I really would like to dig Kid Sister. When there are so few female MCs on offer and with a chance of succeeding, I'd like for every single one of them to be irresistible, which is, of course, unfair, both because my standards are particularistic, and because what set of dudes so I submit them to? But there's something about her flow in her latest "Big 'n' Bad" that isn't quite working for me:
I don't know if it's a function of her accent, or the production on this particular song, or if she's just going at a speed that's slightly above her threshold for comprehensibility, but I'm a pretty good listener, and I'm losing at least a third of her lyrics in this one. I don't think you should be able to memorize every word in a song the first time you hear it, but I think you should be able to comprehend every line. Not everyone can go exceptionally fast, or even fast, and even meet that comprehensibility standard. I've said many times before that one of the reasons I like Eminem so much is because he's fast and clear—even if I find what he's saying tiresome, I find his skills compelling. But if you can't be fast and clear, it's better to slow it down and be articulate. I think that's actually one of the reasons I like Nicki Minaj; she knows to stay within range of her skill set. Speaking of which, how cute is the video for "Your Love"?
I really like the high-fashion and amateur-theatricality pairing in this. It feels sort of like a hip-hop Pacific Overtures. The one thing I wish is that the sword fight was a little better-choreographed. It's a bit goofy, in a video where everything else is working. For a song about a guy who carries hundreds of thousands of dollars in his pockets, and for a singer whose make her name in being outre, I think this is remarkably restrained: the cloth river and the cloth blood, the simple wooden bridge, the absence of distinguishing sets. I wouldn't have expected the simplicity, and I'm gratified by finding it.
Speaking of Sucker Punch
This is actually kind of what I'd like to see:
Obviously, it's only a viral video, and I do doubt that the form of Elizabeth Bennet's deepest imagined rebellions took the form of slugging Charlotte Lucas (though it might have prevented her from marrying Mr. Collins) or fighting zombies. But if we're going to have movies about women's fantasies of revenge and liberation, our sense of humor, I want them to be by women, or by men who are very invested in figuring out what women really want.
Obviously, it's only a viral video, and I do doubt that the form of Elizabeth Bennet's deepest imagined rebellions took the form of slugging Charlotte Lucas (though it might have prevented her from marrying Mr. Collins) or fighting zombies. But if we're going to have movies about women's fantasies of revenge and liberation, our sense of humor, I want them to be by women, or by men who are very invested in figuring out what women really want.
The Words On the Page
I feel like I've been reading at a much more rapid rate recently, and I think it's because I'm so busy that I need to do something where I can't multi-task (at least mentally). I can't write while I'm reading, and I increasingly have a hard time listening to music while I'm reading. And that sense of escape and discipline has been especially strong as I've been working my way through Brenda Wineapple's White Heat. The book, a sort of co-biography of Emily Dickinson and Thomas Wentworth Higginson, a writer and advocate for social change, is excellent (this New Yorker review is a good summary). And it's also a refreshing reminder of a time when wide swaths of society took writing seriously.
Dickinson and Higginson ended up correspondents when she sent him a letter following a piece of advice to young writers he published in The Atlantic. It's hard to imagine, in a day when print space is so precious, that the magazine would devote column inches to a similar piece today. And we also live in a time when, though we produce an enormous number of words, prose style seems less important than ever. The number of writers who have made their names on a distinctive prose style, like Ta-Nehisi Coates, is really very small. I feel some real longing for the days when writing skill, rather than subject material, be it partisan, policy-oriented, or cultural, was what made an author, when being a generalist was encouraged rather than a limitation.
I'm sure that's romantic and even a bit silly, but I also think it's the product of concentration. Dickinson found that power in a room where she essentially confined herself, Higginson in the social conflicts of his day. Wineapple's book is a reminder that I ought to seek more of it, that even as a writer about our vast and fast-changing popular culture, I might benefit more from stepping back, and away from the maelstrom, even just for a couple of hours a week.
I Don't Want to Miss A Thing
So, the network television season wound down right around the time that I started my new job, and as a result, I fell behind on shows that were important to me but that I wasn't required to recap (read, Community) or that didn't air on the night things that I recapped aired (read 30 Rock). So I finally caught up on the end of Bones last weekend. Without giving it away, I thought both the execution and the plot decisions were excellent. But the show also raised a question for me: once we're caught up in the narrative a television show chooses to cover, how much can we tolerate missing from our characters' lives?
Obviously, the answer is: quite a bit. In an ensemble show like Bones, we're not privy to every moment of every character's lives. There are even major plot points, like the departure of the team's first boss, or Zach's fate, that are left unresolved. I don't know that we've ever seen Hodgins, Camille, or Sweets at home. But we're in touch with the basic major developments in their lives. Even if Camille's growing relationship with her adoptive daughter is never the focus of a full episode again, enough details of it show up in subsequent episodes to make us feel we're in touch with the narrative. We've seen Parker grow up into a nice young boy without ever needing to dwell on him. Sweets's backstory was artfully, and surprisingly, written into a good episode.
But we've always had the basic continuity of the characters, with one exception—the surprising and intensely gratifying mid-season revelation that we had Booth and Brennan's origin story wrong, and that story was the source of Brennan's romantic disappointment and the beginning of Booth's recovery from addiction. It was a lovely little jolt, and it gives me hope for how they'll handle the looming year-long dissolution of the team.
I remain concerned, though. A year is a long time to split up a couple that clearly loves each other but is stuck in destructive denial, a long time to move Hodgins and Angela to Paris, a long time to separate Sweets from his adoptive family. Maybe by the time you're in your thirties a year isn't such a long time, but I still feel like I change an awful lot from one January to the next. I bet these characters will too. I think it was a brave decision by Hart Hanson and company to give them that time off to develop, but I think it'll be a real test of the show to present the characters as having plausibly grown and changed, while still making them lovable, perhaps even in different ways.
Obviously, the answer is: quite a bit. In an ensemble show like Bones, we're not privy to every moment of every character's lives. There are even major plot points, like the departure of the team's first boss, or Zach's fate, that are left unresolved. I don't know that we've ever seen Hodgins, Camille, or Sweets at home. But we're in touch with the basic major developments in their lives. Even if Camille's growing relationship with her adoptive daughter is never the focus of a full episode again, enough details of it show up in subsequent episodes to make us feel we're in touch with the narrative. We've seen Parker grow up into a nice young boy without ever needing to dwell on him. Sweets's backstory was artfully, and surprisingly, written into a good episode.
But we've always had the basic continuity of the characters, with one exception—the surprising and intensely gratifying mid-season revelation that we had Booth and Brennan's origin story wrong, and that story was the source of Brennan's romantic disappointment and the beginning of Booth's recovery from addiction. It was a lovely little jolt, and it gives me hope for how they'll handle the looming year-long dissolution of the team.
I remain concerned, though. A year is a long time to split up a couple that clearly loves each other but is stuck in destructive denial, a long time to move Hodgins and Angela to Paris, a long time to separate Sweets from his adoptive family. Maybe by the time you're in your thirties a year isn't such a long time, but I still feel like I change an awful lot from one January to the next. I bet these characters will too. I think it was a brave decision by Hart Hanson and company to give them that time off to develop, but I think it'll be a real test of the show to present the characters as having plausibly grown and changed, while still making them lovable, perhaps even in different ways.
Mismatch
Well, this looks pretty awful, doesn't it?
In between Edward Norton's unsuccessful accent, and Robert DeNiro's wan righteous man, and Milla Jovovich's robot-eyed bad-girl-playing-good, I'm lost as to which element of this I think is least promising. Jovovich in particular puzzles me. Other than in The Fifth Element, in which her unusual, discomfiting eyes were much less of problem for her characterization because she was playing not-quite-human anyway, I can't think of a single movie she's been in where I've actively liked her.
I wonder if perhaps she ought to go the Tilda Swinton route. Swinton is unusual-looking, although in a different way: the architecture of her face is more unusual than Jovovich's is. But she's made a very successful career for herself by inhabiting the parts of human experience many actors are uncomfortable taking in. In Michael Clayton, she was morally and physically clammy; I still think the scene where she sweats through her shirt is a masterpiece of discomfort. Where Jovovich plays a human in alien surroundings, Swinton's often comfortable playing the alien, the angel in Constantine (she might actually have been an excellent choice for the Angel in Angels in America, if the miniseries had favored a harsher interpretation), the White Witch in The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe. Her embrace of her physical unusualness has been the source of Swinton's greatness, and I wonder if the same might work for Jovovich.
In between Edward Norton's unsuccessful accent, and Robert DeNiro's wan righteous man, and Milla Jovovich's robot-eyed bad-girl-playing-good, I'm lost as to which element of this I think is least promising. Jovovich in particular puzzles me. Other than in The Fifth Element, in which her unusual, discomfiting eyes were much less of problem for her characterization because she was playing not-quite-human anyway, I can't think of a single movie she's been in where I've actively liked her.
I wonder if perhaps she ought to go the Tilda Swinton route. Swinton is unusual-looking, although in a different way: the architecture of her face is more unusual than Jovovich's is. But she's made a very successful career for herself by inhabiting the parts of human experience many actors are uncomfortable taking in. In Michael Clayton, she was morally and physically clammy; I still think the scene where she sweats through her shirt is a masterpiece of discomfort. Where Jovovich plays a human in alien surroundings, Swinton's often comfortable playing the alien, the angel in Constantine (she might actually have been an excellent choice for the Angel in Angels in America, if the miniseries had favored a harsher interpretation), the White Witch in The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe. Her embrace of her physical unusualness has been the source of Swinton's greatness, and I wonder if the same might work for Jovovich.
Cheap and Ugly
I would like to like Felicia Day's new SyFy werewolf movie, Red, but given how cheap this trailer looks, and how awful the dialogue is, I fear that's going to be quite difficult:
I often feel like Felicia Day is a real challenge for me. She represents a lot of ideas I like, in principal: she's a girl geek, she's been creative about finding financing and fan support for independent projects. I do like The Guild. And I want to give her as much support as I can because I like these things about her. But I do feel obliged to dissent when the project is bad, or not just bad, but tacky and lazy-looking. Everyone's got to eat, and I certainly don't begrudge Day doing this kind of work to pay the bills, or even the occasional trip to a spa. But I wish SyFy, presented with an actress like her, would at least make an effort to have the feature look creative and be well-written. They do all right with a multi-arc show that represents a bigger investment like Warehouse 13, so why mail it in on this?
I often feel like Felicia Day is a real challenge for me. She represents a lot of ideas I like, in principal: she's a girl geek, she's been creative about finding financing and fan support for independent projects. I do like The Guild. And I want to give her as much support as I can because I like these things about her. But I do feel obliged to dissent when the project is bad, or not just bad, but tacky and lazy-looking. Everyone's got to eat, and I certainly don't begrudge Day doing this kind of work to pay the bills, or even the occasional trip to a spa. But I wish SyFy, presented with an actress like her, would at least make an effort to have the feature look creative and be well-written. They do all right with a multi-arc show that represents a bigger investment like Warehouse 13, so why mail it in on this?
