Tangled is, from my perspective, pretty much the greatest Disney animated feature of our time. It's one of the few movies that doesn't draw open criticism from me at any point in the film, and--bonus feature--it doesn't make me feel sad for the state of the world when it's over (I tend to get a bit of an "emo streak" when viewing good cinema). It makes me feel... light. Fluffy. Carefree. And though it doesn't deal with the heavy themes found in the films that line my "top 10" list, it has a clear message that is easy for me to identify with.
So when I hear somebody pan it, I tend to get a bit... twitchy. Though I did get a good laugh out of the treatment the folks at How It Should Have Ended gave it:
Of course, any woman raised on a steady diet of Disney Princess media throughout her childhood can give you the rant about the unrealistic expectations of hair gained from watching the films. Tangled seems almost a culmination of that rant, simultaneously saying, "Ha ha, I have perfect hair that is magic and never looks ugly and youuuuu don't!" and, "I don't need my hair to be a princess. In fact, leaving it all behind has made me grow as a person." At the time it came out, it kind of made me wonder if John Lasseter was just trying to give us ladies the finger. Of course, it should also be noted that at the time I also had long, lustrous blonde locks. And I mean long. We're talking, past the waist, sweep it out of the way to sit, accidentally step on it during yoga long. It took me six years to get that length, whether because I was too lazy to cut it or I wanted to be the more legit, blonde version of Cher I'll never know.
But three months ago, I chopped it all off after a handsome offer from a wigmaker. And, holy crap, suddenly I'm all grown up: I pay my bills on time, I freelance on the side, I consciously schedule my work/school/life balance, and I actually care about my stock portfolio (yes, it may be just six shares in Kohl's gifted to me after two years of loyal service, but now I actually care that it exists). None of this was true before that hair came off. FAIRY TALES DO COME TRUE, YOU GUYS.
But, it's interesting, because when it comes to male heroes in fantasy and their relationship with hair, the opposite tends to be true: The hero can't learn to grow into himself as an adult until he lets his hair grow long. Stardust is probably the most obvious example, as the hero, Tristan, has his hair magically lengthened right before the obligatory montage in which he learns to fight, sail an airship, and dance with a lady, all necessary skills to reach manhood.
I'm not sure if this means hair is a big deal in our lives or if this sort of thing is just shorthand for "you have to buck societal trends to become who you are." Most of the time I think it's the latter, but then I think about how many bald characters whose success is repeatedly curtailed, like George Costanza and Lex Luthor. I'm sure it has more to do with the lack of hair than the fact that they're horrible little monsters. Right?
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Friday, September 28, 2012
Shake It Like a Deconstruction of Postmodern Gender Roles
During a semi-impromptu ballroom dance lesson with a friend and his classmates we had a brief discussion of the roles in dance and whether they are necessarily dedicated to gender. Honestly, I believe that as long as height isn't a factor (which it shouldn't be among well-matched couples) the roles can be labeled as "lead" and "follow," not necessarily "man" and "woman."
I was surprised to find that everyone in the group agreed with me. Apparently this is something of a general consensus among students of ballroom, but isn't really recognized in the competition scene. One of the ladies at the lesson commented that it was most helpful for both dancers to know each others' parts anyway, and my friend noted a stunning routine performed by two men, one leader and one follower.
But, much like the gay rights movement and transgendered culture, it seems that this is another change that spreads quickly among youth and slowly among elders.
I spent a disproportionate amount of time researching non gender-specific ballroom and the result is that I now know more than I ever imagined about same-sex ballroom competitions, the majority of which are on either coast of the United States.
Dance as a storytelling format is one that I think has a broad appeal, being that it is one of the oldest and most primal forms. I don't mean to say that it is any less intellectual than any other media or genre; I simply mean that it has natural appeal in a form that has existed among humanity for as long as recorded history, and still continues today. There's a reason shows like Dancing with the Stars, Step Up, and So You Think You Can Dance have remained popular season after season and sequel after sequel.
