Rose DeWitt Bukater, Titanic, and Freedom

Note: this is a repost of a previously-removed piece.

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Let’s be honest: we’ve all made fun of Titanic at one point or another.  You know - the sweeping love story, the weeping audience, the overwrought Celine Dion song that just wouldn’t go away in 1997.  There was Titanic mania, Titanic backlash, and now the film’s legacy exists almost exclusively as a pop culture echo, woven intrinsically into the collective psyche as the subliminal urge to stand on the bows of ships and shout, “I’m king of the world!”  There is a strange and permanent aura surrounding the film that can’t be denied, let alone erased.

To that end, it’s easy to lose the original merits of the actual film amidst the cultural discussion and film history reverb.  Titanic came to define what it means to create a “blockbuster” - a vast, sprawling epic that requires a mammoth shooting schedule, unprecedented CGI, and at least two and a half hours of end result.  The investment is huge, and so is the payoff - monetarily speaking, of course.  But films so large in scope as Titanic often miss the emotional investment, the emotional payoff.  The narrative can easily get lost in the grandeur, the special effects, the “blockbuster moments.”  And every good film, no matter how big or how small, requires an intimate and specific story anchoring the spectacle.  

You’re probably two steps ahead of me by now.  You’re probably thinking, “Ah yes, she’s referencing the intimate love story set against the huge historical backdrop!”  Alas, you would be incorrect.  While the ballad of Jack and Rose is effective, powerful, and transcendent, their love story is not quite the center of the film.  Their love story is not precisely what makes Titanic emotionally resonant and honest.  It’s a part of it, certainly, but it’s not the source.  Because at its core, Titanic is not a love story.  No - at its very essence, Titanic is a story about freedom.  And that freedom is embodied in the character design and journey of Rose DeWitt Bukater - the film’s sole main character.

It’s not difficult to defend Rose as Titanic’s individual lead.  She is the voice of the story, the only character that spans from 1912 to 1997, and the only character who changes.  She is afforded a hero’s entrance, a developed design, and a flawlessly constructed arc.  Every story decision made about Titanic - its historical context, the DeWitt Bukater family, Jack Dawson as love interest, the Jack-Rose love story, the conflicts and obstacles - it all comes back to Rose as a main character.

Rose DeWitt Bukater exists at a very unique place in history.  Coming of age in 1912, the world around her was changing.  Technology, communication, business, social norms - they were all on the brink of modernity, poised for a huge shift from Victorian order to contemporary chaos.  Rose, without realizing it, was very much a part of that.  Born to a good family name whose liquid assets dried up, it is of the utmost importance that Rose marry into new money in order to keep her status.  This is why she is on board the Titanic - after meeting her fiancé Cal in England, the family is now traveling back to America where an engagement party awaits them.  But Rose, already embodying the 20th century’s disdain for tradition and inhibition, feels suffocated by her lack of choice in the matter.  She is not content to be a pawn in someone else’s game, denied the freedom of opinion and choice in favor of serving a fading ideal.  To her, the Titanic is a prison.

But Rose can’t articulate her place as it relates to social history.  She doesn't understand that she feels the stirrings of modernism, while she reads Freud and revolts against propriety and etiquette.  She instead languishes in a constant state of despair, unable to comprehend her own feelings.  She buys modern art because it speaks to something inside of her, but she can’t explain what she likes about it - it’s “truth but no logic.”  She rebels against her mother, who tightly binds her into the confines of a corset without second thought.  She feels like she’s “standing in the middle of a crowded room screaming at the top of [her] lungs, and no one even looks up.”  This unacknowledged frustration with Victorian repression leads to a bold - and necessary - character choice for Rose.  Unable to take the suffocation anymore, she rushes to the stern of Titanic and prepares to throw herself into the ocean.

Of course, this is where Rose’s story becomes entangled with Jack’s.  The easiest takeaway from their initial encounter is to say that Jack saved Rose’s life.  Yes, that is true.  But there is much more to understand about their relationship than a mere knight-saves-damsel construct, even when it’s expanded to umbrella their journey together, as in Rose’s description of “he saved me, in every way that a person can be saved.”  Truthfully, “Jack saves Rose” as a unilateral statement cheapens Rose’s character arc a bit.  It’s actually much more interesting to explore the dynamic from a slightly different angle, especially as it pertains to Rose herself.  Even more, Titanic as a film hints encouragement at this analysis.

I say this because Jack Dawson is actually kind of a boring character.  He's weirdly good at everything, he's kind, he's lucky, he's handsome, he's poor but happy.  There's not a lot of dimension there.  He’s of the utmost importance, sure - but only insofar as he extends to Rose.  He is designed to be a representative foil, although calling the relationship “poor boy falls in love with rich girl” is an extreme oversight.  It’s more textured than that, even if the paradigm helps fuel the lovers’ obstacles.  More than anything, Jack represents modernity.  He exists to pull Rose into her true identity, to model a life she herself never knew she wanted.  He travels with only the clothes on his back, and lets his art take him to Paris.  He feels more than thinks; he has no responsibility but to his own happiness.  Where Rose is threatening to end it all at ship’s stern, Jack is embracing the freedom of flying at ship’s bow.  With his boho philosophy of “make it count” and no lack of coincidentally-important survival skills, Jack serves mostly as a spirit guide to Rose’s emotional fulfillment and physical safety.  He is a bizarre spectral over the whole film, beckoning Rose forward and forward until she’s ready to take the steps for herself.

I was gobsmacked when I realized this, because it means that the second-most grossing movie of all time - the movie that redefined the modern blockbuster - has a main female lead whose male love interest is simply an accessory to her own arc.  Because while Rose may say that Jack saved her, the fact of the matter is that she saved herself - with Jack’s help.  This can be seen perfectly in Jack’s encouragement to Rose after she’s slipped off the railing.  She dangles there in a panic as he desperately holds on, and the expectation is that he’ll be able to pull her up and over.  In any other flattened love story, it’d be as simple as that.  But Titanic does something in a tiny microcosm that echoes into the larger story of Jack and Rose: Jack tells her he won’t let go, but she’s got to pull herself up.  He can’t do it for her.  This same sentiment is echoed during their conversation in the gymnasium - Rose tells Jack that it’s not up to him to save her.  He replies: “Only you can do that.” 

Sweet merciful feminism, how much more loving could this film be of its main character’s empowerment?  Titanic puts forth the concept that while Jack may be there to save Rose, it’s on her to take initiative.  This is therefore all the more rewarding when she actually does.  She takes Jack’s hand and pulls herself up; she meets Jack at the clock; she finds Jack at the bow of the ship and says, “I changed my mind.”  The entirety of Titanic is Rose DeWitt Bukater actively fighting for her life - her own life. In a genius twist on tragedy, the sinking of the ship provides the perfect opportunity for her to externalize that.  At film’s beginning, Rose is ready to fling herself from the back of the Titanic.  At film’s end, she clings to it with every hope and intention of survival.  Even when a boat comes back to rescue her from the water, she must let go of her love, swim to a whistle, and proclaim her intent to live.  She has to fight for it.  And for a character who was one step from throwing her life away at the beginning of the film?  These are huge moments.

Ultimately, Titanic is a film about freedom.  This concept tethers Jack to Rose, and Rose to the story itself.  Every step of Rose’s journey moves her closer to freedom from the shackles of what society demands of her, closer to the kind of life Rose might choose for herself if given the opportunity.  In the film’s final act, she poses naked, has sex, and fights with her life to save the person she loves.  Even when she can save herself, she chooses solidarity with her love over waiting idly for fate to run its course.  She spits in a man’s eye, punches a guy in the face, and wields an axe.  The hair and costume choices are purposeful: she wears a simple dress with no corset, her hair down and unadorned.  Rose even takes ownership of her name, choosing to call herself Dawson instead of DeWitt Bukater.