True to Life
I dug last week's post by Cynic over at Ta-Nehisi's place, on the importance of teaching non-fiction, quite a bit. He wrote:
We need to teach them how to write about other people, other places, and other times; how to wrestle with the limits of knowledge when the gaps cannot be plugged by imagination; how to convey complicated thoughts in simple words; how to pull a clear narrative line from the tangled skein of life; and above all, how to find their own rhythm and sing the music of language.I agree with all of this. I also think fiction writers should read non-fiction so they can be reminded that it's far too each to fall into story tropes, and that the randomness of life generates bewitching stories. I've always found memoir fabulists more pathetic than anything else is that their betrayals seem to stem from a conviction that their lives will never be as interesting and compelling as they want them to be. That seems like an enormous and tragic surrender, both of living, and of observing.
Covert Chemistry
Man, am I enjoying Covert Affairs even more than I expected, and even more as the series progresses beyond the first episode. And much more of that success has to do with Christopher Gorham's presence in the show than I'd anticipated.
I always found Gorham and his back-and-forth with America Ferrera on Ugly Betty a little exhausting. I'm sure that's in part because, much like the main character when the show was airing, I was in the process of breaking into the magazine industry, and I found some of Betty's faux pas and the general awkwardness between them embarrassing.
But this time around, woo, child, that man is irresistible. His character is blind, but instead of playing him herky-jerky and awkward, Gorham's character has a fluid physicality. A scene in the second episode where he spars in the gym with Perabo is relaxed, sensual, it's much more foreplay than instruction. In Miss Congeniality, a scene where Sandra Bullock and Benjamin Bratt whale on each other was supposed to be sexy, but there was too much fury behind the fight for it to be genuinely alluring. Not so with this. Gorham's character is clearly offering these instructions so he can have an excuse to touch her, and to make her touch him, but it's neither creepily needy nor uncomfortably manipulative. There's a trust there, even if he knows it's erotic and she doesn't.
And even when his character isn't touching someone, there's a sexiness in his powers of observation. Sure, he's got an advantage in that he's heightened senses like smell so he can detect more of the world around him. But there's an allure in just noticing the details, and Gorham's character does that in spades. His blindness is the result of work, not birth, but with a light touch, Gorham's character has turned that injury into an advantage. He can hear and sense things other people can't, not because he's somehow the magical disabled guy, but because he decided to start paying very cute attention. I really think it is a fun, finely drawn performance, as so many of them are on USA these days. Perabo's lucky to have him as a literal and metaphorical sparring partner for the purposes of the show. Gorham's bringing out good things in her.
In the Flesh
Oh, man you guys. I have tickets to see Robyn and Kelis next week. I am so excited. The chances of me weeping copiously at the 9:30 Club are perilously high, particularly if Robyn performs any of her new stuff. I've gushed over "Dancing On My Own" and "Dancehall Queen", but I love "Hang With Me" as an entry in the loneliness soundtrack that so many of the best pop artists seem to be collaborating on these days:
Robyn - Hang With Me official video from Robyn on Vimeo.
And "Cry When You Get Older" is simultaneously nostalgic and incredibly unsentimental:
The one thing I dislike about Robyn is the sense that I'm losing critical perspective on her. She just speaks too directly to where I am right now for me to be hard-nosed about whether the electronica is working for her, for me to go looking for flaws in her voice. And maybe if I did, I wouldn't find them anyway. The reviewers' consensus seems to be that she's as good as I feel she is, and I'm glad, as I rarely am, to have that consensus backing me up.
Robyn - Hang With Me official video from Robyn on Vimeo.
And "Cry When You Get Older" is simultaneously nostalgic and incredibly unsentimental:
The one thing I dislike about Robyn is the sense that I'm losing critical perspective on her. She just speaks too directly to where I am right now for me to be hard-nosed about whether the electronica is working for her, for me to go looking for flaws in her voice. And maybe if I did, I wouldn't find them anyway. The reviewers' consensus seems to be that she's as good as I feel she is, and I'm glad, as I rarely am, to have that consensus backing me up.
The Tyranny of the Action Movie
I don't think The Company Men looks terribly good, though to his credit, Ben Affleck is probably the least maudlin thing in it, and it's not his fault the writer and director set him up to have little girls praying for his future employment:
But I do think this is a good illustration of how bad action movies can be for men's careers. Normally we think of them as an advantage. Action movies and thrillers give male actors a chance to kick ass, save the girl, deliver a terrific speech or shut a bad one down with a well-placed bullet. But all of those things are predictable, and they're exterior. How you are when you're worried the world is about to blow up isn't actually how you are 99 percent of the time if you're an action hero and 100 percent of the time if you're the rest of us. And as a result, it's not very indicative, and there's room only for short, sharp jolts of growth, not long-term realization and development.
In their post with this trailer in it, I Watch Stuff joked that "How shocked are you that Tommy Lee Jones and Ben Affleck are in a film together in suits and it's not some sort of political thriller? You're very shocked." It's totally true, though. Affleck has never shown as much in an action movie as he did getting his heart broken, in multiple ways, in the final scene of Chasing Amy. Even those circumstances were, uh, unusual compared to this, which is an entirely ordinary, un-cinematic story. The Company Men will probably fail because it's not remotely escapist, and because it's true to what millions of folks are going through instead of a tiny minority of humanity. But that's too bad, for movies in general, and for male actors who would like to connect with something genuine.
But I do think this is a good illustration of how bad action movies can be for men's careers. Normally we think of them as an advantage. Action movies and thrillers give male actors a chance to kick ass, save the girl, deliver a terrific speech or shut a bad one down with a well-placed bullet. But all of those things are predictable, and they're exterior. How you are when you're worried the world is about to blow up isn't actually how you are 99 percent of the time if you're an action hero and 100 percent of the time if you're the rest of us. And as a result, it's not very indicative, and there's room only for short, sharp jolts of growth, not long-term realization and development.
In their post with this trailer in it, I Watch Stuff joked that "How shocked are you that Tommy Lee Jones and Ben Affleck are in a film together in suits and it's not some sort of political thriller? You're very shocked." It's totally true, though. Affleck has never shown as much in an action movie as he did getting his heart broken, in multiple ways, in the final scene of Chasing Amy. Even those circumstances were, uh, unusual compared to this, which is an entirely ordinary, un-cinematic story. The Company Men will probably fail because it's not remotely escapist, and because it's true to what millions of folks are going through instead of a tiny minority of humanity. But that's too bad, for movies in general, and for male actors who would like to connect with something genuine.
Sucker Punched
I'm trying to figure out how I feel about Zack Snyder's Sucker Punch. There are three basic problems that I'm working to overcome as I think about the movie. First is the writer and director himself. I actually liked Watchmen much more than most critics seem to have. I thought it was a visually lovely recreation of difficult source material, and if there wasn't much heart there, well, it's hard to add backstory and depth to a world that's already so richly, if sometimes inertly, populated. 300 is awful as a live-action movie—I caught the beginning on cable again recently, and it's as portentous and silly as I remember—but as narrated animation, it's slightly (I mean very slightly) more compelling. In other words, I think the record is kind of mixed.
Then, there's the subject material. Sucker Punch is about a traumatized girl locked up in a mental asylum and about to be lobotomizes who imagines that some of her fellow inmates are warriors helping her escape. I've never thought that Snyder was a director with a unique sensitivity to women and women's issues. And 1950's repression, the misuse of the mental health system, and the fantasy lives of women are definitely issues that require some sensitivity, which I think of as distinct from delicacy and squeamishness. But I am encouraged by the fact that Snyder pushed for a movie with a large number of female leads at all. I just hope they'll be people to him, as opposed to toys.
The stills that have been released from the movie don't particularly swing me in either direction that question. The girls are undeniably cheesecake, complete with lollipops, fishnets, and plunging leather necklines. But are they cheesecake of their own imagination and invention? Or of Snyder's? Of course they're Snyder's creations, but they could be his creations in a way that shows close attention and care to what girls in that situation might have dreamed up. These aren't particularly 1950's fantasies, and I actually think they'd be more interesting if they were. That's what I worry most about this movie, that the setting is just a throwaway to add some lurid danger to the concept Snyder really wants to play with, hot girls with guns. It's fine to want to work on that concept. But if so, why not just go for it, instead of adding a tetchy frame device?
Yesterday, At The Atlantic
I revisited the Spice Girls:
I had a flashback to the international insanity that made the band an international phenomenon in the first place. They really were kind of inexplicable, weren't they? The market-testing that went into designing the bandmembers' identities was so crass and obvious that no one ever bothered to disguise it in the slightest. They couldn't dance. Their singing was wildly inconsistent. Even in their sweeter, lower-tempo stuff, their lyrics were insipid. That Girl Power was a corrupted feminism-lite needs no reiteration. And yet, they kind of mattered. However crazy so many of us were, the Spice Girls were a charming derangement that spoke to a genuine hunger for female pop stars. And they continue to kind of matter, not as global superstars, but as a memory of that hunger.The great secret of Josie and the Pussycats, of course, is as rotten as the movie adaptation was, it was a relatively honest look at how crass the teenybopper section of the music industry is. They've gotten slicker, of course, but no less shallow.
Light Up My Life
I really don't care about the plot arc or the emotional content of Tron: Legacy at all. That said, the movie looks so lovely:
I've been thinking about this a bit, and I think it's interesting how much of the most impressive special effects I've seen recently have to do with light. The bioluminescence of Pandora, the light storm around the black holes in last summer's Star Trek, and now, the outlines in Tron that make substance seem irrelevant. There's no question that it's impressive to recreate putrefaction, to show people doing things that seem physically impossible. But light is a little mysterious, especially when it comes from sources we don't quite understand, it's beautiful. Making it new is inherently intriguing.
I've been thinking about this a bit, and I think it's interesting how much of the most impressive special effects I've seen recently have to do with light. The bioluminescence of Pandora, the light storm around the black holes in last summer's Star Trek, and now, the outlines in Tron that make substance seem irrelevant. There's no question that it's impressive to recreate putrefaction, to show people doing things that seem physically impossible. But light is a little mysterious, especially when it comes from sources we don't quite understand, it's beautiful. Making it new is inherently intriguing.
Ten Things I Miss About You
At the turn of the century, Julia Stiles was unquestionably one of the most intriguing young actresses around. She was prickly and funny and charming in Ten Things I Hate About You, an object both of desires, and hatreds and manipulations in both O and Hamlet, a clever and sympathetic manipulator in State and Main, an independent woman making unusual choices in Mona Lisa Smile. And then she essentially vanished into minor roles in the Bourne movies and some critical and commercial failures. But from the sounds of this New York Times profile, she hasn't been wasting her time.