But I would very much like to see how the various genres of dance would be affected if gender were not a factor in how we danced. What new things could we come up with? What new stylistic norms would arise? What kinds of new moves could be added to the repertoire if females regularly led their partners through the tango?
And think about the storytelling aspect, as well. How different of a story would the Black Swan have been if it had been a male dancing as the swan queen (king?)? And don't tell me you wouldn't want to know what a female Nutcracker would look like. Sure, it might be a complete trainwreck. But humanity is attracted to watching those too; at least, that has to account for some of the popularity of Here Comes Honey Boo Boo. So how bad could it be?
Yes, it's kind of crazy and totally unrealistic. But at the very least, it's a fun thought experiment.
I was surprised to find that everyone in the group agreed with me. Apparently this is something of a general consensus among students of ballroom, but isn't really recognized in the competition scene. One of the ladies at the lesson commented that it was most helpful for both dancers to know each others' parts anyway, and my friend noted a stunning routine performed by two men, one leader and one follower.
But, much like the gay rights movement and transgendered culture, it seems that this is another change that spreads quickly among youth and slowly among elders.
I spent a disproportionate amount of time researching non gender-specific ballroom and the result is that I now know more than I ever imagined about same-sex ballroom competitions, the majority of which are on either coast of the United States.
Dance as a storytelling format is one that I think has a broad appeal, being that it is one of the oldest and most primal forms. I don't mean to say that it is any less intellectual than any other media or genre; I simply mean that it has natural appeal in a form that has existed among humanity for as long as recorded history, and still continues today. There's a reason shows like Dancing with the Stars, Step Up, and So You Think You Can Dance have remained popular season after season and sequel after sequel.
But I would very much like to see how the various genres of dance would be affected if gender were not a factor in how we danced. What new things could we come up with? What new stylistic norms would arise? What kinds of new moves could be added to the repertoire if females regularly led their partners through the tango?
And think about the storytelling aspect, as well. How different of a story would the Black Swan have been if it had been a male dancing as the swan queen (king?)? And don't tell me you wouldn't want to know what a female Nutcracker would look like. Sure, it might be a complete trainwreck. But humanity is attracted to watching those too; at least, that has to account for some of the popularity of Here Comes Honey Boo Boo. So how bad could it be?
Yes, it's kind of crazy and totally unrealistic. But at the very least, it's a fun thought experiment.
I Am Headcold
Everyone has their "voodoo cures" when they get sick. For some people, it's Emergen-C, others insist upon chicken soup or mom-made meals; I knew of one guy who, at the first sign of illness, would suck on a penny for an hour (???). Even I've been known to have my methods--all during high school I swore by what I called a "health potion":
1 bottle of Vault energy drink, purchased from vending machine
1 small carton orange juice
1 Airborne tablet
2 ibuprofen
Directions: Chug half the Vault as quickly as possible. Break Airborne tablet in two, drop into the half empty bottle and allow to fizz for 1 minute. Add orange juice. Take 2 ibuprofen with this mixture, and sip periodically, but be sure to have it finished by first period or it'll get all flat and gross.
Yeah. Pretty much an insane amount of vitamin C going into my body. At the time, to me, it was a miracle cure. I could get over any cold in two days flat, and the reason my pee was bright yellow certainly wasn't due to excess vitamin elimination, it was "toxins" being eliminated from my body. I probably should have taken into account the magical powers of youth lending themselves to my bodily recovery, but I was a little busy being in 4 AP classes, National Honors Society, Peer Leadership, FBLA, concurrent enrollment, chess club, and repertory theatre. This might explain how I got so many colds in the first place.
Luckily, I experienced a sharp dropoff in how frequently I got sick over the next five years (due to the onset of becoming a lazy procrastinator), and I never had to use my "health potion" again.
