Friends Forever

Tiny Rapier 2 by crowolf.


As someone who is somewhat obsessive about her Dumas, I did a little dance of joy upon hearing that not one but two remakes of The Three Musketeers are on the way.  I don't particularly expect that these remakes will be good (helmed as they are by Paul W.S. Anderson and potentially the guy who made Marley and Me, although the guy behind Mr. & Mrs. Smith is apparently in the running and might do a good job), but I do expect that they will be highly, highly entertaining.  I tend not to hope for more in Dumas movies.  The material is wonderful, and wonderful on many levels, but Hollywood tends to content itself with lifting the beautifully choreographed intrigue and action, leaving a lot of the emotional resonance, especially when it comes to the close relationships between men, behind.  It's the reason no one will ever make Twenty Years After: it's impossible to capture the dissolution of D'Artagnan, Athos, Porthos and Aramis's friendship if you never understood its value in the first place.

Janet Maslin may not have liked it, and I have a hard time blaming her for that since she is a Very Serious Critic, but I am extremely fond of the 1993 version of The Three Musketeers.  The movie itself is risible, of course: no one even tries for accents, and the comedy is very, very broad (see: Curry, Tim:

)

But the cast is just fantastic across the board: Curry, Oliver Platt and Keifer Sutherland slumming it as Cardinal Richelieu, Porthos and Athos respectively, Charlie Sheen in the period of his career when he was bearable as Aramis.  Julie Delphy is lovely as Constance, a pre-Burn Notice Gabrielle Anwar as Queen Anne, and Rebecca De Mornay as an archetypal Milady.  The writing's ridiculous but delivered with a lot of panache.  The sight of Platt roaring "to be a proper Musketeer, you must be schooled in the manly art of wenching" at Chris O'Donnell in the height of his boy-toy summer, is so delightful that a friend and I briefly ran a blog titled "The Manly Art of Wenching" in college, which, considering our collective sexual experience, was even more hilarious than we thought it was.  I have a real weakness for movies like this, where the quality isn't that high, but everyone's having fun.  I hope these competing remakes at least meet that standard. 

Stars and Stripes

Captain America by DuckBrown.
Image used under a Creative Commons license courtesy of DuckBrown.

I quite like Jon Krasinski, even though I tend to think The Office had aired a couple of seasons more than it ought to have.  I thought he was far and away the best thing about It's Complicated: unlike the other actors who played Meryl Streep and Alec Baldwin's theoretically-grown children, he, as an in-law-to-be, was the only one who seemed like a plausible grown-up, while still managing to seem open and easy-going without being boring, which I think is a surprisingly hard sweet spot to get.

All of that said, though, he is not Captain America.  I mean, I don't think Chace Crawford is either.  But I just think Krasinski is far too much of a relatable, regular guy to take up the shield as Steve Rogers.  I think that he's into the running speaks to the body type that's become so popular among young Hollywood actors today: the tall, almost willowy type that looks good in slim-fit suits.  Sam Worthington may be the only actor in this particular generation with a real jaw.  And he's already overcommitted and in danger of overexposure.  We don't need him to be Captain America, too.

Ch-Check It Out

So that new section at The Atlantic that I mentioned about a month agoIt's live, and my first column is up there too.  This time, I'm taking on the difficulties of doing sports commentary on the Olympics:
To take just one sport out of the 15 categories of events in this year's Winter Olympics, commentators have to explain not only that it's impressive that tiny girls can work up enough speed to do three spins in the air and land without falling down, but that it's much harder to do that if you take off while going forwards as opposed to going backwards, and that you can earn more points if you launch yourself after the halfway point in your long program. And that breakdown doesn't even get into the fact that the Russian and American men's figure skating teams are sniping at each other over whether the only way to prove that you're a real man is to spin yourself around in the air four times.

Even if you master figure skating, it doesn't get you very far. Knowing that American two-time men's figure skating gold medalist Dick Button thinks that Russian 2010 silver medalist Evgeni Plushenko looks like a movie villain will not unlock the mysteries of the Flying Tomato, Lindsay Vonn's shin injury, or the Norwegian curling team's now-famous harlequin pants.
I hope you'll read it, and that you'll click through and explore the rest of the new Culture channel.  My editor, the incomparable Eleanor Barkhorn, worked very hard to make it happen, and while the kinks are still being worked out I think, I think it's wonderful that The Atlantic is making a big, aggressive investment in culture coverage.

Mail Haul

You know what the best thing about writing about pop culture is?  You come home to find stuff like this in the mail:


What does that mean for you, dear readers?  More Star Wars blogging, as soon as I can tear through the books on the right (although I'm going to have to find another copy of Hero's Trial, or skip it, since that turned out to be an audiobook, and one on cassette no less).  And that I'm going to be kind of obsessed with fictional U.S. Marshals for a bit.  There are many things to be said for FX, among them that their promotional materials sure are pretty.

It's Nice to Know That David Simon Sees the World (At Least Partially) The Same Way I Do

At least, about the importance of popular culture, and its significance in his new show, Treme:
This is a story about culture and how American urban culture defines how we live. New Orleans is an extraordinary and unusual culture, but it comes from the same primal forces in American society of immigration and assimilation and non-assimilation and racism and post-racialism that really are the defining characteristics of this melting pot society. What is it about Americans that makes us Americans? The one thing we have unarguably given the world is African-American music. If you walk into a shebeen in South Africa, or whatever version of a bar they have in Kathmandu, if they have a jukebox, you're going to find some Michael Jackson, some Otis Redding, some John Coltrane. It has gone around the world. That is the essential American contribution to worldwide culture. The combination of African rhythms and the pentatonic scale and European instrumentation and arrangement. That collision of the two happened in a 12-square block area of a city called New Orleans that had a near-death experience in 2005.
I'm still not sure how I think Simon is going to do with Treme, though of course I'm reserving judgment until I get I get a chance to watch the pilot a couple of times.  I'm just not sure how you replicate the knowledge of Baltimore that reporting gave Simon; reporting is part of what made Almost Famous great, too, when you think about it, Cameron Crowe knew his stuff.  But I'm feeling a bit warmer and fuzzier towards the show knowing that despite his bitterness about journalism, which I'm not sure I always think is accurate or helpful, Simon and I see the power and diffusion of pop culture as important in some of the same ways.

Also, the news that Dominic West'll probably get a role if there's a second season is enough to make me commit to the first.  What can I say?  I'm weak.

I Want a Doctor To Take a Picture So I Can Look At You From Inside As Well

Wow, is there a lot to parse in this video of Kirsten Dunst playing "Akihabara Majokko Princess," directed by McG, and produced Takashi Murakami (warning, some of the anime images are NSFW) for a Tate Modern exhibition last year.  Among the questions it raised for me: 1) Huh, is this really what Kirsten Dunst's career has come to?  2) What should I make of the continuing appropriation of Harajuku culture by American women, white and black alike?  3) Would this have been better if it was the Liz Phair cover, with its fabulous implications for sexuality?