I think we tend to treat actors who want to direct, much less to learn to do any of the more technical parts of the filmmaking process, as dilettantes or egos, and to be surprised when they succeed. But I think it makes sense for someone like Stiles, who sometimes seemed uncertain about what kind of actress she wanted to become, to go back to craft. If you know what it's like to try to get an actor to convey an emotion that you have very specific ideas about but are having trouble explaining, perhaps you'll be better at trying to listen for nuance in a director's instructions to you. If you've tried to marry music and images in music videos, maybe you'll be more sensitive to what your face might look like in the interplay of film and score. Focus is important, of course: you don't hone your craft, whatever it is, if you leave it behind for years to pursue related tangents that are tangents none the less, you'll lose your touch and edge.
But it sounds like Stiles has kept up a good balance. And her appearance on Dexter might be enough to convince me to check out the show. It'll be interesting to see if television proves more engaging to Stiles than movies apparently did. She always tended towards complex roles. Perhaps she'll enjoy developing them fully on the small screen.
I think we tend to treat actors who want to direct, much less to learn to do any of the more technical parts of the filmmaking process, as dilettantes or egos, and to be surprised when they succeed. But I think it makes sense for someone like Stiles, who sometimes seemed uncertain about what kind of actress she wanted to become, to go back to craft. If you know what it's like to try to get an actor to convey an emotion that you have very specific ideas about but are having trouble explaining, perhaps you'll be better at trying to listen for nuance in a director's instructions to you. If you've tried to marry music and images in music videos, maybe you'll be more sensitive to what your face might look like in the interplay of film and score. Focus is important, of course: you don't hone your craft, whatever it is, if you leave it behind for years to pursue related tangents that are tangents none the less, you'll lose your touch and edge.
But it sounds like Stiles has kept up a good balance. And her appearance on Dexter might be enough to convince me to check out the show. It'll be interesting to see if television proves more engaging to Stiles than movies apparently did. She always tended towards complex roles. Perhaps she'll enjoy developing them fully on the small screen.
Who Deserves A Movie?
I realize I linked to it on Friday morning, but I want to go back to my post on Howl for a minute. I wrote a deeply cranky post last fall about why I was sick of the Oscar-searching mentality that seems to motivate so many biopics. I still basically feel that way, there is no upcoming biopic that I am particularly excited about seeing. But as a critical problem, I remain interested in the question of who gets to be the subject of a big-studio biopic.
The historical figures who are portrayed in biopics scheduled to be released this year include Alfred Hitchcock, Lili Elbe, Joseph Wilson and Valerie Plame, William Gaines, Abraham Lincoln, Colonel Percy Fawcett, Susan Boyle, Ann Lister, Joan Jett, Cherie Currie, Mark Zuckerberg, Mark Twain, Mary Baker Eddy, Robert Ripley, Marvin Gaye, and Ian Dury. That list is, to say the least, eclectic. Someone like Lili Elbe isn't internationally and universally famous, but she's got resonance for people who are trying to understand what it means to be transgendered, or what it means to love someone transgendered. Colonel Percy Fawcett, similarly, is historically interesting but not universally famous, but he's going to be the subject of a biopic because a book based on his life, The Lost City of Z, was well-reviewed and commercially successful, and because people like adventure stories. Abraham Lincoln unquestionably is famous enough, and his story dramatic enough, to be the subject of a major biopic, which of course raises the question of why it hasn't been done in the biopic-crazed recent past.
In other words, biopics are just as random as anything else. They come to pass based on other waves in popular culture, based on the personal interest of individual writers and directors, and the interest and resemblance of individual actors to individual historical figures. But none of this has anything to do with the extent to which individual lives make good narratives and good movies.
The historical figures who are portrayed in biopics scheduled to be released this year include Alfred Hitchcock, Lili Elbe, Joseph Wilson and Valerie Plame, William Gaines, Abraham Lincoln, Colonel Percy Fawcett, Susan Boyle, Ann Lister, Joan Jett, Cherie Currie, Mark Zuckerberg, Mark Twain, Mary Baker Eddy, Robert Ripley, Marvin Gaye, and Ian Dury. That list is, to say the least, eclectic. Someone like Lili Elbe isn't internationally and universally famous, but she's got resonance for people who are trying to understand what it means to be transgendered, or what it means to love someone transgendered. Colonel Percy Fawcett, similarly, is historically interesting but not universally famous, but he's going to be the subject of a biopic because a book based on his life, The Lost City of Z, was well-reviewed and commercially successful, and because people like adventure stories. Abraham Lincoln unquestionably is famous enough, and his story dramatic enough, to be the subject of a major biopic, which of course raises the question of why it hasn't been done in the biopic-crazed recent past.
In other words, biopics are just as random as anything else. They come to pass based on other waves in popular culture, based on the personal interest of individual writers and directors, and the interest and resemblance of individual actors to individual historical figures. But none of this has anything to do with the extent to which individual lives make good narratives and good movies.
Heresy
Would you guys think I was an awful person if I admitted that I don't actually love Loretta Lynn's "Coal Miner's Daughter"? I was listening to the song last weekend and realized the false rhymes and awkward scansions were getting to me:
I think it's partially cultural conditioning, too. After growing up on prairie girl stories and spending a lot of time around union organizers, Lynn's poor-but-happy narrative feels a little...forced. The thing is, "Van Lear Rose" isn't any less corny:
But I think it's a tighter song. And I feel a little guilty for liking it better. It should make me an obnoxious hipster to dig the Pitchfork-accredited country of Lynn's album with Jack White more than I like the original, unpolished Lynn. Or maybe I'm just in a hipster trap for thinking I should like her early stuff better. Whatever I figure out, I will defend "Portland, Oregon" forever, though:
I really do hope this song had its genesis in an actual, epic night out.
I think it's partially cultural conditioning, too. After growing up on prairie girl stories and spending a lot of time around union organizers, Lynn's poor-but-happy narrative feels a little...forced. The thing is, "Van Lear Rose" isn't any less corny:
But I think it's a tighter song. And I feel a little guilty for liking it better. It should make me an obnoxious hipster to dig the Pitchfork-accredited country of Lynn's album with Jack White more than I like the original, unpolished Lynn. Or maybe I'm just in a hipster trap for thinking I should like her early stuff better. Whatever I figure out, I will defend "Portland, Oregon" forever, though:
I really do hope this song had its genesis in an actual, epic night out.
The Color in the Apple
Lucy Knisley is doing comic-style illustrations of The Giver. io9 points out in a post highlighting them that Lois Lowry's dystopian teen novel has made it into graphic novel form, but I've got another question. How has this never turned into a movie? IMDb lists an adaptation for next year, and Walden Media is theoretically working on an adaptation (something IMDb doesn't confirm), but given the paucity of details, it seems extremely unlikely.
The inexplicable delay makes no sense. The Giver is a gorgeous, dramatic book that illustrates the principles of longing and denial far better than Twlight does, and with imbues those themes with far more significance than that series ever did (and in SO many fewer words). The central mystery of the book emerges slowly and is never really solved—clearly, the authority that runs the community at the center of the novel kills people who don't fit its design, but are they a world government? An enclave set aside from a society they've deemed corrupt? A movie could explore those questions further, even if it doesn't pose a definitive answer or change the ambiguity of the novel's ending.
And an adaptation would have an enormous built-in audience. The Giver is in huge circulation in schools and book clubs, and even if it lacks a Twihard-like fanbase, it would tap both nostalgia in readers like me who discovered the book on our own, and at least familiarity in audiences who tend to like remakes. No matter how much you love something, I understand the rational behind demanding a business case for producing commercial art. The Giver's got one. And it could be a Never Let Me Go for a tween set that could use an artistic kick in the pants.
The inexplicable delay makes no sense. The Giver is a gorgeous, dramatic book that illustrates the principles of longing and denial far better than Twlight does, and with imbues those themes with far more significance than that series ever did (and in SO many fewer words). The central mystery of the book emerges slowly and is never really solved—clearly, the authority that runs the community at the center of the novel kills people who don't fit its design, but are they a world government? An enclave set aside from a society they've deemed corrupt? A movie could explore those questions further, even if it doesn't pose a definitive answer or change the ambiguity of the novel's ending.
And an adaptation would have an enormous built-in audience. The Giver is in huge circulation in schools and book clubs, and even if it lacks a Twihard-like fanbase, it would tap both nostalgia in readers like me who discovered the book on our own, and at least familiarity in audiences who tend to like remakes. No matter how much you love something, I understand the rational behind demanding a business case for producing commercial art. The Giver's got one. And it could be a Never Let Me Go for a tween set that could use an artistic kick in the pants.
This Week, At The Atlantic
Sorry for being slow to get these posts up. It's been a very, very busy week at work. But, this week I wrote about the shift in Aaron Sorkin's worldview, what their videos would be like if Ne-Yo and Lady Gaga worked together, the impact of Ludacris as a guest artist, Tavis Smiley's New Orleans documentary, whether Pixar should become a consultancy, and the artistic decisions behind Howl.
Turning a ____ Into a Housewife
I've been thinking a ton about the Real Housewives franchise recently, since covering it, or at least the DC iteration, has suddenly become part of my day job. And so I think it's interesting, but not surprising, that the show is going international. In its own melodramatic, class-insensitive, shallow way, Real Housewives speaks to very real anxieties about balancing family and work life—and has some reasonably challenging ideas undergirding it.
This is a show where the term that distinguishes the franchise, "housewife," is pretty much stripped of all meaning. You don't have to be married to be a Real Housewife. You don't even have to be dating anyone particularly seriously. And you're almost certainly not simply a stay-at-home wife or mom if you've been found interesting enough to be on the show. You're running a business, or a charity, or at the very least, stirring up a hell of a lot of trouble semi-professionally. Being an American wife doesn't mean anything in particular these days. That definitional void might be scary, but it's also an opportunity to fill it up with something valuable and interesting and varied.
I'd imagine that international versions of the show might be different, but that'll be useful to see, too. Not to say that pop culture is a substitute for sociology, but shows like Real Housewives do reflect what people want to see and want to think about social roles, even in a limited way. And hey, if Catherine Ommaney decides Washington, DC doesn't work out for her, this means she can move back to the UK and transfer over to The Real Housewives of Sandbanks. Jill Zarin could make aliyah and teach the Real Housewives in Israel how to stir the pot. The possibilities are endless.