By the end of the film, Rose’s transformation is complete.  When we first see her embarking in the beginning, she looks up to see the Titanic - her prison.  When Rose arrives in America, she looks up to see the Statue of Liberty - freedom.  And we know, through the photos that tell us what she did with her life, that she embraced that freedom Jack helped her choose, and lived a life she wanted.  It is this journey, and how it’s connected to her identity and her love story, that provides the emotional depth to Titanic.   So while this film may forevermore reign as one of the biggest movies of all time, presented with cinematic gloss and occasional Hollywood implausibility, it’s tethered emotionally to a well-constructed main character, whose design and arc interact beautifully with her historical context to create the love story that’s transcended the film itself.

CINEBLOGGO: Legally Blonde

There’s a strange myth out there that deems feminism and “girly” things mutually exclusive.  That feminists can’t like the color pink, or enjoy getting their hair done, or belong to a sorority, as though this is submitting to the patriarchy and betraying women’s rights.  But the suggestion that these “girly” things are anti-feminist is the real evidence of anti-feminism, because the implication is that women should not want to be associated with femininity.  Isn’t the point of feminism to celebrate womanhood, not shame it from our own bodies and minds?  Rejecting femininity for its “frivolity” only serves to reinforce the notion that masculinity is king and queen, the ultimate power.

There is, similarly, a misconception about the 2001 film Legally Blonde.  With a cheery sorority girl at the movie’s center, and a primarily pink DVD cover, it’s easy to dismiss it as a valid film, let alone a valid feminist film.  Upon closer look, though, Legally Blonde is actually a feminist treasure, supported wonderfully with the existence of its main female and her character arc, as well as the story communicated around her.

When we first meet Elle Woods, she’s attending college in California, serving as the president of her sorority, and expecting an engagement ring from her pre-law dreamboat boyfriend Warner (Huntington III, natch).  But it turns out Warner is actually dumping her, because he intends on heading to Harvard and needs a serious girlfriend - a “Jackie,” not a “Marilyn.”  Elle is devastated by the news, and decides to win Warner back… by attending Harvard Law as well.  This is a decidedly “romcom” premise, and under conventional romcom circumstances, we would probably see Elle meet a new guy who believes in her more than Warner, and when Warner comes inevitably crawling back to her, she would be faced with a choice between men that represented her identity shift from beginning to end.  If Elle chose Warner, she’d be choosing her old self, which isn’t who she really is.  If Elle chose New Harvard Boyfriend, she’d be choosing her new self, and someone who saw her for everything she never knew she was.  And y’know, it’s possible that, if scripted well, it wouldn’t be all that bad.  But Legally Blonde does so much more than that, which transcends romcom convention and typical stories given to main females.  Elle Woods chooses herself.  If anything, then, the love story at the center of Legally Blonde is that of Elle Woods falling in love with her true identity, her real self.  Ultimately, both the film and Elle’s arc demonstrate a shift from a traditional romantic comedy (wanting the guy) to a female-centered identity arc (wanting personal fulfillment) hallmarking Elle’s struggle to prove herself, redefine herself, and embrace herself.  It really can’t get anymore feminist than that.

Most movies concerning themselves with a female empowerment arc would probably show the lady lead differently in the beginning than in the end.  So, in the case of Legally Blonde, it might be an obvious choice to demonstrate Elle’s change by showing her less empowered at movie’s beginning, so we understand how much she’s grown when we’re watching the end.  It makes sense, right?  We’d expect a pre-Harvard Elle to be outwardly unempowered - a bit spineless, not at all shrewd, and least of all self-assured.  But Legally Blonde doesn’t bother with this; in fact, Elle is never portrayed as any of these things because they’re simply not in her character.  Our first real introduction to Elle is in the film’s second scene, where Elle is shopping for a dress.  The saleswoman, thinking that Elle is a dumb blonde with daddy’s credit card, tries to dupe her into buying an out-of-season dress for an exorbitant price.  But not only does Elle see through the ruse, she actually calls out the saleswoman on her attempted manipulation, even throwing in a thinly veiled insult to boot.  And this is the girl at the start of her empowerment arc!

But even though this seems like an oversight in communicating the change in Elle Woods from beginning to end, it’s actually a glorious detail that shows so much respect and affection for the story’s lead.  By showing Elle with smarts and a backbone within the first ten minutes, Legally Blonde is instantly and subtly indicating to the audience one single, beautiful message about her change: Elle Woods had it in her all along.  With this construct, this narrative always has faith in Elle, and her self-empowerment arc, as she herself points out in her commencement speech, is learning to have faith in herself.  You can even notice the no-change change in the fact that the same song plays over the end and opening credits.  In the beginning, when Elle is anticipating Warner’s proposal, it’s “The Perfect Day.”  In the end, graduating from Harvard with honors, it’s the same.  Elle had it in her all along.

It’s hugely important, with female character arcs, to manifest development without changing the character.  Would Elle be the same Elle if she started dressing like Vivian and acting like Enid?  Do we really want Elle to abandon her sorority friends and hobnob with the East Coasters?  I love dearly that while Elle does take some measures to fit in with her Harvard peers, the conclusion is that it’s simply impossible.  Her goal is not to fit in with them, but to achieve comparably to them.  She buckles down, devotes her time and brain power, and works hard to be in the same league as her peers.  But even when she endeavors to dress like them, she ends up wearing a shimmering smoking jacket and fashion glasses.  Ultimately, the film’s message is that Elle only has to be Elle to succeed.  When she’s on her date with Warner in the first scenes, she wears a bright pink dress - her power color.  And when she walks into the courtroom for her last scenes, she wears a bright pink dress - her power color.  Elle hasn’t changed; her power has only shifted.

It’s doubly important to avoid changing Elle’s character when considering the gender politics of the film.  Elle codes as a traditional “girly girl” - before we even see her face or know her as a person, we see her applying makeup and perfume.  Pink is her power color, she does get mani-pedis to de-stress, and she does know the particulars of perm maintenance (after all, the rules of hair care are simple and finite).  The premise of this film involves Elle moving away from her traditionally feminine environment, the sorority house, and into a traditionally masculine environment: Harvard law.  It could be disastrously offensive to suggest a rejection of Elle’s “feminine” past as she finds her true self in her “masculine” present.  But it’s simply not the case.  (Wait, was that an accidental lawyer pun?)  And while it’s perhaps a bit of a stretch to believe that Elle would be such a superstar on cases that don’t involve details about hair care, fashion designers, and gay men, it’s important to construct a plot around Elle that rewards her for her “feminine” strengths.  The film even goes a step further to introduce a thematic payoff.  On Elle’s first day, Professor Stromwell quotes Aristotle as having said that “law is reason free from passion.”  That statement basically exalts masculinity over femininity, because traditionally, reason codes “masculine” and passion codes “feminine.”  Lady emotions have no place in the courtroom!  But Elle proves that the opposite is true, and even says so in her commencement speech: passion is key, in law, and life.  What could potentially be rejected for its associations with femininity is actually embraced, just as Elle is.

So frequently in popular media, women receive a message that they should change themselves to fit a mold, and only then will they receive the love of a man, which somehow is the end-all, be-all goal.  To this end, it is not only fantastic that Elle’s power, strengths, and femininity are respected by the narrative, but that her love interest is not overplayed to be a dominant focus of Elle’s journey.  After all, this is Elle’s love story with herself.  It’s lovely that all the other characters, including Emmett, fall in line.  Legally Blonde even goes a step further to give Emmett a little character journey as a result of meeting Elle: she encourages him to have more faith in people, which he in turn invests in her.  He takes a chance in supporting her in the courtroom, and when others doubt him, he specifically recites Elle’s own words: have a little faith.  This wonderful, small-scale romance is made even better by the fact that Emmett never actually “saves” Elle.  Even when she’s down on herself and thinks she hasn’t earned any of her achievements at Harvard, it is not Emmett who puts her back on her horse.  Yes, he offers encouragement and support in the form of the film’s theme by offering Elle a hypothetical about her identity: “What if you’re trying to be someone you are?”  It’s a great touch, but in the end, the one to call Elle back to action is actually a woman: Professor Stromwell.  Hearkening to the idea that these are both women in a man’s world, Stromwell challenges Elle’s choice to leave by basically admitting that she grew to admire Elle’s conviction.  And with that, Elle changes her mind, and continues on her path.

