train looks like, but we know it must be better than this. At the very least, the soldiers and officials who come back every once are clean.

So it's not hard to put it down to class envy that the tail passengers are fomenting revolt. Led by Curtis (Chris Evans) and Gilliam (John Hurt), the tail section is getting ready to fight their oppressors and make their way to the front of the train, fighting to take the engine and seize power. As Curtis says, "If we control the engine, we control the world."

But it's more complicated than just class jealousy. I mean, the tail passengers assume that the people in the front must have it better than they do (because they certainly can't have it worse), but the real reason they're getting ready to revolt is quite simple. It's for the kids. This visceral and horrifying moment when a woman from the front of the train comes to the tail and, without speaking a word, takes two of their children away. Revolutions have been fought for less, and really it's not a minor thing. The tail passengers aren't people to those in the front. They're animals. They're livestock.

And so the story begins. I'm really not going to go into details about what actually happens, because literally anything I could write would ruin it, but suffice it to say that the story is never dull or lagging, the plot is engrossing and completely captivating, and the cast is incredible. Chris Evans deserves an Oscar for his work on this film, and Tilda Swinton (who plays a sniveling bureaucrat who worships the "sacred engine") and Song Kang-ho (who plays a drug-addled security specialist with his own agenda) also need some critical recognition. 

Also it has Octavia Spencer, Jamie Bell, Ed Harris, the aforementioned John Hurt, Ewen Bremmer, Ko Ah-sung, Alison Pill, Luke Pasqualino, and more. Everyone is just acting their butts off in this movie. Everyone. Which does bring us to another point about the movie: it's racially diverse and has pretty solid gender representation. I mean, that only makes sense, since this train is supposed to contain the last of humanity, and humanity is pretty freaking diverse, but still. Also worth noting? The class divisions in the train also include implicit racial divisions, which I think it is interesting.

That, however, is not the main point here. What I really want to talk about in this article is how, coming out of the theater reeling and a bit foggy, feeling like I'd just been hit in the face by a telephone pole, I had to sit down and truly think about my life. What is the cost of my life? What is the cost of my survival? And is it a price I am willing to live with?

The main thrust of the movie, from what I can tell, having now seen it twice, is that whether we know it or not, all of our lives cost something. All of them. There is no such thing as free and simple life. In the world of Snowpiercer, that cost is more apparent, when you see that the front sections can only continue to exist by creating horrible conditions for the tail section and that the tail section can only continue to exist by fighting against those conditions but in the process enduring something even more horrible. And, lest we forget, this whole situation got started because the price for the continued existence of the planet (global warming was threatening to end all life anyway) was the destruction of almost all of it.

There is always a cost, and it is high.

The thing is, we don't often think of the way that this applies to our own lives, but it's true. There is a cost, and it is very very high. There is a visible and visceral cost to my continued existence. Parts of it are simple. I am writing this while wearing clothes that were probably made in less than ideal conditions, overseas and for very little money. 

The fabric that comprises my clothes was manufactured in nations that receive very little monetary benefit for the workers and traditionally have absolutely terrible stances on workers' rights. The cotton was grown somewhere. What river was diverted to water it? What happened to the farmers whose farms no longer get water now that it's gone to grow cotton for my dress? What about their crops, their families, their lives?

What about the fact that my toilet is filled with clean, potable water every time I flush it, while literal billions have no clean water to drink? I am fortunate to live in a place where water is anything but scarce, but that's rare. And what about the millions of indigenous people who died so that my family could escape persecution and come to this country? There is a cost, is what I'm saying. And it is high.

I don't want to pay that cost, I really don't, but I also don't want to push it off onto someone else. When I think about these things, about the fact that my continued existence relies on the misfortune of so many, and that while there are things I can do to mitigate that, they will never be able to fully fix it, I feel like crying. I feel like crying a lot, actually. Because I don't know what to do.

After I watched the movie, my friend and I went shopping. We both felt a bit weird about it, but I don't go to the mall often and I needed a new pair of leggings and to look for a nice dress for a friend's wedding. So after watching a searing indictment of the class system, I got out of my cushioned chair, walked out into an air-conditioned, beautifully lit mall, and proceeded to buy a dress. It was on sale. I feel sick.

But that's what we do, isn't it? That's how we live with the cost. We ignore it and shove over it and pretend we can't see. Pretend that it doesn't matter, and that we aren't the problem. The little bit that I'm doing? It's enough. It's good. It covers me.

It doesn't cover me. It's not enough. 

Here's the thing, though. Just because it's not enough and I can't pay this price even if I wanted to, that's not an excuse. No, I can't win. But that is no excuse not to try.

Just because we have always lived lives that cost something, and because we have no idea how not to, is no reason to keep on doing it. At some point we absolutely must put our feet down and say, simply, "My life is not worth more than yours. I refuse to live if you cannot." Because, well, it isn't. It really isn't.

As I was watching the movie, I started to think about other stories I know about people who, seemingly at the end of the world, decided that their lives were not worth more than anyone else's, and lived like that. There's Eric Liddell, who went from winning a gold medal in the Olympics to living out his final days in an internment camp in China. When the officials discovered he was an Olympian, they tried to release him, and he refused to go. He asked instead that they let some of the others go in his stead. He stayed there until his death, and he became known as Uncle Eric, the most beloved man there, who kept everyone else alive.

There's Corrie Ten Boom, a Dutch woman who hid Jews in her attic during the German invasion, was caught, and spent the war in a concentration camp. The Jews escaped, and she was grateful. After the war, she bought a concentration camp and turned it into a reconciliation center to help the people of Europe heal. She refused to believe that her life was worth more than her Jewish neighbors', but she also refused to believe that her life was worth more than her Nazi neighbors' as well.

I want to be like that. I want to live with radical selflessness.

I want to be able to know that if the end of the world comes, yes, I might survive, but I will only do so if we can do it together. I want to know that my life costs very little, and that I have done all I can to make it cost less. I want to know that I did not survive because I thought my life more important than someone else, because it isn't. That does not mean my life has no value. It just means that yours does too.


I want to know that if the end came, and I had the choice to fight and survive, or lose my life so that someone else might live, I would take the second option. Yes, that sounds terrible, and no, I don't want that. But I want to want it. I want to understand myself on those terms. I am right with God and set for eternity. I don't want to cling so tightly to this life that I forget how much your life matters too.

The ending of Snowpiercer is a strange one. That's not a spoiler, as the whole movie is strange, but I think it bears mentioning. The movie does not have an easy ending. At the very least, you are forced to reckon with the actions of the characters throughout the film. Was what they did right? Wrong?

Was the cost too high, or was it worth paying? And, ultimately, what cost is too high for us, when we consider how much our lives are worth?

I don't want to close my eyes anymore to the suffering in the world. I don't want to be complacent to the misery of others. I know that I can't change the world myself, but I also know that I have no excuse not to try. So I will. 

Also, Snowpiercer is the kind of amazing movie that is destined to be a classic up there with Bladerunner and Metropolis. It's in limited release right now, but I promise you it is worth hunting down to see it in theaters. It will hurt and horrify you. That's a good thing.


I Am A Strong, Smart, Sensual Woman (Bob's Burgers)

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It didn't feel tonally appropriate to mention this during my epic downer of a review for Snowpiercer, but I actually just had a really lovely vacation. I spent a week in Los Angeles visiting old friends, and then a week at home, visiting those people to whom I am related and who may or may not have given me life and breath and all that stuff.

It was nice.

I mention this partially to brag about my vacation (I went kayaking and met Hillary Clinton - not at the same time), but mostly to reflect on some things I noticed/remembered while I was at home. Sleeping in my childhood bedroom, in my old bed, accidentally hitting the wall every five minutes because my old bed is a twin and I've gotten used to being able to spread out... Staring at my books, my movies, my old protest posters and theater magazines and knicknacks and stuffed animals...

It's always weird to go home, and it only gets weirder every year. That's not a bad thing, really, but there's a certain kind of cognitive dissonance that happens as a grown person spending any amount of time in your childhood home. I was very fortunate as a kid because my family has lived in the same house since before I was born. But this does mean that the instant I cross the threshold and step into the house, it's like I can't figure out how old I am anymore. 

Am I a grown, capable woman who pays her bills on time and has a great job doing what she loves? Yes. Am I also a sullen teenager who would rather sleep than do literally anything else and who prefers the internet to social interaction? That too. And am I a petulant child who hates eating vegetables and leaves her stuff everywhere? Also that.

I'm always all of those things, but it's somehow most pronounced when I'm at home, with my parents, in the house that has seen my transition from fetus to adult. It's weird. Good weird, but still weird.

While I was home, in between being a whiny child and a morose teenager, I found some time to watch a little television with my parents. It's a thing we do where I introduce them to new shows, because I am the only one in my family who is super obsessed with being up on pop culture. You really only need one, though. To be fair.

This past week, the new show was Bob's Burgers, a delightful animated sitcom about a family of misfits trying desperately to keep their restaurant from folding into bankruptcy. Also it's about poop jokes. Like, most of it is really well written crap humor. Just fair warning.

Now, there are a lot of reasons why I like this show, chief among them being how the humor is never mean or angry, just fun, but the one I want to hit on today is the female characters. Louise, Tina, and Linda Belcher are all totally and completely different characters, all hilarious and amazing, and they're also all, well, me.

Call me egotistical, but I totally love that.