This is a show where the term that distinguishes the franchise, "housewife," is pretty much stripped of all meaning. You don't have to be married to be a Real Housewife. You don't even have to be dating anyone particularly seriously. And you're almost certainly not simply a stay-at-home wife or mom if you've been found interesting enough to be on the show. You're running a business, or a charity, or at the very least, stirring up a hell of a lot of trouble semi-professionally. Being an American wife doesn't mean anything in particular these days. That definitional void might be scary, but it's also an opportunity to fill it up with something valuable and interesting and varied.
I'd imagine that international versions of the show might be different, but that'll be useful to see, too. Not to say that pop culture is a substitute for sociology, but shows like Real Housewives do reflect what people want to see and want to think about social roles, even in a limited way. And hey, if Catherine Ommaney decides Washington, DC doesn't work out for her, this means she can move back to the UK and transfer over to The Real Housewives of Sandbanks. Jill Zarin could make aliyah and teach the Real Housewives in Israel how to stir the pot. The possibilities are endless.
Hometown Girls and Boys
Boston isn't my hometown by birth, and if I had to choose one, I'd probably pick a town that lies 104 miles east of the town where my family's lived the longest, in the suburbs of the city. But it's the metropolis that I've been in orbit to longest, and so I'm thrilled by how good The Town has the potential to be:
I've always felt like Boston social traditions, particular Boston modes of dress at events like Red Sox Games, are the ones I've mastered best. I'm just barely not one of the people the Mighty Mighty Bosstones lambaste in "They Came to Boston," and I feel a little false claiming any sort of kinship with the sentiments of "I Want My City Back," but the landmarks are all embedded in my mental geography:
All of which is a massive digression on the way to saying that I think it would be truly wonderful if Ben Affleck came into his own as the cinematic champion of working-class Boston. He's always been best as a man who was a little bit lost, as he was so beautifully in Kevin Smith's best period, or as a supporting character, as he is in Good Will Hunting and Shakespeare in Love. He's not the latter in this movie, which is a risk, but he is the former. And Affleck's always been helped by having great actors around him to play off of—as a leading man, he's often been marooned out on his own, without someone to spar with or to try to live up to. He has that in spades here: Chris Cooper is his father, Jeremy Renner is his best friend and partner. Jon Hamm is his adversary. Rebecca Hall is his victim and his lover.
And the movie is turf that Affleck knows, no matter how far he's travelled from, and loves. Like Gone, Baby, Gone, the movie shot in a lot of Massachusetts locations. Unlike Martin Scorsese, who appears to be considering adopting Boston at this late point in his career, Affleck chose the city before he could have possibly considered it as the subject for a movie, went to its schools, roots for its sports teams. There's nothing wrong with choosing a city later in life, of course. But I do think Affleck has a better chance of finding himself and whatever role he's really meant to have in movies after a lot of lost and wasted efforts, by rooting his artistic exploration in the area he knows best.
I've always felt like Boston social traditions, particular Boston modes of dress at events like Red Sox Games, are the ones I've mastered best. I'm just barely not one of the people the Mighty Mighty Bosstones lambaste in "They Came to Boston," and I feel a little false claiming any sort of kinship with the sentiments of "I Want My City Back," but the landmarks are all embedded in my mental geography:
All of which is a massive digression on the way to saying that I think it would be truly wonderful if Ben Affleck came into his own as the cinematic champion of working-class Boston. He's always been best as a man who was a little bit lost, as he was so beautifully in Kevin Smith's best period, or as a supporting character, as he is in Good Will Hunting and Shakespeare in Love. He's not the latter in this movie, which is a risk, but he is the former. And Affleck's always been helped by having great actors around him to play off of—as a leading man, he's often been marooned out on his own, without someone to spar with or to try to live up to. He has that in spades here: Chris Cooper is his father, Jeremy Renner is his best friend and partner. Jon Hamm is his adversary. Rebecca Hall is his victim and his lover.
And the movie is turf that Affleck knows, no matter how far he's travelled from, and loves. Like Gone, Baby, Gone, the movie shot in a lot of Massachusetts locations. Unlike Martin Scorsese, who appears to be considering adopting Boston at this late point in his career, Affleck chose the city before he could have possibly considered it as the subject for a movie, went to its schools, roots for its sports teams. There's nothing wrong with choosing a city later in life, of course. But I do think Affleck has a better chance of finding himself and whatever role he's really meant to have in movies after a lot of lost and wasted efforts, by rooting his artistic exploration in the area he knows best.
Mercedes Benz
I think it's fascinating that often, as soon as actors reach a certain level of famous, they try to figure out if they can convince people they're someone else famous. In other words, they try to make a killer biopic. The latest actress to go this route? Amy Adams (her turn as Julie Powell doesn't count), who will be following in the esteemed footsteps of 30 Rock's Jenna Maroney and playing (licensed, this time, one presumes) Janis Joplin. Adams has relied so often on her wide eyes and ability to appear sweetly flustered that I think this is a good move for her, and a good opportunity for her to stretch. And we know she can sing:
Channeling Janis will require something a little bit different:
But I think Adams may be up for it. They both grew up in the West or Mountain West, and both had strong early religious upbringings they moved beyond. I don't know that it's a guaranteed success, of course, these things never are. I admire Adams for wanting to do something a bit more difficult than what she's tackled lately, and so I'll root for her.
Channeling Janis will require something a little bit different:
But I think Adams may be up for it. They both grew up in the West or Mountain West, and both had strong early religious upbringings they moved beyond. I don't know that it's a guaranteed success, of course, these things never are. I admire Adams for wanting to do something a bit more difficult than what she's tackled lately, and so I'll root for her.
You Might Think...
That as a crazy, one-eyed (FYI: eye damage FREAKS ME OUT, and is a phobia I've been unable to overcome in art. So if you recommend something to me that involves eye stuff, and I haven't seen it, that's why.) tattooed mute Viking, Mads Mikkelsen would be slightly less sexy than he is normally. You would be mistaken:
Mel Gibson was reportedly working on a Viking movie with Leonardo DiCaprio as the central Viking back in March before he torpedoed his career via domestic violence, but I think whatever the plot of that one would have been, and whoever starred in it, the concept behind Valhalla Rising is pretty astonishing. My grandmother and I were discussing the European settlement of North America this weekend and talking about how daring it was for the Pilgrims to sail West. But how much more insanely daring were the Norse voyages across the Atlantic? A knarr is so vastly less protected than a caravel. The idea of the world was smaller back then. I can see a guy like Mikkelsen's character having what it takes, even if whatever that was is foreign to those of us who see the whole world as something we can know and understand and reach relatively easily.
Mel Gibson was reportedly working on a Viking movie with Leonardo DiCaprio as the central Viking back in March before he torpedoed his career via domestic violence, but I think whatever the plot of that one would have been, and whoever starred in it, the concept behind Valhalla Rising is pretty astonishing. My grandmother and I were discussing the European settlement of North America this weekend and talking about how daring it was for the Pilgrims to sail West. But how much more insanely daring were the Norse voyages across the Atlantic? A knarr is so vastly less protected than a caravel. The idea of the world was smaller back then. I can see a guy like Mikkelsen's character having what it takes, even if whatever that was is foreign to those of us who see the whole world as something we can know and understand and reach relatively easily.
Crazy Beautiful
I tend to think most things are up for artistic exploration, and that neither I nor anyone else are really in a position to judge most interpretations of ideas. That said, I'm going to go on record and say that it's pretty gross to portray a mental ward as a cute place to get mentored and maybe meet a chick:
Green And Sexy
I'm trying to get my mind around the idea that Mark Ruffalo, of all people, might end up playing the Hulk in The Avengers. Don't get me wrong, I love the dude. But he doesn't strike me as particularly mild-mannered and tortured. Even as a detective chasing a serial killer in Zodiac, he was tense, angry, eccentric, gentlemanly rather than a sweet guy hiding a monster. And his tendency is more towards laid-back scruffy and articulate when he's not in that kind of mode. I can maybe see him as the Thing, if Michael Chiklis hadn't gotten there first and been the only decent thing about the wretched Final Four adaptations. Or even as Drunk Hulk or Feminist Hulk. But when it comes to the Hulk proper, I always like Ruffalo, even when he's angry.
Something Really Special: Salt Edition
A couple of weeks ago, NPR's rockstar culture correspondent Neda Ulaby shot me an email. After I fell out of my chair in gratitude and surprise and recovered my composure, we recorded a couple of segments.
The first one, pegged to the release of Salt on Friday, and as an expansion of this post, on roles in pop culture that were written for men and ended up being played by women, is up here, along with a slide show for which I wrote the captions. I hope I don't do this to you guys too much, but please, PLEASE go read the story and listen to the segment. A) being quoted alongside Ridley Scott is one of the more exciting things to happen to me, pop-culture wise, b) my parents are geeked about me being on NPR and c) Neda is awesome, one of the nicest reporters I've met in the business, and I would love for her to get some traffic from y'all for this.
The first one, pegged to the release of Salt on Friday, and as an expansion of this post, on roles in pop culture that were written for men and ended up being played by women, is up here, along with a slide show for which I wrote the captions. I hope I don't do this to you guys too much, but please, PLEASE go read the story and listen to the segment. A) being quoted alongside Ridley Scott is one of the more exciting things to happen to me, pop-culture wise, b) my parents are geeked about me being on NPR and c) Neda is awesome, one of the nicest reporters I've met in the business, and I would love for her to get some traffic from y'all for this.
A Unique Accolade
I cannot think of a movie that's looked less appealing than this, based on a trailer, at least, in a very, very long time:
There is no rationale here. Who the hell is Zach Galifanakis? Who the hell is Robert Downey Jr.'s character? What about Jamie Foxx? Why are they roadtripping together? Especially if they're trying to get somewhere for the birth of Downey Jr.'s character's first child, why isn't he just taking a plane and staying with friends, or in-laws, ex- or otherwise? I have no idea what of substance is supposed to be going on, and the idiocy going on around the edges is extremely unappealing. There are significant actorly assets here. What happened?
There is no rationale here. Who the hell is Zach Galifanakis? Who the hell is Robert Downey Jr.'s character? What about Jamie Foxx? Why are they roadtripping together? Especially if they're trying to get somewhere for the birth of Downey Jr.'s character's first child, why isn't he just taking a plane and staying with friends, or in-laws, ex- or otherwise? I have no idea what of substance is supposed to be going on, and the idiocy going on around the edges is extremely unappealing. There are significant actorly assets here. What happened?
"Smiley" Face
In what sounds like completely awesome casting move, Gary Oldman is apparently set to play George Smiley. The Karla trilogy is an amazing story, and while I think it might work better as a premium cable show, I'd take a great Tinker, Taylor, Soldier, Spy movie, and even a trilogy of movies if it works out, if that's what's on offer. The timing seems right, too. The recent arrest and deportation of a Russian spy ring in the United States, no matter how insignificant, makes Cold War narratives relevant again. And let's be honest, nothing has every particularly replaced the U.S. and U.K. v. Russia in the world of long-arc spy stories.