Even beyond this one incident, Legally Blonde fosters and demonstrates positive female relationships across the board.  Elle’s sorority sisters universally support her, whether in her engagement to Warner, or her dream of Harvard.  Elle stands by Brooke even when she doesn’t know her alibi, and even then, refuses to break her promise to keep it a secret.  Elle’s friendship with Paulette serves to give her a home away from Harvard, at Paulette’s salon table.  The “bend and snap” is included to show Elle specifically empowering other woman - and even a few men as well.  Even the classmates who initially ridicule Elle ultimately become her friends.  I love that Vivian is the one to reach out to Elle, and she does so because she respects her.  Vivian specifically states that she admires Elle for not giving up Brooke’s alibi and sticking to her integrity.  Not only that, but they bond over their treatment as the only two women on Callahan’s team of interns.  Joy of joy, these are not characteristics often awarded to female characters in romantic comedies!  And even better still, the message with these women and their relationships is that there’s no such thing as “Marilyns” and “Jackies.”  

Nearly everything in this film lines up behind Elle’s empowerment arc as an independent, self-assured, feminist character.  Small moments like Professor Stromwell questioning Dorky David Kidney impart a lesson about self-doubt; when Elle overhears David being rejected by pretty girls, she springs to his aid when she hears them say that “girls like me don’t go out with guys like you,” because that resonates with her, and the reasons for Warner dumping her.  If nothing else, there is an actual closeup of Elle’s face, grinning wildly as she spots her own name on a list of those having earned an intern position.  The line of dialogue?  “ME!”  

Yes, Elle.  You.  And that’s what makes this film a little slice of feminist heaven.

Love Bloggo: NBC's Who Do You Think You Are?

Occasionally I worry that because of the synchronization of Glee simultaneously dominating my blog and swirling down the toilet, this place has become far too negative and nitpicky.  I love things, I promise!  And it was recently suggested to me by an anonymous reader that I should share more of the things I love - books, television, music, etc.  

So, in an effort to spruce up this bloggo with positivity and sunshine, I present the first in what will hopefully be a continued trend of sharing random things I love, to balance out the long-winded criticisms occupying the archives.

The first thing you should know about me (which you probably already do) is that I am an extreme nerd.  Now, as we all are aware, there are different types of nerds.  No need to lump us all together in one big category.  There are math nerds, science nerds, video game nerds, comic book nerds, sci-fi nerds, music nerds, film nerds, book nerds, word nerds, history nerds, humanities nerds, art nerds - you get the idea.  I happen to be a conglomeration of the latter five, give or take.  I also happen to be a genealogy nerd.  It sort of combines my love for history and sociology and humanities with my penchant for organization and documentation, with added storyteller and mystery intrigue thrown in.  As such, I am a huge nerd for NBC's Who Do You Think You Are?

It doesn't seem like something that'd ordinarily do well on television: every episode follows a celebrity on a journey to discover their family history.  They talk to a relative to get a few leads, then, as most of them are part of America's historical "melting pot," whisk away to their original homelands to trace the steps.  They meet up with genealogists and hold original documents in awe, and walk the same paths their ancestors did, if they're lucky.  It's part documentary, part reality show, and part mystery hour.

But at the same time, every episode promises intrigue and self-discovery, as every subject inevitably compares their ancestor's circumstances and choices to their own life experiences.  The urge to look at the family that produced you to try and find some similarity in yourself is universal and singularly human, and it's amazing to see the connections people actually legitimately make to their pasts.

Tonight, Who Do You Think You Are? returned with Martin Sheen as its celebrity subject, which means that we also learned the ancestry of Emilio Estevez and Charlie Sheen!  Sheen traced an uncle on his mother's side to the rabble-rousing half of the Irish Civil War and a great-uncle on his father's to the law-abiding half of Spanish Civil War, and both parties on either side spent significant time in jail.  As a result, this episode quickly became a sober reminder of history's atrocities and how they affected so many people so permanently.  And for me, it's this that is the most powerful aspect of Who Do You Think You Are? and genealogical research in general.  

There are events in human history that bind countless people together, and affect them irreversibly.  Sometimes it's happenstance, like famines and illnesses and outbreaks.  But mostly, it's the dark side of humanity and human actions, where wars reach into every home and disturb a family enough to create a lasting mark on the lives of their descendants, most of whom never even realize. 

So that's what Who Do You Think You Are? is for: for the descendants to understand the realities their ancestors faced, the stories they lived in real life, the seemingly random or mundane events of their life that were woven inextricably into the fabric of their contexts, and dominoed just so, thereby creating the descendant's entire existence, mostly likely taken for granted.

In the case of Martin Sheen, he discovered a half-a-dozen-greats grandfather in Spain that was a judge hellbent on persecuting a young woman in the village who aborted a baby fathered by a married man above her status.  She was lucky enough to escape, and eventually moved away to start a new life in another town.  Then, lo and behold, four generations later, her great-great-great-great granddaughter married her persecutor's great-great-great-great grandson.  And of course, no one realized this until now, when the zoom-out is so cosmic that every piece of information tracked down takes on a strange meant-to-be aura and makes you think about every little thing that happens in your life and how it will affect your future.

So, if you are in fact a history nerd, sociology nerd, mystery nerd, documentary nerd, humanities nerd, genealogy nerd, or OH-MY-GOD-THE-TINIEST-THINGS-BLOW-MY-MIND nerd (like me) -- I highly recommend checking out Who Do You Think You Are?  This season features, along with Martin Sheen, Marisa Tomei, Blair Underwood, Reba McEntire, Rob Lowe, Helen Hunt, Edie Falco, Rashida Jones, Jerome Bettis, Jason Sudeikis, and Paula Deen.  Actually, according to Executive Producer Lisa Kudrow (another reason to love the show, frankly) Rob Lowe's and Marisa Tomei's stories have been in the works since the first season, so I take that to mean they are epic and mysterious!  Tomei's is next week, and the preview hinted strongly at murder and conspiracy theory, so tune in!

(It occurs to me after all this overjoyed plugging that I should make note that I do not work for NBC's Who Do You Think You Are? in any way, shape, or form.  Although, frankly, I would love to.  Your move, Lisa Kudrow.)

Wicked, and Glinda: the Musical's Best Character

Before I begin spouting the wonders of Wicked's Glinda, dear readers, first let me apologize!  This blog has been a certifiable wasteland the past few weeks, a fact I am neither proud of nor happy about.  I hereby promise to not be so damn neglectful in future.

Now.  Yesterday, as I made myself dinner (and also as I may or may not have baked a rather large batch of peanut butter cookies) I cranked up the Wicked Original Broadway Soundtrack and sang my little heart out.  And in doing so, I realized, not for the first time, that Glinda has permanent living space in said little heart.

Proposal: G(a)linda is actually the best character in Wicked, the stage play.

Hear me out.  I don't deny that Elphaba is a wonderful creation, one who deserves her place as main character and as an individual that almost any audience member can relate to.  Elphaba is an icon, an embodiment of what it means to be different and yet determined to achieve greater things, despite the people trying to keep you down.  She deserves to be the anchor of this story.  

But that's just it: Elphaba is the anchor, the emerald center of this tale that spins around her as she slowly descends into the wickedness always presumed of her.   And even though Wicked, the stage version in particular, touts the partnership of Glinda and Elphaba as the highlight of the story, it's still Elphaba's story.  Hell, it's Glinda telling Elphaba's story - the show opens with "No One Mourns the Wicked," as Glinda gives the back story of Elphaba's birth to the citizens of Oz.  

