'Warm Bodies' Reverses the Zombie Trend -- Part 2 of 2

Part 2 -- The Love (or, Why We Hate Everyone, But Shouldn't)


 We’ve shown that society is ready to move on from the thought of a destructive apocalypse. So we decide, as a species, to get up and move into “action” mode: then what? What exactly makes this move special? And why does it have to be framed as a farcical zombie romance?
Of the many themes presented in Warm Bodies, I have to say the clearest are most certainly love related: love conquers all, fatal attraction induces change, working together creates strength, and let's not even get into the tantalizing Romeo and Juliet throwbacks everywhere. These are common themes, all done before, nothing extreme.

I find this amusing given the varying degrees of extremism in the film, both zombie and human. When the zombies choose to give up on clinging to their semblance of humanity they eventually decay into skeletal, ravenous monsters known as “bonies,” creatures who live only to consume anything with a pulse. As for the humans, the symptoms are less severe but when they give up on the world of before, opting only for survival and giving up on the “cure” for the zombies, they become battle hardened, stone cold survivalists, interested only in prolonging their own lives and the lives of their children or siblings. Both John Malkovich and Dave Franco’s characters are excellent examples of this. So on both sides there are clear extremes, extremes which are ultimately vilified on both sides.

And why? In the Hollywood system, zombie films have a very clear enemies and heroes. Action films do too, for that matter. So too do epics, thrillers, mysteries, and any other way one could frame an apocalypse scenario. To have more than one villain is to illustrate that situations involving people are invariably complicated. And what format is better to display the complicated interactions of humans (and former humans) than a romantic comedy?

By reframing our view of the apocalypse (a concept we’ve already gone over), Warm Bodies illustrates our changing view of "the masses" and our responsibility to one another as a societal whole. And thus we twenty-somethings begin to fully realize both our actualized potential and responsibility to the world. But in addition to forcing us to realize this, the film also provided a solution, one listed in the themes named above: love.

It seems pretty silly. These days, any answer to society’s problems in which the solution is “just love, man. Love each other,” involves way too many hippies, and not enough illegal substances, for my, or anyone else’s taste. After the many clichéd references to the Summer of Love it’s difficult for us to look upon the idea of loving one’s fellow man merely for the quality of being human, and nothing else, with disdain and distrust. We needed another way of framing it. We needed a way that wasn’t clichéd and tired. We needed it to be framed in such a way that we didn’t know we were being told to love one another. There are only two major times in which society has been told to love one another, one involved long haired, sandal-clad hippies, and the other involved the 1960’s and copious amounts of LSD.

…Do… do you see what I did there? I’m talking about Jesus. Jesus told us to love one another, but it took much much longer to figure out that, yes, for us to prosper as a species, we must learn to act in a manner outside ourselves as individuals and together as a whole.

The divide is pretty clear. There are those who choose to cling to religion (particularly, but not entirely, ruled by Christianity), believing that true Christians (or what have you) look out for one another, caring for each other in a cold, unfeeling world. They do what is right even if it’s not the popular thing, striving to stick together against all odds.

On the other side, there are the (nonreligious) lefties, believing that taking care of one’s fellow human is not just a volunteer effort; it is a requirement of humanity. They believe that they are the last caring piece of humanity, striving to put out a system with built in catches for those less fortunate every day. They are the last defense for the poor, the mentally ill, the weak, the old, and those who sometimes feel depressed.

Nowadays, it seems like humanity is at a clear split: the filthy freeloading liberals, and the tightass conservatives. So. Which side represents the humans? Think hard. Do you think you know? Really? Are you sure?

Well, you’re wrong. If you picked a side, you lost the game.  Warm Bodies takes that split and redefines it.

See, Warm Bodies is pointing out the very obvious flaw in our rhetoric today. It’s not about liberal vs. conservative, or religious versus non-religious. It’s not about Zombie versus human. The real necessity is for zombies and humans to band together against those who are, by design (not necessarily intent), moving in on our destruction: in this case represented by both John Malkovich’s character (as an extremist leader) and the “bonies” (as exploiters of the common good).