The Bond franchise is the most obvious example of the flailing failure to find a replacement. The Chinese-industrial axis in Tomorrow Never Dies didn't quite resonate, and Le Chiffre worked brilliantly as a nemesis in the Casino Royale remake, but the organization that theoretically employed him was a massive dud in Quantum of Solace. The franchise is on hold right now, at least in major part because of MGM's major financial difficulties, but if a studio was going to cut an expensive, long-running process, Bond's an anti-hero without a mission these days, and worth shelving until he can find a new rationale.
Contemporary spy shows like 24 or Spooks have survived in part by addressing an array of villains. But terrorism of the Osama bin Laden variety's a bit...diffuse, and it's hard to have a clash of equals when the visions of the adversaries are a question of modernity and its destruction, not different visions of progress. It's not a duel, it's much messier, and in the end, al Qaeda's going to lose, which takes a lot of the suspense out of things. Strictly for the purposes of storytelling, it's nice to have the Russians back.
I Believe In Elizabeth Banks
Legends
So, am I a) just secretly eight years old, b) warped by reading George R.R. Martin, or c) does Legend of the Guardians look kind of amazing?
I realize I am asking you guys to consider a movie that is about fluffy adorable owls, by a guy who made 300 and kind of messed up Watchmen, and whose next movie after this is a steampunk-exploitation-abuse movie with a pretty awesome-looking female cast, and with the subtitle "The Owls of Ga'Hoole." But doesn't the animation, particularly in HD, look insanely gorgeous and detailed? Doesn't the adventure narrative seem very slightly less insanely trite than most of the junk that's shoveled at kids these days? Isn't the choice of owls seem...refreshing after all the talking dogs and cats that have cursed our theaters recently? If it's a high-stakes, tense action narrative based on a reasonably sophisticated mythology, I'll definitely go see it, if only as a way to put my money behind my belief that kids these days deserve better, even if they're too young to ask for it.
I realize I am asking you guys to consider a movie that is about fluffy adorable owls, by a guy who made 300 and kind of messed up Watchmen, and whose next movie after this is a steampunk-exploitation-abuse movie with a pretty awesome-looking female cast, and with the subtitle "The Owls of Ga'Hoole." But doesn't the animation, particularly in HD, look insanely gorgeous and detailed? Doesn't the adventure narrative seem very slightly less insanely trite than most of the junk that's shoveled at kids these days? Isn't the choice of owls seem...refreshing after all the talking dogs and cats that have cursed our theaters recently? If it's a high-stakes, tense action narrative based on a reasonably sophisticated mythology, I'll definitely go see it, if only as a way to put my money behind my belief that kids these days deserve better, even if they're too young to ask for it.
A Day of Katess
First Katie, now the news that Kate Plus 8 is down in the ratings. This seems to be a reflection of good taste and conscience, even if it's not intentional. This is one show I've always worried about for different reasons than my standard past concerns about reality television. It says a mouthful about American society that a family with this many kids would feel that turning to reality television was the only way to provide them with what they'd decided was an appropriate standard of living. Is reality television really a mainstream enough career that it counts among semi-mainstream, slightly silly aspirations? Is working and fundraising towards things like scholarships really so hard? I don't have much objection to folks who go on reality shows because they want to promote a charity, or themselves, but they're qualitatively different from folks who go on shows like these because they need the money. There's a big difference between wanting to promote and control your image, and selling yourself to survive. It seems like it would be a pretty good things for those kids if the show that's funded their lives so far, and also made them and their parents tabloid objects and fueled their father's terrible, immature behavior went away, and they all had to figure out a better way to get by.
Country Precinct
Not to get all block-quotey today, but I think Katie has a good point about cop shows:
I do wonder, though, how small a town can get before a cop show can't thrive there. In part, I think that's because of a strong bias in our procedurals towards murder as the crime of choice. In the town of 30,000 where I largely grew up, there hadn't been a murder for five years before we moved there, and there hasn't been one since. That's great for quality of living, but bad for drama. The town in mind would have to be designed with certain social problems to guarantee a plausible and predictable level of time while also having the same small-town dynamic Katie writes about. I don't think it's impossible, but I do think it would have to be carefully done.
Where's the cop show set in the suburbs or a small-but-not-excessively-quirky town? Sure, there wouldn't be enough major crime to make it a procedural, but a character-driven drama combined with day-to-day cop stuff could totally work. (The closest to this I can think of is, God help us, certain seasons of 7th Heaven. I'm thinking more along the lines of Friday Night Lights.) The police setting invites all sorts of interpersonal conflicts: Someone's spouse doesn't like the hours. Someone's kid is acting up. And how do the cops deal with knowing all sorts of stuff about the people they see at the grocery store or church every week?I actually think a transition towards this is under way. A show like FX's Justified is a move from the city to the country, even if the show focuses on U.S. Marshals, and a wider range of territory, than cops in a small town. I haven't had a chance to check out TNT's Memphis Beat yet, but that's another show that's making a transition from the coasts into the heartland, even if Memphis still counts as a city. Geographically, these shows are closer to the city than the country.
I do wonder, though, how small a town can get before a cop show can't thrive there. In part, I think that's because of a strong bias in our procedurals towards murder as the crime of choice. In the town of 30,000 where I largely grew up, there hadn't been a murder for five years before we moved there, and there hasn't been one since. That's great for quality of living, but bad for drama. The town in mind would have to be designed with certain social problems to guarantee a plausible and predictable level of time while also having the same small-town dynamic Katie writes about. I don't think it's impossible, but I do think it would have to be carefully done.
Friday, At The Atlantic
I wrote about The Imperfectionists, a book I sorely wanted to like, and didn't:
Journalism isn't dying because the people who work in the industry are all cravens and fools. It would be convenient and comforting if that were true because then all you'd have to do is swap out the bad folks for good ones, and everything would be fine. But that's not remotely the case. Rachman's novel doesn't want to deal in any substantive way with the reasons the news business is undergoing monumental change, and so he settles for an easy solution, and for unpleasant characters. If Rome is supposed to be a microcosm, the paper just one example of what's happening to us all, then The Imperfectionists shares the same flaw Rachman thinks the newspaper business does. The novel doesn't see further than the city, and it sees the people who populate it with a crooked eye. It doesn't make for perspective, or even for exceptionally good entertainment.The chapter I praise in this post is definitely very good, and I recommend reading that part of the novel when you've got twenty minutes or so in a bookstore, or the novel arrives in your local library. But the book isn't as good, overall, as its ambitions.
Parenthood
I'm still working my way through Doctor Who, and got through "Father's Day" over the weekend, an episode that to me epitomizes the strengths and weaknesses of the show. It doesn't make sense, for example, that all the Doctor's interventions, which happen in every freakin' episode of the show wouldn't have changed the world enough to make beasties show up and start, uh, eating everything. For that to be true, the Doctor has to consistently show up in places where something else has caused time or history to go out of whack, and whatever he does has to restore things to the way they were supposed to be, even if he doesn't know what they are. That's way too much chance to accept.
But, despite the fact that the episode reveals that gaping conceptual flaw in the series, it's also an example of what's best about it. The tenderness and difficulty between Rose and the Doctor is beautifully executed. His anger at her is a reflection of his love and anger and fear—it's an exceptionally vulnerable moment, seeing him run out on her. When they walk back towards the TARDIS hand in hand, it feels wonderfully intimate, even though it's only the first stage of romantic or sexual touch.
Most of all, though, I think this particular episode set back in Rose's world does a lovely job of opening up her back story. The show is set just after her birth, so it's less about formational experiences for her, and more about the architecture in which she grew up. What Rose learns is that her father was much less successful, and the relationship between him and her mother was much less loving and idyllic than she had been told growing up. But she also learns that despite his failures as a husband and as a businessman, her father was a decent, loving man. The episode is a great nod to the power of the stories we tell ourselves and others about our lives, and an exploration of her mother's weakness and regret.
One of the things I like most about the series is that Rose clearly wants to escape her mother, who is a difficult person, and not an exceptionally strong or smart one, though she's definitely not evil. When we meet Rose, she's young, working class, and doesn't seem to have a lot of other prospects, or anyone driving her to think about living a more expansive life. But when the Doctor offers her an opportunity to see and live more widely in the world and beyond it, she dives for it, without fear or regret. It's not that Rose doesn't love her mother, but she needs to move beyond her, her mother's apartment, and her mother's scrapbook. In "Father's Day," she gets a narrative of her own to replace it. And she and the Doctor walk out into the universe together. It's rebellion, sure, but intelligent rebellion, both for Rose, and to viewers. She's not acting out. She's growing.
But, despite the fact that the episode reveals that gaping conceptual flaw in the series, it's also an example of what's best about it. The tenderness and difficulty between Rose and the Doctor is beautifully executed. His anger at her is a reflection of his love and anger and fear—it's an exceptionally vulnerable moment, seeing him run out on her. When they walk back towards the TARDIS hand in hand, it feels wonderfully intimate, even though it's only the first stage of romantic or sexual touch.
Most of all, though, I think this particular episode set back in Rose's world does a lovely job of opening up her back story. The show is set just after her birth, so it's less about formational experiences for her, and more about the architecture in which she grew up. What Rose learns is that her father was much less successful, and the relationship between him and her mother was much less loving and idyllic than she had been told growing up. But she also learns that despite his failures as a husband and as a businessman, her father was a decent, loving man. The episode is a great nod to the power of the stories we tell ourselves and others about our lives, and an exploration of her mother's weakness and regret.
One of the things I like most about the series is that Rose clearly wants to escape her mother, who is a difficult person, and not an exceptionally strong or smart one, though she's definitely not evil. When we meet Rose, she's young, working class, and doesn't seem to have a lot of other prospects, or anyone driving her to think about living a more expansive life. But when the Doctor offers her an opportunity to see and live more widely in the world and beyond it, she dives for it, without fear or regret. It's not that Rose doesn't love her mother, but she needs to move beyond her, her mother's apartment, and her mother's scrapbook. In "Father's Day," she gets a narrative of her own to replace it. And she and the Doctor walk out into the universe together. It's rebellion, sure, but intelligent rebellion, both for Rose, and to viewers. She's not acting out. She's growing.
A Week of Fire and Ice: Day 5
Not that I want to foreswear rigorous analysis of the text or anything, but for this last day of discussion of George R.R. Martin's A Song of Fire and Ice series, I want to turn some attention to the HBO miniseries that got me interested in the books in the first place, specifically to the casting. I won't put in a jump for this one, since it's not about plot points, and will mostly be about characterization, rather than plot.