Unluckily, this now means that on the rare occasions I do get sick, the viruses pretty much take over the whole works for about a week. I shamble around the house mumbling nonsense, seeking sustenance in weird forms before retreating to the comfort of my room, there to cocoon myself in a comfortably large pile of blankets and hide from the sun.
Which brings me to the film I'd like to discuss (somehow).
Everyone remembers I Am Legend, right? You know--ultimate apocalyptic scenario, Will Smith, weird CG'd vampire zombie things, questioning what it means to be human, all that stuff?
It's a great example of a film that draws my least favorite form of film criticism: the book comparison. Not because it isn't a valid form of criticism, but because it immediately curtails any sort of discussion as to the actual merits of the film, or at best reframes them under a format that is impossible to score well in.
It makes sense, if you think about it. Writing is a form of communication whose themes can take any number of interpretations, each catapulted into different territory by the power of our imaginations. Film, on the other hand, is a medium whose intent must be made at least relatively clear if the story is to progress any further. Inviting comparison to literature is inviting comparison to any one of thousands of mental constructs, and still won't answer the question, Was it a good film? It can only answer the question, Was the film an accurate representation of the view I have of this book?
And yes, that question is one which is perfectly valid to ask, and one that should be addressed... preferably at a time when it won't hijack the conversation I'm trying to have.
Someday I will have a long discussion about whether or not the film succeeded on its own merits without anyone mentioning the novel by Richard Matheson (or, for that matter, the two previous versions of the film based on the book made in 1964 and 1971). We will talk about the story arc, the characterization, the acting, the technical aspects, and then we will hash out each point until there is nothing more to discuss. Then I'll look over and say, "So what did you think about the Chronicles of Narnia films?"
1 bottle of Vault energy drink, purchased from vending machine
1 small carton orange juice
1 Airborne tablet
2 ibuprofen
Directions: Chug half the Vault as quickly as possible. Break Airborne tablet in two, drop into the half empty bottle and allow to fizz for 1 minute. Add orange juice. Take 2 ibuprofen with this mixture, and sip periodically, but be sure to have it finished by first period or it'll get all flat and gross.
Yeah. Pretty much an insane amount of vitamin C going into my body. At the time, to me, it was a miracle cure. I could get over any cold in two days flat, and the reason my pee was bright yellow certainly wasn't due to excess vitamin elimination, it was "toxins" being eliminated from my body. I probably should have taken into account the magical powers of youth lending themselves to my bodily recovery, but I was a little busy being in 4 AP classes, National Honors Society, Peer Leadership, FBLA, concurrent enrollment, chess club, and repertory theatre. This might explain how I got so many colds in the first place.
Luckily, I experienced a sharp dropoff in how frequently I got sick over the next five years (due to the onset of becoming a lazy procrastinator), and I never had to use my "health potion" again.
Unluckily, this now means that on the rare occasions I do get sick, the viruses pretty much take over the whole works for about a week. I shamble around the house mumbling nonsense, seeking sustenance in weird forms before retreating to the comfort of my room, there to cocoon myself in a comfortably large pile of blankets and hide from the sun.
Which brings me to the film I'd like to discuss (somehow).
Everyone remembers I Am Legend, right? You know--ultimate apocalyptic scenario, Will Smith, weird CG'd vampire zombie things, questioning what it means to be human, all that stuff?
It's a great example of a film that draws my least favorite form of film criticism: the book comparison. Not because it isn't a valid form of criticism, but because it immediately curtails any sort of discussion as to the actual merits of the film, or at best reframes them under a format that is impossible to score well in.
It makes sense, if you think about it. Writing is a form of communication whose themes can take any number of interpretations, each catapulted into different territory by the power of our imaginations. Film, on the other hand, is a medium whose intent must be made at least relatively clear if the story is to progress any further. Inviting comparison to literature is inviting comparison to any one of thousands of mental constructs, and still won't answer the question, Was it a good film? It can only answer the question, Was the film an accurate representation of the view I have of this book?