And it's perhaps this construct that helps make Glinda the best character in the ensemble.  Wicked's true genius is not necessarily in Elphaba's story, or even in Glinda and Elphaba's story, but rather in how Glinda interacts with Elphaba's story.  The entire musical is framed by Glinda relating Elphaba's story to us, intuitively suggesting that we should examine the characters in such a light as well.  Looking at Elphaba's story without looking at Glinda's would be an oversight.

Without Glinda's involvement, frankly, Elphaba's story is somewhat standard.  Again, she's the anchor.  Like so many traditional heroes, she was born different, unaccepted by her family, and discovered she had extraordinary power inside her.  She fights for a cause, strives to do the right thing, and we learn of her true parentage - and how it affected her entire life.  This is all fairly straightforward character information, hallmarks of a Hero's Tale.  

From a purely narrative perspective, what sets Wicked apart is the conceit that this is a story we think we know - and do know, to some extent.  We know how it ends, and the show cashes in on that knowledge, turning everything on its ear in a droll and sometimes tragic way.  Dramatic irony rules every moment on that stage.

But from a character perspective, the addition of Glinda allows Elphaba's story to transcend its classic hero structure and become something else entirely.  This was a choice made specifically for the stage musical - Glinda is absent for countless pages of the original book by Gregory Maguire.  But in adapting the novel to the stage, it was increasingly apparent that the spark necessary to ignite the page characters into reality was Galinda Upland - and more of her.

Galinda is the character that changes.  It's all wrapped up, right there in her name.  She starts out as Galinda, a snotty brat who cares too much about appearances, and ends up Glinda, a battered soul who still cares enough about appearances to never let us see how much pain she's experienced.  And the changes she undergoes make her a better person and simultaneously ruin her life.  Let's look at Wicked, Elphaba's story, through Glinda's perspective.

Galinda Upland arrives at Shiz fully expecting to be special, and treated that way.  She is self-centered in a way that makes her naive.  She doesn't grasp the grave political situation in Oz, and completely trusts that the people in charge are all good guys.  She's also self-centered in a way that makes her inconsiderate of others - she manipulates Boq, throws herself at Fiyero, and makes fun of Elphaba.  Everything she does skates obnoxiously at the surface (and part of the genius is that much of the show's humor comes from Galinda in these moments - Galinda is the Clown of the First Act, keeping her antics likeable and not bitchy).

Galinda, more than anything, wants to be chosen to study witchcraft with Madame Morrible on account of natural talent.  But that doesn't happen.  Galinda actually has very little natural talent when it comes to witchcraft, which is something I find terribly tragic.  Turns out Elphaba, the peculiar green girl, and Galinda's roommate, has it in spades.  But Galinda never acts out against Elphaba on that count - technically, Galinda should have an inferiority complex, but it never fully manifests.  It sneaks into the narrative with Fiyero, who also chooses Elphaba over Gllinda, and we get the tiniest taste of sadness and tables turned, as Glinda sings a reprise Elphaba's song - "I'm Not That Girl."  The roles reversed, and Glinda gets another dose of reality.

Essentially, examining Glinda's part in Elphaba's story yields a conclusion that is entirely in keeping with her character.  Glinda realizes that the reality she has built for herself isn't reality at all, and that the world really can be a cruel place.  But what's heartbreaking, and the quintessential Glinda of it all is that we never really see her succumb fully to heartbreak.  It is not something she shares with the audience in any real way.  Elphaba sings "The Wizard and I," and "Defying Gravity," and "No Good Deed," all anthems of her existence that explode before the audience in a very magnified way.

Glinda, however, has quiet moments of crumble.  She sings 52 seconds of ironic heartbreak with "I'm Not That Girl," and a minute-long interlude of sadness and regret in "Thank Goodness," before she affixes that smile back on her face and continues to force herself to want what she has.  Glinda has no anthem in Wicked; if anything, she gives us "Popular," which simply informs us that Glinda cares too much about appearances, and therefore will not be singing us an anthem in Wicked.  It's not her style.

But how beautiful are characters who quietly break down without ever letting anyone know?  Especially the girl who threw a tantrum when her rooming arrangement wasn't how she wanted it?  

And here we are, again, at Glinda's change.  The Glinda at the end of Wicked is very different from the Glinda at the beginning, and yet no one really noticed because she hid it all behind a fake smile and the opportunity to be beloved by the public.  Which leads me to my next topic: Glinda's choice.

"Defying Gravity," while certainly having its merits as an anthem of noncompliance and self-empowerment, is actually most powerful in that it delineates a choice.  "Defying Gravity," solidly and purposefully placed at the end of the first act, signifies the moment where Glinda and Elphaba make their choices.  Glinda can choose to go with Elphaba, embracing the changes in her life, and fully expressing this new person Glinda could be.  Or, she can take the somewhat cowardly option of staying behind and keeping her good name with the Wizard.

Both Elphaba and Glinda make choices that bring a gavel down on the rest of their lives.  Elphaba's choice makes her forever an outcast, an enemy of the government, and the receiving end of hate from angry villagers.  Knowing that Elphaba began her journey as an idealistic and well-intentioned young woman makes this supremely tragic.  But at the end of the day, we, as an audience, know that Elphaba made the right choice, because she chose to defy gravity.  Elphaba may have taken the hard road, but it was the right road - and in the musical, she was rewarded for that, because (surprise!) she doesn't actually die when Dorothy throws the water on her.  Instead, she emerges from a trapdoor, a happy life in hand with Fiyero, finally free of her rather cruel circumstances.

But Glinda?  Glinda chooses the easy road because she doesn't think she's brave enough to go with Elphaba.  She's not done changing yet, and she falls back on the security of her old dreams.  She chooses to be in with the good guys, aligned with the majority - popular.  Glinda chose the wrong path, and is stuck on it for the long haul.  She's rewarded with the empty security of public approval, and is set to live the rest of life thinking the one person who changed it is dead.  Glinda's last notes in Wicked are in mourning, a lament for Elphaba, who can never let Glinda know she's still singing in harmony with her.

To me, the sum of these parts makes Glinda a stronger character than Elphaba.  She changes.  She makes the wrong choice.  She quietly breaks down underneath a cockeyed grin.  And she lives her life dealing with the consequences of her change and her choice, without the only friend that ever mattered.  Beyond that, the structure of the play is completely defined by her.  She frames the story at beginning and end, and her involvement in the narrative defines both acts.  Act I is largely defined by Galinda's humor and kook, and Act II, shaped by the choices from "Defying Gravity," is charred with the the tragedy of Glinda's circumstances, taking her humor from Act I and subverting it into heartbreak.

While it is Elphaba's story that anchors Wicked, it is actually Glinda's involvement in the narrative that provides most of the storytelling intrigue, and helps shape what makes this musical unique, likeable, and tragic.  It's true that without Elphaba, there would be no Glinda.  But without Glinda, there would be no Wicked.

10 Things I Love About "10 Things I Hate About You"

So, today's my birthday.  And in the spirit of doing absolutely nothing but the things you enjoy on such self-celebrating anniversaries, I have decided to watch my absolute favorite late-90s teen comedy: 10 Things I Hate About You.  Watching it now in my 20s, I must admit that I still unabashedly love this movie.  So without further ado, I present: 10 Things I Love About 10 Things I Hate About You.

X. Shakespeare!

It's based on The Taming of the Shrew!  They sneak in little Shakespearean lines, like when Cameron quotes, "I burn!  I pine!  I perish!"  Basically, this movie takes a rather erudite reference for a teen movie and crafts it into something that entertains and yet doesn't bastardize the original inspiration.  Petruchio becomes Patrick, Katherine becomes Katarina - Kat's last name (Stratford) comes from Shakespeare's birthplace, Patrick's (Verona) derives from the setting of Romeo and Juliet as well as the titular city in, well, The Gentlemen of Verona.  The high school is called Padua, the fictional town where Shrew takes place, and Kat's best friend is "involved" (a bit kooky, but sure!) with Mr. Shakespeare himself.  For a nerd like me, all of this adds up to one thing: delightful!  (We'll just ignore the fact that the tagline of "How do I loathe thee?" is actually a riff on Emily Barrett Browning and not Shakespeare, okay?  Okay!)

