"Come As You Are" - Project Runway Recap

Friends, TV nerds, reality show junkies... I decided to start blogging along with some lighter fare, just to mix it up here chez bloggo.  (You can tell I'm still classy though, because I just used French.  Fear not!)  And what better fare than Season 9 of Project Runway?

I admit it: I love a good reality show.  But really, my jam tends to be of the variety where contestants have to use their skills to create a product every week - so I'm a big sucker for Project Runway (and not so much interested in The Bachelor).  Sure, I know next to nothing about fashion (or sewing, let's be honest) but to me it's always fascinating to see the creative process at work, and the fact that I couldn't thread a needle to save my life (I have bad eyesight, okay!) means that I'm all the more in awe at what these contestants can bang out in 24 hours.

Season 9 of Project Runway kicked off with a twist: 20 designers were brought to New York City, invited to show pieces of their work to the panel of judges, and immediately narrowed down to 16 before the competition really began.  I actually rather enjoyed this conceit, if only because it gave me a chance to familiarize myself with the designers - their work, their faces, their names - in a real-life introduction, instead of just a talking head.

Not only that, but we got to see the most glorious panel give feedback: Tim Gunn, Michael Kors, Nina Garcia, and Frau Klum herself!  I won't lie; I would pay good money to witness this foursome in almost any situation.  Maybe a road trip reality show?  Tim would drive, Heidi could ride shotgun and navigate, and Michael and Nina sit in the back, alternating between boredom and colorful commentary - just like teenagers!  I'd totally watch it.  (Shame Saturn went out of business; they could've provided the car.)

But even just perched at a table, the Klum-Kors-Gunn-Garcia quadforce was plenty entertaining for me - mainly Heidi Klum.  I'm pretty sure Heidi Klum could charm me into a pit of alligators and I wouldn't notice until one of my limbs mysteriously went missing.  And I guess Nina Garcia could charm Rafael into a similar situation, given his claim that she was "talking sex" with him, using only her eyes.  (Okay, Rafael.  If you say so.)

Anyways, I liked as well that the designers had to really present themselves in an audition-type format, with an opportunity to interact with the judges outside the runway setting.  The most interesting interaction, to me, was one of the early standouts of this season: Anya, who only taught herself how to sew a mere four months previous.  Well, that's a Project Runway first, isn't it?

Heidi fought hard for Anya to have a chance, and I think it was a wise decision, in terms of quality TV.  We now have an underdog to root for (alongside Bert - more on him later) so every success and every failure is magnified in emotional response.  And I do genuinely think she belongs in the competition - it's not a lack of style that could impede her.  Look at what she sleeps in!  Look at her hairstyle!  Look at her ability to make pants using only common sense!  Anya's kind of a badass!  So yes, I'm definitely interested in seeing her rise to the occasion - and hopefully, she'll deliver. 

Speaking of underdogs, how about ol' Bert?  Or should I say Old Bert?  He's 102!  Not gonna lie; Bert won me over too.  Joking about his age?  Responding to Heidi's praise with a simple danke schoen?  I like this guy, and I liked his design tonight, too.  He listened to the judges, and tried to break out of his box!  That's commendable on this show - too often designers get stuck in a cycle of the same techniques because it's their "thing."  (See: Rami and draping, Season 4; Uli and flowing print dresses, Season 3; or Irina and the color black, Season 6.)  But Bert, as well as Anya, fought hard to prove themselves against the judge's original doubts, and I can't knock that approach at all.

Let's talk challenge, shall we?  The designers' first task was typical design-debut fare, in that it was a simple challenge with rigid rules - that required creativity!  Yes, these guys had to assemble a look using only their own pajamas and one bedsheet as materials.  I don't know about you guys, but my pajamas do not lend themselves to being fashion forward.  And really, whose do?  So that was the true difficulty of this challenge: taking something that is completely utilitarian and mundane in its sartorial existence, and transform it into something sophisticated.  In other words: those runway pieces better not look like jammies.

And for the most part, they didn't.  Although a lot of those looks seemed 70s-inspired.  Are the 70s back or something?  Or is this what happens when people have to make pants out of bedsheets?  I don't know.  Regardless, the majority of the designs were good enough to skate through to next week (although apparently that wasn't enough for Danielle, whose proclamation of "that's not good enough!" is a big indication she'll probably have a meltdown sometime later this season).

Anya was praised for her excellently constructed pants, although I thought for sure Michael Kors would say something about the crotch, as he is wont to do.  But he didn't!  And how many times this season do you think we'll hear Anya use some variation of the phrase "That was my first time making _________!" in her cute little accent?  I'm guessing a lot.  But she's a damn good first-timer, and I have to hand it to her for not letting the competition psych her out.

Bert's design and Anthony Ryan's design also got the thumbs-up.  I quite liked both, but I think overall I preferred Bert's.  The cute little pattern on the boxer shorts!  The two-toned gray fabrics!  The little bow!  It was a charming mix of whimsical and dour, and it's always lovely to see an idea like that behind a design - not just a manifestation of cute or pretty or oh, I'd wear that, but oh, that's smart. 

Anthony Ryan seemed to understand more than most that the best approach to this challenge was to make the pajamas completely unrecognizable, and despite his fears that his model's ass cheeks would make their runway debut, the look went over well.  And hey, according to Michael Kors, this is a man who "actually understands the business of getting women dressed," which I don't think quite sounds exactly how he meant it. 

As for the bottom three... well, honestly, I think the judges' dislike for Josh's outfit was a little overexaggerated.  It's not that it was horribly constructed, or terribly ugly, it just... still looked kind of like pajamas.  Downfall, your table's ready!  And unfortunately, Josh was not prepared for the awful feeling of the judges staring into your soul and seeing every shortcoming, and the poor guy damn near unraveled.  I felt bad for him; I really don't think his design was as bad as Rafael's.  Rafael's was terrible!  "Flintstone disco pouch" really was the only way to describe what was hanging around his model's neck, and yet again Michael Kors reminds us why he earns every penny he makes for his commentary.  And bless Christina Ricci; I love when the guest judges come on and don't want to be too insulting to these contestants - and Christina Ricci was definitely one of these kind souls.  To her, Rafael's pants were merely "off-putting," and she went out of her way to compliment him on the craftsmanship of the shirt.  