Here's what I mean: Louise Belcher (voiced by Kristen Schaal) is a total kid. She's the kiddest kid to ever kid. A mild sociopath, addicted having fun and being irresponsible, and totally and completely convinced that all the grownups are nuts, Louise is exactly how everyone sees themself as a child. (Or at least everyone I know.) She's invincible, always right, and kind of evil. Isn't that what children are?

Tina, on the other hand, (voiced by Dan Mintz) is a moody, awkward, and devastatingly strange teenager. She's swept along by hormonal urges she doesn't understand. Still into unicorns and fantasy lands, she's also got a firm appreciation for butts, a budding sexuality that threatens the family stability more than once (with her crush on the rival's son, Jimmy Jr.), and a desire to understand herself and her place in the world.

Finally, we've got Linda (John Roberts). Well, actually, we could count Linda's mom in here too, but we won't, because she's not really a regular and also I don't like her. So we've got Linda! Linda is a grown woman, who still has her sense of play and fun, but also recognizes that she has responsibilities and jobs. She's a restauranteur, a mom, a wife, and an obsessive fan of dinner theater. 

Linda believes that she deserves to go after her dreams, even when it's not practical, but she also believes in paying their bills on time (as much as they can), and being there for the kids. Linda might be a messy, strange woman, but she's just that. A woman, not a kid playing dress-up.

Part of what I love is that all of these characters are so fully realized, with strengths and weaknesses (yes, even Louise has weaknesses - somewhere), but a bigger part is what I said before. All of these characters remind me of me. And sitting in my childhood bedroom, staring up at the posters and books and wall-hangings, I was painfully reminded why.

Like, I remember this. I feel this. I remember being an eight year old, reading books well beyond my emotional comprehension level and being slightly disgusted and terrified by all the cooties. I also remember that one of my friends got banned from playing over at my house because of that time we set my sister's old Barbies on fire, and how I had a weird habit of just leaving the house all the time, at all hours, without telling anyone.

I felt like I was invincible, because I grew up in a small town with very little concept of danger, and I looked askance at all those people who kept insisting that I needed to tell someone where I was going or at the very least wear shoes when I left the house for hours at a time.

And I also remember hitting puberty like a brick wall, getting my period during soccer practice and having to run around the field wearing a diaper-like pad the coach had given me, horrified and convinced that all of the boys (co-ed practice) could tell that I was gross. I remember the first time I wanted to smoosh my face up against a boy's, and I also remember how awkwardly that turned out. 

I remember my cringingly uncomfortable crush on Eomer from Lord of the Rings, and I remember being asked to go out on my first date, only to turn up (totally over-dressed), and find that we were going to Friendly's* with his grandfather and little siblings.

Now I'm Linda. I have a silly side, sure, but I also understand that I have responsibilities. I get that there's some stuff I just have to do, whether I want to or not. And somewhere in the growing up process, that stopped being such a terrible thing. I'm okay with being a functional adult. I can follow my dreams and follow a budget. It can be done!

That's not to say that things aren't still awkward, and that I don't still occasionally make an idiot of myself while trying to pretend I'm not getting stood up for a date at the bowling alley (pro-tip: saying that you're there for the ambiance is officially worse than the truth, whatever the truth is), or that I don't sometimes hide in the bathroom at Barnes and Noble so I can read People magazine without feeling judged. I do. And now you know that I do. (I need a new hiding spot.)

The point isn't that I'm a mess and vaguely immature. The point is that we all are. I don't know a single adult who doesn't frequently feel like they're faking it. LIke we're all just playing at being grownups until someone tells us we can stop now. And you know what? That's okay.

That's what I want to get at. Louise, Tina, and Linda? They're all okay. Yes, they're all women at vastly different stages of life, and yes, they're all completely bonkers. But that's fine. Great, even. Because the truth is, as we grow up, we don't so much stop being Louise and Tina, we just add Linda on top. You never stop being your kid-self or your teen-self. You just become a weird, freaky hybrid of all of your past selves at the same time. 

I pay my bills on time. I also think about Karl Urban (who played Eomer) a lot more than I should, and I still have stuffed animals that I take with me everywhere. It's all me.

We don't get to see that much on television, though. I mean, the most analogous show to Bob's Burgers that I can think of is Family Guy, which also features a middle-aged woman and a teenage girl as main characters. But Lois and Meg have never felt real to me. Not like people. They're just empty shapes from whence insults issue forth. And, more than that, they don't like each other. In fact, I have trouble thinking of a single sitcom where the female characters intergenerationally like each other. Or, more than like, actually actively enjoy each other.

Louise, Tina, and Linda have their differences, but ultimately they love and appreciate one another. And that's a pretty important message to send. Yes, it's about the value of intergenerational female relationships, which are super important and rad, but it's also about you as a person. You are a different person than you were yesterday. Maybe you're a nicer, more adjusted and altogether better person. Good for you. 

But that doesn't mean that the person you were yesterday is totally gone. You are all the yous that have come before and all of the yous that have yet to happen. That's a good thing. It's a feature, not a bug. Without your past, how will you know what you want to change about yourself? And how would you be your seriously awesome self if you hadn't gone through that mildly insane obsession with wolves that lasted six years?

That last part might be just me.

I love Bob's Burgers because it's funny, and sweet, and aside from all the poop jokes, a surprisingly clean show. But I also love it because it reminds me of who I've been and who I hopefully will be in the future. Even better? My mom loves it too.

You should watch this show because it is very funny and will bring you joy.
*It's like Denny's, only regional. I think it's only in the Northeast. Great ice cream, though.

Strong Female Character Friday: Malia Tate (Teen Wolf)

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I get excited every time Malia Tate (Shelly Hennig) opens her mouth. Hands down she is the best part of Teen Wolf's fourth season, and a huge part of the tonal shift that is refreshing the show, getting it going along new paths, and just generally making it fun to watch again. Malia and her absolutely hilarious mouth.

If you don't watch the show, you might not have any idea what I'm talking about here. Well, let me explain. Now entering it's fourth season, Teen Wolf has introduced a fair number of new characters over the years, and killed off even more. In the wake of last season's angst fest - there's really no way not to be angsty when the whole season arc is about loss of bodily autonomy, mass murder, and the death of a fan favorite - the new season promises better mysteries and plot, but also more fun. A switch back to the "high school student by day, teen werewolf by night" formula that made the show a hit in the first place.

Into all of that comes Malia Tate, a minor character from the third season now elevated to series regular and love interest to one of the leads. Malia was first introduced to us as a missing person in a decade old case that the Sheriff was re-investigating. She was in a car with her mother and sister when the car mysterious crashed. The other bodies were found, but Malia's never was. It was assumed that she was probably dragged off into the woods by some wild animal and then presumably eaten.

Which was sort of true. Kind of.

It turns out that the real story was more complicated. Malia, even as a little girl, was a were-coyote, and had trouble controlling her shift. When she was in the car with her mother and sister, she started to shift (because it was the full moon) and the struggle crashed the car, killing her family. Malia then, out of grief or rage or just because she was so confused, got stuck in her coyote form and spent the next decade living in the woods as an animal until Scott and Stiles managed to unearth her and change her back.

Her father (who is not the most mentally stable person in the world) welcomed her back with open arms, but we later saw Malia living at Eichen House, the local mental institution. She helped Stiles when he was committed there for a few days during the whole Nogitsune thing, and they happened to hook up. Then he left, and presumably she stayed. We say her again a few times, but it wasn't until the beginning of this season that she started showing up with any regularity.

Now she's back in the real world, going to high school, helping out Scott's pack (that she's kind of a member of at this point) and generally being rad. But that's not what makes her such a fun character, or why I wanted to single her out as the best part of the season so far. The reason we love Malia is because, yeah, she's in the real world now, but she freaking hates it.

Like, so much. Most of her interactions make it clear that while she enjoys saving the world alongside Scott and the gang, and she really does like dating Stiles (they're an official couple now, and it's stinking adorable), she hates pretty much everything else about being a human. For starters, she's being forced to take high school level classes, despite having a third grade education (Beacon Hills is not very good at compassionate educational standards, it seems). High school is hard enough without having to learn literally everything for the first time.

Then there's the true and meaningful frustration of normal human interactions. Malia was a coyote for a decade. She is not good at talking to people. Just, really aggressively terrible. And she knows it, but she doesn't know how to stop. Which is actually really awesome.

It's moments like when she complains that they're going to save Lydia when they could just abandon her, but later reassuring Stiles by telling him, "I would never leave you behind. Them I would leave." referring to Lydia and Kira. What makes this lovely is that Lydia and Kira are sitting in the backseat and can hear her. But Malia doesn't care. Why would she lie? 

All of this is combined with the fact that she always looks a bit like she's been dragged through a hedge, and with her absolute and mildly psychotic belief that she can take you in a fight, even if you're a seven foot tall berserker demon thing. She can take you. Obviously. And if she happens to lose, well, you just got lucky.

But the point here isn't that Malia is hilarious and amazing, or even that her constant struggles with being a teenage girl and not a coyote anymore are giving the show new life. Both of those things are true, but not the real point here. What makes this all so wonderful is how it expands for us the ideas of what a female, feminine character can be.

Let's be real, we don't often see characters like Malia on television. Not just in the sense that it is relatively rare to see a female character who lived as a feral animal for a decade, but also because in television, especially teen television, it's rare to find a female character who has so much trouble being a girl, but is never criticized for that.

Think about it. Malia isn't particularly feminine. She likes feminine things, but it's very clear she has no idea what she's doing with it. And no one makes fun of her for not knowing. She's aggressive and tactless and a little nuts, but no one stigmatizes her for it. Heck, she's even got a cute boyfriend and a group of friends who love her even if she does occasionally tell them she'd eat them if she were starving. 