 IX. Allison Janney as Ms. Perky 

I cannot speak of this movie without mentioning Allison Janney's miniscule-but-memorable performance as the guidance counselor who scripts romance novels (or maybe just porn) at work.  Cameron, Patrick, and Kat all have brief sessions with Ms. Perky, but in each she's actively snarking and trying to come up with as many ways to describe a man's penis.  Never change, Ms. Perky.  Never change.

VIII. Kat and Bianca's dad 

Mr. Stratford is, in a word, divine.  His mama didn't raise no foo'.  Without him, we have no premise: he enforces strict dating rules on his daughters because he's up to his arms in placenta all day and knows all about those damn Dawson's River kids sleeping in each other's beds.  His dialogue is superb, his antics hilariously exaggerated ("I want you to wear the belly!") and yet, his relationship with his daughters is actually rather touching.  The writers gave him a sneaky back story in the idea that his wife left the family, and perhaps that's why he's controlling of Kat and Bianca's lives.  But at the end of the day, he only wants what's best for them, and is willing to shelve his overbearing nature to let Kat head to Sarah Lawrence for college.  Not only that, but that piece of information is cushioned in the most lovely scene where he reveals that he's proud of Kat's behavior, and just wishes he could be more a part of her life.  Aww. 

VII. the backstories

Speaking of back stories - both Patrick and Kat get lovely little back stories that help inform characters that run deeper than their (bad) reputations.  Patrick, it turns out, took care of his grandmother while she was sick in Australia, and simply doesn't fit in in American high school.  Kat, bless her, actually used to be fairly popular, even sleeping with Bad Boy Joey right after her mom left - only to regret it and start subscribing to the rule of meeting individual expectations instead of external ones.  Pretty good, right?  These histories help flesh out the characters and let them be real, instead of stock Teen Movie Tropes - the Frigid Girl who's "tamed" by the Seemingly-Bad-But-Actually-Good-Boy - and let's face it, no one likes a Teen Movie Trope.  Except for the people who make Not Another Teen Movie.

VI. Kat and Bianca's relationship

These sisters bitch and fight for a solid 80% of this movie.  They are technically very different.  But it's clear they love each other, especially by the third act.  Kat struggled with wanting to protect her baby sister but also let her make her own mistakes, and Bianca kneed an asshole in the crotch because he acted like a dick to Kat three years previous.  Kat caved when Bianca sincerely pleaded with her to go to Bogey Lowenstein's party because she knew how important it was to Bianca.  And oh, how much do I love that Bianca follows Kat out of prom and shares a look with Patrick, and checks up on Kat before going sailing with Cameron?  The movie does not forget that while these two are often at odds, they are still, first and foremost, sisters.

V. the couples

Rarely do I rhapsodize about a fictional couple - let alone two in the same movie!  But Patrick and Kat, and Cameron and Bianca make me squeal with emotion.  Patrick and Kat are clearly the older, more mature couple, and Cameron and Bianca are cutesy and innocent, but both are with their merits.  How much do I love that Pat and Kat (can I call them that?) squabble without being unlikeable, yet still have conversations that make them relatable and vulnerable?  They understand one another.  Swoon!  And oh!  When they slow dance to Letters to Cleo at prom!  They slow dance to a fast song, and I don't think you understand how much that makes me love them, because indeed, I am a crazy person. 

As for Cameron and Bianca, they're just damn cute.  Their French study sessions!  The fact that she genuinely does kind of fall for him!  His earnestness!  His chivalry!  He asks about her sister!  He calls her out on her princess bullshit!  She doesn't want him to see her room, or her underwear drawer!  And the way she kisses him... in the car!  It's all very, very darling.

IV. the dialogue

I could quote this entire movie.  That's how good the dialogue is.  And it's smart dialogue.  Characters are proven to be dumb/unlikeable or smart/likeable through the way that they speak.  Michael and Cameron are poetic and verbose, Kat is armed with a vicious vocabulary, and even Bianca spouts off triple-score words in an adorably intricate diction.  Only Patrick benefits from being taciturn and honestly-phrased, for the other characters who can't keep up are left to be villains or idiots.  Seriously, Joey Donner doesn't know the difference between "pensive" and "thoughtful" (or rather, that there is none, or at least, very little - wordsy people who want to dissect nuance!) and he is therefore unfit to be a Good Guy in this movie.  And the snob in me delights in that construct.

III. Kat Stratford, herself

Ladies and gentlemen, Katarina Stratford is my Queen.  She's such a lovely feminist character, in that she spouts bitter invectives about consumerism and the patriarchal society, and yet when it counts, she still has a heart.  She still goes to Bogey Lowenstein's party because her sister begs her in earnest, she still lets a guy serenade on the football field (if he must), she still flashes a teacher to get a friend out of detention, and she still gets up in front of the whole class and cries while she reads a poem.  Madam, you are lovely.  You eyeroll with the best of them, and while you snark with the vinegar of the briniest of bitches, you are still human, with strengths and flaws, and a beating heart.  Kat Stratford is a damn beautiful fictional creation.

II. Bianca Stratford

But let's not forget her little sister Bianca.  What I love about Bianca is that she changes.  The Bianca we see at the beginning of the movie, so in love with her Prada backpack and the sweet ride of a cute boy, is different from the Bianca at the end.  She doesn't make the same mistake that Kat did, she doesn't sleep with Joey Donner, and instead realizes that yes, indeed, he is massive tool.  And she does have feelings for Cameron!  Praise be!  The writing for Bianca is so stellar because, while in comparison to Kat, yes, she is a bit vapid and shallow and obsessed with popularity - but she is not stupid.  She still uses big words, grows exasperated by Joey's insistence on modeling in her presence, and even gets frustrated by Cameron's lack of asking her to prom.  And it's she, not Patrick or Cameron, who finally punches out Joey Donner, and in doing so, she seals her arc as a character who is no longer fooled by pretty faces and sweet words.  In all, she is just as much of a feminist character as Kat.  How lovely is that?  Bianca Stratford, you're the best.

I.  Kat's final speech

Is there a real need to explain this one?  There's not, but I will.  The thing that makes 10 Things I Hate About You so great is that it manages to be genuine, despite the scheming and the joking and the high school character tropes.  And no moment is more exemplary of this than Kat's poem (does it meet the requirements of a sonnet?  I'm too lazy to go and count up fourteen lines with the A-B what-nots...).  What's lovely is that the poem is a complete manifestation of the fact that while Kat pretends to hate a lot of things (in this case, Patrick) she actually does not.  And so it becomes a manifestation of not only her feelings for Patrick, but also a general character piece as well - perhaps why I can get on board with this coupling; Kat never loses her sense of self for this guy.  And it's cleverly communicated (words!) through a simple structure of intelligent irony mixed with late 90s teen mentality.  Julia Stiles' performance is spectacular, in the way that her voice cracks, and she kind of stumbles and reads the wrong line at first.  It's Katarina Stratford at her most vulnerable, more vulnerable than when she was drunk in the car, or dancing at prom, or talking about how she slept with the wrong boy at 14.

In short: it's pretty perfect.  As is this movie.  I think I could ramble on and on about a million more things I love (namely all the tall tales about Patrick's past - "Should you be drinking that when you don't have a liver?") but I shall refrain.  I still have an hour left of my birthday, and I'm a little whelmed.

CINEBLOGGO: Jurassic Park

So, if anyone happened to check my Twitter feed last night, you would have definitely caught on to the fact that I was watching Jurassic Park.  In fact, I was very close to live-tweeting the whole thing out of sheer joy, but I refrained because I figured that was a pretty easy way to lose all my followers.