And, as for Julie... well, at least she knew her design was bad - although I can't figure out why you wouldn't try and do something to masquerade that god-awful pink pajama pant she wore.  How do you make kitschy PJs fashion-forward?  (And for the record, I don't think it worked for Fallene either - I liked her overall design, but that rainbow-puking clown did nothing for me.)

But at the end of the day, Rafael was the one to get the boot - which is a shame, not only because he seemed like a congenial guy, but also because I was looking forward to him trying to talk sex with Nina Garcia's eyes again.  Alas, it wasn't meant to be.

So!  As of right now, I am a fan of this episode's top three - Anya, Bert, and Anthony Ryan - as well as Joshua M. (not to be confused with Joshua C., with his barely-transformed PJ look) and Danielle.  Oh, and I want Kimberly to stick around simply for the laugh factor - apparently she's the one in the workroom mostly likely to drop the phrase "nut juice," and also most likely to want a cheddar biscuit from Red Lobster at 6 in the morning. 

Alright, gang.  Until next week!  Hopefully I'll get better at recapping - but I'm excited about taking a season-long journey with you guys.  Oh, and it feels very weird to plug this, but the Project Runway website is actually rather tricked out with multi-angle views of all the designs - and fan favorite voting going on all season long!  So check it out if you are so inclined.

The Glee Fan's Lament

It has become increasingly apparent to me, over the past two years, that there is perhaps no pop culture fanbase more collectively obsessed than the Glee fans.  But I also have to profess that there is perhaps no more miserable fan existence than that of a "Gleek."

In 2009, Glee took to the stage, with every glimmer of potential on our TV screens, and a phenomenon was born.  Anyone who ever felt like a misfit in high school (read: nearly everyone) took notice, and went about devoting their attention to this Little Show That Could.  What's not to like?  It's a classic underdog story, with singing and dancing - equal parts snark, and heart.  This is all rounded out with a talented cast bringing to life characters we all can relate to, and voilà!  Glee had a bright beginning, and Glee fans fell head over heels.

But this love affair has unfortunately turned sour, as time has worn on and Glee's existence as a television-show-turned-pop-culture-phenomenon has grated - and degraded.  Many hallmarks of the original episodes have trickled away, and in its stead we've gotten an influx of themed episodes, inflated musical numbers, poorly-written storylines, and a complete and utter disregard for any continuity in developing the characters we fell in love with.

Glee fans have turned bitter in the wake of this breakup, upset at dropped plotlines, ignored friendships, ill-devised romantic relationships, and the general wealth of potential that's been completely squandered as episodes have come and gone.  And so, we complain.  Everyone knows that Glee fans love to complain - because there's a lot to complain about.

But at the same time, we can't stop watching.

It'd be one thing if we all recognized the sharp decline in quality, the chilly feel of an old friend's closed heart, and simply gave it up.  Just walked away, with as much of our dignity as we could muster.  But we can't.  We want so badly to be in love with the show we once knew that we tune in every Tuesday night in hopes we'll be greeted by our old friend - only to have our hopes dashed, yet again.  Over, and over again.  

And the only thing to get us through it is shared grumbling, and uncovering the tiniest moments to make us happy - only further fueling our obsessions by forcing us to focus on the inconsequent minutiae.  When we all know, truthfully, that mere particulars do not a quality television show make.  But it's all we have.

In short: we are a sad, masochistic bunch.  Because not only do we stand by a show that resembles only a shadow of its original distinction, but we still shell out our money for the soundtracks, the merchandise, the concert tickets, and the movie tickets to see the same concert in 3D.  Not only do we keep giving Ryan Murphy and Fox the ratings they want to see, but we also open up our wallets and hand over our cash as a thank you for breaking our hearts every week.  

Meanwhile, we're all complaining about how the show has sold out, starting reality competitions and covering Ke$ha and Rebecca Black for no apparent reason.  We gripe about the apparent inability for the writers to pen any storyline in a remotely sophisticated way, and ask ourselves the bitter questions every Glee fan poses at least once.  What happened to Quinn's baby?  Shouldn't she talk about it at some point?  Why did Matt Rutherford move away?  Why didn't he have any lines?  Who's this Blaine guy, and why does he have more solos than Tina and Quinn?  Are Mike and Tina only together because they're Asian?  And, while we're at it, why do Mike, Tina, and Mercedes not get any storylines, huh?  Do the writers know they're being both a little bit sexist and a little bit racist?  Why does Rachel keep going back to Finn after countless heartbreaks?  Is Quinn supposed to act like a lesbian?  Are the writers aware that Mr. Schuester is a terrible teacher and maybe also a terrible human being?  Can't they give Sue something else to do other than try to destroy the glee club?  I love Chris Colfer, but why is Kurt's character so much more developed than the others?  Why did we ever spend time at Dalton when there was not a single storyline there?  Why the hell was Charice ever there in the first place?  Why have we never met Rachel's gay dads?  Is it too much to ask for Mercedes to have a boyfriend?  Why does Artie suddenly and inexplicably act like an asshole?  How many times can Finn choose football over glee club before it gets frustrating?  Can anyone accomplish anything at that school without resorting to blackmail?  

And we go crazy.  We weep over the wasted potential, and hand over cash to buy everything Glee in our sights.  We tune in every Tuesday and somehow are hopeful every time, even though we know better.  So you see, our fan existence is miserable.  The Glee fan's lament is a mournful, self-loathing song, a naive and desperate plea for the good old days, a bitter hymn of broken promises and misplaced trust, and, most unfortunately, the death knell for our own sanity and self-preservation.