It's pretty rare, is what I'm saying. Malia is a girl, and she seems like she wants to be girly, but she doesn't know how. Usually what we get instead is a female character who either is super girly like she was born with the knowledge of how to use a curling iron and precisely what shape dress looks best on her hips, or she's a complete shlub with no idea what she's doing and who doesn't care. She's either a knockout or hopeless, there is no in-between. But rarely do we see the girl who doesn't know, and who doesn't need to know.

Maybe Malia wants to know how to curl her hair. That's fine. But I love that the show actually recognizes the fact that she probably doesn't know that already. Why would she? When would that have come up?

And I adore how she really does want to be a supportive girlfriend, accompanying Kira to the lacrosse tryouts so they can watch their boys play. Only Malia being aggressive means Malia screaming insults at the coach, taking out bets on how well Stiles will do, and generally making herself a nuisance. And, again, this is all shown to be fine. Great, even. It's what Stiles likes about her, what we like about her, and the narrative doesn't tell us she should change.

Plus, she's the first person to just out and say that everyone wishes Peter was still dead. Gotta give her props for that.

I'm not saying that her storyline is completely without fault. It's not. For starters, we have no idea how or why she went from a tearful reunion with her father to a mental institution to high school. We don't know where her dad is now and why he is seemingly okay with his daughter (who was missing and presumed dead for a decade) going on impromptu "camping" trips and spending the night at her boyfriend's house. Seems like he should be concerned about this. Just saying.

And I'm not super stoked by the revelation that she's secretly Peter's daughter. I could do with less Peter. I mean, yeah, Ian Bohen is a great actor, but Peter as a character hasn't had anything to add to the show in a while, other than exposition, and it seems self-indulgent to keep him around.

All that having been said, though, I really do love Malia. She's a different kind of "strong female character" than we're used to. I mean, we're used to the "I am gruff and emotionless but also very conventionally sexy" type, as well as the "I am super girly but have hidden reserves of strength that will alarm you" types, and a few in between. But not Malia's type. Malia is physically strong - very - and emotionally resilient, but she's also willing to be vulnerable. She's struggling and learning and screwing up and making jokes. She's the honest to goodness action heroine who doesn't understand why you would ever try to fight a battle in high heels.

When you consider her alongside Kira, Lydia, and Melissa McCall, it starts to become clear that Teen Wolf, for all of its other failings, has managed to do something pretty right here. It's building up a stable of complex, compelling female characters who are all strong, but are all strong in a completely different way. Malia has nothing really in common with Kira and Lydia, at least on the surface, but they all respect each other. They're friends. They share history. And they're all strong.

Malia Tate gives me hope for the diversity of representation of female characters. Both in Teen Wolf and in the world. 

But mostly, she makes me laugh.

It's cool, Malia. Demonstrating math problems at the board makes me wolf out too.

The Complex Masculinity of Bob Belcher (Bob's Burgers)

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I am not a dude. Just in case anyone still had lingering doubts in that vicinity. I am not a dude, and I will be totally honest about how very little I understand dude dynamics. For all that I have a fair number of male friends, I know them by and large through my relationship with their female spouses or girlfriends or mutual friends. I know very few guys without a female lens. Not because I hate men or I think they're bad friends or anything, it's just how that all turned out. 

So when I watch a show like Bob's Burgers, that is totally an ensemble show, but one that focuses rather clearly on issues of masculine performance and of what it means to be a man in modern society, well, I notice. 

I mean, I know there are other shows that do this too, like Last Man Standing or Undateable or Workaholics, but I don't actually like those shows. And, for my bit, the masculinity they portray on those shows seems so forced. So painful. Like the writers themselves aren't sure what masculinity is and why we should be talking about it.

Which is why, ultimately, I like Bob's Burgers so much. (Also because it's very funny). For my money, this is a show that addresses masculinity deeply and well, with humor and love, and it gets right at the real problem most people have with masculinity narratives: we don't know exactly what masculinity is supposed to be.

If femininity is socially constructed to be narrow and specific, a barrier to all but the most pretty and popular, and something that you're supposed to instinctively know and appreciate, then masculinity is a flip side of that. You're still supposed to intrinsically know what it is and how to be it, but in contrast to femininity (where there are too few too specific ideas of what it is), masculinity is nebulous and vague. At least I think it is. 

Horseback riding is masculine, right? Only horses are associate with teenage girls, obsession-wise, and most images we conjure up of people horseback riding are relatively generic. Fireworks are manly, right? Except fireworks are literally just bright shiny sparkles in the sky in pretty colors. Sometimes they make shapes. 

Bacon is manly. But, why? It's a food. Arguably a breakfast food, and isn't cooking a stereotypically feminine thing to do? Trucks. Camping. Car repair. Guns. All of these are things that sound manly but don't really make sense when you look at them for too long. What then is masculinity?

I don't know. That's why I was asking you.

The reason I'm talking about this in the context of Bob's Burgers is because the show isn't claiming to know what masculinity is or is not. But that's the point. It's not claiming to know. Instead, the show addresses the confusion, and allows this to be an open conversation. Is Bob Belcher masculine? From what I can tell, the show is basically saying, "He is if you want him to be. But you're going to have to be the one to make that call." I respect that.

Bob Belcher (voiced by H. Jon Benjamin) is a husband, father of three, and owner of a mediocre diner in a seaside town. He loves cheeseburgers (hence why he makes them for a living), takes pride in his physical appearance and Tom Selleck mustache, and thinks of himself as the kind of guy who can teach his children how to fight (he's wrong about that last part). He hates his mother-in-law, his best friends are blue-collar workers, and he's extremely capable under the hood of a car or around the house. Pretty manly, right?

However. Bob is also surprisingly comfortable with his feelings and dealing with the feelings of the people around him. While he's a little gruff, he does care deeply for his family, and goes out of his way to talk about emotional issues and keep the peace. When his son is terrible at baseball, Bob tells him it's okay if he quits. When that same son decides he wants to do competitive table-setting, Bob doesn't just show up (he puts up a fuss not because it's girly, but because it sounds so boring), but he actually gets really into it and helps his son create a terrifying menstruation themed place-setting.

When his teenage daughter decides that her life will be best completed if she gets to take capoiera classes, Bob objects not because he thinks she shouldn't learn to fight, but because he thinks the class is a scam. And when her instructor fails her and won't progress her to the next level, Bob fights the guy. Bob fights him and, this is the most important part in my view, he loses. Repeatedly. Publicly. 

Is that masculine? I mean, on the one hand, he is a man, who has a mustache and a lot of body hair and runs a diner. He likes sports (sort of) and watches old Westerns and has a running grudge match against Jimmy Pesto, who runs the Italian place across the street. On the other hand, Bob once got so emotionally attached to a cow (technically a steer) in a wig that he moved it into the apartment so it wouldn't be cold. 

He was the one who talked his in-laws through their emotional problems and saved their marriage as well as their placement in their retirement community. He coached the kids' synchronized swimming team, even though he hates synchronized swimming and is terrible at it. He fake robbed his own restaurant so that he could make his wife's dreams come true. He spent hundreds of dollars and hours of time tracking down a special gift for his wife for their anniversary, even going so far as to beg his sworn enemy for help.

Heck, Bob Belcher is the guy who walked his teenage daughter down the street to get her first leg waxing, and then agreed to get his legs waxed alongside her so she wouldn't be scared. They held hands.

I guess what I'm saying is that Bob Belcher is a masculine character, but he's a complicated one. And that is, for my money, totally and completely awesome. I want more characters like Bob on television, just like I want more characters like Linda. I want representation of more men who are open with their feelings, invested in the emotional state of others, and who in no way think that being emotionally sensitive makes them less manly.

Even more than his own presentation of non-normative (insofar as there is a norm) masculinity, though, what I love is how Bob treats the men around him, and how the show presents them. Gene Belcher (Eugene Mirman) is a freaking strange kid, but Bob never makes him feel bad about himself. 

Nor does Bob ever really try to impose a form of idealized masculinity on Gene. When Gene dresses as Queen Latifah for Halloween, Bob isn't mad his son has dressed as a woman, he's confused because he doesn't get the reference at first. When he finds the kids have rigged up an illegal casino in the basement, Bob literally makes no comment on finding his son in a sparkly dress and full-length gloves.

None of the male characters on the show are particularly normative, not really. Teddy is a blue collar worker, but he's also arguably Bob's best friend, and the kind of guy who cherishes and mourns his guinea pig when she passes. Jimmy Junior is presented as Tina's (the teenage daughter) dream guy. Not because he's such a jock, but because he's sensitive and he dances like an angel and he has a really cute butt. 

Mort from next door is a mortician but also a surprisingly cultured guy. Who happens to be really obsessed with dead people. Even Hugo, the loathed health inspector, is notable for the complexity of his character. He might hate Bob, but he loves his job and the rules it espouses.

Mr. Frond is a dingbat, but that only makes him more interesting. And digesting the mildly terrifying dynamics behind Andy and Ollie would take too long. Much longer than we have here.

The show also takes the time to tackle and disabuse conventional notions of manliness. Like when their dentist, Dr. Yap tries to get his life advice from pickup artists, the show offers a critique of the pickup artist movement, voiced by Bob. Or when Bob and Jimmy Pesto fight and the show makes a point about how all this does is ruin both of their business.

