Beautiful Creatures -- Girl's Worst Nightmare

This article has also been published at FilmPopper.com.

Ahh, the sexuality of a teenage girl, what a fine and fickle thing. Flitting from pretty boy to pretty boy like an experimental, yet volatile butterfly, the desire of a maiden is as volcanically repressed and variable as a snowflake. A snowflake butterfly volcano, if you will.

Let me clarify. Within many preteen girls (I daren't say all) sleeps a unique sexual profile. Sure, she may indulge in romanticisms, listening to boy bands sing her praises, dedicating a small shrine to whatever silver screen heartthrob is in the news, maybe even holding hands with that dreamy Josh Henderson in the hallways, because, OMG you guys! But ultimately, these actions result more from a desire to be perceived as mature than any sort of sexual urge.
But it doesn't last long. One day, that frozen cocoon bursts open, and in a great, fiery cacophony the sexually aware teenage girl is born, ready to wantonly objectify and lust after every male she comes in contact with!
That is, until the various powers that be surrounding her snap a cage down onto that persona faster than you can say "yaoi."
See, the silver screen has a bit of an interesting take on teenage sexuality. I, like many of you, can think of half a dozen comedies offhand that make some kind of lewd joke about a teenage guy and his relationship with his right hand. I can think of a dozen more whose main arc is centered around a teenage guy trying to have sex with a beautiful girl. Note, I said have sex with, not get into any sort of relationship with. We see that in film, male adolescent prurience is something to be laughed over, because hey, boys will be boys, right? Everyone knows once his biological clock ticks "on" his every waking thought will be consumed by scantily-clad supermodels, video games and food! Obviously this isn't giving teenage boys nearly enough credit, but we're looking through the eyes of filmmakers here.
Now, how many films can you think of that involve jokes about girls and their electric toothbrushes? How many movies involve getting a heroine into bed with her sexual conquest? (Really, how many raunchy comedies have a girl as the main protagonist at all?) The sexual development of a teenage girl, to a producer, really isn't something to laugh over. It's a social gray area, strange, unfamiliar, and even a little creepy. But, definitely easy to monetize.
It's a bit of an interesting double standard, surrounded by social stigma whose history is so long and tangled it would need a whole different article, if not a book. For our purposes, let it suffice to say that filmmakers don't make crude comedies about sexually frustrated girls because they're too busy making money off of supernatural romantic heroines who are sexually frustrated.
The film Beautiful Creatures, set to release nationwide as of February 14th, is just another in a long line of recent examples of this trend. Its clear ties to the oft-maligned Twilight Saga are clear and inescapable, though the implication the various film trailers give is much clearer on the subject of sex:



It's simple. If this girl has sex with this boy, the trailer implies, she will become evil and the world will end or fall into darkness. Now, before I have a gaggle of girls jumping down my throat and shouting about how that's not really the plot, the story is completely different and the characters are really deep, let me explain one thing: I don't care. I really don't. It's not about the actual plot of the movie, that part is secondary.
What's important is why the producers of these trailers think that the idea of repressed and unfulfillable sex would sell. The idea of some guy and some girl desperately wanting to dance the horizontal tango but barred by some irritatingly transparent macguffin of a plot, with some supernatural elements and Florence and the Machine thrown in for good measure, has been done so many times it's not even funny to parody it anymore. It's clear that most people are tired of this arc, and with good reason: the only thing more obnoxious than the hackneyed semi-goth pretension surrounding this movie is the font they used for its title.

Somewhere in Switzerland, an entire foundry of designers sits weeping.