One day, we'll stop watching this show.  When we don't love the cast so much, or after we stop trying to build ourselves a bubble to live in, with episodes like "Preggers," and "Wheels."  But until then, we will mope through the rest of Glee because we can't find a way to quit this show.  It buried itself in our hearts at the start, and until the finish, it will remain there, even if it completely destroys us in the process. 

So maybe we'll just stop watching when we die.  And you know that somehow, somewhere, Ryan Murphy is laughing triumphantly at that thought.

The Retro RBI Report: "Pilot"

As promised, ladies and gentlemen - although, perhaps not in a timely manner - we are indeed retroactively reviewing Season 1 of Glee!  It occurs to me now that if I want to bang these out before S3 starts I'm going to have to pick up the pace.  So I'll do that.  In the meantime...

"Pilot," written by Ryan Murphy, Brad Falchuk, and Ian Brennan; directed by Ryan Murphy

Confession: I'm fascinated by television pilots.  They're little christenings of shows, breaking a champagne bottle against a New Idea and pushing it off into the open seas of possibility.  But - there are rules!  Worlds have to be established, characters introduced, stakes set - and all the while piquing (and holding) the interest of the audience.  Successful pilots are like little baby unicorns to me: they might be a little wobbly on their feet, but the fact that they exist is like a little miracle and I am basically transfixed by each and every one.

The pilot is a foundation, a bedrock on which all future episodes are constructed - and if the pilot doesn't fundamentally work, very rarely will the show itself work.  With a show like Glee, which has suffered its fair share of continuity issues and haphazardly deviated storytelling, it always is helpful to return to the original episode, the pilot, and see where it all began.  And to be honest: the Glee pilot is pretty magical.

In the span of 45 minutes, Ryan Murphy and Co. successfully constructed an entire world inside the halls of McKinley High - one in which we are intrinsically familiar due to the fact that it's, well, high school, and yet it's still a world which keeps us guessing.  It's as if the showrunners are saying, "Here's this environment you think you know, but we're going to keep throwing you curveballs!" 

Let's look at character introduction for a minute: almost every character introduced in the pilot is done so first with a quick glance that only reveals a stereotype.  Puck is tossing Kurt into the trash, and Kurt complains about his designer jacket.  Finn's a dumb guy who falls asleep in school.  We get a split second of Quinn cheerleading in slow motion, and the first glimpse of Rachel is when she spies on Sandy Ryerson and his chosen soloist with an infuriated, and, let's face it, half-deranged expression.  The show puts forth their characters first with the expectation that we'll think we have them figured out, only to turn it back around on us later.

Two characters specifically get this treatment in the pilot: Rachel, and Finn.  Each of them get a narrated portion of the first episode, devoted to revealing their backstory and rounding them out as real people.  We get a glimpse into Finn's past that he's almost forgotten, a past where he loved to sing and hang out with his single mom and her boyfriend from Emerald Dreams (until he left her for that girl he met at Pick N' Save).  We get the idea that Finn's not just a dumb jock, and by the end of the episode, it's clear that he's going to be a key player in the show.

As for Rachel, her segment comes on the heels of the glee club auditions, and it is a thing of beauty.  It begins with a very put-together narration about her ambitions and future stardom, and references the fact that she got a teacher fired with a bout of dramatics (because she didn't get her solo, no less).  We learn about her two gay dads, and we see a young Rachel tap-dancing with a slightly unhinged zeal as she alienates everyone around her.  And we think she doesn't care!  She has all the self-confidence in the world, with the way she stomps through the halls, speaks rather highly of herself, and intones every syllable of her narration with a very enunciated precision.

But we also learn that Rachel Berry is not as put-together as we thought.  As messages saying "please get sterilized" come in response to her MySpace videos, we realize that Rachel is supremely affected by the bullies at school, and at the exact moment that Lea Michele hits that glorious high note in "On My Own," she's slapped in the face with a slushie.

This sequence is perhaps my favorite thing the show has ever done.  It's so heartbreaking in its tone, and the way it's constructed is simplistic and genius.  It starts with wonder, as Rachel steps into focus in front of the sign-up sheet, as we're meant to understand that this girl is special.  The entire episode seems to slow down so it can pay attention to this force, and as Rachel yammers on, it transitions to annoyance, "On My Own" slowly fading out as until the MySpace regimen begins.  And then it slams completely into tragedy as we witness Rachel's verbal abuse and the affect it has on her.  All of a sudden we realize that she reeled us in with her crazy monologue, only to break our hearts with her crushed expression.  And then the slushie.  The slushie!  The episode screeches to a halt as we drown in this ridiculous heartache.

I remember watching the commentary for this episode and Ryan Murphy claimed that he re-edited the Puck slushie into the "On My Own" sequence because he got annoyed at Rachel Berry being so talented.  I think he was joking.  I hope he was joking.  Because it's that slushie that hurts the most; just as the song reaches its triumphant apex, it's drowned out in a wash of wet ice.  If the look on Rachel Berry's face as she read those comments weren't heart-shattering enough, it's that slushie - and the placement of that edit is the perfect cap on a sequence defined by unexpected realities.

Basically, as soon as Rachel is introduced, a sort of shift happens in the narrative, and suddenly this crazy girl is our emotional anchor.  It's a bold and intelligent move, and anyone who tells me Rachel Berry is not the main character of this show will find me pointing directly at this moment with a stern look on my face.  (I will peer at you over small pince nez glasses as if to say, "Bitch, please.")

The main strength of Glee's pilot really does hinge on one of its own quotes: "There's nothing ironic about show choir!"  Well, actually, there's a lot that's ironic about show choir, and the pilot is very quick to poke at those ironies.  There's a lot of dialogue and story quirks that are included with a wry smile, as the audience is clued in on a joke that the characters don't get.  We laugh at Puck believing that Finn's mom is having her prostate removed, and we laugh at the quick rack focus to the sign in Will's office that says "PRIORITY #1: HELP THE KIDS" as he's blackmailing Finn to join glee.  Howard thinks dyslexia affects his sheet-folding problems, and Terri finds it exhausting to have to go home and cook for herself.