My point is this: there is no one way to be a man. Just like inaccurate media representations of female characters can be damaging to women, it matters that men get solid and complex representation in the media. It matters that we show a guy who really and truly loves his family, and shows it by talking about his feelings, and it matters that he's also hyper-competitive and kind of a goober and prone to fits of nostalgia. It all matters, because Bob is a great character. He has flaws and he's complicated and it's all great.

So, no, I wouldn't say I really understand masculinity. But if real masculinity is anything like Bob Belcher, then I think I'm a fan.



Kira Manning and the Myth of the Sainted Child (Orphan Black)

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While I normally reserve Tuesdays for talking about children's media, I thought it might be nice to take a quick break from that and talk about something a little different but still in the same ballpark: representations of children in the media. Specifically media for adults, because, I don't know if you've noticed this, most kids on TV and in the movies are pretty horribly inaccurate representations of childhood.

The kids you see in movies or shows for kids are usually pretty spot-on. But that only makes sense. Kids will actually know the difference. Grownups? Not so much. Because somewhere along the line, unless you spend a lot of time with children (either yours or someone else's), you start to forget what it's really like to be a kid. And apparently nearly all Hollywood writers have gone through this, because it's pretty dang hard to find a kid in a movie for adults that doesn't sound...weird.

I personally think of this as Haley Joel Osment Syndrome. As you may recall, back in the late 1990s and early 2000s, Mr. Osment starred as a child actor in a string of movies, not a one of which really made any sense when you think about what kids really are. The Sixth Sense, Pay It Forward, A.I., they're all movies that center around Haley Joel Osment as some kind of simultaneously precocious and precious child with an uncanny understanding of the world around him and yet also a moral character that makes Mother Theresa look like a murderous thug.

Real children are almost never, ever, ever like this. I say almost only because I figure it's hypothetically possible that there is a child like that somewhere in the history of the earth (Jesus was a child once, so there), but I would like to stress how not like this pretty much everyone else is.

I spend a lot of time with children. It's kind of my thing, you know, what I do all day every day with my life. And let me tell you, one adult to another, most kids are complete psychos.

I'm really not kidding about this (heh). Most of the children I've ever met, and I have met a lot, are in some way completely and utterly psychotic. I've met ten year olds who know more about combat and the injuries sustained by a particular type of hand grenade than most field medics just because they think it's interesting, and I've also had staring contests with a two year old who had just resolutely pooped on the floor right in front of me.

Kids are nuts. They're rude and dirty and snotty and absolutely refuse to take anything you say at face value. The kid asks if they can go outside. You say maybe, because the answer is dependent on them doing a couple of things first. They ask if, when they get outside, they can go bike riding. You remind them that they might not get to go outside. They ask if they can go outside. You say maybe. They ask something else. Finally you point out to them that if they had done what you wanted in the first place they could have been playing outside for twenty minutes by now. They call you a jerk.

Don't get me wrong, I actually love kids. If I didn't, I would be very definitely in the wrong line of work. But I love kids not because they're children, but because they're people. And, for my money, kids are really just people with all the crap stripped away. They say and do all the same things we adults would say and do if we didn't know all the social conventions that tell us not to. Like whine and lie (badly) and try to cheat and burst into tears when they find out they have to drink regular milk instead of chocolate milk and refuse to eat the banana with two brown spots because it's "dirty".

Children are just miniature people. I'm not sure why most grownups seem intent on forgetting that, but they totally do.

That's the problem with most representations of children in the media. The writers have forgotten to write that child as a person, not just a small extension of the parent's psyche. They've forgotten what it was like when they were kids. I hate to say this, because I love the show truly and deeply (a little madly too), but Orphan Black is one of the bigger culprits of this right now.

It's a damn shame because the show does pretty much everything else perfectly. Spectacular, mind-bending science fiction? Check. Amazing array of complex female characters? Check there too. Shockingly well realized and acted male characters? Checkity check. Acting talent that makes most other shows look like bad dinner theater? Check and a half. You get the point. The show is awesome.

Unfortunately, while the child actors on the show are pretty good, the children characters really, well, aren't. They aren't very good at all. They kind of make no sense, and it breaks my little heart.

The three main children we see represented on the show are Kira Manning (Skyler Wexler), Gemma Hendrix (Millie Davis), and Oscar Hendrix (Drew Davis). We'll start with Kira, since she's one of the main characters on the show. 

Off the top of my head, the biggest problem with Kira is her age. When Kira first appeared on screen, I figured she was about four. And when she opened her mouth, I doubled down on that. She is a four year old with a four year old's vocabulary and understanding of the world. Right on. I actually thought she was a very good and nuanced portrayal of a four year old, come to think of it. She was complex and a little ahead of her age level in reading. Nice.

Except Kira's not supposed to be four. She's supposed to be eight. Kira does not look eight. Kira does not act eight. And as soon as I found that out, I got really uncomfortable, because every single scene Kira was in became a question in my mind of whether or not the characters were intentionally ignoring her raging developmental problems. She talks like a little kid, but she's supposed to be entering the third grade? Sure, this does explain why she was even capable of reading The Island of Dr. Moreau, but it makes everything else much weirder.

It's not just her age, though. Kira is presented with an emotional simplicity that, again, makes more sense in a younger child, but also is kind of ridiculous when you think about it. Nearly every other character on the show gets the chance to really inhabit their lives and have honest and full emotional responses to what happens. Not Kira. Kira is instead weirdly copacetic with the crazy happening around her. She never once freaks out or rages or even cries loudly. She's just fine. No matter what happens, she's fine.

That is not true to life at all. Today I had to comfort a child who was screaming crying because I told him we wouldn't go to the park until he put on shoes. Kira Manning has been kidnapped repeatedly, seen people murdered in front of her, magically met her until then unknown father and then been left with him for over a week, abandoned, experimented on, and generally made miserable. And the kid has not even given one shred of an indication that she's not perfectly okay with all of it.

The hell?

And then we have the Hendrix kids. While these kids actually get a lot less screentime (often to the point of it not making sense for the story that they're not there), they illustrated another problem most writers have in creating compelling child characters. Oscar and Gemma Hendrix are children of two of the most uptight and secretive people on the planet (Donnie and Alison Hendrix), who have loud arguments, big fights, and who spent a couple episodes hiding a body in their garage.

Yet their children are portrayed as being totally fine and definitely not needing therapy. More than that, the kids come off as being completely unaware of what's going on with their parents. Blissfully ignorant of all the crap stewing under the surface of their perfect suburban facade.

Real children are not that oblivious. Not by a long shot. And if you have kids, and think they don't know what's really going on, you are in for a big shock, and probably some expensive therapy bills down the line.

When I was a little kid, I wasn't just aware of any tension in my family, I was hyper-aware of it. My bedroom had a weird acoustic thing where I could hear anyone talking in any part of the house. More than that, though, my father's desk was always directly under my room, and that's where he sat to pay the bills. I am a light sleeper. So any fight or argument or tension my parents had while paying the bills late at night, I not only knew about, but obsessed over.

That's not an indictment of my parents, it's just a truth. I always knew. And I know I'm not alone in this. Kids always know stuff like that, even when they pretend not to. People say things like, "out of the mouths of babes" when a child points out a very obvious truth, but the fact is that kids are people too. People notice things. It's really that simple. 

I don't mean for any of this to diminish the awesome work that the writers of Orphan Black have done on the show, nor do I mean for it to make you weirdly paranoid of your children. But I do think it's worth talking about. Kids are, as much as we seem determined to deny it, people. Little, unsocialized human beings who are still learning about the world. If we want them to grow up reasonable and good, we have to start seeing them as people and not as extensions of ourselves.

Media is a big part of that. How we see things and people portrayed in the media very concretely affects how we view those things and people in life. We all like to pretend we're not so easily swayed but, well, we are. So it matters that shows like Orphan Black take the time to properly characterize their child characters. If we don't view children as people now, then we run a grave risk of not seeing them as people later on.

And that will have devastating consequences.

It's cute, but also so sinister...

Class, Race, Historical Accuracy, and BBC's The Musketeers

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In my lifetime alone I think we've already glutted ourselves on interpretations of Alexandre Dumas'The Three Musketeers

When I was a kid, I absolutely adored Disney's Three Musketeers, which starred the incomprehensible trio of Charlie Sheen, Oliver Platt, and Kiefer Sutherland as the titular characters (and Tim Curry as the evil Cardinal Richelieu). Then there was The Man in the Iron Mask, which took place later and starred a young Leonardo DiCaprio, as well as John Malkovich, Jeremy Irons, and Gerard Depardieu. 

Who could forget The Musketeer? Everyone. But it did happen, an early 2000s retelling that added in a lot of wire-fu and took its inspiration from the wu-xia films coming out of Hong Kong. Oh, and lest we be remiss in our recounting, I should point out that Wishbone totally did an episode on this. It was one of my favorites.

When you look back on a record like that (I'm sure I forgot some), and consider that this is just from the past twenty years or so, you've got to wonder. What on earth can the new BBC show, The Musketeers, add to this conversation? What can it possibly say that hasn't already been said a million times and with a better budget.

A lot, as it turns out. It's kind of amazing.

For those of you unfamiliar with the basic plot, it sort of goes like this. D'Artagnan (Luke Pasqualino) is a brash young man, the son of a Musketeer (the famed guard that protects the king of France), comes to Paris to avenge his father's death. He teams up with a trio of famous Musketeers, the best in the squadron, and they take it upon themselves to teach him how to be the best Musketeer he can possibly be. They also take it upon themselves to teach him about life and love and how to run away from an angry husband or avoid a duel, and it's all fun jokes and silly stories and stopping lots of assassination attempts on the king.