I do actually want to dive into those first two questions for a minute, because as weird as this video and its racial and sexual implications are (as is the fact that McG is collaborating with Murakami, unless his work with Marc Jacobs was just the start of his efforts to go as lowbrow commercial as possible, or something), I think it actually illustrates some of Dunst's strengths.  She's a good, limber, physical actress, and she's often at her best, I think, when she's being a little goofy.  It's one of the reasons the first Bring It On movie worked so well: Dunst totally sold her main-character cheerleader, she looked comfortable and genuinely happy dancing around, as she does here.  She was good in the also-underrated Wimbledon, where she played a tennis champ, because she was running, or playing, or hooking up with a guy she had chemistry with for a lot of the movie.  I think this is a really winning quality.  In a time when a lot of Hollywood actresses seem really alienated in their bodies, actresses who embrace their physicality are a rarity.  They carry themselves differently on screen.  Living the credo that "there is nothing in your body that lies" is hard for women everywhere, but I imagine it's doubly or triply difficult in Hollywood.

I actually thought Dunst was miscast in the Spider-Man movies for precisely this reason.  Mary Jane is such an inert role, she's always getting saved.  I hate to be contemptuous of that, but I just don't find it very interesting.  I think a lot of folks agree that the upsidedown smooch in the first movie is the defining romantic moment in it (okay, maybe the "I've always been standing in your doorway" scene too), and I think it works precisely because it's one of Dunst's most physical moments in the movies.  She is the sexual aggressor, rolling down his mask in a clear parallel to fully undressing a lover.  It's great.  But she hasn't had that kind of opportunity in the other movies, or in her other movie roles, in what seems like a long time.  I'd really love Dunst to find her way back into some good roles.

And I'm glad Murakami gave her the opportunity, I guess.  I do find the appropriation of Harajuku culture here in the U.S. fascinating.  There are a range of these appropriations, of course.  Gwen Stefani's Love. Angel. Music. Baby., and her decision to tour with Harajuku Girls re-named for each element in the album's title certainly kicked off the trend.  Nicki Minaj, among other identities, brands herself as a Harajuku Barbie, a totally fascinating mashup.  I think part of what gets me here is the combination of the song and the imagery.  Dunst may be dressing up Harajuku-style, but that doesn't mean she's actually turning Japanese, much less having a meaningful engagement with Japanese culture.  I understand that there's value in teaching folks about subcultures, and that individual members of subcultures have the right to work where and how they want.  But there's a fine line between engagement with a culture and use of it.  I'm not sure where the line falls here.  It seems like it's worth looking out for, though.


I Adore Jeremy Renner

And this video from Vulture pretty much sums up why:



It might have been nice if all of this success had come to Renner earlier (and it might have saved The Unusuals, about which cancellation I remain bitter) but I think it must actually be nice to get famous later in life.  You don't get scrutinized during the awkwardest period of your life.  You go into fame with a firm sense of who you are, and a well-rehearsed and adaptable set of talk-show anecdotes.  And perhaps most importantly, you know that you can survive not being famous, something that seems like death for a lot of celebutantes these days.  Going back to bagging groceries or putting makeup on cows might not be great, but you'd have done it before, and you'd know you could get by doing it again.  I think we live in an age when fame is an end in and of itself, when really, its value lies in the opportunities it opens up.

Take Evasive Action!

By which I mean stop whatever you're doing right now, Star Wars fans, and check out this fantastic campaign to make Admiral Ackbar the new Ole Miss mascot.  There are so many reasons to adore this: the reinterpretation of the rebellions involved, the fact that Star Wars is sufficiently ingrained in our mass culture for a) someone to have had this idea and b) for it to be an actual, if not major, possibility.  American mythmaking at its finest, people.  This is wonderful.

Special Requests

I'm tied up on a crazy-intense day at work today, folks.  But I haven't asked you guys in a while if there are things you'd like me to write about, or take a look at or listen to.  (I know I owe a couple of you emails from way back.)  Put requests in comments, and I'll do a couple of special entries for y'all throughout the rest of the week.

And because we all deserve a little joy, here (Glee spoilers, if you're not caught up, but if that's the case, I can't really help you):

A Pirates of the Caribbean Development I Have Absolutely No Problem With:

image27 by TheGoogly.
Image used under a Creative Commons license courtesy of The Googly.

Ian McShane as Blackbeard? Helllll, yeah.  Pirates should be genuinely--but performatively--terrifying in the way that Blackbeard was in real life, without relying on "But he's Chinese / inscrutable" stereotypes, which cropped up a bit in the third movie.  McShane totally fits the bill.  And much more so than Keith Richards, or Bill Nighy (whom I adore, but was totally in camp mode), he could stare down Johnny Depp.

Magic Kingdoms

I am very, very excited about Waking Sleeping Beauty, a new documentary about the artists who are responsible for Disney's second Golden Age:



How can you not be charmed by the sight of animators dancing like teapots in pitch meetings? The revelation that Tim Burton actually looked creepier before he had the money it takes to be extravagantly eccentric?

But the real question the movie raises for me is how has there not been a fantastic, Oscar-bait biopic of Walt Disney?  The truly sensible way to do this would be an upstairs-downstairs duo story, based on Bill Peet's autobiography, which is both completely charming and eccentric, and a model of the genre.  Peet joined the company as a junior man during the making of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, rose to do all the creepy-crawlies in Sleeping Beauty (they were something of a speciality), and became Disney's chief storyman, responsible for The Sword in the Stone and 101 Dalmations.  He quit the company after he and Walt Disney had a disagreement over the creative direction of The Jungle Book, but was devastated when Disney died.  It would be a productive relationship to explore: Peet is discerning but affectionate.  I wish someone would buy the rights and make it happen.

A Shallow Thought

Meryl Streep by Alan Light.
Image used under a Creative Commons license courtesy Alan_Light.

So, I caught The Devil Wears Prada last night, and you know what?  I kind of think Miranda Priestly was dramatically misunderstood.  There is a lot to be said for respecting women who work hard, and who help other women get jobs and move up in the world, even if the apprenticeship period is a nightmare.



You Are All Fabulous Creatures

As someone who quite literally worships Tony Kushner and sees Angels in America as a foundational text in my life as a writer and a reader, this piece about how plays with gay themes are deliberately getting less political kind of makes me sad, even as I understand the motivations behind it:
“I think we have a better chance of attracting straight and gay audience members with universal emotions, like love and loyalty, that touch the lives of these gay men and show how we are all equal, rather than do it through polarizing arguments,” said Richard Willis, one of the lead producers of “Next Fall,” which began previews on Tuesday.
I guess there's an extent to which I think it's really deeply unfortunate to reduce Angels to this kind of framework, or to treat the two plays that make up Angels as if they are confined to a class with anyone else's work (I said worship.  I didn't lie.).  I tend to think the overlooked genius of Angels in America is not necessarily as a gay polemic, but that it gives gayness a place in the pantheon of great American tsuris.  Jewishness plays as much of a role in Angels in America as gayness does, I tend to think, and the play's description of ethnic Jewish grievance and grieving is so powerful it brings Ethel Rosenberg literally back from the dead to haunt Roy Cohn in his final days.  Lewis, one of the main characters, brings himself out of a crisis precipitated by his partner Prior's AIDS diagnosis and his cowardly decision to leave Prior, by saying the Mourner's Kaddish for Cohn.