Beyond that, the show mines a lot of material from the fact that they are setting a musical comedy in smalltown Ohio.  How great is Darren from Emerald Dreams?  And how much do I love that when he breaks up with Carole, she throws a jug of milk at his truck?  But even though she's standing in the middle of the street wearing a denim vest and mom jeans, crying over a man with a mullet who picks up chicks at the Pick N' Save, I can't help but feel for her.  There's something so delightfully oddball about grounding this show in Lima, Ohio and still managing to find an unaffected heart underneath the slightly mocking exterior.

It's this use of irony and heart that ties directly into the way Glee originally built its world - by subverting expectation.  It takes two concepts - like Rachel Berry's high note and a slushie to the face - and mixes them, creating a very specific cocktail of emotions.  We laugh at these characters, but will eventually cry with them.  It's a difficult ruse to divise.

I actually want to give a brief shout-out as well to the editing in the pilot, which is rather sharp from beginning to end.  It keeps the pace quick and snappy, in rhythm with the dialogue, and allows for smaller, quieter moments when needed.  More than anything, it's there to help the plot along and keep things interesting.  The plot of the pilot is actually rather straightforward, and somewhat standard in terms of stakes and obstacles.  The editing helps with some of this, not letting the episode sink into its own devices and instead matches it more to the dialogue and tone - a bit more peppy, and sharp.

For example: Will's visit to Sue, where she breaks down the high school caste system, is intercut with Will's visit to Emma, who suggests trying to lure some of the popular kids into the club as Will cleans gum off the bottom of her shoe.  Both scenes, independent of one another, are rather expository and could bog down the pace of the show when left to play out individually.  But instead, they are cut together, and help the exposition stay quick so we can get to the good character stuff.

 And yes, the plot is a bit standard, and knowing where the show goes after this initial episode, it's easy to see that many same constructions are still in place - for better or for worse.  Glee club always needs funding and is in danger of being shut down.  Finn has to decide between popularity and glee club.  Will is trying to get his life in order.  Sue's trying to take down the glee kids and keep the unpopular students in their place.  Rachel is trying to be a part of something special, where people think she's special.  But, in this first episode, everything works because it's the beginning.  We don't know what this ragtag ensemble of misfits is capable of, but we're excited to go on the journey with them.

What's great about Glee's pilot is not necessarily anything to do with the individual stories or even song choices, but rather the fact that it was practically radiant with potential.  The best word I can think to describe this original shove into Glee's universe is verve.  It was sharp, quick-witted, and still managed to find some real emotions underneath the irony.  And in combining this tone with a classic underdog story, it's hard to watch the closing number - "Don't Stop Believing" and not feel a sense of magic.  It's arguable that this magic has leaked away since then, but I defy anyone to watch those six misfit kids come together and claim the stage and not think it's the beginning of something extraordinary.

The RBI Report Card...
Musical Numbers: A

Dance Numbers: C

Dialogue: A+

Plot: B

Characterization: A

Episode MVP: Rachel Berry

GQ and Sexism: Oops, They Did It Again!

Well, here we are again.  GQ has once again skyrocketed to the top of my "Sexism Shit List," this time with the spread titled, "Alison Brie and Gillian Jacobs Did This Lesbian Scene for Us."

Why you gotta be like this, GQ?  You're a men's lifestyle and fashion magazine!  I don't get it.  Because frankly, yet again, this photo is offensive.  And not everyone understands why.

It's not Alison Brie or Gillian Jacobs.  It's not, "It's such a shame to see young actresses whoring themselves out for publicity these days."  That's rude, and slut-shaming, and it frustrates me to see people understand that this spread is not right but are left of center on why.  This is not Alison Brie's or Gillian Jacobs' issue.  This is a societal issue.  This is a gender issue.  This is a sexuality issue.  This is a race issue.

The problem with this takes us right back to the male gaze.  Let me ask you: how many men do you see in this photo?  Zero, right?  Wrong.  The answer is one.  There is one man in the photo and he is the one who is looking at it.  Thanks, GQ, for reminding us that the male gaze is alive and well!  

There should be no man in this photo.  But this photo was designed by men, shot by a man, and published for men.  The women in this photo are not subjects; they are objects.  They are fetishized and presented simply as a girl-on-girl scenario.  

Which leads me to another complaint: the title clearly says that this is "going lesbian."  Um, GQ, this is not "going lesbian."  This is going "girl-on-girl for the sake of a dude," which, frankly, is only ever designed by dudes.  "For us!"  It's right there in the title!  This is for dudes!  But girls don't "go lesbian" for dudes.  Girls "go lesbian" for, well, women, and marginalizing the validity of that by turning it into a sexualized and objectified peep show is just disrespectful.  

Gentlemen of the world: we ladies are not here for you.  This may be tough to hear, but we are not here to be objects to your subject, or accessories in your fantasies about lesbians or dominatrices or schoolgirls.  It would be helpful if the media would take note of this and stop perpetuating the male gaze in its creative endeavors.

Because, again, everything is a choice.  This photoshoot was a choice, and those choices reflect the fact that the objectification of women is still defended as a "style" in creative media.  Sexism is not a style.  Sexism is ingrained into almost every societal construct and its pursuits - the media especially - and it needs to be removed.

And of course, I would be remiss if I didn't mention the fact that there are three female cast members on Community: Gillian Jacobs, Alison Brie, and Yvette Nicole Brown.  So what, did Yvette Nicole Brown's invitation to this photoshoot just get lost in the mail, or do I really have to wonder about this nasty little suggestion that America is unable to find anything other than white and/or thin sexy?