That's the basic story in most versions of the tale. This show sticks to the basic formula, but it's the twists and turns added along the way that really give it color. You'll see what I mean in a minute. First, let's go over the other major characters.

You've got three main Musketeers: Athos (Tom Burke), Porthos (Howard Charles), and Aramis (Santiago Cabrera). They're characterized pretty clearly across the board. Athos is a straight-shooter with secret past man-pain. (He accidentally married an assassin and then had to have her executed when he found out about it because no one is above the law except she lived and now she hates him like a lot.) 

Porthos is the blowhard hedonist who loves food and drink and fighting and women. He's the best shot in the guard, and also a little bit nuts. Prone to starting fights and cheating at cards and making someone else clean it up. And Aramis is a former priest who likes to espouse lofty philosophical ideals while screwing lots and lots of women. 

Charming bunch of fellows, huh? Then you've got the eternally weak-willed King Louis (Ryan Gage), the devious and conniving Cardinal Richelieu (Peter Capaldi), the lovely Queen Anne (Alexandra Dowling), and steady Captain Treville of the Musketeers (Hugo Speer). All of these characters form the basic outline of the story, and the story really never changes that much. Swashbuckling, romance, swordfights, intrigue, and all that. But the core never really shifts.

The interest, then, is in the little details that flesh out the story. And as I discovered with this show, much to my surprise, the little details can make the biggest difference.

To be totally honest, I didn't start watching this show because I'd heard it was good. I hadn't really heard anything about it. I decided to track it down and watch it because I discovered that Luke Pasqualino (who spends most of Snowpiercer with his shirt off doing parkour) is starring in it, and that one of the other leads is Santiago Cabrera, who I've had a crush on since Heroes. In other words, I didn't start watching this for the plot. I started watching for the hot dudes.

Even going into it, though, I was intrigued. As you may or may not know, Santiago Cabrera is Argentinian, making him an interesting choice to cast for a medieval French guy. Additionally, Luke Pasqualino is Sicilian, and really not in fitting with the usual "white as the driven snow" casting aesthetic that usually plagues these adaptations.

As I actually watched the show, though, I discovered that Howard Charles is of mixed-race, and that, more than all of this, the show actually acknowledges it. Like, it comes up. In the episode. That some of the characters are not super white. That is an honest-to-goodness plot point. I nearly cried with joy.

Not only does it just come up, though, it's dealt with in an honest and realistic way. We as the audience sort of know already that Porthos (Charles' character) is probably not white, but the topic is raised bluntly when another character (played brilliantly by James Callis) straight up points it out. And yes, Porthos admits that his mother was a freed slave who came to Paris to start a new life. Things didn't go so well for her, and he was orphaned at a young age. It's very sad, and as the audience you figure that's an end to it. It's more than I expected they'd talk about it at all.

But no. It's not the end, because as the episode goes on to tell us, Callis' character isn't just a harmless explorer out for a bit of fun. He's a slave trader setting up tobacco plantations in South America, and he's completely unrepentant of the fact. The rest of the episode deals not with the moral issue of whether or not slavery is wrong, but with what they are to do with Callis' character. On the one hand, the Musketeers are men of honor, and it would be wrong to kill him. On the other hand, by killing him, they could save thousands of lives lost in brutal slavery.

I was blown away. Seriously. It never occurred to me that a period show would deal with issues of race like this, with complexity and humanity and awareness of the brutality and pain caused. There is no glossing over. There is no easy way through. The show doesn't make you comfortable, and I love it for that.

I love even more, though, that this isn't the last episode to deal with Porthos' race and social class. Only a couple episodes later (it might actually be the next episode), Porthos is framed for murder, and because he is lower-class, not-white, and from a particularly seedy part of Paris, he's immediately sentenced to death. He's then rescued by some of his old friends from his days as a criminal living on the street, and the rest of the episode is a hunt to clear his name and figure out what the overarching plot is. 

It's fascinating because, yet again, the show doesn't shy away from issues of race or class. Porthos was born of a former slave, who then died. He grew up poor, in a place called "The Court of Miracles", where criminals roam freely. He was a criminal himself, and then he left to become a Musketeer. Because of that, because he chose to abandon them and sought to rise above his preordained station in life, Porthos is resented both by the upper and lower classes. 

The people in the Court of Miracles find him too good for his britches and think he abandoned them. The people in the King's Court think it's absolutely disgraceful that he was allowed to be a Musketeer in the first place.

Basically, it rocks. The episodes are well-written, cognizant of the historical issues going on as well as the social underpinnings, and the whole thing is just so freaking good you want to scream. Heck, they even acknowledged Santiago Cabrera's South American background by having his character speak Spanish. It's never even addressed (at least not yet), but it makes sense. They could even have his character originate in Argentina, where Cabrera is from, and have come to France. It would make sense in the time period. I doubt they'll do that, but they could.

Of course, because this is a period drama that dares to talk about people of color in ye-olde Europe, some people have been absolutely up in arms about it. They claim that it's historically inaccurate to have Porthos and Aramis played by men of color, and they insist that their objections are not based in racism, but rather in fact. "Europe was white in those times because only white people lived there, okay?"

I sort of want to smush their faces into a map of Europe and point at the bottom. "See that bit there?" I'd say as I rubbed their noses in it. "That's Africa. See how close it is to Europe? Like, within spitting distance? Now tell me again how there were never any black people in Europe."

The great blog MedievalPOC has done a lot more to contribute to this conversation than I have, but suffice to say that not only is it illogical to assume that there were never people of color in Europe, it's downright factually inaccurate. So, yes, it makes a lot of sense to have at least one, possibly more, of the Musketeers represented as men of color. Perhaps the detractors are forgetting something rather important: Alexandre Dumas himself was famously mixed-race. His paternal grandmother was a Haitian slave, which is interesting in and of itself, but most interesting is that his father chose to take her name and not that of his French nobleman father. Alexandre Dumas, then, takes his surname from a slavewoman in the Caribbean. So, you know, racists should probably shut up.

And as far as the historical inaccuracy charges go, not only are they false, they're also aiming at the wrong target. If you want to find something inaccurate to complain about, then the more correct target (though still a silly complaint) would be the casting of Tom Burke as Athos. Not because he's a bad actor, or because I'm trying to suggest that white people weren't in Paris of the 1700s or anything, but because he has a visible scar from the surgery to correct his cleft lip as a child. That surgery wasn't invented until over a hundred years after the story takes place. So, technically it is an anachronism.

But no one cares. I mean, most people don't know things like that, but still, no one cares. Why should they? Tom Burke is an excellent actor, and his Athos is complex, deep, and moving. I really like him, and I think he's brilliantly cast. So is Howard Charles, and Santiago Cabrera, and Luke Pasqualino. They're all perfectly cast. Quibbling about the accuracy or inaccuracy of that casting is a bit like complaining that the baker used the wrong brand of sugar in your delicious cake. Is the cake still delicious? Then eat a piece and shut up.

I do think, though, that I understand where these racists, and there is no other word for them, are coming from. It's so easy to romanticize The Three Musketeers. After all, this is a story about men of honor fighting to protect the king. It's romantic. They swashbuckle and seduce the ladies and are always carefree and chivalrous and right. The story, at least as we remember it, is easy. It's fun. You don't have to think very hard, and it lets you imagine a time when ladies wore beautiful dresses and went to balls, and the men were all handsome and clever, and everyone was happy.

That time never existed, and thank goodness that the BBC show refuses to admit it did.

Let's be real: the world has always been a pretty crummy place. At least now we have indoor plumbing. While I love a good swashbuckle as much as the next girl (probably more), I love much more the idea of representing a world that actually existed. A world that is dirty and smelly and complicated. Where Cardinal Richelieu is always conniving, but not always wrong. Where race and class are issues that really are addressed, and regularly, because these are huge factors in people's lives.

I prefer stories like this, because when you show the pain and sorrow and frustration of the world as it really is or really was, then that makes the heroism shine all the brighter. The world in Disney's Three Musketeers is very nice and shiny and happy, and as a result, the actions in that movie feel trivial. There's no real sacrifice involved in choosing to fight for good. It's all fine. It's nice. It's clean.

This story has dirt and sweat and blood, and as a result, it matters that the Musketeers choose to stand up for honor and justice. It matters because it costs them something. I would far rather have that, and take a few lumps along the way about my moral complicity, as a white person, in the effects of the slave trade, than pretend that everything's fine and get a watered down story as a result.

As I was reminded recently, the best stories are never nice.

One more thing before I go. (I will later go into details on how much I love the representation of female characters on this show, but that's another article in and of itself). When talking about race and colorblind casting in period shows, it's nearly impossible not to mention BBC's Merlin, which shocked some people when it cast Angel Coulby, a woman of color, as Guinevere, and Santiago Cabrera as Lancelot. And then it doubled down by casting Elyan, one of the knights, as a man of color, and not apologizing for any of this.

I love Merlin, I really do, and I absolutely love their casting choices. I love that they completely breeze past questions of whether or not it's historically accurate. Eat the damn cake, they seem to be saying, and so we eat the cake and it's great cake and everything is cool. Plus, as it turns out, the casting probably is quite accurate, so yay!

The only problem I really have with it is that, unlike The Musketeers, Merlin never addresses the race of its characters. I don't think it ever comes up. And while that's nice, it also feels a little cheap. I'm not saying I want people to make racist remarks in the show, or for any of the characters to be completely defined only as a person of color. That would be terrible. But I feel like it's a bit lazy to not include that in their character at all. Yes, it's bad to make a minority character who is only defined by their minority status. But it is also problematic to make a minority character who is utterly unaffected by their minority status, and who doesn't even seem aware of it. It works in Merlin, but I am grateful to The Musketeers for not going that route, and for being brave enough to talk about race and class and the dirty stuff that makes us uncomfortable.