And Jewishness isn't the only major alternative identity conflict in Angels: there's Mormonism, women's sexual emancipation, and blackness. Gayness is a proud and equal part of this pantheon, but the message of the play is that history might be ending, and we are all, gay or straight, black, white, Jewish, Mormon, male, female, communist and capitalist in for a world of trouble.

Clear As Water

I like this Jonah Weiner piece on Nicki Minaj, the chameleon-like Lil' Kim semi-clone who's been popping up as a guest on all sorts of tracks, mostly because it got me listening to her, and damn, girl is talented.  I always get mixed feelings with discoveries like this, because I end up regretting the number of times I failed to hit "replay" on a artist's great tracks, even as I'm thrilled that I've found them.  But honestly, I have a hard time sharing Weiner's authenticity concerns.  "Is rapper Nicki Minaj really a gun-toting, bisexual, British madam—or just a theater enthusiast from Queens?" he asks in the piece's deck.  But I just don't really care.  Perhaps this is the result of a pop upbringing full of fake virgin and posing emoboys, maybe it's growing up in an era when Jay-Z's continuing to sing about slanging seems a little silly given his status as a respectable businessman and when Kanye West's pretensions to street-ness were always precisely and self-consciously that.  But I've never assumed that artists were exactly, or even remotely, who they said they were.  I've always felt like I was buying a product.  Authenticity seems kind of...precious, whether in service of extreme toughness or extreme sensitivity.  I care about the truth in my personal relationships, and the quality of execution in my art.


Besides, I wish Weiner had mentioned Minaj's "Still I Rise," a track in which she flows like Cam'ron (the sonic similarities to "I Hate My Job" are stunning) and deconstructs her images--and criticism of it. (Warning, I'd listen to this with headphones in, and discussion of lyrics continues after the jump in the name of avoiding over-the-shoulder readers):







She rhymes, in the voice of one of her critics:


She said fuck Fendi but I think she was playin'
I heard she do them thangs
I think she fuckin' Wayne
She call herself Lewinsky that means she give him brains*
She tryin' be like Lil' Kim her picture looks the same
Why didn't she sign with G-Unit, she from Queens right?
And what's her nationality, she's Chinese right?
I mean she okay, but she ain't all that
She ain't the next bitch tell that bitch fall back
See I'm hater I go hard, listen let's begin
You know her last name Minaj she a lesbian
And she ain't never coming out, they could come and see 

That every time she do an interview you know I run and see
She get me so sick it make me vomit
That's why I spend my time online leaving comments
And you know I got some more haters with me 



And sure, the chorus is Auto-Tuned to hell, but I kind of dig the shimmer in the sound, and the prize-fighter ethos.  The next verse is a veritable anthem for women who might follow her into the business, a frank explication of the economics of image, and of how women should use each other's success to force more opportunities for themselves:


'Cause every time a door open for me that means you,
Just got a better opportunity to do you
They don't understand these labels, look at numbers and statistics
I lose you lose, ma its just logistics
Anyway, real bitches listen when I'm speaking,
cause if Nikki win, then all ya'll gettin' meetings.



The whole song is surprisingly straightforward, almost an inversion of Robyn's "Curriculum Vitae," pairing bravado with practicality.  I cannot stop listening to it.


*I generally dislike nasty humor at Monica Lewinsky's expense, but damn is that a great rhyme.

Forever Young

My friend Alex Remington introduced me to classic, surrealist Nickelodeon kids' show The Adventures of Pete & Pete a while back, and its awesomeness put it on my must-give list for every person I know under the age of eighteen.  Recently, he scored an interview Will McRobb, the show's creator, and the two chatted about the show's fantastic use of indie rock (literally everyone from Iggy Pop to Debbie Harry dropped by to guest):
“It was only partly about making kids watch shows, and partly making a place kids could call their own,” explains McRobb. “Back in those days, it seemed like Nick was the anti-Disney, trying capture what it’s really like to be a kid, and not be so sanitized or so structured.” And instead of cute animals singing songs, they had jangle-pop. “I forget why it was so easy to put in A-level indie rock,” but “anybody who saw the actual specials got to hear Yo La Tengo.”
This gets at a point I wanted to make in my last post over at Ta-Nehisi's place.  I pretty firmly believe that making sure you provide appropriate content to children doesn't remotely trade off with giving them things that are awesome.  There's Cee-Lo I feel comfortable giving ten-year-olds.  But it's definitely easier to default, and to provide children pop that's blandly appropriate, rather that looking to challenge kids at appropriate rates.  I think the networks have latter defaulted to that former position, and it's a real shame.

Are There Some Things White People Shouldn't Perform?

I'm still thinking hard about some of the representational issues I brought up yesterday about Gerard Depardieu's casting as Alexandre Dumas, because the producers apparently didn't think they could find a biracial or black actor who could a) handle the role and b) be as significant a box-office draw.  Part of it is that my friend Rich Byrne forwarded me Robyn and Jenny Wilson's cover of Saul Williams' "List of Demands (Reparations)."  Other than the line "I'm breaking out my noose," and the title, the song is not particularly explicitly about race, or even about reparations on the surface.  But is it okay for two indie white girls to cover it?  Does some of the meaning get lost?  For comparison, here's the original:



And here's the cover:



I tend towards an ethos of generosity in these matters.  Unless Robyn and Jenny Wilson were in some way minimizing the suffering black people in America have experienced, which I absolutely don't think they are doing, I don't see an explicit problem with their decision to cover the piece (which has a gorgeous second verse about the desperation of love).  Is the meaning the same when two white girls perform the piece on a European television show?  Yes, unquestionably.  Is losing Williams' political meaning a bad thing?  Possibly.  Could the performance be an act of solidarity?  Maybe.  It's just so impossible to gauge intentions here.  All I can really discern is that both performances are pretty dope, but then, I don't particularly have a stake in the reparations fight or a sense of ownership of Williams' work and message.  I'm still thinking all of this stuff through.  If I figure it out, I'll let you know.

The World Is a Strange Place

I've always thought a full-on H.P. Lovecraft revival would be a lot of fun.  The Hellboy movies have made their contribution, of course.  There's Lil' Cthulhu.  It may just be because I've taken a field trip to the dude's grave, but I think there's plenty of space left over to explore both the depths of horror in Lovecraft's work (the Great Old Ones are so much scarier than most other action-movie creations), and the goofiness of his vision (not to mention his, uh, deeply problematic racial views).  But as a result, even if it's minor, and kind of dopey, this makes me pretty happy:

It's Never Black and White

File:Alexandre Dumas.jpg
Image courtesy of WikiMedia Commons.