See, we needed a message that told us to love each other, not because of what we provide for one another, but because of what we bring to the table simply by existing, as human beings. We needed a way to frame the message in a way that didn’t sound too much like a hippie jam sesh. Yes, It is natural to want to exploit one another by taking everything one can, without giving back. Yes, it is natural to want to shut others out, defining anyone with a dissenting opinion or type as unacceptable. But ultimately, if we are to progress as a species, we have to stop giving in to these so-called “instincts.” We have to rise above and learn to love each other, the same as both Jesus and our hippie ancestors would. The only way in which we can increase the divides we see amongst one another is to continue to deny the bonds we share as human beings.

But of course, in the years preceding Warm Bodies, we couldn’t possibly realize this message. We were so wrapped up in our own cynicism, so busy preparing to deal with the ever-consuming threat of zombies, that we became slave to the very idea. We spent so long trying to avoid zombies that we became them ourselves. We didn’t care about each other, only about ourselves, and how to ensure our survival past 99 percent of the rest of humanity. “That’s not going to be me,” said literally everyone, watching a dead, shambling corpse shuffle across the screen. “I have a zombie plan. I have food and guns and supplies, or at least an inkling of how the apocalypse will go down. I’ll be better than everyone. I’ll be stronger, faster, and more fit for survival. I’ll manage the resources better. I’ll take everything and make it work for me.” I’ll take. I’ll consume. But we never took into account what would happen if we just stopped with the planning for ourselves while bitching about various political platforms and just started preparing each other.

If the extremes of both sides are the ones holding the power, it is the people in between who suffer. Just as the humans are bound by the protocol created by the battle-hardened, soulless humans, so too are the zombies ruled by the bonies, even though they have no pulse.

In our own ways, each of us is both human and zombie, controlled on both sides by those who exploit us and those who demand our acquiescence. These power-holders are each side of exactly what happens when we lose our ability to hope, our ability to care. I think the ultimate theme of Warm Bodies is that if we give up our ability to love both ourselves and one another, if we give in to the cynicism of the age and start polishing our shotguns with grim resignation, we are the ones who will be to blame for the apocalypse. Though it won’t be the kind of apocalypse we expect: instead of an end of society because of the decay of humanity, it will be an end to humanity because of the decay of society.

So, to recap: a farcical apocalyptic romance uses the teachings of Jesus and a rough approximation of socialist leanings to remind us that if we don’t love and tolerate the hell out of each other we’ll create an apocalypse from which we can’t escape. The moral of the story is, if you’re approached by a shambling moron in a stressful situation, don’t smash his/her brains out. It might be a learning experience.

Take That, Mayans! Warm Bodies Reverses the Zombie Trend

Part 1 -- The Apocalypse (or Lack Thereof)