There have been some obvious good calls that lead me to hope for great things across the board. Peter Dinklage is an obvious choice for Tyrion Lannister, and it's also a great, meaty role about what it's like to be a person with dwarfism. Roles like that just aren't that common, and of course Dinklage wouldn't want to, and shouldn't, given his talents, be confined to roles about or inflected by a medical condition that he happens to have. But roles that are in part about living with dwarfism and the rest about living in an intense, ambitious feudal family at a time of enormous upheaval are, um, essentially non-existent, so I can see why Dinklage would want this one in particular.
He'll have at least one terrific opposite number to play off of. Lena Headey is an awesome choice to play Cersei Lannister, one of the characters I felt queasiest about in the books, and Tyrion's sister. She's honed a lot of energy and rage in playing Sarah Connor, and as Queen Gorgo, she was one of the only watchable things in 300. That's actually been an unfortunate pattern in her movie career: she's been in a lot of eccentric junk, and things like the dreadful Imagine Me & You, in which she plays a sexy lesbian seducer to not exceptionally good effect. It'll be nice to see her in a role that will make awesome use of her skills, and maybe give her the prestige to go on to more intelligent and successful projects.
I'm less certain about Nikolaj Coster-Waldau as Jamie Lannister, if only because the only movie I've seen that IMDb says he was in was, um, Wimbeldon, as embarrassed as I am to admit that, and I definitely don't remember him in it at all. I have different concerns about Sean Bean as Eddard. Lord of the Rings sure proves that he looks dandy in clothing of the era and does a decent job as a man struggling against core inner weakness. But I've never found the dude to be exceptionally peaceful or subtle, and I'll be curious to see how he does anchoring a series of this magnitude. I'd feel a bit more comfortable if they'd cast someone I was more familiar with as Catelyn Tully Stark, since I just don't know how Michelle Fairley will balance Bean out. She's mostly done one-offs in television after a series of recurring parts in shows or miniseries in the late nineties and early aughts. One thing in her favor though, she's been cast as Hermoine's mother in the Deathly Hallows movies, which means two directors of big, freighted projects are banking on her chops.
Where I'm most concerned though is the casting of the series' children. The actors playing Arya Stark, Sansa Stark, and Jon Snow have literally never acted before. The girl playing Dany has one television episode credit to her name. Alfie Allen, Lily's little brother, is playing Theon Greyjoy. Casting children is an obvious and consistent challenge, but it's especially freighted in projects like this because the children have to bear so much more emotional strain and witness things that are so much more dramatic than most child actors have to put up with. This is Dakota Fanning in Hounddog territory except the whole world is awful, way beyond Chloe Moretz in Kick-Ass since the violence is constant, persistent, and much bloodier and direct, and because the characters knew other lives and dreamed other dreams. And these children are ultimately the center of the story. Sean Bean will be a nominal anchor, but if the kids fail, so does the series.
But I'm trying to stay optimistic. A series that's casting the awesome and underrated Rory McCann (who plays Michael the trolly-boy in Hot Fuzz, and the great, gawky, charming detective in the first episode of State of Play) as a vicious swordsman with a maimed face and charred morals has some imagination and ambition.
There have been some obvious good calls that lead me to hope for great things across the board. Peter Dinklage is an obvious choice for Tyrion Lannister, and it's also a great, meaty role about what it's like to be a person with dwarfism. Roles like that just aren't that common, and of course Dinklage wouldn't want to, and shouldn't, given his talents, be confined to roles about or inflected by a medical condition that he happens to have. But roles that are in part about living with dwarfism and the rest about living in an intense, ambitious feudal family at a time of enormous upheaval are, um, essentially non-existent, so I can see why Dinklage would want this one in particular.
He'll have at least one terrific opposite number to play off of. Lena Headey is an awesome choice to play Cersei Lannister, one of the characters I felt queasiest about in the books, and Tyrion's sister. She's honed a lot of energy and rage in playing Sarah Connor, and as Queen Gorgo, she was one of the only watchable things in 300. That's actually been an unfortunate pattern in her movie career: she's been in a lot of eccentric junk, and things like the dreadful Imagine Me & You, in which she plays a sexy lesbian seducer to not exceptionally good effect. It'll be nice to see her in a role that will make awesome use of her skills, and maybe give her the prestige to go on to more intelligent and successful projects.
I'm less certain about Nikolaj Coster-Waldau as Jamie Lannister, if only because the only movie I've seen that IMDb says he was in was, um, Wimbeldon, as embarrassed as I am to admit that, and I definitely don't remember him in it at all. I have different concerns about Sean Bean as Eddard. Lord of the Rings sure proves that he looks dandy in clothing of the era and does a decent job as a man struggling against core inner weakness. But I've never found the dude to be exceptionally peaceful or subtle, and I'll be curious to see how he does anchoring a series of this magnitude. I'd feel a bit more comfortable if they'd cast someone I was more familiar with as Catelyn Tully Stark, since I just don't know how Michelle Fairley will balance Bean out. She's mostly done one-offs in television after a series of recurring parts in shows or miniseries in the late nineties and early aughts. One thing in her favor though, she's been cast as Hermoine's mother in the Deathly Hallows movies, which means two directors of big, freighted projects are banking on her chops.
Where I'm most concerned though is the casting of the series' children. The actors playing Arya Stark, Sansa Stark, and Jon Snow have literally never acted before. The girl playing Dany has one television episode credit to her name. Alfie Allen, Lily's little brother, is playing Theon Greyjoy. Casting children is an obvious and consistent challenge, but it's especially freighted in projects like this because the children have to bear so much more emotional strain and witness things that are so much more dramatic than most child actors have to put up with. This is Dakota Fanning in Hounddog territory except the whole world is awful, way beyond Chloe Moretz in Kick-Ass since the violence is constant, persistent, and much bloodier and direct, and because the characters knew other lives and dreamed other dreams. And these children are ultimately the center of the story. Sean Bean will be a nominal anchor, but if the kids fail, so does the series.
But I'm trying to stay optimistic. A series that's casting the awesome and underrated Rory McCann (who plays Michael the trolly-boy in Hot Fuzz, and the great, gawky, charming detective in the first episode of State of Play) as a vicious swordsman with a maimed face and charred morals has some imagination and ambition.
Yesterday, At The Atlantic
Sorry I forgot yesterday. It's been a little hectic around here! But at least you get two this time out. First, an appreciation of Bethanny Frankel, and second, on the difficulty of assessing Woody Allen.
Santa Angelina
You know how I mentioned a couple of months back that Angelina Jolie was in talks to do a live-action Maleficent movie with Tim Burton? Apparently it's the movie on her plate that she's most excited about, and she's like the character since she was young herself. All of which makes me extremely happy. A vast flood of speculation and rumor and nonsense has been written about Jolie's large family, but if having six children inspires her to start making awesome, intelligent children's movies, it'd be a blessing. It's relatively rare that someone thinking carefully about the values with which to raise their children also has immense market power. If Angelina uses hers for good, I'll like her even more than I already do.
Philip Seymour Hoffman Goes Directing
It's always interesting to see what big-name actors decide to do with themselves when they get the chance to direct. Philip Seymour Hoffman appears to have decided to make himself the main character, and to have made that main character relatively pathetic in Jack Goes Boating:
I'm sure he'll be good at this, and I think the choice of learning to swim as the central metaphor for the movie is a pretty good one. I think it's more common than we imagine to not know how to swim, and it's a surprisingly hard thing to learn, and miraculous once you nail it. There are worse metaphors for love and adult living, in any case. But I do think there's an extent to which it's cheating to make yourself a serious loser in a movie like this so the range of possible growth will be so much greater. I'm kind of more interested in Daphne Rubin-Vega (hey, Mimi grows up!) and John Ortiz, if only because I'd kind of rather see people fall and get up than simply rise.
In any case, it's a very different role than the one Tom Hanks selected for himself when he directed for the first time in That Thing You Do! in 1996:
As Mr. White, he was cool, detached, knowledgeable, surviving because to a certain extent, he was a hollow man. But he also largely ceded the stage to his cast. And among other things, he certainly got better work out of Johnathon Schaech than anyone else has before or sense, the best work out of Tom Everett Scott that he did for a while, and Hanks saw the potential in Steve Zahn before a lot of other people did.
A Week of Fire and Ice: Day 4
There be spoilers all below the jump, so only click if you've read at least through George R.R. Martin's A Storm of Swords. Or if you don't care about spoilers. Or if you like being confused by details of books you've never read about. Who am I to judge? On tap today: the Lannisters and the Starks.
I'm hard-pressed to think of a series, fantasy or otherwise, that demands as much patience and open-mindedness from readers (I haven't read The Wheel of Time or The Dark Tower, so if they demand more, I'm willing to accept that, as well as suggestions as to whether I should check out either). I don't mean that so much in terms of length, though the books are long, if highly readable. Rather, the sheer number of perspectives on events and the time we spend exploring each of them means that we can't take anything for granted, not even how we feel about some of the worst, most manipulative, most violent characters in the series.
And that refusal to assign right or wrong, or to allow us certainty, is nowhere more evident in the shift of the balance of points of views from the Starks to the Lannisters. Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully Stark's children are undoubtedly the novel's core characters and perspectives on events in Westeros, as well as the bridge from one generation in the continent to the next. But even though the early books spend a huge amount of time building up those perspectives (and Catelyn's) and getting readers invested in the rightness of those perspectives, Martin begins undermining their, and our, understanding at the same time that he's constructing it.
At first, it's relatively easy to accept Tyrion Lannister as a counterpoint to the Stark family if only because he's such an outcast in his own house. He is sympathetic to Jon Snow as a bastard, and to the rigor of some of the men on the Wall. He's kind to Sansa Stark. There's nothing about his plans to crush Stannis Baratheon that threatens our sentiments, because Stannis isn't a particularly easy man to like.
It's rather vastly more difficult when Martin asks us to spend time in the head of Jamie Lannister, the man who commits the novel's first act of terrible violence, who brings disaster into the Stark's imperfect Eden at Winterfell. It's uncomfortable, not simply because we've come to intensely dislike Jamie, but because if we find we can like or respect what we find there (Which, of course we can. Martin's too smart to let us dip in simply to be disgusted.), it would call into question our interpretation of nearly every other character in the novel. Jamie's love for his sister comes to seem like passionate weakness rather than lawbreaking, his murder of a king an act of justice rather than of evil. Introducing Jamie in particular as a point of view character upsets our understanding of the history of Westeros, in a nice foreshadowing of the stories Barristan will tell Dany.
I think the hardest thing for me about reading A Feast for Crows is going to be the presence of Cersei as a point of view character, and the absence of Jon Snow. Like Tyrion, Jon is an outcast in his family, but instead of interacting with the Lannisters, Jon is our portal to the world beyond the Wall, which if less feudal and complex, is certainly as rich as life in greater Westeros. And he and Arya are my favorite Starks. Cersei seems a poor trade to me. But of course, that's the challenge Martin's putting to me, and at this point in the series, I'm smart enough to anticipate that I'm probably going to get something rewarding out of her presence in the story.