Because if we never talk about it, how is it going to change?

This is totally off-topic, but doesn't Luke Pasqualino totally look like Tyler Posey? They should play brothers.

Learning How to Talk Good...Is All About Social Class

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from Kal Ho Naa Ho
Years and years ago (actually probably only four years ago), I was in grad school, writing my thesis script. The script was set in rural Maine, way up by the Canadian border, and I wanted to make sure that it was linguistically accurate. I got books. I listened to podcasts. 

I even played clips of Bert and I for my classmates to make sure they knew the difference between a Maine accent and a Southie slur. (It didn't help, as everyone insisted on reading my scripts like they were set in Dorchester and everyone was Mark Wahlberg.)

Finally, I did all of this research, I figured out how to portray the language as realistically as I could, and I even added in a glossary of non-standard vocabulary - although I felt comfortable that it was all clear in context. And you know what happened?

No one understood it. Or rather, no one bothered to understand it. The biggest note that I got was that the regionalization of the language, especially as written into the dialogue, was confusing and off-putting. Instead of writing accents in, I should just write in the notes that the characters were speaking with a Maine accent and leave it at that. Write it all as standard English, and let people use their imaginations.

I would have been fine with that advice, if only the previous four months hadn't taught me abundantly well that no one on the West coast knows what a Maine accent is, and that everyone would just figure that New England = Southie. And for some reason, the idea of having my script, an ode to the difficulties of life in rural Maine and to family and scraping by and what it's like to live in a fishing town without any fish, stripped of its linguistic authenticity drove me a little nuts. But I wanted someone to read my script, so I "fixed it."

I regret that now.

from Good Will Hunting
This isn't just a story about my issues in getting a script finished, though. This is about something bigger than that. It's about the invisibility of non-standard language in our cultural medium, and how that is really very deeply harmful to us. Allow me to explain.

Have you ever heard an American say that they just love "the British accent"? I can almost guarantee that you have, probably uttered at a high pitched squeal, or a soft purr, and generally with some reference to hot guys or girls or both. That's cool. Attractive people are attractive, after all. But the problem with that is that there really is no such thing as the "British" accent. There are, instead, hundreds of accents all throughout the British Isles, each one distinctive and culturally rooted. What we think of as the "British accent" is usually one specific kind of accent, and that is the BBC newscaster accent. Or, the OxBridge high educated upper class accent. Stephen Fry and Emma Thompson and dry humor.

That accent, for all that it is popular and well known, however, is no more the official British accent than United States newscaster blandness is the official American accent. It is simply more standardized, and therefore better known.

And that's fine. It makes sense that over time one accent would rise to prominence and become better known. It works as a sort of linguistic shorthand for communication, bridging the gaps between different regional dialects, and ensuring that everyone receives the same information. It only becomes problematic when we take this standardization out of context. When we think of this more standard form as the "right" accent or way to speak. When we assume that anyone who does not speak this way is ignorant or poor.

That is complete and utter crap. Just because I literally cannot say the words "room" and "broom" without a Boston accent does not make me uneducated, nor would I somehow magically lose my degrees if my Boston accent were as strong and thick in normal life as it is when I'm at a Red Sox game. I would, however, be judged differently, as a Boston - Southie - accent is considered lower class and poor, while my general standard tones are signifiers that I went to college and graduate school, and that I come from a middle-class family. There are value judgments associated with the way I talk.

from Do The Right Thing
There are value judgments associated with the way everyone talks. The African-American community deals with this a lot in the way that, having developed a somewhat distinctive grammar, intonation, and pronunciation system, their version of English is considered to be "lower class" and "less educated" than standardized English. It's not. Or you can just look at the way that most native English speakers react to people who speak English with a noticeable foreign accent. The assumption is that these people, who speak English, a notoriously hard language to learn, and have clearly emigrated from somewhere else and therefore are motivated and interesting people, are idiots.

Again, that's complete and total crap. If we went by the numbers, the proper accent for the English language would actually be based on a typical East-Chinese Mandarin accent, since that's where the most English speakers are. Seriously.

I bring all of this up because a few days ago, a friend of mine sent me a link with good intentions. He wanted to make me laugh. Unfortunately, I wasn't in a very happy mood, and I may have given him both barrels of my opinion. The link in question was to Weird Al's latest parody, "Word Crimes", which mocks Robin Thicke's "Blurred Lines". It's very funny, and very clever.



The video really is funny, right? You can say yes, I won't bite you. I laughed a little, and I definitely think it's better than the original song by far. The issue I have with this video is more based in the assumptions that surround it. Basically, this is a song about how lots of people make grammatical errors, and that they should be educated so they stop doing it, and we should all mock them for being dumb.

No. To all of that.

First off, the video is based on the faulty premise that there is such a thing as a correct grammar. There isn't. Everything we know of "correct" grammar is something that people just made up. In our case, American English, it was standardized in the late 1700s so that Revolutionary fighters could make and distribute propaganda and reach the widest audience possible. Up until that point, there really wasn't a standard form of English, because there didn't need to be. If most of your talking is done face to face, then who cares that you speak something a little idiosyncratic? No one, that's who.

So there really isn't a correct English, there's just an English that we consider to be more correct or "educated". Some people call this Academic English. That works fine. And Academic English does serve a purpose in our culture - it acts as a bridge between different cultural communities and fosters communication. Yay!

But I reject out of hand the idea that not knowing or caring about Academic English makes one stupid. I also reject the idea that choosing to ignore standardized grammatical forms is a sign that you're uneducated. And I realize that this is all a bit funky coming from someone who is clearly fluent at writing in Academic English, but hey. My point still stands. At the end of the day, who the crap cares what someone else writes grammatically in a text message or status post? Chances are, even if the English was "mangled", you understood it. So why do you care?

from Good Will Hunting
You can say it's about declining educational standards, and you can couch it in a worry for today's youth, but the fact of the matter is, it's about class. And specifically, class policing. When you nitpick someone else's grammar, what you're saying is really, "I find your grammar to be lower class than I want it to be, and I'm not comfortable associating with someone of a perceived lower social value than myself. I have to fix you in order to be comfortable in your presence."

I say this as someone whose literal job, for years now, has been to "correct" other people's grammar. I do freelance editing, and I used to work as an "Accent Reduction Specialist", training people to "lose" their native accents and "gain" the American accent. Except the part where there is no correct accent, and who really cares? I wasn't very good at that job. I may have been fired for ideological reasons. (Whoops.)

The point is, I reject out of hand the idea that because someone is speaking non-standard English, they are inherently worth less than someone else. And I feel like more people would agree with me, if only we had the chance to really see characters with non-standard accents in mainstream media. Sure, you've got your Darryl Dixons and your Marky Marks, your Sookie Stackhouses and your Woody Allens. But more often than not, those characters are tokens and linguistic talismans. There's maybe one of them in the movie, and they are best known for their accent. 

Rarely do we see whole movies done in the culture and accent of a subgroup. Especially one with a distinctive grammar. I mean, you've got Good Will Hunting and The Town and Gone Baby Gone and The Departed representing Boston. You've got American Hustle and The Sopranos for New Jersey. Probably lots of stuff for New York City. But what about a movie set in Cuban Miami? Or Puerto Rican New York City? Or Indian Seattle? 

I know why they don't get made right now. Media executives have little confidence that we, the audience, would watch them. After all, aren't movies with a distinctively African-American dialect "urban" and "low-brow" and "uncomfortable" for white audiences? Aren't movies where the main character is not a native English speaker kind of risky for the studio? Don't all movies and shows need to appeal to the most people in the most ways?

from Do The Right Thing
Again, I say no. The world would be a lesser place if we didn't have Do The Right Thing, in all its syntactic glory. That movie is kind of hard for me, a white New Englander, to understand, and I don't care. I love it anyway. Sure, it took me a few viewings to really get it, but that's okay. Because in taking the time to understand the words said in that movie, I got to know more about the movie itself.

The reason I'm not talking about any particular movie or show in this article should, by now, be apparent to you. What I'm really focused on here is not a movie or show, but a lack of mainstream media that represents the real linguistic reality of our world. Yes, it's important for media to be able to communicate. But it's also important for media to act as an ambassador from one culture to another, even within the same language. It's vital that we stop seeing people who speak differently from the standard as "bad" or "stupid". They're people. Their way of speaking is just as valid as ours.

I am distressed by the lack. I am upset over how many movies I haven't seen that might have changed my life, but instead were told to change their dialogue because "no one will understand it." When I "fixed" my script, something was lost. It wasn't true anymore, somehow. I gave in and I accepted the lie that there is such a thing as normal, and that different is bad. I regret that now, and I want to make sure no one else does the same thing I did.

And, for the record, I am still annoyed by how many people think Boston and Maine are exactly the same thing.

This still is from Kal Ho Naa Ho, a Bollywood made movie set in New York and performed partially in English.
Now tell me again how your English is the only real English?

GUEST: You Shouldn't Always Get What You Want (Californication)

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Today's guest post is written by Dan Ingram.


Dearest Californication,

Before I start, I’d like to congratulate you on seven seasons of television. That is no small feat, especially considering how much stuff is literally on TV, but you did it. To the entire cast, crew and anyone else involved with the process, know that I understand the challenges you likely faced and overcame and I have a heartfelt appreciation for your tribulations. Seriously.