I'm sorry that the controversy over Gerard Depardieu's casting to play Alexandre Dumas, who was biracial, is getting more coverage than the fact that the movie has the potential to be fantastic.  It's focusing on the relationship between Dumas and one of his most significant collaborators, Auguste Maquet, who helped him write, among other works, The Count of Monte Cristo and The Three Musketeers.  There's significant, wonderful drama there: Maquet was excluded from the title pages of the works he helped Dumas with, a significant slight, but he ended up quite well-off, while Dumas died bankrupt after an extraordinarily, happily profligate life.


That said, the racial controversy over the casting decision is, I think, significant.  The producers, idiotically, said they didn't think they could find a black or mixed-race actor who could both play Dumas and be as significant a draw as Depardieu.  Anytime someone says something like that, it's pretty clear evidence that they're not trying hard enough.  But I do think there are some interesting questions to consider about casting for biracial characters, something I think will be more and more common as racial lines continue to blur (and of course, there will be more mixed-race actors, too).  Dumas, for example, had blue eyes and a somewhat dark complexion.  Depardieu has blue eyes.  Would the situation be better if a black or mixed-race actor had been cast to play Dumas, but worn contacts? Would the controversy be less if Depardieu was tanning rather than wearing makeup?  

I don't know that I have the answers to any of these questions.  But like Dumas, I agree that folks who make racial assumptions, whether it's about the availability of qualified black actors, or about the abilities of a mixed-race author, only end up hurting themselves.  As Dumas once said to a man who insulted him on the basis of his race, "My father was a mulatto, my grandfather was a Negro, and my great-grandfather a monkey. You see, Sir, my family starts where yours ends."

Graveyards and Mics

Deos tupac character in little village by Señor Codo.
Image used under a Creative Commons license courtesy senor_codo.

So, I like this post Dwayne Betts wrote at Ta-Nehisi's place over the weekend about the fact that both the Notorious B.I.G. and Tupac died at twenty-five.  But I'm not sure I agree with it.  Dwayne writes:
If you know hip-hop, then you know the story of Tupac Shakur and Christopher Wallace (Biggie Smalls). I'm getting older now, approaching the age where I can get a 30 and over club card. And sometimes I'm driving down I-295, and I hear a Pac song, or a Big song - and I pause. Both them cats died at 25. I was around 16 when the two passed. But the thing I find so frustrating, looking back at that time, and even thinking about it now - is that I don't really remember people saying that it was tragic that they died at 25. I mean, what do you know at 25?
...
There's a frailty in all of this. I'm thinking of father's, and struggles and the loss of Big and Pac and the real thing I'm saying is what their deaths meant is that they wouldn't be able to get the feeling of what it was to give someone what you'd missed. I write about prison a lot, too much for real. It's my obsession and what I tell people is that if Milton could write about God his entire life (and be dope, I don't deny the work Paradise Lost does) than I can make prison a metaphor for whatever. And once I wrote that I'd met my fathers in prison. I've had to talk about that line way too much - but what I'm saying is that there is a graveyard where the men older than me where. Maybe there are a rack of graveyards. And they were there for all kinds of reasons. But there, they dropped the jewels that living fifty years gives you. Mornings I wake up wondering about what Pac would say at 40. 
I've written about this some with Amy Winehouse and Courtney Love.  But I think you just can't expect that Biggie and Pac would have still been writing and MCing, much less that they would have done so at the level that they were briefly, and brilliantly, in their youth.  I think it still remains to be seen whether hip-hop is going to produce elder statesmen, whether someone is going to step up and play the roles that folks like Paul McCartney, Neil Young, and Eric Clapton have, to name only a few, in rock.  And I don't know if that's just due to violent beefs, even if I can't entirely put my fingers on the other factors.  Is it that flow is hard to sustain past thirty?  That guys (and women*) lose their edge?  Jay-Z might be the first guy to make it to late middle age and still be productive, innovative, and sharp.  Queen Latifah remains royalty, but she's largely segued over to other media (though as this Lady Gaga remix she did shows, she can still spit with the best of 'em).  In any case, I don't think you can lament what might have been, with no guarantee that it would have happened.



Sex on Skates

First, thanks for putting up with my slower pace last week, you guys.  I missed you!  And for those of you coming in from Ta-Nehisi's site, welcome!  It's pretty friendly over here.  I hope you have fun.

So, I'm still burned about the unjust treatment of adorable Johnny Weir by the judges in the men's figure-skating competition in Vancouver, but after Gawker turned up this:



I think it's safe to say that Weir is number one in absurd, fabulous pop-influenced performances:



Tom Jones + Fake Muscle Outfit loses to Johnny Weir and "Poker Face" any day.  And if Weir wants to quit figure skating, I sort of feel like there might be an opening for him as creative director at the Haus of Gaga.

Kurt & Courtney

I'm not, in principal, opposed to a Kurt Cobain biopic of the straight up, non-Gus Van Sant-does Last Days variety.  I just have no idea who the hell you cast in it.  Michael Pitt's not a bad choice, but he's got a bit of a malevolent gleam in his eyes, there's an edge there that's just a little bit too hard for the guy who performed this:



"He's a certified honorary punk rocker.  But he likes Queen better."  So sweet, and funny.  And even worse, who the hell do they cast to play Courtney?  I recognize that Courtney Love's descent into the crazy has been destructive, upsetting, and bad for her daughter, but the contemporary bashing of her by Axl Rose, among others, was vicious and undeserved.  She's not simply a virago.  She was a very talented musician, and I think they really loved each other.  I hope the script demonstrates that, and that they can find an actress who can carry it off.

Past Loves

You know who I'd missed without even really knowing I missed her? Iben Hjejle, so wonderful as Laura in High Fidelity.  It was the trailer for The Eclipse that reminded me:





She was so lovely and alive, both physically and emotionally, as Laura, that I'm not sure how I feel about her turn as a ghost-story-writer-with-abusive-looking-married-boyfriend-who-hooks-up-with-haunted-widower in this movie.  But really, what this all made me think is that it's another reason I have to see Defiance, which may have Nazis and sibling rivalries, but at least is firmly anchored in this world.

Bridal Bedlam

Kristen Wiig by Rubenstein.
Image used under a Creative Commons license courtesy of Rubenstein.

Since The Forty-Year-Old Virgin and Knocked Up, I've hoped that someday Judd Apatow would make a comedy about young women that is as good as as the comedies he's made about young men.  I am profoundly uncertain that the movie Kristen Wiig wrote and will star in, to be directed by Paul Feig and produced by Apatow, is that movie.

The combination is, I'll admit, intriguing.  Wiig is very funny as a colleague of Katherine Heigel's who constantly undermines her at work in Knocked Up, declaring "I don't like liars" in a die-away drawl.  And she's similarly flat and unnervingly funny as a doctor trying to convince Ricky Gervais that it's really no big deal that he died for a couple of minutes in the severely-underrated, truly grown-up romance Ghost Town.  I'm less fond of what I think is her sometimes-manic, sometimes-intentionally dim work on Saturday Night Live.  But I think she has a lot of potential.  And I think Feig did a wonderful job with Lindsay Weird in Freaks and Geeks; he got teenaged girls, particularly ones who aren't interested in or comfortable with the prospect of conformity, in a way I think few writers, male or female, manage to.