The worst thing in all of this is the idea that it somehow relates back to comedy.  If Yvette Nicole Brown were included, would this photoshoot therefore become more ironically comedic, as though she couldn't possibly be sexualized in a non-funny way?  With Alison Brie and Gillian Jacobs, it's clear that "sexiness" is trumping "funniness," but if you include their size-larger-than-4, African-American castmate, does that therefore change the tone of the shoot?  Oh, the fact that these questions are both disgusting and yet valid is not okay.  This is just further indication that the media's perception of beauty and the female form is screwed up beyond the telling of it - and it's because the standard being set ties inextricably back to the male's perspective: the male gaze.

It's unfortunate.  I wish GQ wouldn't publish photos like this, and I wish there weren't an audience for them, because clearly, they wouldn't be published if they weren't popular.  At some point, the misrepresentations of gender, race, and sexuality have to be righted, and GQ - and the media in general - has enough power to start those changes.  It's all in the power of choice.  But right now, they're making the wrong choices.

Author's Note: I'm also annoyed that the article missed a semi-colon.  But that's not the important thing to focus on here.

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.

More Gray: A Follow-Up

There are certain things this blog is, and isn’t.  I hesitate calling it “my blog,” not because I don’t wish to take ownership for my writings, but because referring to it as such implies that I can just post whatever I want here and use it as some kind of clumsy megaphone with which to broadcast my point of view.

I’m not comfortable with that approach.  So, there are certain things I choose for this blog to be, and that shape usually defines itself in looking at creative choice in popular media.  Every once in a while, I get the fleeting fascination with the mingling of pop culture and social culture, which has influenced my previous two posts. 

But above anything, this blog is a place for thought.  Whether it be critique, appreciation, or pointing out problematic issues in pop culture - in the category of fiction, or current events - it is a space for thought.  This blog is not my megaphone.  It is a place of consideration.

As such, I have a few things I want to follow up on, in light of the comments and reception I’ve witnessed in response to my most recent post.  I don’t wish to be an individual who presents an opinion and all those who disagree are promptly shuffled to the side.  Especially on the topic of my recent writing - the discussion is interesting, and pertinent, and many arguments are valid, and deserve to be talked about.  Shall we?

First things first: I do realize I inadvertently made Dianna Agron seem like some sort of enlightened prophet moving us into a better future, and, well… I didn’t mean to.  This is what happens when I’m nearing the end of a piece: searching for a proper conclusion renders me a bit too grandiose.  Honestly, I wanted to leave Dianna out for most of the discussion, simply because talking so much about the reality of a public figure, and someone I don’t know, doesn’t jive with the modus operandi of this blog.  But, Dianna’s actions link directly back to her, and it’s perhaps naive to try and separate them entirely. 

That being said, most of this follow-up will have little to do with her.  Let the record stand that I don’t actually have a mini-shrine set up in worship of Dianna Agron, but that I respect her.  She’s human.  She seems to have her heart in the right place.  This works for me.  Holding her to any other standard is not something I'm personally comfortable with.

Now, I do want to address a few things involving the phrase “doesn’t matter” and cultural identity.  I stated repeatedly that definitions of sexuality, gender, and race shouldn’t matter.  I confess that unless you already agree with the implications of that general statement, that the word choice is not specific in its meaning.  Cultural identity is important, obviously, especially in how an individual chooses to embrace it as part of… well, his or her identity.  Identity is important.  But forcing identity on others, and providing differentiated treatment based on that identity?  It becomes an issue.

I also stated that the concept of community should fade away, when in reality I feel similarly about community as I do identity.  Community will never truly go away, and that is 100% not a problem.  Humanity is community; it’s natural to look at those around you and say, “Hey, you and I and all these other people are similar; let’s band together in unity of our similarity.”  Community gives us a sense of belonging, a sense of identity.  Community is comfort, and denying anyone that opportunity is problematic.  (It probably also makes you an asshole.)

But community can also turn sour, and people grouping up can lead to an “us versus them” mentality in environments where difference between communities isn’t accepted and embraced.  In the name of community, hate can be spat, wars fought, and trespasses committed.  So how do we keep all the good parts of community and ditch the bad? 

I don’t have the answers.  I’m not an expert on social change.  I don’t have a crystal ball that says what the future will be like.  I have to imagine that as old generations die, we can replace prejudice with something better.  Something that looks more like equality.

Which leads me to my next point - there is a difference between equality and sameness, and poor word choice indicated I believed otherwise.  Equality can happen amongst difference, and honestly that’s probably the best scenario.  I’m not promoting homogeneity, or trying to deny how individuals choose to represent themselves.  Difference exists.  Diversity exists.  And trying to stamp that out is not okay.

But at the same time, I choose to believe that some things are universal.  Someone facetiously responded in comment that I probably believe in the virtue of “colo(u)r blind,” which raises an interesting question.  My background of knowledge lies largely in storytelling and fictional media, where it’s a constant struggle to represent diversity and difference in a fair and inclusive way.  Frankly, putting diversity on our TV and movie screens is an upward battle.  And so when I watch a movie or TV show, I think, “How would this piece of fiction be different if everybody in it weren’t white, straight, Christian, or otherwise shuffling into the ‘norms’ of our society?” 

When faced with that creative choice, as a storyteller, there’s two options: a) write a story about characters who can be related to regardless of their gender, race, or sexuality, or b) write a story where the gender, race, or sexuality of the characters has bearing on their decisions on the events that happen to them within the span of the timeline.

Both are valid.  The first one is perhaps more prescriptive, and more idealistic, perhaps foolishly so.  The second is probably more realistic, and more true to what people’s actual experiences are in a constructed world.  And it begs the question: should life imitate art, or should art imitate life?  The first example that pops into my head, of course, is Burt Hummel from Glee.  Burt Hummel is a blue-collar single dad in small-town Ohio, whose son is openly gay.  They have little in common.  The realistic portrayal would perhaps be to choose for Burt to be disapproving of his son.  Or, there's the choice for Burt to be accepting of his son, despite the fact that it may be an abnormality.

There’s no easy answer to this question.  Personally, I tend to support the choice for a character like Burt to be supporting, because he is a character on a hit show on a major network with some serious visibility.  I see more value in providing a fictional example of an accepting father that may communicate the idea that even though Burt and Kurt are wildly different, they love each other and accept each other for who they are.  It’s a pretty solid message.