What would possess any producer to make yet another one of these annoyingly sexless pieces of trash? And who would go to see it, knowing that any sexual investment they have in the characters will ultimately be made worse and go unfulfilled?
Producers and directors of these kinds of films are in a unique power position, one created by decades of complicated sexual dynamics. Thanks to the Sexual Revolution, today's adult woman protagonist  can engage in as many or few sensual endeavors as she pleases and, so long as she protects herself, emerge none the worse for wear in society's eyes (think Sex and the City, The House Bunny, True Blood, pretty much every romantic comedy ever).
But almost universally, the teenage heroine is haunted by a need to keep her virginity intact, despite frequent temptation. This would seem like an outdated idea, but recent filmmakers and authors have found a rather clever little loophole by making said virginity of tantamount importance, if secondary to the plot. Think about Twilight, the Hunger Games, or nearly any fairytale adaptation in the last ten years. Even more realistic stories like She's All That and A Cinderella Story are guilty of it, albeit to a lesser degree. "How can you think of sex at a time like this??" screams the film. "We have a competition to win, a witch to slay, a world to save! If you do it now your boyfriend will try to eat you! You'll be irrevocably turned to the dark side! You and all your friends will lose everything you've fought for! And everyone will HATE YOU."
By pitting the girl's sexual needs against all of her other needs (social acceptance, personal fulfillment, a world that isn't ruled by destruction) the film creates an interesting quagmire that seems like an awfully tough sell--but there is one ray of hope. This is the part where Robert Pattinson leans in close. "We can't do it," he whispers, "but you can be seduced all you want."
Yes, so long as the heroine doesn't give in to the pressures building inside her, she remains an integral part of the plot. And in fact, the longer she holds out despite being surrounded by some of the most beautiful manlings Hollywood has to offer, the more value as a human being she has. Really, the sight of Bella Swan holding out until sanctioned heterosexual marriage is just icing on the cake, because teenage girls are now the ONLY demographic segment filmmakers ever expect to remain sexless until marriage. And they use it very much to their advantage.
As a result, we have an entire generation of teen girls obsessed with seduction, who don't actually want to sleep with Taylor Lautner, they just want to touch him, or smell his hair. Or steal his running shoes. And because those actions are extremely creepy, everyone is allowed to mock and deride them for it. And so the tautology comes full circle: we treat the sexuality of teenage girls as creepy and weird, because they act creepy and weird, because we make them feel creepy and weird.
The only thing that would make this sick media fantasy complete would be to just come out and tell these girls outright that their desires are dirty and filthy, maybe punish them for even having a sex drive. Yeah, that's the ticket, punishment, like a spanking, maybe with a whip or a cane, and tie them up so they can't squirm, and--
Wait. Where have I heard this before?

Loop-de-Loop

I've developed this annoying quirk over the years wherein any sort of expository text in a film immediately draws  my intense scrutiny. It's part of the ongoing war in my head regarding the true nature of film and its purpose in our lives. See, I believe that text in a film can be a good way to clarify plot points and really cut to the chase, if used well. Yes, it's easy to abuse, but I think the late 90's to mid 00's taught us that too much exposition of any kind is just off-putting. However, I have spent so long with film professors and doctors poised over my head, hammering in the idea that "TEXT IS BAD, TEXT IS BAD, CREDITS ONLY, TEXT IS BAD" that I tend to automatically write off otherwise well-made films as no good, and worse, lazy. Really, this point has only been confirmed by many films which use text as a crutch, a way to throw in some kind of story element before showing you what they really want you to see, whether that be explosions or mockumentary footage or heartrending dialogue.
Films have less than three hours to cram in enough plot, dialogue, character development and location, along with whatever special flavor the director wants to add, to get our tiny brains to understand the story and why it's important. In addition, because there's money on the line, these films have to do all of those things well. For some films, there's often just not enough time to put in extra scenes detailing background facts, and while trying to expose them in tiny, cameo-sized pieces is often the best way to reveal, it can be confusing and is in danger of becoming overused itself. This often is because the plot takes a backseat to intense visuals and sweet action scenes.

So some time ago I went and saw Looper.




It's a film that heavily relies on expository text to identify time and place. However, the fast pace of the movie leaves no room for establishment scenes. The story moves like  water gushing from a broken dam, blasting its way through narration, text, quick cut visuals and sound. Now, I know you think you know where I'm going with this, so just hear me out.  Believe it or not, I'm not going to rip through this movie, complaining about its haphazard use of time travel and cheap storytelling methods; in fact this movie has my respect strictly because it uses all those things, and here's why.

Let's think about some great, fairly recent science fiction blockbusters whose premise involves some kind of as-yet uninvented technology that is widely accepted in one way or another: In Minority Report, Tom Cruise spends half an hour walking and talking us through the idea of using precognitive crack babies to prevent crime. THEN the story begins. In The Island, Ewan MacGregor and Scarlett Johannsen take almost an hour to get to why exactly having a sentient clone of yourself in the world is not such a great idea. And Prometheus, much though I love it for its own special reasons, spends the entire movie meandering around the very idea that draws us to it in the first place.
Here's why I like Looper, without giving away too much of the plot for those of you planning on RedBoxing it later. From the very opening, Looper sits you down in a chair and says, "Okay, look. Time travel has been invented. No. Shut up, don't think about it yet. Here's the thing, only mobsters use it. No, don't--It doesn't matter why. This guy's past self comes back, needs to get some stuff done, but Joseph Gordon-Leavitt can't let that happen--HEY! Fuckin', just pay attention will you? Now here's the crux of the thing..." You're trying to dissect the implications and mechanics of the time travel during the whole movie, but at the same time  the film is screaming at you that it doesn't matter, the story is what matters most.  This movie has a lot of themes--the importance of family, sacrifice, love, the impotence of revenge--and at the end of the day, that is what Looper is there to deliver. Not an endorsement, not compelling visuals or thrilling action; those things are just tools to keep us interested in the idea. The action is used like punctuation marks, making it all the more striking and terrifying. Looper comes to deliver a great story which is true in its themes, through a medium more effective than most. I can appreciate its use of shortcuts because of its honest dedication to story, character and theme.
Now this movie didn't win any awards and I'm not saying it deserves to. At its heart Looper is still a blockbuster action film only produced because it seemed commercially viable to some big wigs in California. But perhaps this thematic dedication will come to reflect a new trend in film, one in which plot and characterization take precedence over the temporal significance of fast cars, sexy women, hardbitten action stars with shotguns and glocks--