That said, the plot setup is sufficiently painful-sounding to put a dent in those considerable advantages: the movie is about two women competing to plan their friend's wedding.  Apatow tends to do good work when he's trying to convey a surprising truth, I think: that sexual experience is not necessarily a road to wisdom, that vulnerability and generosity lie under a fratty exterior.  I don't know that such truths are accessible in another Marriage Makes the Ladies Crazy comedy.  Perhaps they do, if the movie finds a way to make Wiig conclude that marriage isn't interesting to her, without making her seem pathetic or delusional along the way.  It'd be unprecedented.

The Evils of Middle School

I don't write about him much, because he's entitled to live his own life and not have it defined by his older sister's blog, but there is a wonderful 13-year-old in my life.  And it was with him in mind that I bothered to check out the trailer for Diary of a Wimpy Kid, though by the end, I was entirely charmed on the merits (I'm not familiar with the source material, though I'm aware of the book).  I'd really love to see a movie that does for middle school what Mean Girls did for high school, and this looks like it has a chance of being it:



The main character is entirely correct in his declaration that "let me just say for the record, that middle school was the dumbest idea ever invented."  But the growth-spurt gaps, gross-out physical humor, and uneven awareness of sexual attraction ("A butt can't be cute.  It's a butt.") reads just absolutely spot-on.  Plus, the movie furthers the advance of Chloe Moretz, who was probably the thing I liked most about (500)Days of Summer, who is playing Hit Girl in Kick-Ass, and whom I kind of think I adore.  She's a year younger than Abigail Breslin (though she comes across as a bit older), and I thin of Moretz as the spice to Breslin's sugar (though Breslin is hardly a goody two-shoes).  I'd really like to see them in a movie together, maybe playing sisters on some sort of madcap adventure.

The Genius and Beauty of Olivia Williams

Olivia Williams is such a beautiful woman.  I feel, in some way, as if that's an obvious, and therefore un-useful, thing to say.  But I think it merits saying anyway, since in ageless Hollywood, she looks, and is, 42 simultaneously.  I think she's grown into that beauty in a way that other actors and actresses miss out on because they're afraid of it.   It's too bad too much of this A.V. Club interview is about Roman Polanski, because, well, ugh, because I think it showcases a lot of what makes her a sophisticated, intelligent, and therefore extremely interesting actress with a very long potential shelf life.  Even if she hadn't given the rest of the interview, the simple fact that she was initially up for a role that went to Kim Cattrall in The Ghostwriter, but ended up with a role once intended for Tilda Swinton, is a great demonstration of her range.  This level of attention to detail, though, is what really sells me on her:
I was very particular about the type of woman Ruth is. She isn’t a British aristocrat, and that was something I discussed with Roman, because occasionally, he would direct me to speak to the servants or to other people as if I was someone who was used to that British way of assuming you’re in charge—a colonial way. But she’s not that. She’s bright, working-class, made via education and ambition. So she’s not at ease. She’s quite awkward and not particularly elegant, and that is what I wanted to achieve, not the assumption that someone like that would be something out of an Oscar Wilde play. She’s tougher and edgier. The point about her is that she’s not the charismatic one. Her husband is charismatic, and because she’s not, she didn’t choose to have the big, center-stage political career. It was my mission, in some ways, to make her abrasive and unattractive.
Also, she sounds like she would be quite a bit of fun to watch movies with, herself:
I am the worst judge of how a movie is going to do. I always have great and ambitious hopes, but none of them see the light of day. I loved Rushmore. I loved the script. I mean, that is what drew me to it, just the actual piece of literature the script is. But I never thought in a million years that anyone would see it or respond to it. It was an absolute joy that it was so loved and continues to be. The same with The Sixth Sense. I thought, “No one’s going to watch this. Bruce Willis hasn’t got a gun. There’s no shagging. Lovely story, sweet and profound about loss and death, but no one’s going to watch this.” 
And this final sentiment I think gets at why I worry that tabloid drama, and lives lived so intensely in the public eye, leaches something away from actors' ability to deliver fine performances.  "It’s the payoff, you know? It’s why you mustn’t show your subtext at any other time. It’s the fun bit. It’s the fun and games."

Never Lose the Words


Russ Meyer and Roger Ebert by RoninKengo.



It goes without saying that Chris Jones' profile of Roger Ebert is marvelous: sensitive without being sappy, beautifully observed without being voyeuristic.  And it's just one of the best profiles of a writer I've ever read, much more about the pure act of writing than about Ebert's specific interaction with the movies.  Here's Jones on Ebert's growth as a blogger:
Reading it from its beginning is like watching an Aztec pyramid being built. At first, it's just a vessel for him to apologize to his fans for not being downstate. The original entries are short updates about his life and health and a few of his heart's wishes. Postcards and pebbles. They're followed by a smattering of Welcomes to Cyberspace. But slowly the journal picks up steam, as Ebert's strength and confidence and audience grow. You are the readers I have dreamed of, he writes. He is emboldened. He begins to write about more than movies; in fact, it sometimes seems as though he'd rather write about anything other than movies. The existence of an afterlife, the beauty of a full bookshelf, his liberalism and atheism and alcoholism, the health-care debate, Darwin, memories of departed friends and fights won and lost — more than five hundred thousand words of inner monologue have poured out of him, five hundred thousand words that probably wouldn't exist had he kept his other voice. Now some of his entries have thousands of comments, each of which he vets personally and to which he will often respond. It has become his life's work, building and maintaining this massive monument to written debate — argument is encouraged, so long as it's civil — and he spends several hours each night reclined in his chair, tending to his online oasis by lamplight. Out there, his voice is still his voice — not a reasonable facsimile of it, but his.
"It is saving me," he says through his speakers.
He calls up a journal entry to elaborate, because it's more efficient and time is precious:
When I am writing my problems become invisible and I am the same person I always was. All is well. I am as I should be.
That may be the purest lived expression of "what I do is me: for that I came" I've ever heard of.  It's beautiful.

Fast Living

I'm not going to lie.  I find Jonah Hill a little sinister.  I'm aware that he's supposed to be the funny fat guy in the Frat Pack, especially now that Seth Rogen's slimmed down to start doing action movies, but I've always felt like there was something mordant, and not in a funny way, in the guy's manner, something that the trailer for Cyrus gets at really well.  But I cannot, cannot resist Russell Brand, who managed to be funny in the otherwise dreadful Bedtime Stories (I saw it with a small kid, don't judge) and even though the trailer for Get Him to the Greek seems to rely pretty heavily on gross-out one-crazy-night cliches, I will see it anyway:



Given what a terrific character Aldous Snow was in Forgetting Sarah Marshall, I'm glad Brand's getting more screen time to play him.  I'm not particularly worried that the character was a one-off.  Rather, I think the real risk in Get Him to the Greek is that it relies heavily on the crazy-rockstar part of Snow, rather than the fact he's a multifaceted, funny guy, someone who is capable of hurting a girl a lot while also teaching a virginal young husband how to please his wife.  Sure, Snow was callous, and pretentious and absurd in certain ways, but he was also a lot more fully alive than Peter.  There's a hint of that in the trailer, when after one of said crazy nights, Hill wakes up and groans,"What time is it?"  Snow, already dressed in exercise clothes, a "5am...shall we go jogging?"  Clearly, this is a guy who isn't wasting a single minute.