In many pieces of fiction, it stops there.  The difference isn’t acknowledged.  And that’s problematic as well, and more indicative of homogenization, and “sameness” as opposed to “equality.”  For me, it seems best to tell stories that are about universal emotions - humanity - without losing the cultural context entirely.  In continuing the example, Kurt and Burt don’t ignore their differences.  The narrative presents the reality of Kurt and Burt’s situation, without letting it defeat their relationship, and honestly it’s perhaps the wisest approach when it comes to portraying cultural identity in fiction: different, but equal.

Or, there’s the question of author.  Steven Spielberg, a Jewish man, was selected to direct the film adaptation of The Color Purple, written by Alice Walker, an African-American woman.  The book deals explicitly with gender and race, historically embedded in the context of 1930s Georgia.  It raised the question: can a Jewish man effectively tell that story?  It’s logical to be skeptical - what does Steven Spielberg know about being a black woman in post-Depression Georgia?  Even Alice Walker had reservations, but apparently shelved them after seeing E.T. and the treatment Spielberg gave the alien as a minority character of sorts.

It’s an interesting discussion.  Is Spielberg fundamentally unable to tell a story about an existence he knows nothing about?  Is it condescending for a storyteller from a different contextual identity to presume to tell the story of another contextual identity?  Or are there enough universal truths in any context to allow any human to relate to them in some way?

These are, of course, just musings.  Basically, there’s a lot of gray area when it comes to handling identity and equality when it’s complicated with the construction of a privileged world, especially where the privileged people are more often than not in charge of the media being produced.  But I wanted to open up to more of this gray area, considering the point of my previous post was that it’s usually not helpful to reduce something to black and white.  And beyond that, we are still living in black-and-white world, so it begs the question: when can we start to mix the two together?  Is there a "right time" to abandon the constructs that are still standing?  Or do we have to keep kicking at the foundation until it gives out?  And do we build new constructs in its place?  I don't know.  It's a fascinating discussion, though.

To those who took any issue with my last post, and would like me to be more informed with different points of view, feel free to link any good reads in the comments.  I’d love to check them out.

Born This Gray: Dianna Agron, Social Construct, and Proactive Social Revolution

My little corner of the internet has developed into a place where people repeatedly ask me the question, “What are your thoughts?”  It’s lovely and flattering, and has conditioned me to ask myself the very question with most input I receive - from the media in particular, and where creative choice intersects with intention, and breeds meaning and message.

And then there’s Glee.  The article that originally defined this blog was the reaction to the GQ spread in October of 2010, examining the sexist message that resulted from the choices involved in the shoot.  So when Glee and the representations of social identity cross paths, I usually have to ask myself:

“What are my thoughts?”

And then I take to the internet where I presume that people will actually give a crap.  So here we are!

But let’s back up.  Saturday night, Dianna Agron donned a “likes girls” shirt for her performance in “Born This Way,” instead of her usual “Lucy Caboosey” fare. 

Now.  This is a choice.  It means something.  (Personally, I thought she might have grown tired of wearing “Lucy Caboosey” because it was such an ass-backwards plot device for her character… but, alas.  Can’t be proved.)

No, most of the internet spent the night speculating Dianna’s sexuality, which, on the internet, has long been under a microscope in search for clues in either direction on the Kinsey Scale.  Then, this morning, Ms. Agron explained her choice.  In sum: wearing the shirt was an expression of the freedom to make a statement, in a show of support to the GLBT community.  She highlighted the importance of universal acceptance and love, and also negated the original assumption from wearing the shirt: she herself is not gay. 

It’s a long essay; there’s a lot to interpret, and a lot of good points, all of which kind leads to being easily distracted from the main idea.  Because there are people out there who are missing the main idea.

And the point is that it doesn’t matter.  Dianna Agron’s sexuality doesn’t matter.  Your sexuality doesn’t matter.  My sexuality doesn’t matter.  What matters is that we are still living in a world where it does. 

Recently, I wrote about feminism under the notion that social revolution first begins with reaction, and must eventually shift to proaction.  Well, ladies and gentlemen, Dianna Agron is being proactive.  And the reason people are getting tangled up in and tripping over her words is because our world is not there yet.  We are still a long ways from equality - and we’re the furthest when it comes to sexuality.  It’s generally ill-advised to compare the disadvantages across gender, race, and sexuality lines, but I feel it’s important to say that in some places there are still laws standing in the way of the marriage of equality and sexual identity.  It’s not just prejudice and stigma.  It is law.  And beyond that, gay people who come out into, or can’t escape from unsupportive and hateful environments are being bullied to the point of suicide.  This is an issue, and one that needs addressing.

As far as I’m concerned, the hubbub that has arisen from Dianna’s actions and commentary is what happens when a transcendent thought is brought into a constructed world.  At the very least, she sparked a discourse.  There are arguments left and right - and many are valid.  And I won’t deny that the consequences of her actions aren’t problem-free.  But what put the problems there are the smudgy fingerprints that color our world, and the constructions that society has built in both origin and reaction.

Many people posit that Dianna’s shirt implied that she herself was gay, and that by clarifying that she is not actually gay makes it seem as though she is presuming to know what it’s like to be gay.  I understand this.  I don’t see how Dianna wearing a shirt that says “likes girls” could send any other message, unexplained, than “likes girls.”  That is the point of “Born This Way” in the show, and in the concert - right down to the wardrobe itself.  Stylistically speaking, you don’t smack big block letters on a blank t-shirt without sending a Big Message.  That is the point.

But Dianna explained.  And words like “disappointed” and “betrayal” get thrown around, because for 12 hours, Dianna Agron seemed to have told the world she was gay.  And then, in a single sentence - amidst one hundred others, it should be said - she told us she doesn’t actually identify as such.  The fact that there is an emotional reaction to this proves to us we are still living in a world where being gay or straight matters.  To those who felt relief at her clarification: please examine why exactly you felt that emotion and ask yourself why you would personally want someone - a stranger, basically - to be straight as opposed to gay. 