Having said that….I have to admit that I am really unhappy with the way the show ended. You could have done more, said more, with your premise. But you didn't.

And as far as premises go, you had a good thing going. Hank Moody (David Duchovny) is a a man-child who sleeps his way around the greater LA area and perpetually yearns for the woman he considers “the one”. This woman is his ex-wife Karen (Natascha McElhone), who has left him because of his many personal flaws, and is the reason Hank cites for his behavior as well as the purported cure to all his problems. Maybe Hank wasn’t the most sympathetic or likable guy at times (he objectified women on a regular, tangible basis), but I always felt like Hank’s heart was in the right place, even if his brain wouldn’t let him convey that properly.

So you get that I loved this show. I loved it, and I also did not watch the last three seasons. I watched the finale as a standalone episode, just to see how it ended because for me, the show was over after season four. I watched the first four seasons, accepted the ending of the fourth season as “my true ending” as a fan, and decided to move on with life.

I have to reiterate, I appreciate that you, the writers and actors of Californication, kept the show going for three more seasons. But from everything I've heard, both on the Internet and from friends that were still watching the show, I wasn’t missing much.

I really adored Hank Moody in concept from the very beginning. I know Debbi will hate that I’m saying that, but it’s true. This show came around while I was still in college and really going through my first foray into “hook-up culture”. There was a lot of wish fulfillment for me in my younger, less politically inclined days, and I thought at the end of the day the message of Californication was one of hope against all odds that you can find happiness no matter how messed up you may be.

That may have been the message for the first few seasons, but from what I can tell, that wasn't the message of the last ones.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago when I finally got around to watching the final episode of the series. Granted I didn’t know who a few characters were (namely Hank’s son with Faith), and there were a few situations that I found totally bizarre, like the sex contract (or whatever it was) between Marcy and that other guy who was not important enough to the plot to be memorable. Anyway, the finale was fine, I guess.

But at the end of the episode I was expecting…something. Something that I didn’t get. I love Hank (and maybe more importantly David Duchovny’s portrayal of Hank) and the ways he processes his pain. I love that he is so flawed but he tries so hard. And, yes, getting Hank together with Karen at the end was a great way to reconcile the lingering emotional issue that set Hank off in the first place. So I was expecting Hank to try to get back with Karen. I'm not sure if I was expecting him to succeed. But maybe that’s what bothered me so much.

You gave the guy a happy ending. You gave him what he wanted.

Hank Moody shouldn't be anyone's ideal of a person, but here we are. After seven years of what should have been growth and change, Hank Moody got what he wanted in the first place, in spite of all the absolutely terrible things he’d done. That's not okay.

I blame the writers. I love Hank Moody because despite all his flaws, I truly believed that this was a man who had his heart in the right place. Even though he had placed Karen on a pedestal, he still had a chance to take her off that shrine and tear it down. He had chances to tear that pedestal down, but he didn't.

I love Hank Moody but I feel sorry for him. He became a victim of circumstance, except circumstance in this situation is code for "writers that ran out of anything interesting to say". They kept on rehashing the same story. Hank's journey toward healing and patching up his broken heart was turned into a story where he pissed into a Jack Daniels bottle then drank it, because why the hell not? That's funny right?

That's how I fell out of love with the show. The guy I identified with, who I could see myself in, was stripped of all the characteristics that made him feel real. He became a joke.

I have previously written (at length) about Hank Moody and the misguided concept of “the one”.  I feel like this series constantly tried to undermine its own ideas by providing multiple female characters that would have been far better matches with Hank than Karen (later seasons excluded, mainly the crazy ex that burned his apartment and tried to kill Hank). The show gave us viable alternatives, but it shut all of them down because it was bound and determined that Hank Moody end up exactly where he started.

This finale needed to be the show finally saying something. Making a statement that justifies seven seasons of sex and titillation.  Saying something very big about relationships and how men and women reconcile and come together time and time again but maybe, just maybe they shouldn’t.

I didn't want Hank to end up with Karen. Not because I hate her, but because that's not what the show needed to be. That's not what Hank needed to be. Californication seemed like a show destined to see the lead character alone and happy, finally resolute in the fact that the woman he placed upon a pedestal deserved to stand on her own without his pandering and begging. Hank needed to figure out that he could and should be happy on his own, and Karen needed the narrative right to stand on her own two feet.

That's not what happened. Why? I really want to know. Was this a situation where the end of season four was really the end everyone creatively wanted and then “Oops, we got three more seasons! Just go for gross out humor and the most outrageous situations possible. It'll be fine." It felt so stale and stagnant that, like I said, I didn’t even watch the last three seasons.

I bring that up again because when I watched the final episode of the series, nothing had changed for Hank. I didn't need to watch the last three seasons to know where Hank was at emotionally because he hadn't moved. He was the exact same person I saw in the pilot, he just managed to keep it in his pants for an entire episode. Whoo. Character development.

This show set up from the first scene that, “you don’t always get what you want”. Then, in the last scene, it gave Hank exactly what he wanted. What were you trying to say Californication? What should I take away from seven seasons of your show? Because I got nothing.

If I were the only one that felt this way, I’d just figure I'm yet another bitter, disillusioned writer who is boohooing over not getting the ending he wanted. But I’m not.

Hank didn’t get what he needed at the end of this show, he got what he wanted. He got what he didn’t deserve. He didn’t grow or become a fully functioning human being. And what’s probably saddest about all of this is that Hank had every chance to fulfill that role.

The end of season two is hands down my favorite scene in the entire show (Hank’s ghost conversation with Lew). He had a chance to grow there. Season three put multiple women in front of Hank that would have made him at least expand his horizons and become more competent in some regard. He could have changed and developed. And like I've already said, the end of season four was Hank leaving on his own accord, resigning himself to the fate he’d been presented and apparently moving on with his life.

Season seven ends with Hank stagnant. His daughter is getting married against his will, he’s on a plane with Karen to an uncertain future, and he’s pretty much abandoning (again) the child he didn’t even know he had. What was the take away from that? What was the point? What were the last seven years even about if nothing ever changed?

I want to take a moment and speak directly to Mr. Tom Kapinos, creator and primary writer of the show.

Mr. Kapinos, I am a fan, and even though you probably hate me and will never want to work with me given the things that I’ve written in this letter, I remain a fan of Hank Moody. I own a copy of God Hates Us All, which I thoroughly enjoyed, and if a ghost written version of Fucking and Punching is ever released, you can rest assured that I will buy that as well.

But I left the final episode of your show wondering what it all meant. I know you’ve got something to say, but I didn’t know what it was. I think that the heart of your show rests in the fact that while we all try and try and try to get the things that we want, sometimes, instead, you get what you need. And I think that you were trying to say that getting what you need might suck, but it's better in the end. I just...I'm not sure if that's what you actually said.

Was Hank’s final love letter to Karen moving? Of course it was. Hank’s words and works were (obviously) yours and you had some absolutely amazing words to share with the world. I just wish that you would have looked back on what made the show great in the beginning and made it more real, at least emotionally (because the whole Marcy fuck doll thing was seriously crazy stuff, funny, but creepy and crazy).

I’ll miss that beautiful bald son of a bitch, Runkle. I’ll miss his coked out wife, Marcy. I’ll miss all the times I got to see Becca push and direct her father to try and be a better person. I’ll even miss Faith, though I barely knew her. But most of all I’ll miss Hank. I really will. I’ll miss your Hank, Mr. Kapinos. And I’ll miss Mr. Duchovny’s Hank. But the Hank you two made together, well that was one fun man-child to watch, even in the darkest of times.

Hank had a chance (lots of them, actually) to be something better, but he never did, and that’s fine, I guess. What I can’t reconcile is a Hank who stays the same for seven seasons, and in the end, he gets exactly what he’d been searching for all along. No change, no growth, no payoff. It's cheap.

“It’s always been about her,” is all well and good in theory as long as you realize what makes it "all about her." To me, Hank never did, and Karen never realized what made it all about her either. They ended up in the same vicious cycle that they started with, without any indication that this was better or worse for them. If you were going for a “real life” ending then maybe you nailed it right on the head. Life isn’t neat, it’s messy, and it doesn’t come with those nice little bows. Life is not in the business of handing out moral lessons and clear directives. It doesn't give us any answers.

But I wanted one for Hank.


Dan Ingram is a contributor to Crossover Appeal and a semi-irregular contributor to Kiss My Wonder Woman. He has his Master's in Screenwriting from New York Film Academy, and works in television development. He owns more romantic comedies than I do.

On Self-Sacrifice, Courage, and My Favorite Movies

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I always wonder how personal to get with this blog. Because while this is, you know, my personal blog, it's really more of an academic examination of popular culture thing. So I wonder. But today, I feel like it's important for me to be totally honest with you guys, and that means being really vulnerable and personal and feelings-y, so if that skeeves you out, you should probably leave now.

Okay? Good.

Two weeks ago I went on a "Jesus retreat." I had some time off of work, so I drove out through the Olympic Peninsula, and went hiking in La Push, in the rainforest and down to the Pacific Ocean. I saw sunlight glinting off of Crescent Lake in the National Forest, I ate diner food and slept in a super cheap motel, and I stared across the water at a looming Mt. Rainier, reminding myself again that I live in the shadow of a giant volcano and how cool is that? It was a good trip. But it was also a really hard one.

It was a hard trip because God asked me to do something I don't want to do, and he phrased it in such a way that I understood fully and exactly what he was asking. I understood, and I know I can't refuse. Because when God asked me, he was talking about my favorite stories.