Calling On All New Yorkers

If any of you have a chance to get to the exhibit on sissy bounce, the variation of the New Orleans hip-hop genre created by queer and trans performers, at the Abrons Art Center on Henry Street, will you let me know if it's good?  For those of you not in New York, like me, this fantastic mixtape of a bunch of prominent sissy bounce MCs' work is a great place to start.  I like the mix of things in here: semi-rough production, some ethereal-sounding electronic stuff, gender-bending Beyonce samples.  And it's abundantly clear from the predominant rhythms why it's called bounce.

On Selling Out

And why I tend to think it's a pretty absurd criticism, over at Ta-Nehisi's joint:
I don't really understand why "selling out," or finding a way to steadily monetize your artistic output, is such a terrible thing.  Of course there are multiple levels on which an artist can potentially "sell out," and multiple silly critiques of such actions.  I don't think there's, for example, anything wrong with artists vetting the business practices of companies who want to use their work in advertising if they care about said business practices.  But I do think it's silly to decry artists who participate in advertising, or who sign with major labels, or who perform on silly but popular programs to get some exposure.  If you've decided that you want to make a living through your art, and to have that living be a decent one, you've already made the decision that art is a commodity--and you've accepted that decision if you buy concert tickets, or albums, or merch.
Also, if any of you go over there and start a debate about Tony Kushner in comments, you will make me so happy there might have to be a prize involved.

Robyn, I'm Begging You

Please, please, PLEASE make another album.  These fantastic songs you leak or show up on just aren't cutting it.  I need another solid 12 cuts from you.  It's been five years.  You were the soundtrack to my post-college transition.  Songs like "Curriculum Vitae":



and "Handle Me,"



served a purpose I think hip-hop does for some people, giving voice to a bravado I didn't actually feel but would have liked to possess, providing a baseline for the bravery I wanted to embody.  "Bum Like You,"




"Be Mine" and "With Every Heartbeat"



articulated the kind of heartache and disappointment I hadn't known existed before, and that my conventional pop comfort food songs for the most part (Pink's "Who Knew" is an exception) didn't address.  I'm in literal pain here.  Please give me an album for my mid-twenties.  "I still run this thing like a dancehall queen," is a good starting motto, but I need more.

Today at Ta-Nehisi's

Me on what Kathryn Bigelow means for women and action movies.  An excerpt:
I've really enjoyed the slight gender role reversal involved: Bigelow is nominated for directing a tough, suspenseful action movie that refuses to indulge in a romantic or conventionally happy ending, while Cameron is up for a movie that despite extended action sequences is essentially a corny (if visually astonishing) romance.  I'm not the type of feminist who thinks women ought to ape male behavior exactly and believes that if we can do that, sexism will just go away.  Nor do I think it's necessary for women in any medium to think they can only make careers for themselves by carving out spheres in which they write strictly about women's issues, or make strictly women's movies, or whatever.  But whatever my larger, still-clarifying thoughts on gender in the workplace, I do enjoy watching Bigelow repeatedly demonstrate that in art as in life, war and action are not strictly the directorial domain of Very Tough Men.
And if you care about-life-of-Alyssa stuff, an account of witnessing the aftermath of a robbery.

In 3D For the Money

That's where Roland Emmerich is taking Foundation, apparently, saying:
Avatar has] just shown that if you do a movie in 3-D, you can ask for more money and that's the trick. I think now everybody who does bigger movies has to shoot them in 3-D. I think there's no way around it. I was on the set of ‘Avatar' and I saw how it worked and I really thought, ‘That's the ultimate way of making movies.'
I feel fairly ambivalent about a film version of Foundation, but that Emmerich is making it, and his attitude towards it, don't encourage me.   I doubt any director could do the full scope of the novels justice, even in a trilogy.  The scope of time is so huge, the concepts so theoretical and so critical to the books.  The cast of characters is big.  If it succeeds and paves the way for a big-screen adaptation of something like the Mars trilogy, I might be more forgiving.  I do like me some epic.  But I'm not sure I can see that happening.  Fully absorbing something like Foundation requires, I think, the sustained experience of reading and concentration that would be interrupted by a multi-year gap between films.  Perhaps I'm a pessimist and a provincialist, mired in the land of books on this one.  But while in Avatar, James Cameron may have figured out a new way to spend money, he didn't figure out a new way to tell stories.

Aaaaaarrrrggggghhh!



portrait by lone snapper.

Image used under a Creative Commons license courtesy of lone snapper.

That was my initial reaction to learning Penelope Cruz is in talks to play Jack Sparrow's foil in the next Pirates of the Caribbean movie, On Stranger Tides (As for the awfulness of the pun, so sue me: my college roommates and I have a lot of them, and they're all terrible.).  Don't get me wrong.  I like Penelope Cruz a lot.  I think she's sexy as hell.  But I also think she has a tendency to be funniest and loosest in movies where she can speak Spanish rather than English.  I think that's partially just because Pedro Almodovar knows how to use her and respects the hell out of her (although she was great in Vicky Cristina Barcelona, too), whereas American directors tend to see her body and her face and forget how to think.  But Johnny Depp, even in the stupidest moments of that franchise, was still acting like a force of nature.  Keira Knightley and Naomie Harris were never really keeping up, and Orlando Bloom doesn't even count as competition.  I think Rob Marshall will have to find an excellent storyline for Cruz and direct her with exceptional intelligence to make it work.  But listen to me, discussing the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise like it's an art film or something.  What a fool am I.

Bring in the Horns, Bring in the Rhymes

I love Janelle Monae, in all her freaky glory, but I am really glad to hear her latest single is a fun, accessible jam with Big Boi.  Funny, when I think about it, I would have thought that Andre 3000 would have been a natural collaborator for her, at least from her outward aesthetics.  But Big Boi's super-percussive flow sounds great in this stripped-down, chanted track (and he does show up in the video I linked above as Sir Luscious Leftfoot, the character who is defining his upcoming album, and she's the cute girl rocking out in the backseat of his video for "Morris Brown.").  And I'm happy that she has a very consciously-inserted brass section in the track.  Horns deserve more love as an offset for MCing.  That metallic sound is great.  I hope this wins her some attention and some love, and her upcoming album gets her the broader reputation she so deserves.

Should The American TV Season Get Shorter?