It's a relatively gutsy move to transition from the Starks to the Lannisters, and to choose the Lannisters rather than the Baratheons. We might have been enable to envision loving Renly in advance, or appreciating the order of Stannis's mind. But Martin picks the Lannisters, and leaves us outside the brains and worldviews of men like Tywin Lannister and Robb Stark. He's intentionally taking the most complex routes through Westeros and Essos, and through our story, and gambles on us to come along.
I'm hard-pressed to think of a series, fantasy or otherwise, that demands as much patience and open-mindedness from readers (I haven't read The Wheel of Time or The Dark Tower, so if they demand more, I'm willing to accept that, as well as suggestions as to whether I should check out either). I don't mean that so much in terms of length, though the books are long, if highly readable. Rather, the sheer number of perspectives on events and the time we spend exploring each of them means that we can't take anything for granted, not even how we feel about some of the worst, most manipulative, most violent characters in the series.
And that refusal to assign right or wrong, or to allow us certainty, is nowhere more evident in the shift of the balance of points of views from the Starks to the Lannisters. Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully Stark's children are undoubtedly the novel's core characters and perspectives on events in Westeros, as well as the bridge from one generation in the continent to the next. But even though the early books spend a huge amount of time building up those perspectives (and Catelyn's) and getting readers invested in the rightness of those perspectives, Martin begins undermining their, and our, understanding at the same time that he's constructing it.
At first, it's relatively easy to accept Tyrion Lannister as a counterpoint to the Stark family if only because he's such an outcast in his own house. He is sympathetic to Jon Snow as a bastard, and to the rigor of some of the men on the Wall. He's kind to Sansa Stark. There's nothing about his plans to crush Stannis Baratheon that threatens our sentiments, because Stannis isn't a particularly easy man to like.
It's rather vastly more difficult when Martin asks us to spend time in the head of Jamie Lannister, the man who commits the novel's first act of terrible violence, who brings disaster into the Stark's imperfect Eden at Winterfell. It's uncomfortable, not simply because we've come to intensely dislike Jamie, but because if we find we can like or respect what we find there (Which, of course we can. Martin's too smart to let us dip in simply to be disgusted.), it would call into question our interpretation of nearly every other character in the novel. Jamie's love for his sister comes to seem like passionate weakness rather than lawbreaking, his murder of a king an act of justice rather than of evil. Introducing Jamie in particular as a point of view character upsets our understanding of the history of Westeros, in a nice foreshadowing of the stories Barristan will tell Dany.
I think the hardest thing for me about reading A Feast for Crows is going to be the presence of Cersei as a point of view character, and the absence of Jon Snow. Like Tyrion, Jon is an outcast in his family, but instead of interacting with the Lannisters, Jon is our portal to the world beyond the Wall, which if less feudal and complex, is certainly as rich as life in greater Westeros. And he and Arya are my favorite Starks. Cersei seems a poor trade to me. But of course, that's the challenge Martin's putting to me, and at this point in the series, I'm smart enough to anticipate that I'm probably going to get something rewarding out of her presence in the story.
It's a relatively gutsy move to transition from the Starks to the Lannisters, and to choose the Lannisters rather than the Baratheons. We might have been enable to envision loving Renly in advance, or appreciating the order of Stannis's mind. But Martin picks the Lannisters, and leaves us outside the brains and worldviews of men like Tywin Lannister and Robb Stark. He's intentionally taking the most complex routes through Westeros and Essos, and through our story, and gambles on us to come along.
More Wise Words
Emily had some good thoughts on how people with HIV should be usefully portrayed in pop culture:
I'm not trying to minimize the fact that life was awful for gay people in the United States, and in many places, remains awful, if perhaps somewhat less dangerous. But I'm trying to think strategically. The folks who participated in the Stonewall riots were more than their victimization, they were more than the fact that they were oppressed by the cops and by society. That's what enabled them to stand up, the increasing security of that knowledge.
One of the best documentaries I've ever seen, The Weather Underground, gives plenty of context on the circumstances that led a group of talented young people to take up arms against the United States government and mainstream society. But it also spends most of its time letting them explain their reasoning, and their regrets, focusing tightly on the multiple perspectives that they provide. I tend to think that's the most useful way to make documentaries, by trusting in the people who were there to explain themselves and represent their perspectives clearly, rather than by using them only for color. A good documentary surprises you with detail, and sometimes even with where you stand when you're done.
The best way to incorporate HIV-positive people or people with AIDS in storylines is to have them blend into the fabric of the plot, I think. It's a real-life issue that people grapple with, and there are all sorts of ways to use the daily struggle of AIDS to introduce plot drama (I lost my job; will I still be able to afford my meds? How do I tell my new partner?) that could even be touchingly funny. But making a diagnosis the plot's turning point is much worse than a show about lesbians looking for a sperm donor: it fetishizes being on the outside of society and in the process trivializes the struggles which people with HIV face.I wonder if that's advice that might have been useful for the makers of Stonewall Uprising, or at least the folks who cut the trailer. Obviously, if you're examining a situation like Stonewall, you can't just make gayness part of the tapestry of the story. It is the story. But I do wonder about the effectiveness of bashing audiences over the head with the fact that America was super-homophobic, rather than focusing on the people who were actually there:
I'm not trying to minimize the fact that life was awful for gay people in the United States, and in many places, remains awful, if perhaps somewhat less dangerous. But I'm trying to think strategically. The folks who participated in the Stonewall riots were more than their victimization, they were more than the fact that they were oppressed by the cops and by society. That's what enabled them to stand up, the increasing security of that knowledge.
One of the best documentaries I've ever seen, The Weather Underground, gives plenty of context on the circumstances that led a group of talented young people to take up arms against the United States government and mainstream society. But it also spends most of its time letting them explain their reasoning, and their regrets, focusing tightly on the multiple perspectives that they provide. I tend to think that's the most useful way to make documentaries, by trusting in the people who were there to explain themselves and represent their perspectives clearly, rather than by using them only for color. A good documentary surprises you with detail, and sometimes even with where you stand when you're done.
How to Girlwatch
It's relatively common to complain about the fetishization of video vixens, but I think those kinds of arguments often miss the point. It's entirely possible to have pretty girls in music videos, or really, in any kind of visual medium, and to have boys (or girls) watch them, and to be playful, clever, and not grossly sexist. I don't think every instance of approving male gaze on the female form has to be a form of oppression. And while it's old, I think the video for the Crookers remix of Kid Cudi's "Day 'n' Night" is a reasonable compromise on the form:
It's goofy, and the girls are definitely objects of slack-jawed admiration. But it's clear that these are the results of one man's bored imagination, that this is the way he sees them rather than precisely the way they are. It's a clever little balancing act, and I'm sure not all audiences get it, which is always a problem—you don't want to rely too much on your audience's comprehension level, but lecturing is dull as hell. But in any case, one video isn't going to tip the tide, and this is a fun little experiment.
It's goofy, and the girls are definitely objects of slack-jawed admiration. But it's clear that these are the results of one man's bored imagination, that this is the way he sees them rather than precisely the way they are. It's a clever little balancing act, and I'm sure not all audiences get it, which is always a problem—you don't want to rely too much on your audience's comprehension level, but lecturing is dull as hell. But in any case, one video isn't going to tip the tide, and this is a fun little experiment.
A Week of Fire and Ice: Day 3
As usual, spoilers galore in these posts on George R.R. Martin's A Song of Fire and Ice series. But they're below the jump for those of you who haven't read the books. Today's topic: religion in a world where magic exists, and where science is primative.
One of the things I've enjoyed a lot about the novels is the increasingly important role that religion plays in the series as the world expands, and the events of the books become more sharply fraught. In A Game of Thrones, religion mostly seems to have significance as a way of explaining Eddard Stark's character, and the compromises his wife Catelyn made in marrying him. She has to understand that her husband's love forthe Seven, the old gods of the North and his retreat to the wood where he worships them, isn't a retreat from her and their family. Jon Snow's insistence on swearing his vows to be a brother of the Night's Watch is a sign of the extent to which he's his father's son. But it isn't until the third novel in the series (unless I missed or misinterpreted something) that the Seven gods of the North or their symbols, are present in the world or perform miraculous deeds.
In fact, prayer to the Seven or the old gods seems almost insignificant. However much Catelyn, Sansa, or Tyrion pray, the outcomes of the events that surround them don't seem to be affected by divine intervention. Joffrey's profanation of the Sept of Baelor when he has Eddard executed there doesn't seem to result in any sort of divine retribution. When he dies, it's as a result of political machinations, rather than any deity's justice or revenge. It's not until the heart tree opens for Bran, Jojen, Meera and Hodor that we really get evidence that gods are active in Westeros.
And evidence wouldn't be that unusual or important if the novels didn't focus on the role the gods of other religions play in the events of the series. It's not totally clear if Melisandre actually is channeling R'hllor, but when she's present, things happen that are beyond the abilities of normal people, wielding normal human abilities. You don't just give birth to shadows that kill people on a regular basis. Religion and magic are all tangled up in her, but the point is less her trueness or falseness and more that Stannis is willing to stake his chances for the throne of the Westeros on her counsel and her vision.
And while I've only read the first couple of chapters of A Feast for Crows, and so while I can't entirely tell what role the Drowned God (or Aeron) plays for the Ironmen, there's evidence for his power, too. Aeron's journey to the underworld may be fictional, or the result of a vision quest or something, but so far the novel seems to be treating it like its literal. And events like the drowning and cardiopulmonary resuscitation of the Drowned God's priests seems like magic, or divine action, in a world where people understand the power of drowning but not its scientific mechanisms.
It'll be interesting to see if the Seven turn out to be the only truly divine gods in Martin's world. The books' approach to religion and to belief is refreshingly un-didactic, but I will be curious as to whether the series ultimately suggests that it's real.
One of the things I've enjoyed a lot about the novels is the increasingly important role that religion plays in the series as the world expands, and the events of the books become more sharply fraught. In A Game of Thrones, religion mostly seems to have significance as a way of explaining Eddard Stark's character, and the compromises his wife Catelyn made in marrying him. She has to understand that her husband's love for
In fact, prayer to the Seven or the old gods seems almost insignificant. However much Catelyn, Sansa, or Tyrion pray, the outcomes of the events that surround them don't seem to be affected by divine intervention. Joffrey's profanation of the Sept of Baelor when he has Eddard executed there doesn't seem to result in any sort of divine retribution. When he dies, it's as a result of political machinations, rather than any deity's justice or revenge. It's not until the heart tree opens for Bran, Jojen, Meera and Hodor that we really get evidence that gods are active in Westeros.