Everyone who's hip with the internet jive is by now so tired of the mere idea of walking corpses that the thought of going to a movie theater to watch dead, shuffling masses is cause for near riot. Oh, and they're sick of zombie movies too.
So when the film Warm Bodies hit theaters, most folks were pretty skeptical. For those not familiar, I'll give you a basic rundown: Humanity has, for the most part, become zombified. But this film is different in that the zombies still hold on to loose facsimiles of their daily routines, just with more moaning and shambling about. In addition, these zombies are driven to specifically eat brains, because eating the brains gives the zombie a glimpse of their victims’ past memories. The film focuses on one young zombie, played by Nicholas Hoult, whose inner monologue orchestrates the film. When he eats the brains of one freedom fighter, he gains the poor guy’s memories including those of his girlfriend, fighting beside him. Stirred by these new feelings, the zombie goes in to put the moves on the gun-toting gal, played by Teresa Palmer. She responds by stabbing him in the chest. Romance ensues.
 I myself might not have bothered seeing it had it not been billed as an absolute mockery of the Twilight love story arc--A love between a supernatural male and human female, unsustainable and ill-advised, but unstoppable. And in fact, Warm Bodies does take a few moments here and there to poke fun at itself in self-aware fashion. The romance, however, is secondary to the theme. Though the dead-boy-meets-girl premise is what draws the audiences in, what causes them to stay is the absolute overturning of the genre.
To understand how the film does this, we have to go back and look at monster movie archetypes as a whole. This is a concept that has been repeatedly covered in depth, and so I'll just briefly touch on the main points. We know what each of the movie monsters represent: Godzilla represents a fear of nuclear weapons, King Kong represents our own hubris regarding the natural world, vampires represent fear of oversexualization of society, Frankenstein's monster and The Fly are a fear of technological advancement, and werewolves a fear of our own animal, violent tendencies. Zombies, of course, represent the most relevant fears of the age: overpopulation, homogeny, fear that our fellow humans will turn on us, and fear that our society will fail, quickly and unexpectedly, due to factors beyond our control in spite of technological advancement. Ultimately, it's a fear trend that can be seen through factors as broad as bipartisan politics or as simple as the increased gun sales of your local pawn shop. There are many factors involved but the ultimate indication as clear.
However, zombie films are different from the other genres, in that each of the others has experienced some kind of reversal. Think about films like Underworld, Daybreakers, Teen Wolf, and the 1998 Godzilla reboot. Think about television shows like Once Upon A Time and The Vampire Diaries. There are dozens of examples I could name, but the point is each of these movie monsters is in some way exonerated or expanded. The relative quality of the film aside, I remember feeling pangs of sadness when Godzilla and his (her?) babies were killed (even though half of Manhattan was destroyed) simply because rather than a destructive behemoth, this was a creature created by humans seeking to eke out its own living and have a family, a perfectly natural and understandable desire. Movies like Teen Wolf and Van Helsing show how misunderstood, yet useful, werewolves can be. Vampires, of course, have the largest plethora of reversal examples, from Blade and Vampire Hunter D to Twilight. Turns out we like sex... a lot.
But zombies are a set whose fears are difficult to reverse, simply because of what that reversal would suggest. First, it would suggest that most other people aren't horrible, not an easy concept in film. Second, it would suggest that we, as a society, needed some kind of reaffirmation that other people aren't horrible. That would indicate that our view of humanity would be pretty bleak indeed.
But aren't we forgetting how awful the last few years have been, in general? Five, even ten years ago it was easy to complain about "the masses," bitch about how stupid people were, and even use the term "sheeple" unironically. The economy crashed, politics became less about progress and more about winning, rational discourse showed itself to the toilet to be flushed. Trolling became not just accepted practice, but encouraged. It wasn't enough to say "we're growing more cynical," the motto of the time was "if you're not cynical, you're an idiot begging to be screwed by a population that is." That was around the time that young people around the world thought it was cool and quirky to begin designing "zombie plans," viewing daily society through all but the most cynical lens possible. In a post-9/11 world still feeling the sting of extreme security measures and not one but two unending wars, there didn't seem to be many bright spots and apocalypse seemed inevitable at some point or another. Society was sick, we reasoned. There was no quick and easy solution to fix it, and so it just seemed simpler to start from scratch. It seemed the only thing that made sense: Despite technology and science being at their height, nobody seemed very happy about it, to say the least. Rapture dates came and went like fashion trends; it was kind of inevitable to fall into an "all for naught" sort of mindset. "After all," we'd joke to one another, "the world's ending in 2012 anyway." And so we only let the problem fester.
And though no one (at least, no sane person) believed that December 21st meant the end of the world, it was almost as though the year 2012 was to be spent in a state of suspension, not moving toward any sort of great success, accepting failures quietly. It was a year everyone would have been happy to see walk out the door, had we been able to muster up enough energy to feel joy.
But, as December 21st came and went, so too did the haze of ennui surrounding the minds of American twenty- and thirty-somethings. Or at least, it began to.

It's a slow process.

As we realized we were still here, and here indefinitely, the lifeless minds began to stir, and hearts began to beat in rhythm with one another once again. Oh look, a parallel! But more on that later.
I predict a dramatic change over the next two years in terms of how our apocalypse movies are portrayed. Yes, there will be residual big-budget thrillers with the same amount of grating lassitude, the Hollywood film system is a slow lumbering machine at best. But we're humans, we're at the top of the food chain, inventors of the selfie, the Kickstarter, and the maple bacon sundae. We are way too varied and awesome to wallow in self pity like some sexless, drugless Foucaultian nightmare. Ultimately, I predict that future destructo-films will be less helpless desolation and more humanity pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps, inventing some badass machinery, and getting the job done in a blaze of glory.

Incidentally, is anyone else really excited for Pacific Rim to come out?

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.