Over at Ta-Nehisi's, I make the case.  An excerpt here:
State of Play, and Prime Suspect, the British detective show for which Helen Mirren was justly famous before her revival over in the States, both use six episodes to solve single crimes.  State of Play was a one-off, while Prime Suspect ran for seven series, in 1991, 1992, 1993, 1995, 1996-1997, 2003 and 2006.  The size of the arcs let the main characters in both solve the crimes at stake while creating plenty of room around the investigations for character development not prompted by the immediate case at hand (something I think has always been a flaw of the Law & Order franchise: of course Fin meets his son on the job.  Where else would he have time?).  The shows felt more like watching the real lives of the people involved in the events in question, and the crimes feel like actual, extended, frustrating investigations.
The discussion in comments is well worth checking out, as it always is over there. 

Trouble in Paradise

Nora Ephron's list of her favorite romantic movies is pretty great, though I think the omission of The Lady Eve and Trouble in Paradise in particular are criminal.  She hints at this, although I think it bears exploring a little bit more: the reason older romantic movies were good is because they tended to be about something other than simply the romance.  In It Happened One Night, Clark Gable's scoop is at risk.  In His Girl Friday, it's Rosalind Russell's professional integrity.  In the Thin Man, there's crime, in Casablanca, Nazis.  In The Lady Eve, there's the right of Barbara Stanwyck's accomplices to get away with their life of crime, and in Trouble in Paradise, it's that Gaston can't not be a crook, no matter how much he and Mariette fall for each other.  "It could have been marvelous," he tells her.  "Divine," she sighs.  "Wonderful," he agrees. "But tomorrow morning, if you should wake out of your dreams and hear a knock, and the door opens, and there, instead of a maid with a breakfast tray, stands a policeman with a warrant, then you'll be glad you are alone."  The whole damn thing's on YouTube, so you have no excuse not to watch it:



In American romances, and particularly romantic comedies, today, there is no problem that's not directly related to the main characters' ability, or lack thereof, to love.  It doesn't matter if it's jobs, parents, a precocious niece, or the end of the world.  It's all about the love affair.  Finding love will help all those characters find fulfilling employment, forgive their mothers, embrace their siblings, overcome low self-esteem, whatever.  It's an incredibly limiting plot-assumption, not to mention a guarantee that characters will be hopelessly self-centered.  And that self-centeredness is just exhausting and diminishing and requires completely predictable endings.  Characters must find love if they're to find redemption or success in any other area.  It's too bad.  Sometimes in the past, people walked away for the greater good.  There was heartbreak that was real, and not intended to be fixed by the opening credits.

The Tropics in Winter

I think I've made it relatively clear that I'm not a huge fan of Rihanna's latest album.  It's not just the creepy domestic violence references, I think it's more than the tempo of much of the music seems to fall in an uncomfortable midrange zone, not quite ballad slow, and not quite dance-club fast.  I feel like "Rude Boy" has the same musical issues, but I love the video for it:



It took me a few minutes to figure out why.  The dancing is basically dull.  There isn't a narrative to it.  Many of Rihanna's outfits look incredibly unflattering on her.  But the color, a rich, late-80's/early-90's palatte, is flashy and a lot of fun.  Many people will point to this as an obvious M.I.A. ripoff, and I'm not going to make a case for its originality.  Lady Gaga did a similar, if somewhat more subdued (I'm sure that's a first in my writing about her) thing in the largely overlooked video for "Eh, Eh (Nothing Else I Can Say)" (which also has some interesting nods to her Italian heritage):



But I feel like so many music videos have either had muted colors, or relied on a single color like the white in the "Bad Romance" official video that this could be a very refreshing trend.  Maybe it's just that I'm souring on a monochromatic palette because of the weather, but this feels summery, and fresh to me.

Where I'll Be This Week

I'm guest-posting over at Ta-Nehisi's place this week, so things may be slightly more sparse around here than usual.  I hope y'all will swing by and keep me company (and since I know some of you followed me from over there in the first place, I hope that isn't too much to ask).  And I'll be sure to put up links here when I put up posts over there.

Valentine's Day

Mine came a couple of days early, helping a friend figure out what to cook his fiancee for a special dinner.  Love is a many-splendored thing, y'all, and this year, mine is for the friends who have come into my life recently and brightened it up  But for those of you looking for romantic inspiration, this is actually much more charming than it needed to be:



Serious points for including The General and Posession in there.  And man, that fantastic declaration of love from Much Ado About Nothing: "I do love nothing in the world so much as you.  Is not that strange?"  That, and "I love you." "I know." from Empire Strikes Back may be my two favorite confessions of all time.  They work, because the people involved are themselves surprised at what they're saying.  It's grown inside them long before they were aware of it or gave it a name.  And I tend to think that's how love really is, at its best.

Ghostwriters

I think Wendy Kaminer is correct that there's a problem when credit for words that are written by someone else flows to the person who speaks them, or under whose name they have written.  It implies a skill set they don't actually have, and if they're a politician, can enhance their career as a result.  But I think she's a bit off in the reason that people end up buying those ghostwritten books. 

When one purchases a clearly ghostwritten book by a political or celebrity figure, I think most folks are doing it entirely without interest in the quality of the prose or the arc of plot.  Rather, they are doing it because the book gives them the sensation of contact with and access to the book's subject, no matter how fleeting and mediated.  It's a different impulse than the one that leads us to pick up novels, or poetry, or books by non-fiction writers we know and love.  It's really genuinely not about the prose, or the structure, or the character development.

Is it me...

Or is it somewhat strange that Lindsay Lohan apparently has Run-DMC pillowcases? (#6 in the slideshow)  To be fair, I keep a print of John Singer Sargent's "Madame X" in the house so I'm not one to talk about anyone's decorating, but the combination of that plus the Brigitte Bardot painting is some interesting cultural signaling.

Exploring the Star Wars Universe, Part I: Masculine Ideals

Blue Solo by three15bowery.
Image used under a Creative Commons license courtesy three15broadway.

It's been a long time since I asked you guys if you would like me to blog about the Star Wars extended universe and since you all said yes.  I'm sincerely sorry for making you wait.  But I hope it comes as some comfort to y'all to know that in my humble opinion this live-action Star Wars television show about the Imperial consolidation and destruction of the Jedi order does sound pretty amazing, even if George Lucas has managed to mitigate said awesomeness by okaying production in Australia.

Now, a couple of ground premises for this project: 1) I've read a lot of extended universe books, but I haven't read everything, and I've read somewhat haphazardly.  I've filled in a fair amount of what I haven't read with obsessive Wookiepedia reading.  But I don't know everything.  Nor do I expect anyone else here to.  I'll insert Wookiepedia links frequently, and try not to write too much like the Star Wars nerd that I am so this will be accessible for those of you who aren't Extended Universe fans.  I can't avoid spoilers for those benighted few of you who have never seen Star Wars at all.

2) I have some fairly strong preferences in the extended universe, for example, I like the Rogue Squadron books more than the Thrawn Campaign ones.  Corran Horn is probably my favorite extended universe character.  I find the stuff about Leia and Han's children when they're very young not particularly interesting.  Those preferences will guide my reading.  I can't help it.  You can try to convince me otherwise if you have strong opinions, but I hope this will be a somewhat different fandom debate and we won't drown ourselves.