Anyways, the point I'm trying to make here is that Jurassic Park is a damn near perfect movie.  I know it's probably trite to talk about Steven Spielberg being a genius, because really, his name is practically synonymous with genius after the career he's had, but - Steven Spielberg really is a storytelling genius.  And revisiting Jurassic Park only confirmed that.  It doesn't matter what story ol' Spielberg's telling.  It's always told masterfully.

So, without further ado, I'm taking DNA from CINEBLOGGO and crossing it with DNA from 10 Things to bring you a post called "10 TINY STORYTELLING DETAILS ABOUT JURASSIC PARK THAT MAKE IT BRILLIANT."  Hello John!

10. Grant asks, "Are you sure we're safe?"  Ellie replies, "Yes... unless they figure out how to open doors."  Now tell me you didn't get the worst attack of the heebie-jeebies when that velociraptor successfully used that door handle later on, hm?  I guarantee it gave you full-body goosebumps.  Genius setup, genius payoff.

9.  The music.  John Williams is a god.  That's all you need to know.  And past the fact that it's generally brilliant, the way in which it's used is brilliant.  It's used only to build, never to unfold.  When action is unfolding, like in the T-Rex rain scene, it's only diegetic sound (sound that is happening in the world onscreen that the characters can hear), never the score. 

8. There are two times when Dr. Grant expresses disbelief over the dinosaurs bred in the park.  The first is when he first sees the Brachiosaurus and asks about the speed.  He's dismayed that they have a T-Rex, and he stammers over it several times.  The second time, he's holding the hatchling and asks its species - velociraptor - and then makes a point to repeat the doctor's answer in shock.  And hey, which two species of dinosaur take center stage in the film's final act?  That would be the Tyrannosaurus Rex and the Velociraptor.  And we know exactly what to expect of them based on Grant's reactions. 

7. Another small detail in set up: when Dr. Grant finds out about the T-Rex, Hammond tells him it clocks in at 32 mph.  And that information is paid off nicely in the "Must go faster!" chase scene, where it's therefore believable that a vehicle could escape from that specific predator.  A tiny moment, but helpful for non-believers who may be taken out of the moment by wondering if that chase scene were even possible.

6. Dr. Grant's character arc.  He's given a lovely little bit of arc where it's set up that he hates kids, and forces him to be Protector to two kids in a truly terrifying setting.  He rises to the occasion swimmingly, and quiet moments like the "I-don't-think-he-saurus" scene give excellent payoff to the early examples of Grant being generally annoyed and intolerant of young people.

5.  Ian Malcom embodies the movie's entire premise.  His character exists simply to tell the audience EXACTLY WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN, and yet we're still surprised when it does.  Plus, Jeff Goldblum's such a kooky charmer, and he gets to wisecrack and talk to himself and hit on Ellie with his weird water droplet game.  Points all around.

4. When Lex gets in the car, the first thing she does is marvel over the interactive CD-ROM (!) and the built-in computer.  I'm sorry, who is it that's going to hack into the mainframe (that's a thing, right?) and solve all the problems in the final act?  That's what I thought.

3.  Speaking of, let's talk about the kids.  They're allowed to be scared, and a little foolish, but they're never stupid.  Tim's actually a really smart kid for his age, and as I just mentioned, Lex ends up saving pretty much everybody's asses.  Nobody in this movie is simply there to be recued.  The kids raise the stakes for Hammond and for Grant, and help complicate the danger because of their lack of knowledge, but they're afforded the opportunity to be actual characters.  I mean, poor Tim!  Tim survives a T-Rex attack, plummets fifty feet in a vehicle, gets electrocuted, and then gets chased by velociraptors.  Little kid's not getting off scot-free, here.

2. When Dr. Grant first gets into the helicopter that will be taking him to Isla Nublar, he realizes that he has matching ends of the same seatbelt, and can't buckle.  So, he knots them together around his waist.  Firstly, this is awesome because it's a tiny little character detail that shows us that Dr. Grant is resourceful, and will clearly be well-equipped to hold his own during the impending danger we all know is coming.  

Secondly, it's a cheeky little nod to the resourcefulness of life that Malcolm preached all movie long.  The dinosaurs in the park are all bred to be female so that they cannot reproduce.  Likewise, Grant's seatbelt consists of two female ends and cannot be buckled.  But in both cases, a solution to the problem is created, and that small little moment in the helicopter mirrors one of the film's main messages.  Genius.

1.  Every single storytelling reveal in Jurassic Park is done through reaction.  It's never, "A dinosaur!  LOOK THERE HE IS!"  Because that is two-dimensional and unsophisticated.  Instead, it's the sound of the rumbling footsteps as the water ripples back and forth in the cupholder.  It's wondering where the goat went and then seeing its bloody leg drop on the sunroof.  It's seeing Tim look at Lex frozen in place, spoonful of Jell-O wobbling in mid-air as she shakes with fear.  It's seeing Dr. Grant's reaction to laying eyes on a living, breathing dinosaur before we ever even see what he's looking at.

Basically, it's genius.  Because the unknown is scarier than the known, and parceling out the information a little at a time freaks us the hell out and makes us want to know more.  We see the footprint and hear the echo before we see what made it, and combined with character reactions, we get a full portrait of how we should be reacting, as an audience.

Ladies and gentlemen, this movie is flawless.  I rest my case - or at the very least, my endless gushing.

CINEBLOGGO: "14e Arrondissement" (Paris, Je T'Aime)

Alright, so I’ve been trying to launch CINEBLOGGO, a new weekly feature wherein I review movies every Saturday.  It’s seriously taken me forever to get around to this, but today’s the kickoff!  I’m gonna make this happen!  I’m going to broaden my horizons and get out of TV Land (my happy place, not the television network... although I do find Green Acres amusing) and into Movieville!

Now, I’m not a film snob, nor do I profess to have superior taste in movies.  (Seriously.  I own two copies of Titanic.)  CINEBLOGGO will not be the most erudite reflections on capital-F Films.  But I will probably always talk about what worked and what didn’t in the context of the movie, as well as my favorite and least favorite parts.  What’s this blog without a little bit of rhapsodizing and critique?

So, without further ado, I give you the first installment of CINEBLOGGO!  And since I’m sneaky and I never do a cannonball into the pool without sticking a toe in first, I’m cheating and devoting the first review to a short film.  I’ve fooled you, people of Earth!

14e ARRONDISSEMENT (PARIS, JE T’AIME, dir by Alexander Payne)

Paris, Je T’aime, for those unawares, is a feature-length film comprising sixteen short films, all containing different characters and stories, helmed by sixteen different directors, and devoted to each of the sixteen neighborhoods, or arrondissements, of Paris.  Basically, it reads as a love letter to the city. 

"14e Arrondissement," directed by Alexander Payne, finishes the film and tells the story of a rather plain and unassuming American woman, Carol, who comes to Paris and reflects on her experiences through a narration in butchered French.  It’s meant to cement the film’s ode to Paris, with the quiet content of an American falling in love with the city, but I actually love it for being nestled squarely in the genre of tragicomedy.

Tragicomedy’s not a difficult thing to figure out - it’s kind of an awkward mashup of two very straightforward words.  But the use of tragicomedy is actually a delicate construction, and will almost always win my heart in any fictional setting.  It’s the beautiful merging of two opposites to create an overall effect - it’s bittersweet chocolate; it’s making her your heart swell so much it tears at the edges; it’s the pain and content of losing your yesterdays; it’s dipping a french fry in your Wendy’s frosty to mix the salty and the sweet and the hot and the cold.

It might be my favorite thing on this planet.  (I do that french fry thing, by the way.  If you haven’t tried it, you should.  I hope you have a Wendy’s nearby!)