To those who felt disappointment at her clarification: I understand that, and I respect that.  I understand that it would be of huge importance to have a young woman in the spotlight announce that she is gay and proud of it in front of the entire world, and that the prospect of that being trounced in an instant is somewhat dismaying.  I understand that gay people being out in a public setting can only benefit the movement, and the gay community.

But, at some point, there should be no “movement,” or “community” - of any kind.  The truth is, we live in a heavily constructed world where certain people experience disadvantages because of the negative implications of minority and privilege.  Because of this, “movement” and “community” had to happen, and I 100% respect that.  But if we ever expect to achieve equality, at some point all constructions have to fall away - or at least fade to the background.  And in this world, hoping Dianna Agron is a lesbian is not terribly different from hoping Dianna Agron is straight.  Because it’s still a world where a person’s sexuality matters.

And the goal cannot be to stay in a world where someone’s sexuality matters.  Where someone’s race matters.  Where someone’s gender matters.  Race, gender, and sexuality can be important parts of someone’s identity, but at the end of the day, they cannot be definitions.  The value of a human being is in his or her humanity. 

The goal is equality.  And if we continue to tirelessly emphasize that we are all different, then we can never truly be the same.  We need to be living in a world where Dianna Agron can love whomever, and so can you.  And to me, that is the point - and Dianna’s point.  Just, love.  Love whomever, as long as you love.  Because anything beyond that doesn’t matter, and shouldn’t.

We are clearly not living in this world yet.  I daresay that notion prompted Dianna’s actions, and it’s ironic that her actions are again reinforcing it.  I don’t presume to believe that we can move into this world overnight.  There are schools of thought that simply have to perish, and hopefully in their stead we can proffer acceptance and tolerance.

But until we are able to live in said world, we are faced with instances such as this one, where we are forced to interact with a heavily-constructed society and examine the implications of the choices made by the people standing in a spotlight.  I don’t think you can disparage Dianna personally for the consequences of her decisions (they are clearly disconnected from her intentions, regardless of any opinion one could construe), but I do think the discourse arising from it ties very strongly into the steady but eventual shift from reaction to proaction with regards to how our society should be handling minority and equality. 

We’re just not there yet.  And I’d like to think that it’s people like Dianna Agron who are trying to push us into this world, where we can all love whomever, and be treated with respect, and the full benefits of equality.  I know I often come across as a cynic, but I have to believe that we can get there.  Minds have to be changed, and it will take awhile.  There will be problematic circumstances surrounding privilege and oppression that will need to be examined and evaluated.  Context will probably always trip us up every once in awhile, and coming to terms with that is frustrating.  And it may take awhile.  But we can get there, if we try.  We have to try.

I think, at the end of the day, human nature has historically been defined by an effort, or lack of effort, to understand.  Understanding was constructed in black and white.  Us, and them.  You are this one thing, and if you are not, it means you are this one other thing entirely.  Social construction operates in binary - those with power, those without.  Those with privilege, those without.  Those understood, those misunderstood.  Those in the majority, those in the minority.

It is human nature to want the world to make sense, to boil it down so it’s as black and white as the words on a “likes girls” t-shirt.  But in reality, we live in a world of gray.  Embrace the gray.  It’s problematic.  It’s challenging.  But living in a world of gray means that we can live in a world of tolerance and acceptance.  Living in a world of gray means  acknowledging that black and white is a problem, and that we must try to live free from construct.  And that’s the goal.

So at some point, we have to throw away the black and white on a t-shirt, the with-us-or-against-us attitude, and move forward.  Dianna’s apparently already there.

Author's Note: There is a follow-up to this post here.

Liz Lemon and Leslie Knope: Post-Modernism and the Future of Feminism

Since “30 Rock” premiered on NBC in 2006, its lead character, Liz Lemon, has been widely regarded as a feminist icon - a working gal who just wants to have it all.  Over the subsequent five seasons, critics are turning a more judicious eye on ol’ Liz Lemon, and decreeing that perhaps she isn’t as much of a feminist character as we’d thought.  At the very least, Liz Lemonism is problematic: Liz has no functional relationships with other women on the show - the ensemble of females is marked with insanity - and Liz herself is often hapless, and falls into parody in terms of her relationships with men, food, exercise, work, management, babies, marriage, and sex.  On top of that, Liz often expresses judgment or disgust towards other women’s behavior.

In 2009, a new kid arrived on the comedy block: “Parks and Recreation,” whose very own Leslie Knope began to attract attention as a potential candidate for Feminist Icon Currently on TV.  Leslie is joyous and giving towards other female characters; she is a woman in charge who is good at her job, and she aspires to be the President of the United States.  Leslie Knope is constructed as an intelligent and capable thirty-something who has the rigor, determination, and good nature of a 12-year-old girl who chases fireflies instead of boys.  Leslie Knope is indeed amazing, and critics who assert that she’s a stronger feminist role model than Liz Lemon are probably correct in their assessment.

However, I find it limiting to place a value judgment on Liz Lemon vs. Leslie Knope, for a variety of reasons.  It’s no secret to anyone that I’m a fan of both Tina Fey and Amy Poehler, and both of their characters and TV shows.  I refuse to choose between them, because I frankly don’t feel I have to.  Beyond that, I maintain that Liz Lemonism is not invalid, even with its glitches - there are attenuating circumstances that affect its representation in comparison to Leslie Knope’s sunshine feminism.

Let’s talk philosophy.  In the 20th century, common culture began to embrace the post-modern school of thought.  Post-modernism is essentially constructed on the notion that every human is a product of their context.  We are all embedded in our own environments and timelines; the mood and events of our society shape who we are and how we view the world.  Post-modernism is about the body, not the mind, hearkening to ideas that are very physical and tangible.  It is perhaps a more cynical philosophy than say, that of the Enlightenment.