3)  This project is going to center, at least for now, on my reading of the books that chronicle the Yuuzhan Vong war.  I chose that particular series for a couple of reasons, among them that the second generation of characters grows into adulthood during it, that the series makes what seems to me to be an impressive leap beyond the original Imperial/Sith-Republic/Jedi dichotomy that is at the heart of Star Wars origins, and also because the Yuuzhan Vong fascinate me--they come close, to a certain extent, to what I said I was looking for in an alien species in this post, without the whole "settled on a shared set of compromises" thing.  I started with the two Dark Tide books, since I a) like Michael A. Stackpole a whole bunch, b) heard from a lot of people that Vector Prime was skippable, c) can't afford to read every single book where the Yuuzhan Vong show up.

With all that established, are we ready to take our first steps into a larger world?

First, I want to backtrack a little bit.  There's a scene relatively early in The Lady Eve when Barbara Stanwyck, in the process of seducing an unwitting Henry Fonda, explains to him that her ideal man is "a practical ideal you can find two or three of in every barbershop, getting the works."  When I was growing up, pretty much all of my masculine romantic ideals came from Star Wars.

At first, when I was eleven or twelve, my life ambitions basically centered on growing up to become Luke Skywalker's Jedi girlfriend.  He may have been trained as a weapon to take down the Empire, and he may have been more than a little emo, but when it came to the ladies he was such a sweetie.  I got all gushy over his snuggles with ghostly Jedi Callista when they were working together to take down the Eye of Palpatine in Children of the Jedi, back in the day when I was still reading Barbara Hambly (who writes the junk romance novels of the Star Wars extended universe).  I was always sort of surprised in the continuity when Luke ended up with Mara Jade, the former agent of Emperor Palpatine, who always seemed to pack more...sexual heat than Luke ever did.  Luke, in many ways, is a perfect pre-teen fantasy, Edward Cullen without the stalkings, and the chompings, and the ridiculous insistence on virginity. (I do really, profoundly appreciate that the Star Wars universe, while relatively chaste, doesn't have a rigid and objectionable sexual morality.)

Fortunately, I grew up and graduated to Han Solo who, from his first appearance in the 'verse (if you'll forgive me for using Firefly slang as a convenient abbreviation) is entirely an adult, and entirely a man, if a deeply flawed one.  His sexual appeal needs no particular enumeration.  But I think Han is compelling in part because he's the model for the trajectories of most of the men in the extended universe: his evolution from arrogance to humility allows him to reclaim his moral standing, and to discover a truer, clearer, more confident masculinity.  It's an arc that really only begins in the first three movies, when Han goes from disillusioned smuggler to semi-reluctant member of the Rebel Alliance.  After that conflict, he's still enough of a jackass to literally kidnap Leia when she seems on the verge of marrying a Hapan prince in The Courtship of Princess Leia, though enough of a gent to try (and fail) to cook her a romantic dinner aboard the Millenium Falcon.  Leia chooses to be with him towards the end of that book when he renounces his claim to her and walks off to act as a suicide bomber to take out a powerful with who uses Dark magic and an Imperial warlord.

And Han is only the first of many, something Michael A. Stackpole draws out nicely, if perhaps not always intentionally, in Dark Tide I: Onslaught and Dark Tide II: Ruin.  Those novels balance a wide array of characters, male and female alike, but it's striking how many of the men are following similar arcs to the one that's defined Han's character.  Corran Horn (perhaps Stackpole's finest creation in the 'verse), the cocky former Corellian Security officer, turned Rogue Squadron pilot, turned Jedi Knight has accepted his limitations within the Force, and is a leading voice for moderation in the reconstituted Jedi order.  Gavin Darklighter has grown from a talented young pilot eager to outshine the legacy of his cousin Biggs (who died during the first Death Star run) to the sober, mature leader of Rogue Squadron.  Ganner Rhysode, a younger Jedi Knight partnered with Horn, abandons his extremism and pursuit heroics after a humbling battle with a Yuuzhan Vong warrior.  At the earlier end of the age continuum, Jacen Solo (this link is super-spoilery, just a warning), one of Han and Leia's sons, finds himself struggling with what it means to be a Jedi Knight, particularly after he follows a vision that nearly ends in disaster.  And Anakin Solo, his younger brother, finds his abilities in the Force enhanced after he stops using it for everyday tasks at the behest of his aunt, Mara Jade.

The comparison's even made explicit when Jaina Solo, Jacen's twin, meets Jagged Fel (the extended universe is not known for the sin of subtlety with these names, people), the hotshot pilot she is clearly going to end up with:
That he was handsome there was no disputing, and the cockiness, which was backed by fantastic skill as a pilot, had its charm.  She admired the way he'd stood up to the New Republic's politicians--most of whom disgusted her because of the way they treated her mother.  Even the Imperial formality* was attractive in a quaint sort of way.
I wonder if my mother saw my father that same way?
One can only hope poor Jagged isn't in for torture, Carbonite hibernation, imprisonment by Hutts, and betrayal by friends.  But this being Star Wars, and him clearly getting hooked up with a Solo, I imagine he's in for trouble in subsequent books.

One of the things that I think makes these arcs successful is that they're entirely separated from our contemporary gender politics.  Failing doesn't make these men emasculated: their skills and talents are far too well established for that, and they're already living and working alongside equally talented women without anxiety.  The professional communities they live in are largely forgiving, even if Luke ends up having to, at least on the surface, dissociate Corran from the reconstituted Jedi order.  The needs the galaxy faces prevent a punitive stance on error.  Both of these conditions create space for genuine and fulfilling character growth.

The one exception to this pattern in the Dark Tide novels and the thing I found hardest to deal with while reading them? Han.  In the wake of Chewbacca's death, he's basically become an alcoholic, refusing to take care of himself, and completely unable to relate to his children.  It's a pretty stunning turn of affairs to have Han in unwashed clothes, with his youngest kid aware he's hanging around in skeezey bars, and his wife basically assigning people to take care of him while she goes off on risky diplomatic missions.  I think it's a brave move for the extended universe to make.  Luke's foibles and dramatic failings are always determined by the fact that he's a Jedi.  Dude's particular weakness isn't for broads, or booze, but for cloned Dark Jedi.  Han is, to a certain extent, the clearest genuine original entry point into the universe for the audience.  Unlike Luke or Leia, who are strong in the Force, or the droids, who are basically comic humor (although I think there's a strong case to be made that R2 deserves to be the movies' main hero), Han is just human.  He's gotten by on his wits, and fallen on the weakness of his character.  He redeems himself through hard effort.

To really ruin him for a while, to abandon that ideal more deeply than it ever was lost before, even after torture and hibernation sickness, is a pretty risky decision.  But I like it.  As a plot choice, it's a recognition of Han's humanity, and a reaffirmation of the slightly sweet, slightly corny centrality of character in the Star Wars universe.  You may not be able to find two or three of Han Solo in any barbershop.  But he and the other men in the extended universe are worth the extra effort, because they're putting it in themselves.

*Han Solo wears Corellian bloodstripes, which he earned for service in the Imperial military, which he deserted to save Chewbacca