And evidence wouldn't be that unusual or important if the novels didn't focus on the role the gods of other religions play in the events of the series. It's not totally clear if Melisandre actually is channeling R'hllor, but when she's present, things happen that are beyond the abilities of normal people, wielding normal human abilities. You don't just give birth to shadows that kill people on a regular basis. Religion and magic are all tangled up in her, but the point is less her trueness or falseness and more that Stannis is willing to stake his chances for the throne of the Westeros on her counsel and her vision.
And while I've only read the first couple of chapters of A Feast for Crows, and so while I can't entirely tell what role the Drowned God (or Aeron) plays for the Ironmen, there's evidence for his power, too. Aeron's journey to the underworld may be fictional, or the result of a vision quest or something, but so far the novel seems to be treating it like its literal. And events like the drowning and cardiopulmonary resuscitation of the Drowned God's priests seems like magic, or divine action, in a world where people understand the power of drowning but not its scientific mechanisms.
It'll be interesting to see if the Seven turn out to be the only truly divine gods in Martin's world. The books' approach to religion and to belief is refreshingly un-didactic, but I will be curious as to whether the series ultimately suggests that it's real.
Implausible
So, I want to like Welcome to the Rileys. I love me some James Gandolfini. I love me some Melissa Leo (and it's awesome to see her back and having a massive moment, in between Treme, Conviction, The Dry Land and Mildred Pierce). I love the idea of pairing them up. Gandolfini has had possibly the best run of actresses playing his fictional wives of any living actor: Edie Falco, Susan Sarandon, and now Leo? But all of that said, the premise behind this particular movie just doesn't seem believable:
I mean, finding a substitute daughter for one you lost to premature death smacks of denial. The chances that one would find a puppydog runaway stripper to stand in for your daughter smacks of something rather stranger. And the chance that once you've done that, the likelihood that your wife will recover from her massive, crippling depression by moving to New Orleans to take on this particular project with you is small indeed. It doesn't help that this trailer is intensely awkwardly cut, but if the line readings are all this angular and jarring, I'm not sure these fine actors can lift the premise above itself.
I mean, finding a substitute daughter for one you lost to premature death smacks of denial. The chances that one would find a puppydog runaway stripper to stand in for your daughter smacks of something rather stranger. And the chance that once you've done that, the likelihood that your wife will recover from her massive, crippling depression by moving to New Orleans to take on this particular project with you is small indeed. It doesn't help that this trailer is intensely awkwardly cut, but if the line readings are all this angular and jarring, I'm not sure these fine actors can lift the premise above itself.
Yesterday, At The Atlantic
I went through B.o.B.'s music videos, and conclude he needs a new look. Maybe OutKast could help via a Bryan Barber hookup? Kid's got great concepts. I want him to make a great sci-fi mini-movie.
Oh, and over at the day job, I write about why Warren G. Harding's the next Hollywood hunk. Lots more pop culture coverage coming there soon.
Oh, and over at the day job, I write about why Warren G. Harding's the next Hollywood hunk. Lots more pop culture coverage coming there soon.
Donning the Shades
Aaron Johnson's getting his second super-hero role. Specifically, he's going to play Cyclops in X-Men: First Class, one of the flood of X-Men movies coming our way, including a second Wolverine movie and a Deadpool movie coming next year and X-Men Origins: Magneto due in 2012. At this rate, they're going to function more like serial television specials than movies, which'll be a good thing if they're better than the first Wolverine origins flick. But I digress.
I'll be curious to see both how they set up Cyclops's character, and how Johnson pulls it off, which I think will depend quite a bit on the direction they choose for him. One of the things I thought rung a little false about Kick-Ass was that Johnson was trying a little too hard to play a somewhat crude, grasping American teenager. Johnson's definitely not American. And while his engagement to Sam Taylor-Wood, his Nowhere Boy director who is 23 years older than he is and the mother of his daughter, may be ill-advised or a little odd, it's not likely that it would have ever come to past if he was completely unpolished and immature.
James Marsden's depressive Cyclops in the initial X-Men film trilogy was relatively tiresome, and given how broody and temperamental Wolverine was, the two didn't offer as deeply contrasting options for Jean Grey as they might have. But a sober-minded superhero might be a reasonable match for the character, and for the talents and mien of the next man who will be portraying him. I can see the young John Lennon growing up into a man who broods over responsibility and love.
I'll be curious to see both how they set up Cyclops's character, and how Johnson pulls it off, which I think will depend quite a bit on the direction they choose for him. One of the things I thought rung a little false about Kick-Ass was that Johnson was trying a little too hard to play a somewhat crude, grasping American teenager. Johnson's definitely not American. And while his engagement to Sam Taylor-Wood, his Nowhere Boy director who is 23 years older than he is and the mother of his daughter, may be ill-advised or a little odd, it's not likely that it would have ever come to past if he was completely unpolished and immature.
James Marsden's depressive Cyclops in the initial X-Men film trilogy was relatively tiresome, and given how broody and temperamental Wolverine was, the two didn't offer as deeply contrasting options for Jean Grey as they might have. But a sober-minded superhero might be a reasonable match for the character, and for the talents and mien of the next man who will be portraying him. I can see the young John Lennon growing up into a man who broods over responsibility and love.
A Week of Fire and Ice: Day 2
Because to discuss any part of A Song of Fire and Ice in any detail is to spoil everything, because in this world, everything is important, analysis is below the jump. Today's subject? Women who ride like men.
One of my favorite parts of A Song of Fire and Ice is the rise of women to power in all sorts of ways. Whether it's Daenerys Targaryen finding a love she didn't expect in marriage, and a strength she never could have anticipated in that marriage's untimely end; Catelyn Tully Stark overcoming her husband's death to become her son's best counselor, and her own death to become a force for justice (or revenge); Cersei Lannister may be vile, but she's undeniably a survivor, someone who rises to power through persistence, even if she's denied opportunities to prove herself and gain advantage the way men do; that Arya Stark survives at all is a miracle, but she survives circumstances worse than those faced by almost any other character, and becomes a killer and adventuress along the way; Sansa Stark, the most passive of the major female characters, finds the strength to flee a bad marriage and certain persecution in the fairy stories that initially were her downfall.
This isn't to say that the novels are necessarily feminist. When I first started talking about reading this series, for example, one of my readers warned me that the depictions of sex in the novels turned her off so much that she stopped reading about eighty pages in. My experience of the books has been that while they definitely include rape, incestuous sex, and sex at ages that we'd find worrisome today, the decisions to portray some sex that way is a reflection of the times and mores in which the characters live rather than a reflection of some misogyny on Martin's part. And there are also characters who have good, loving, liberated sex: Dany and Drogo, Jon and Ygritte, Catelyn and Ned.
There are absolutely female characters who live outside of conventional female roles, but there are just as many who operate completely from within them, and both achieve varying degrees of success. Arya, with her father's blessing, is trained as a water dancer, and under the training of Sandor Clegane, learns to be a merciful killer—and learns to define mercy. Brienne of Tarth is perhaps the most accomplished soldier in King Renly's army, but she lives at war with her own gender, perhaps in a foreshadowing of the challenges Arya may face if and when she grows up, without the challenges of being an ugly woman. Ellaria Sand and Ygritte both live by their own sexual codes, without needing to become any man's wife. On the other hand, Cersei Lannister and Lysa Tully both take refuge in their femininity, playing off the promise of future marriage to various suitors, but both have only varying degrees of success in maintaining their independence, their power, and their lives. Cersei becomes poisonous and paranoid, Lysa ruins her son's character, leaves her sister undefended, and falls prey to a delusional love. Sansa Stark holds close to the oft-repeated motto that courage is a lady's armor. It's a code that keeps her alive, but doesn't save her beatings, humiliation, an unhappy marriage, and various unwanted sexual advances.
The overall portrait of the world is one in which gender performance matters, but only situationally. Being a lady doesn't make you safe, whether physically, sexually, or spiritually. Rejecting norms of female gender performance only frees you if you genuinely don't care what other people think. There are no rules, only chance and how you respond to it: with dragons, with the strength to kill a man, or even with resurrection.
One of my favorite parts of A Song of Fire and Ice is the rise of women to power in all sorts of ways. Whether it's Daenerys Targaryen finding a love she didn't expect in marriage, and a strength she never could have anticipated in that marriage's untimely end; Catelyn Tully Stark overcoming her husband's death to become her son's best counselor, and her own death to become a force for justice (or revenge); Cersei Lannister may be vile, but she's undeniably a survivor, someone who rises to power through persistence, even if she's denied opportunities to prove herself and gain advantage the way men do; that Arya Stark survives at all is a miracle, but she survives circumstances worse than those faced by almost any other character, and becomes a killer and adventuress along the way; Sansa Stark, the most passive of the major female characters, finds the strength to flee a bad marriage and certain persecution in the fairy stories that initially were her downfall.
This isn't to say that the novels are necessarily feminist. When I first started talking about reading this series, for example, one of my readers warned me that the depictions of sex in the novels turned her off so much that she stopped reading about eighty pages in. My experience of the books has been that while they definitely include rape, incestuous sex, and sex at ages that we'd find worrisome today, the decisions to portray some sex that way is a reflection of the times and mores in which the characters live rather than a reflection of some misogyny on Martin's part. And there are also characters who have good, loving, liberated sex: Dany and Drogo, Jon and Ygritte, Catelyn and Ned.
There are absolutely female characters who live outside of conventional female roles, but there are just as many who operate completely from within them, and both achieve varying degrees of success. Arya, with her father's blessing, is trained as a water dancer, and under the training of Sandor Clegane, learns to be a merciful killer—and learns to define mercy. Brienne of Tarth is perhaps the most accomplished soldier in King Renly's army, but she lives at war with her own gender, perhaps in a foreshadowing of the challenges Arya may face if and when she grows up, without the challenges of being an ugly woman. Ellaria Sand and Ygritte both live by their own sexual codes, without needing to become any man's wife. On the other hand, Cersei Lannister and Lysa Tully both take refuge in their femininity, playing off the promise of future marriage to various suitors, but both have only varying degrees of success in maintaining their independence, their power, and their lives. Cersei becomes poisonous and paranoid, Lysa ruins her son's character, leaves her sister undefended, and falls prey to a delusional love. Sansa Stark holds close to the oft-repeated motto that courage is a lady's armor. It's a code that keeps her alive, but doesn't save her beatings, humiliation, an unhappy marriage, and various unwanted sexual advances.
The overall portrait of the world is one in which gender performance matters, but only situationally. Being a lady doesn't make you safe, whether physically, sexually, or spiritually. Rejecting norms of female gender performance only frees you if you genuinely don't care what other people think. There are no rules, only chance and how you respond to it: with dragons, with the strength to kill a man, or even with resurrection.
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