And yes, that question is one which is perfectly valid to ask, and one that should be addressed... preferably at a time when it won't hijack the conversation I'm trying to have.
Someday I will have a long discussion about whether or not the film succeeded on its own merits without anyone mentioning the novel by Richard Matheson (or, for that matter, the two previous versions of the film based on the book made in 1964 and 1971). We will talk about the story arc, the characterization, the acting, the technical aspects, and then we will hash out each point until there is nothing more to discuss. Then I'll look over and say, "So what did you think about the Chronicles of Narnia films?"
What the deus?
As of ten minutes ago, I finally submitted the video editing project that has taken me the better part of a month to compile. But being that this is Atheiatrical, I can't exactly pray or give thanks to any sort of god, so this means I'll be dancing in my kitchen to Gangnam Style instead. Excuse me for four minutes and thirteen seconds.
Of course once the song is over the panic sets in. Is it REALLY finished? Really? Did I forget something? What if the cuts are off, just a little? Even a fraction of a second's difference could throw the whole audience off kilter, there's a lot hanging in the balance. This could be the end of my career, right here. I try to keep the taste of bile down as I force myself to calm down. It's 3 AM. I just listened (and danced) to PSY on purpose. Clearly I'm not in my right mind.
And on that note, I'm going to ask everyone to bear with me through this post. When I decided to create Atheiatrical, it was on the basis of an idea I'd had kicking around for awhile, specifically after a long discussion of deus ex machina--the god in the machine, as it were.
It is a concept that fascinates me on many levels. Why is such a concept even in existence? Because it reflects the human desire to have everything work out in as quick, easy, and picturesque manner as possible. But the use of deus ex machina has evolved as our methods of storytelling have changed.
I have a friend who insists that the moment The Dark Knight stops being a good movie is at the end of the bank robbery scene, around the 3 minute mark in the video below.
"It's complete deus ex machina!" he gripes. "Not even an hour into the film and Nolan has completely betrayed both the comics and his own film."
This is usually the part where I awkwardly try to change the subject to something not so near and dear to my heart.
But, insofar as the bus is a convenient solution, I am forced to agree. The bus just barely manages to hit its intended target, and leaves the location at exactly the right time.
And yes, we can talk about the necessity or lack thereof for that kind of situation, I mean I'm sure the bus driver was packing heat to kill the money thief either way, and I could go on defending TDK for hours, but let's talk about why that particular device is really there: It looks really ridiculously cool. I remember seeing it in the theater for the first time; I practically hooted with excitement. It was taking a magical solution and concealing it under the guise of a well told story, using it as a sort of springboard to take the tale to an epic new level. I mean come on, after a smooth opening heist like that you couldn't just Michael Bay it up for the rest of the film, people would riot in the streets. It was a precursor to something bigger, and of course the film's conclusion didn't disappoint, at least if the box office stats are any indication.
It's a prime example of the way deus ex machina has changed, and, I would argue, gained validity in today's various storytelling formats. Yes, it's still abused to death, and I probably shouldn't be encouraging anyone to use it for fear of doing so, but it doesn't have to be bad all the time! Deus ex machina can be good sometimes! It's redemption at its finest. It's humanity saying, "Hey look universe, we can redeem even our worst creations!"
...This is usually the part where I would segue into a comparison of various creation-type religious Gods redeeming humanity to humanity redeeming its mental creations, using deus ex machina, but that will come another day, because A) this post is already running long, B) This blog is being read by someone who doesn't deserve to be subjected to my ridiculously arrogant and provocative notions dealing with politics, religion, and other touchy subjects, so I'll save it for later, and C) It's 4 AM. I am in no mental state to be coming up with that kind of thesis.