I’m easily getting off track here.  Let’s talk about Carol, shall we?  Carol is the hero of this piece, an awkward American tourist in Paris.  She’s middle-aged, dresses out of style, owns two dogs, wears a fanny pack, and this is her first time in Europe.  She tries to speak French to the locals and they answer in English.  (Which, by the way, has happened to me and it definitely sucks.  And may I please say, with as much humility as possible, that my French accent is way better than Carol’s.)

Basically, Carol is laughable.  The film never lets us forget that, because she narrates the whole thing in perhaps the worst French accent ever spoken.  She mispronounces words left and right, and confuses Simon Bolivar with Simone Beauvoir.  She’s kind of pathetic: a single middle-aged woman traipsing by herself through Paris, the City of Love.

But the wonderful thing about “14e Arrondissement” is that Carol is not just a folly.  She’d be a fool if she weren’t self-aware, but she is.  She tugs at our hearts when she sits alone in a busy restaurant and talks about not having the expectation of falling in love in this city.  She chips away at our hearts when she reflects on the untimely deaths of her sister and mother.  And she flat out breaks us when she stands on the Eiffel Tower and feels like a fool for wanting to share the experience with her ex-boyfriend Dave, who she hasn’t spoken to in 11 years and who is currently married with three children.

Oh, Carol.  By this point in the movie, I just want to hug this lady and never let her go.  This is a woman who technically is a little silly, technically a little sad, but at the end of the day, she chooses to be happy.  Perhaps it’s the limited French skills, but she speaks plainly and clearly about her existence.  She communicates simplicity, and happiness. 

Her face, however, shows us that something is lingering beneath the facade - a longing, perhaps, or a sense of loss.  She is reflective, and self-aware.  We can infer that she’s had her heart broken, and that maybe her life didn’t pan out the way she expected it would.  But she’s happy.  She chooses to be happy.  To go and experience Europe for the first time, even though she’s lonely and this isn’t the ideal way to vacation in Paris.

“14e Arrondissement” concludes with Carol sitting in a public park, surrounded by people and eating a sandwich.  And suddenly, she is overcome with emotion.

Sitting there, alone in a foreign country, far from my job, and all the people I knew, a feeling came over me.  As if I recalled something, something that I had never known and for which I had been waiting.  But I didn’t know what it was.  Maybe it was something I had forgotten.  Or something I had missed my whole life.  I can only tell you that at the same time I felt joy and sadness.  But not a great sadness.  Because I felt alive.  Yes.  Alive.

Much like we do, Carol feels joy, and sadness.  She is the epitome of a tragicomic character, and what’s even better is that she experiences the mixed emotions that come along with it, within the narrative.  In the span of about six minutes, we chuckle at this lady’s external folly, then feel empathy towards her internal sadness, and wind up feeling just as sad and happy and peaceful as she does in that park in Paris.  It’s such a beautiful synchronicity of character, audience, and journey that I challenge you not to love this lady, or this short film, as a result.

Now go try the Frosty Fry.

I Love Lucy: In Rare Praise of its Lady Parts

I was raised on I Love Lucy.  I know all about how it revolutionized the way television was filmed, and how it was the first modern sitcom.  I know about how it was shocking that Lucy McGillicuddy would be married to a Cuban, and how it was too scandalous to say the word "pregnant" on TV and so they had to say "enceinte" instead.  And most of all, I know that it is a damn funny television show, even today.

All of these things are kind of embedded into my brain about the legacy of the show, and for the most part, they are the headlining characteristics that move it into iconic territory.

But it occurred to me, recently, that "I Love Lucy" is not often praised in the realm of feminism.  Why is this?  The fact of the matter is that "I Love Lucy" put a kickass female lead on our screens before we even knew what a kickass female lead was.

It's true that television has been kinder than movies when it comes to female main characters.  We're spoiled by Mary Tyler Moore and Liz Lemon and Buffy Summers and Murphy Brown and countless other leading ladies who have carved out a niche for themselves in feminist television history.  But Lucy Ricardo was the first, and it seems like she rarely gets credit for that.  

Let's take a look: the basic premise of "I Love Lucy" is Lucy, herself.  She is the main character - all of the action revolves around her.  Yes, she is a housewife, but the show is not about the home she keeps - rather, it's about the ways in which she tries to break out of it and into show business.  She has hare-brained schemes and she makes a fool of herself.  She dresses up like men, statues, clowns, Superman, sexy women, toothless women - you name it, she's imitated it.  While she is often the subject of folly, she's never the butt of any jokes.  She wisecracks as well as slapsticks.  

She is a loving wife, and although her relationship is not perfect, her husband loves her.  She has a healthy female friendship.  Hell, a national television event was made of her becoming a mother.  But she is not just those things.  She has opinions, and holds just as much influence in her marriage as Ricky does.  She successfully embodied all of the realistic spheres of a women's life without making any overt statements, one way or the other, about a "woman's place," or making her seem two-dimensional as a character.

Some might argue that the show repeatedly denies Lucy entrance into show business or the workplace, and in doing so, puts for the message that she should stay at home to be a housewife.  However, I find this to be a somewhat unforgiving interpretation.  A character doesn't have to be progressive or outwardly feminist in order for the show to have a positive role model for women.  These days, it seems that the fight against gender roles manifests itself in direct rebellion - we see a lot of female characters who fight physically, or speak out against sexism, or who simply make decisions with a far more progressive point of view.  Don't get me wrong; I love all of those characters.  But most of them are a product of their times, in the years during and following women's liberation, where female roles are reacting to what was traditionally expected of them.

By the same token, we could expect that Lucy Ricardo would be a complete product of her own times - a housewife, a homemaker, with wants and desires limited by the walls of her family life.  But the fact of the matter is that Lucy is not.  She is presented to us as being ambitious, and hard-working, and she usually manages to find a way to achieve her goals despite the obstacles.  Even if she's still making dinner for Ricky at the end of the episode, the idea that she has hopes and dreams bigger than homemaking - and even manages to accomplish some of them from time to time - is enough for me.

Besides, where would the comedy come from if we just let Lucy run free at Ricky's club?  That's no fun at all.  The basic premise of the show is that Lucy's ambitions often cannot be tamed, and at the end of the day, Ricky still loves her.  I'm pretty sure that's a solid pro-lady message right there.

It does seem, though, that this message in particular gets lost amidst the praise for Lucille Ball being a fearless and comedic force, and Desi Arnaz being a genius of television business and production.  But perhaps that's the true feminism of "I Love Lucy."  Lucy Ricardo defies her own context by being a well-rounded female character - a housewife at that - who is allowed to make mistakes, and be smart, and goofy, and loveable - and everyone just goes with it.  Because she's funny as hell.  No one says, "Lucille Ball is funny, for a woman," or, "Lucy Ricardo is funny - for a housewife."

"I Love Lucy" stands today as one of the most hilarious television shows ever, and it just happens to have a great female lead.  Of course, for the purpose of this piece, I do want to shed some light on the fact that Lucy Ricardo is indeed a positive portrayal of a strong female role, largely because no one else seems to.  But the idea that "I Love Lucy" is remembered for its main character being a comedic genius, and not for its main character being a woman, just reinforces my love for the show, and Lucille Ball.  Defying the standards of feminism is actually a pretty feminist thing to do.  

Originally, I was going to call this article "Lucille Ballsy," but decided against it because it sounded crass.  But now I'm thinking that perhaps it would have in fact been the best way to honor the sheer awesomeness of one of the funniest comedians - not comediennes - we've ever known.

10 Things: Television Couples

Happy Anna Howard Shaw Day, no one!  And to those of you who don't actually watch 30 Rock, Happy Valentine's Day!  Instead of getting bitter and vitriolic about real-life love on this sugary sweet day, let's instead celebrate some of our favorite fictional couples, shall we?

So, without further ado, I give you my ten personal favorite Television Couples.

X. Alex and Haddie, Parenthood

Is this a little too new a pairing for me to give my love to?  Perhaps.  But hell if they are not a really adorable, sweet, honest young couple.  It's complicated because she's 16 and he's 19 and he's a recovering alcoholic but they want to be together so badly I can't help but love them.  I respect the show for touching on the fact that they are an interracial couple, but by no means does it direct their storylines.  I will pretty much root for them until the end.