*sigh* Nah, I didn't think so either. But a girl can hope, right?

The Zelda Effect

Anyone who knows me can tell you I'm a huge fan of the Legend of Zelda series, a new installment of which comes out from Nintendo's development process on a regular basis. Yes, if they handed out trophies for winning video games, my multiple statuettes engraved with "Hero of Time/Winds/Seasons/Ages/etc"would be gleaming on the top shelf.
I tend to ignore all criticisms of the game's plot because really, from the beginning the LoZ games have always been the Campbellian Hero's Journey distilled into pure form, and I'd rather have a tried and true formula that plays with the platformer format than some convoluted, twisted plot hastily tacked onto yet another semi-stealth action game with pretty graphics (I'm looking at you, Tom Clancy franchise. Metal Gear series. ASSASSIN'S CREED.).
I ignore claims that Zelda's more recent games are packed with useless filler quests for ungrateful citizens, because the games are entertaining enough that I want to complete the quests, and therefore don't deem them as necessarily useless. Besides, being desirous of fame, fortune and praise at the end of every quest is exactly why YOU'RE NOT THE HERO. The hero of the Zelda mythos, Link, does it because it's the right thing to do. He pretty much epitomizes the "good" alignment: he goes through all the motions, he never complains, or asks for help, or, really says much of anything, ever. Seriously. The kid is mute or something.
The point is, I overlook the quests and bite my tongue when Princess Ruto decides to force me to carry her around because she can't be bothered to walk (also because the game mechanics won't let me kill her). I continue on anyway because I love the game and it's fun to play. There is very little criticism that I can be persuaded to even consider as legitimate.

...But.

There is one point that continues to rankling in my soul. See, ever since LoZ made the leap to 3D format, its title character has changed from "bystander who happens to be royal" to integral character whose badass skill set involves piracy, sorcery, or ninjutsu as the setting of the game demands. I suppose I should clarify: In each 3D incarnation of the franchise there is a female character who helps you in your questing and is clearly experienced and skilled enough to survive on her own. However, the moment this female says, "My name is Princess Zelda, and now it is time for you to fulfill your destiny," those powers tend to crystallize--literally.

"Welp, I'm out bros. Peace."

Once the princess takes on her royal role, she is invariably kidnapped by the villain and somehow magically forgets all the useful skills that helped her avoid capture in the first place. I get that the Hero's Journey traditionally requires a damsel in distress of some kind, but why go to the trouble of making her any sort of powerful entity beforehand? They're not exactly winning over any feminists with this kind of behavior. Heck, they don't even try to forgo the transformation in Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess: you meet her during one period of imprisonment, then toward the end of the game, she gets captured by someone else.

I'd like to be able to attribute this trend to some kind of cultural bias, but Nintendo studios also came up with Samus Aran of the Metroid series, a fearless, driven bounty hunter whose preference for solitude meshes with her subtle maternal instincts to create a believable, well-rounded character (as long as studio Team Ninja isn't allowed within 100 yards of the development, but I'll rant about that later). In addition, one of their most prolific kidnapped princesses, Princess Peach of the Mario franchise, has evolved from human Macguffin to a go-kart driving, fry-pan wielding healer of the fallen and possible mother of spiky turtle monsters.

A lady never tells.

There is no reason (other than, perhaps, lazy writing) that I can see for this change from powerful to helpless to occur so frequently in the Legend of Zelda series, but there it is. It's... troubling.
The conspiracy feminist in me says it's a device to maintain the attentions of the male audience: raised on "hero gets the girl" stories, the menfolk need a reason to go defeat the villain, and that reason must have boobs. It's a pretty bleak assertion, and one that I simply cannot put any stock into provided I stay as far away from Reddit as possible.
No, I suppose it's something I have to let the subject rest and, in the meantime, silently plead with Nintendo for a more purposeful princess. At the very least, it's given me a shortcut to vent my frustrations with modern female characters in cinema; now you'll know exactly what I mean when I reference the Zelda Effect.

Gimme a Head with Hair...

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?

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 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?"

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.