Let's just keep it simple and sum it up by saying deus ex machina, while overused and easy to (rightfully) criticize, is redeemable in context of a story that does not exclusively rely on it for resolution, simply because we seek stories that are greater than any that could happen in a real-life situation. And we'll continue on that thread another day.
Of course once the song is over the panic sets in. Is it REALLY finished? Really? Did I forget something? What if the cuts are off, just a little? Even a fraction of a second's difference could throw the whole audience off kilter, there's a lot hanging in the balance. This could be the end of my career, right here. I try to keep the taste of bile down as I force myself to calm down. It's 3 AM. I just listened (and danced) to PSY on purpose. Clearly I'm not in my right mind.
And on that note, I'm going to ask everyone to bear with me through this post. When I decided to create Atheiatrical, it was on the basis of an idea I'd had kicking around for awhile, specifically after a long discussion of deus ex machina--the god in the machine, as it were.
It is a concept that fascinates me on many levels. Why is such a concept even in existence? Because it reflects the human desire to have everything work out in as quick, easy, and picturesque manner as possible. But the use of deus ex machina has evolved as our methods of storytelling have changed.
I have a friend who insists that the moment The Dark Knight stops being a good movie is at the end of the bank robbery scene, around the 3 minute mark in the video below.
"It's complete deus ex machina!" he gripes. "Not even an hour into the film and Nolan has completely betrayed both the comics and his own film."
This is usually the part where I awkwardly try to change the subject to something not so near and dear to my heart.
But, insofar as the bus is a convenient solution, I am forced to agree. The bus just barely manages to hit its intended target, and leaves the location at exactly the right time.
And yes, we can talk about the necessity or lack thereof for that kind of situation, I mean I'm sure the bus driver was packing heat to kill the money thief either way, and I could go on defending TDK for hours, but let's talk about why that particular device is really there: It looks really ridiculously cool. I remember seeing it in the theater for the first time; I practically hooted with excitement. It was taking a magical solution and concealing it under the guise of a well told story, using it as a sort of springboard to take the tale to an epic new level. I mean come on, after a smooth opening heist like that you couldn't just Michael Bay it up for the rest of the film, people would riot in the streets. It was a precursor to something bigger, and of course the film's conclusion didn't disappoint, at least if the box office stats are any indication.
It's a prime example of the way deus ex machina has changed, and, I would argue, gained validity in today's various storytelling formats. Yes, it's still abused to death, and I probably shouldn't be encouraging anyone to use it for fear of doing so, but it doesn't have to be bad all the time! Deus ex machina can be good sometimes! It's redemption at its finest. It's humanity saying, "Hey look universe, we can redeem even our worst creations!"
...This is usually the part where I would segue into a comparison of various creation-type religious Gods redeeming humanity to humanity redeeming its mental creations, using deus ex machina, but that will come another day, because A) this post is already running long, B) This blog is being read by someone who doesn't deserve to be subjected to my ridiculously arrogant and provocative notions dealing with politics, religion, and other touchy subjects, so I'll save it for later, and C) It's 4 AM. I am in no mental state to be coming up with that kind of thesis.
Let's just keep it simple and sum it up by saying deus ex machina, while overused and easy to (rightfully) criticize, is redeemable in context of a story that does not exclusively rely on it for resolution, simply because we seek stories that are greater than any that could happen in a real-life situation. And we'll continue on that thread another day.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Some Late Thoughts on J. Edgar
So I finally had the opportunity to see Leo DeCaprio's film J. Edgar last week. I'm trying to remember who it was that told me to skip it at the theatrical release. When I heard that J. Edgar was boring, I really should have read up on reviews instead of taking a single word-of-mouth response as law. But I was still wary after the last fiasco of a biography I forced myself through, W. Don't remember it? That's because it's a film about former president George W. Bush that tells us everything we already knew: he's a narcissistic caveman with delusions of grandeur and a 5th grade reading level. But W was a film both hamfisted and overlong, whereas J. Edgar clearly tries for something bigger.