IX. Buffy and Spike, Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Oh, the dysfunction of Buffy and Spike is paramount.  Some people prefer Buffy and Angel, but there is so much material in Buffy and Spike's relationship that I lean more towards them.  Even though they had their ups and downs, by the end of the series there was a true sense of solidarity and mutual understanding between them.  Seriously, that speech?  Oh, my wounded heart.

VIII. Brittany and Santana, Glee

Are they really a couple?  Not right now.  Do I care?  Not at all.  These two were designed to be their own little unit, and I love them for it.  The show's kind of gotten a little wander-y in their romantic development, but it's all there.  There is no Santana without Brittany, and no Brittany without Santana.  They both know that dolphins are just gay sharks.

VII. Sun and Jin, Lost

So there came a point on Lost when really all I cared about were a handful of the couples, all of which you will find on this list (sorry).  Sun and Jin started out as such a stereotypical representation of a Korean couple, and turned out to be the most loving, honest, heartbreaking relationship.  I won't spoil anything, but you know the moment in Season 6?  If you've seen it, you know what I'm talking about.  Well, when I was watching that, I bawled like I have never bawled at anything fictional ever before.

VI. Eric and Donna, That 70s Show

It's been forever since I watched this series, and unfortunately it was affected a lot by many of its cast members prematurely left the show, but Eric and Donna remain as one of my favorite TV couples.  I mean, I cannot hate on any couple who sing and dance to ABBA in their driveway.  I just can't.

V. Chandler and Monica, Friends

I really just love that Chandler and Monica weren't a planned couple on the show (it was originally supposed to be Joey and Monica) and yet they turned out to be so perfect together.  They didn't have all the fanfare of Ross and Rachel, and I loved them so much more because of it.    

IV. Sawyer and Juliet, Lost

Sawyer and Juliet were so unexpected yet so lovely.  They were kind of thrown together amidst really crazy circumstances, and stood by one another through thick and thin.  A pairing of equals, he always had her back and she always had his.  Their reconnection in the Lost series finale is pretty much the only thing I truly loved about that episode - they have my heart completely.  

III. Jim and Pam, The Office

I defy anyone to watch the early seasons of The Office and just not absolutely fall in love with these two.  I really can't describe them in any way other than just... adorable.  Because of the show's documentary style, we only get to see a few Jim and Pam moments here and there, making them all the sweeter.  Watching their relationship progress from office flirtation to marriage and a baby has been one of the show's core appeals.

II. Desmond and Penny, Lost

Penny and Desmond have so little screentime together, and yet they functioned quite honestly as the beating heart of the show's later seasons.  They were separated for so long, by time, and distance, and disapproving families, and bad timing.  Wishing desperately for their reunion fueled many of the fan's interest when the storylines were spiraling into complication, mine included.  The scene at the end of "The Constant" remains perhaps the best the show ever put on our screens, and every single YouTube version has disabled embedding, so if you want to watch it, go here.

I.  Cory and Topanga, Boy Meets World

Okay, if you were born in the 80s and this isn't one of your favorite couples, then I daresay you've just never seen an episode.  True, the show sometimes strays into schmaltzy territory, but the fact of the matter is that this teenage relationship was treated with all the conflict and gravitas of any mature, adult relationship on any other show not part of ABC's TGIF lineup.  They endured moving away from one another, dealing with issues of both fidelity and commitment, questioning the nature of marriage, and learning how to be adults - together.  For that, I have the utmost respect for the relationship and how it was portrayed.  And also, I grew up with it.  I'm a little biased.

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!  Instead of focusing on your real-life relationships - or lack thereof! - just watch the ones on TV.  They're better, anyways.

Glee's Most Underrated Actor: Naya Rivera

So, here at SHE BLOGGO, I like to occasionally indulge in the superlative game.  Y'know, who's the best or the most or the least, or whatever.  It's a dangerous game to play, largely because absolutes make me skittish and also because declaring someone the BEST at something always seems to insinuate that you think that everyone else is the WORST.  Stupid binary comparisons. 

But, I can't help myself, and so I try to point out some excellence here and there - reminding everyone fully that selecting just one person does not negate others' awesomeness.  Last time, I awarded Kevin McHale with the honor of Glee's Most Versatile Performer.  This time, I decided to ponder over Glee's Most Underrated Actor.

Now, this is acting we're talking about.  Not singing, not dancing, not musical performances.  Just, acting.  And not only acting, but who is underrated in their portrayal.  So that immediately rules out anyone who was nominated for an award - Lea, Chris, Matt, and Jane?  Ineligible.

No, I decided that Glee's Most Underrated Actor is indeed Ms. Naya Rivera, whose birthday is today so it's perhaps timely to give her a superlative.  But please, let me elaborate on the un-birthday-related reasons.

On the surface, Naya Rivera has met all the qualifications to effectively portray Santana Lopez.  She's solidly reliable for a perfectly-delivered sarcastic comment, an artfully loathing bitchface, and the occasional dirty joke.

This is the basis for a good performance - Glee characters are built almost entirely on stereotype.  Rachel's the diva, Finn is the dumb jock, Puck is the bad boy, Tina is the shy theater geek, Brittany is the dumb cheerleader, and Santana's the bitch.  And what's great about the show is that each of these characters is allowed to be something more.  However, the original stereotype and the "something more" aren't always synthesized effectively in every scene.

But somehow, Naya Rivera has managed to do exactly that.  Santana Lopez is a bitch.  We're never allowed to forget she's a bitch - in fact, she's written almost exclusively as such.

But Santana is also so much more - more which is not always written explicitly on the page.  There aren't many solid examples of Santana doing good deeds.  And yet, the general consensus is that something is going on underneath her lizard-skin exterior.  Beneath the disdain and the boredom and the ego, there is a real, vulnerable, human being.  There is very little concrete development happening with Santana on the screen (thanks a lot, writers), yet we're all convinced that something is going on with her.  That, ladies and gentlemen, is Naya Rivera doing a bang-up acting job.

Because, with every second she's appeared on screen, she has simultaneously embodied and defied her character's given stereotype.  We love her because of her obnoxious comments, disgusted bitchfaces, and sneering ego-centrism - and we love her in spite of it.  We love her because she's given us reason to believe that there's something more there - it could be gay panic, body image insecurity, loneliness in love, or a troubled family life - who knows?  But the fact of the matter is that none of these things are even remotely spelled out on the page.  This is all reading between the lines of what Naya interpreted and presents us with in the few moments where Santana is not snarking.

It's also in no small part due to Naya that the Brittana relationship exists.  Because they were originally supporting characters, Naya and Heather were most likely - and understandably - afforded a certain freedom in constructing their characters onscreen, because the written storylines weren't focused on them.  So Naya took her role as Bitch, ran with it, and then added to it.  It's there in the background, it's there in the forefront, it's there in the musical numbers: Naya Rivera is Santana Lopez onscreen, 100% of the time.  Vulnerable, truthful, loyal, sarcastic, biting, determined, inappropriate, confident, bitch.  And the icing on this cake of accomplishment is that she is still empathetic, if not even downright likeable the whole way through.

And it is because of this that I declare her Glee's Most Underrated Actress.  I highly doubt she's going to get nominated for any actual acting awards, unfortunately, but the truth of the matter is that she is sneakily one of the best the show has.  Her range is impressive, her line deliveries consistently hilarious, and the way in which she believably integrates all different parts of her character simultaneously is masterful. 

To Naya Rivera, an Underrated Actor, on her birthday!

(And, in case you were wondering, Runner-Up in this category was Cory Monteith, who plays a main character yet often gets overlooked for his rather convincing performance firstly as a person 12 years his junior, and secondly as an average guy finding his way and through music.  Cory's got solid acting chops, himself.  But it's not his birthday.)