My favorite stories, as some of you have no doubt discovered in your deep and obsessive reading of my blog (I like that, keep it up), tend to be very disparate in tone, but very similar in content. What I mean is that while my favorite films include a period piece sports film (Chariots of Fire), an experimental Bollywood film (Rang de Basanti), a big-budget blockbuster about robots punching aliens (Pacific Rim), and a superhero movie about governmental conspiracies and the philosophical point of fear (Captain America: The Winter Soldier). Oh, and I happen to love an animated musical based on a Bible story (Prince of Egypt). So, yeah, it's a rather diverse group.

It's diverse, that is, until you get to the themes of the stories. Because while each of these movies is totally different from the others in basic story, they all share the same heart. In each of these films, the characters are forced to confront the truth about the world, and then make a choice. They can either live a simple, unextraordinary life, or they can step into their true identity, who they really are, and change the world.

Most of the time, though, that changing the world thing looks a lot like giving up. Which is as it should be.

The idea for this came to me when I was writing my paper for the upcoming Divergent and Philosophy (you might be able to pre-order it on Amazon already, but probably not). I wrote about the connection between courage and selflessness, and how I think those two ideas are essentially just different facets of the same one. You can't be truly brave without being selfless, and you can't be truly selfless without being brave.

But there is another facet to all of that courage and self-sacrifice. Namely, that self-sacrifice tends to look a lot like giving up. When you do put the greater good before yourself, or prioritize your ideals over your existence, the world tends to look at you like you're nuts. Which you kind of are. But that's okay.

Here's what I mean: in Chariots of Fire, the main plot revolves around two men, Eric Liddell (Ian Charleson) and Harold Abrahams (Ben Cross) competing for the gold medal in the 100m at the 1924 Olympics. Literally the whole movie leads up to that, following Liddell and Abrahams through their various training programs, the setbacks and personal issues that threaten their ability to compete, and even their relationship with each other. The point of the movie is that one race. Or so it seems.

What actually happens (what actually did happen in history, because this is a true story*) is that before the Olympics even really start, Eric Liddell finds out that the qualifying heat for the 100m is on a Sunday. Eric, being a deeply religious man in a very real way, quietly informs the Olympic committee that he cannot run on the Sabbath, and therefore he is dropping out of the race.

This is, for the record, complete and total crazy talk from any normal perspective. Eric has been training for this race for years. He is the favorite to win. And not just the favorite to win, the favorite to set a new world record. He literally has not lost a race in years. He's a hometown hero, and the whole country is waiting for him to win. So this guy goes up to the committee and tells them very politely that he won't race.

They don't take it well.

They actually do everything up to and including siccing the Prince of Wales on him, but Eric doesn't budge. Instead, he drops the race, picks up another race in a different distance (one that he has never run before on this competitive level), and then proceeds to actually preach in a church on that Sunday morning during the qualifying heats.

Harold Abrahams wins the 100m (spoilers for a race that happened almost a century ago!), and Eric goes on to race in the 400m. He not only wins, he sets a new world record. In a race he's never actually trained for. At the Olympics.

The thing that gets me about this story, though, isn't that Eric is totally the best person ever (even though he was definitely my childhood crush, for reals), but that it's not a stand-alone incident. Eric Liddell stood up to the Olympic committee, and then showed them down. Yay, right? But in the larger scheme of things, it's not all that important. It's just sports, for crying out loud.

What is important is what happened later in his life. You see, the reason I love this story is because it's just one of many incidents like this in Eric Liddell's life. Moments when he chose to give up what seemed like the thing he should want, in favor of something that seemed crazy or scary or completely unknown. He did it because he knew it was the right thing to do, and he did it because God asked him to. He didn't always prosper in it, either, at least not by our standards. But he did it anyway.

Eric Liddell died in an internment camp in Japan-occupied China during World War II. He had enough advance warning of the invasion to send his wife and children to safety, but he chose to stay behind, because, as a missionary, he felt this was the place he could best minister. He used his Olympic running skills to run through battlefields gathering the wounded in a wheelbarrow and taking them to the hospital. When he was interned at the camp, he was offered the chance to go free, and refused, asking that they take some of the others instead. He is still remembered as a kind, generous man by all who were interned alongside him, and was known as "Uncle Eric." When he died, all of Scotland mourned.

Courage. Self-sacrifice. Giving up. It looks from our perspectives like Eric Liddell kind of died a failure. I mean, he chose to bail out on an incredibly successful athletic career to be a missionary in China. Then he died there. Blech, right? But that's a narrow perspective. Eric Liddell changed the world, and he did it because he was not afraid to look like a failure. He wasn't afraid to give of himself, because he knew he could not be diminished. He wasn't afraid to look like he was giving up.

Or how about Rang de Basanti? An amazing movie (that more people should see, seriously), the film follows six Indian college students as they make a documentary film about the revolutionary heroes of Indian independence and become, in turn, revolutionaries themselves. It's a brilliant movie. But it's also a hard one to love, because the ending involves, well, the characters all giving up. The movie follows them as they become aware of the real, intractable issues in their country, and examines the possible reactions to those issues. Do we run away to America? Complain about what our country is? Wait for something to come along and change it while we go about our lives?

Do we give up who we are and the future we might have in order to ensure that our brothers and sisters have a better life?

What moves me here is partially the sacrifice, yes, but more how as they become more aware of the suffering around them, they also become more themselves. They become more fully alive. These young people are able to make sacrifices like this only because they have learned who they really are. You have to look at yourself, and then step into your real identity. Who you are supposed to be. That is what changes the world.

Pacific Rim is about robots punching aliens, yes, but it's also about how necessary other people are in our fight. How we should be willing and ready to give ourselves to protect others, and how ultimately, none of us is in it alone. We are all in this together, and it matters whether or not you show up and bring the fullness of your identity and what you can offer. 

Captain America: The Winter Soldier? The only way to really save someone, the only way to show how much you love them, is sometimes to just give up. Yeah, there's all that other stuff going on about HYDRA and SHIELD and the philosophical meaning of fear, but let's be real. All the Captain America movies are just one big love story between Steve (Chris Evans) and Bucky (Sebastian Stan). And when Steve learns that Bucky has no idea who he is, that he is just a target to Bucky, and that Bucky wants him dead, Steve's best act of love is to give up. By giving up, by sacrificing himself, he saves Bucky.

And, incidentally, he saves himself.

Heck, even Prince of Egypt is about these same themes, and it puts them in very blatant terms. When Moses (Val Kilmer) discovers who he really is, namely a slave child adopted into the royal family of Egypt, he has a choice. He can either pretend he doesn't know, and go on living his cushy, nice life, ignoring the plight of his people, or he can give up everything he has, admit who he is, and live a life of slavery. It seems like a really obvious decision. So clearly he makes the "wrong" choice. 

Moses can't live with the idea that he is free and the rest of his people are not. He freaks out. He admits the truth. He even (semi-accidentally) kills a man who was threatening a Hebrew slave. He's banished from Egypt and loses everything. Except his purpose. That he gets and gets in full when a weird bush (in which God is appearing, to be fair) tells him to go back to Egypt (which is suicide) and tell Pharaoh to let the Hebrews go (which is a terrible strategy).

But if you remember the story even a little bit, then you'll remember the key factor here. Not only is it a terrible strategy and a genuinely stupid idea by human standards, it works. The Hebrews go free. And yet everything Moses did could totally qualify as giving up. Or at the very least, making the exact wrong choice at the exact wrong moment every single time.

Funny how that works.

This is all a very long-winded way of saying what I thought of when God told me, on that camping trip, to think of my favorite stories. Because every single one of my favorite stories is about self-sacrifice, courage, loss, and doing the stupid thing because it's the right thing in the end.

While I was praying on that trip, God told me something rather scary. He asked me to think about my favorite stories, and then He asked me if He tells good stories. Obviously He does, so it was easy to reply. And then God got kind of intense. Well, intense even for God.

"Are good stories nice?"

No, no they aren't. Especially not the ones that I love. The stories that I love are full of pain and death and misery and a full and meaningful awareness of human suffering. They're hard stories to love, but they're so vitally important. Good stories aren't nice, good stories are true.

"Do you want me to tell a good story in your life?"

In each of those stories I cited above, there comes a moment where the main character has to decide whether they want their life to be a nice story or a good one. Because these are films, and because they're my favorite films, all those people chose the good story over the nice one. Well, last week it was my turn to choose. It's a terrifying thing, to suddenly be faced with that choice. On the one hand, I, like most people, really and truly hate pain. I'm not going to lie about that. I haaaaate being hurt, physically and emotionally. I don't like doing things that are hard. It sucks.

But on the other hand, I really do believe in the importance of self-sacrifice. I believe it is our duty not just to notice suffering, but to act on that knowledge. After all, "Any man who knows the good he ought to do and does not do it commits a sin."** So the answer, after a lot of deliberation and freaking out was, yes. I want my life to be a good story. I want my life to matter.

It's hard. I'm scared. And I kind of wish I knew what I was in for. All I know is that at some point in the future, I will be asked to "give up my life", and I don't know what that means, or when it will happen. Which I think is the point. Not knowing. Because now I have to live with the understanding of what really does matter. Not success, not living until you're old and grey and surrounded by fat grandbabies, not even falling in love.

What matters is how you answer that question: Will you turn away from the suffering in the world? Or will you step into who you really are, into who you are supposed to be, and face it head on? Even if it makes you look like a failure?

Will you do the stupid thing?


*Plus or minus a few details.

**James 4:17
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