It's a delicate process creating a film that chronicles the life of another. When creating a biopic of J. Edgar Hoover, first head of the FBI, it would be easy to simply run through his childhood, touch on the rumors of his alleged homosexuality, crossdressing, and Oedipal Complex, and then blast out the praises of a long and accomplished career, culminating in a sad but triumphant funeral that ultimately throws his role as a protector of the people into sharp relief.
But let's be honest. That movie would be boring as hell.
No, instead we allow Clint Eastwood's directing skills to give us the business, regretful old man style. Eastwood's direction keeps the characterization at the forefront, allowing Leo DiCaprio's talent to shine through.
The most captivating thing about the film is its dedication. It's dedicated to painting a scene from a time unlike our own, before the necessities of fingerprints and social security numbers and stringent standards for crime scene investigation. It's easy to forget there was a time before all that, and as such the time period seems almost alien. The film is also dedicated to creating a set of mesmerizing characters. I'm always interested in films set before the rise of modern feminism because I've noticed that a lot of directors try to take the approach of "show ALL the sexism" from time to time, even if that isn't necessarily the film's focus.
However, a film like this also has to deal with lots of gay and genderqueer themes in a manner which is tasteful, more of a challenge than I think a lot of critics give credit for. Ultimately writer Dustin Lance Black (also the scribe behind Milk) took a more subtle route, matching the theme of the "hush, hush" time period perfectly. Nothing like a gentle progression of events to make you realize you're rooting for Hoover and his second in command, Clyde Tolson, to make out, even though to portray that would ultimately betray the film. Additionally, the heavy themes of control, regret, and sacrifice, combined with lots of communist fear and blackmail, make for a surprisingly gripping piece.
So, to summarize, J. Edgar is definitely a film I recommend, though I would definitely save it for mature audiences. Really, I'd like to see it more widely distributed. As I was discussing the film with a friend, she cocked her head to one side and said, "Oh, yeah, wasn't he president or something?"
It's a delicate process creating a film that chronicles the life of another. When creating a biopic of J. Edgar Hoover, first head of the FBI, it would be easy to simply run through his childhood, touch on the rumors of his alleged homosexuality, crossdressing, and Oedipal Complex, and then blast out the praises of a long and accomplished career, culminating in a sad but triumphant funeral that ultimately throws his role as a protector of the people into sharp relief.
But let's be honest. That movie would be boring as hell.
No, instead we allow Clint Eastwood's directing skills to give us the business, regretful old man style. Eastwood's direction keeps the characterization at the forefront, allowing Leo DiCaprio's talent to shine through.
The most captivating thing about the film is its dedication. It's dedicated to painting a scene from a time unlike our own, before the necessities of fingerprints and social security numbers and stringent standards for crime scene investigation. It's easy to forget there was a time before all that, and as such the time period seems almost alien. The film is also dedicated to creating a set of mesmerizing characters. I'm always interested in films set before the rise of modern feminism because I've noticed that a lot of directors try to take the approach of "show ALL the sexism" from time to time, even if that isn't necessarily the film's focus.
However, a film like this also has to deal with lots of gay and genderqueer themes in a manner which is tasteful, more of a challenge than I think a lot of critics give credit for. Ultimately writer Dustin Lance Black (also the scribe behind Milk) took a more subtle route, matching the theme of the "hush, hush" time period perfectly. Nothing like a gentle progression of events to make you realize you're rooting for Hoover and his second in command, Clyde Tolson, to make out, even though to portray that would ultimately betray the film. Additionally, the heavy themes of control, regret, and sacrifice, combined with lots of communist fear and blackmail, make for a surprisingly gripping piece.
So, to summarize, J. Edgar is definitely a film I recommend, though I would definitely save it for mature audiences. Really, I'd like to see it more widely distributed. As I was discussing the film with a friend, she cocked her head to one side and said, "Oh, yeah, wasn't he president or something?"
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