Post-modernism had been brewing in the late 1800s - Karl Marx penned a manifesto about power and the haves and have-nots, and suddenly everyone began to understand the idea that we are born into a societal context and cannot easily escape it.  Of course, the 20th century gave rise to social revolutions in terms of power - post-modernism coincided with the awareness that discrimination exists as a result of inherent and constructed disadvantages in society’s system.  White, rich, straight men had power and privilege, and those who did not meet all those requirements did not.  As a result, we saw the Civil Rights Movement, and Women’s Liberation, and the push for equal treatment across race, gender, and sexuality lines.

This was the birth of “feminism” - forget Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton, the 1960s and the burning of the bras was where “feminism” became a thing. 

Feminism originated as a reaction.  Post-modernism indicated to us that there was an inherent power structure at work, and the only way to get the ball rolling on equality was to fight against it.  Imagine a game of tug-of-war: if you’re already losing the game, you have to pull twice as hard as your opponent to bring the flag back to middle ground.  And so 20th century social politics were defined by reaction, by pulling twice as hard on the rope to see any sort of change.  Bras were burned, demonstrations were organized, and pride parades assembled, in an effort to simply be heard and taken seriously. 

All of these actions are Big Actions.  They are statements, expressions of voice, material products of their context.  Minorities were driven to stand up and say “I am proud of this thing that denies me power in this society, and I will fight for my right to embrace that.”  20th century social politics involved identifying strongly with your label in an effort to show that you weren’t ashamed of it.  Again: reactionary.  It had to be done simply to get people’s attention.

As the rest of the century wore on, we were given Black History Month, and International Women’s Day, and Gay Day at Disney World, in some measure of placation, because the scales still weren’t balanced.  But the crux is this: in a perfect world, shouldn’t every month be Black History Month, and every day be International Women’s Day, and Gay Day at Disney World?  This is the path that social revolution has taken as we move into the new century.  It is no longer about taking the negative definition of your context and subversing it - it’s about being free from your context entirely.  It’s about rejecting labels, and being individuals and humans, and not letting race, gender, or sexuality define you.  It’s about transcendence.  And it’s here where you’ll find the difference between Liz Lemon and Leslie Knope. 

Liz Lemon is a product of post-modern feminism.  She is very much embedded in her context as a feminist who works twice as hard simply to balance the scales.  And she is still misguided about the true goal of feminism today.  She does have bad relationships with men, and she is judgmental about women who sell themselves short, or who define themselves by their male counterparts.  She has a very specific opinion about what women should be and how they should behave - which, by true definition of feminism (and according to its new goals) is actually anti-feminist. 

Leslie Knope, on the other hand, transcends post-modernism.  Leslie Knope represents the shift from reaction to proaction.  Leslie has healthy female friendships, is good at her job, and while she has some struggles in the romance department, they are usually played as a throwaway joke and rarely manifest in storyline.  She is unabashedly in charge, but still compassionate and a good friend.  No one questions her authority, or doubts her emotions, or thinks she’s crazy in a bad way.  On 30 Rock, there is an entire episode devoted to the idea that someone in the workplace calls Liz a cunt.  That simply would not happen on Parks and Recreation.  In the way Leslie Knope is constructed and wielded within the narrative, Leslie is what the future of feminism should be - in that being a woman means no different from being a man.  No one calls Leslie a cunt.  It’s a non-issue.

But you can’t disregard the reactionary beginnings of any social movement with a goal of equality, because without these individuals and their actions, the ball would not be rolling.  Similarly, you can’t disregard Liz Lemon as a feminist character - she’s simply a reactionary feminist character embedded in the issues that still affect feminism today.  The fact of the matter is that women wouldn’t relate so much to Liz Lemon if there weren’t a shared common mentality between the character and these ladies sitting on the couch at home, drinking red wine and working on their night cheese.  Women still do get called cunts in the workplace, unfortunately.  There are still stigmas associated with putting a woman in charge.  And Liz Lemon, in true post-modern fashion, is a product of this shared experience.  Therefore the idea that she is a feminist icon is really a reflection of the viewers watching the show, and not a construct of the show itself.  For example:

30 Rock had an episode this past season called “TGS Hates Women,” in which a new female cast member was hired for the sake of diversity.  Liz initially is on board with this goal, but immediately retracts the enthusiasm when Abby, the woman hired, is a young twenty-something who not only infantilizes herself but sexualizes herself in an effort to get attention.  Liz calls her out on her pigtail-twirling and her “sexy baby voice,” and pleads with her to have some self-respect.  Liz very explicitly wants to “fix” Abby.  But Abby calls Liz out on the idea that she wears glasses to seem smart, and accuses Liz of being judgmental, and a hypocrite.  In the end, it turns out that Abby is indeed intelligent, dowdy, and a brunette, and Liz exposes her true self in an effort to “help” her.  But the plan backfires because it’s revealed that Abby was concealing her identity to escape her insane ex-husband who’s trying to kill her.

The episode got a lot of attention under the lens of feminism, and the nail in the coffin on Liz Lemon being a problematic feminist was hammered in completely.  Her motives for exposing Abby were in an effort to validate her own existence, simply masquerading under the veil of wanting to help her.  However, the storytelling didn’t reward Liz for that folly, and in the end, it was Liz who had egg on her face when it turns out she ruined this girl’s life.  So while you can say that Liz Lemon is not the ideal feminist, I don’t think you can say that her show ever pretends she is.  This carries over into racism as well - Liz is portrayed as a character who tries so hard to prove she’s not racist, but at the end of the day, she’s still embedded in her context, and everyone agrees that yes, Liz is a little bit racist.

In a way, Liz Lemon is a 1970s feminist that is trying to be Leslie Knope - a 21st century feminist - and failing miserably.  And frankly, that’s part of 30 Rock’s comedy - it makes commentary on society’s treatment of race, gender, class, and sexuality through its absurdist storylines.  More often than not, 30 Rock aims to point out that it’s all problematic, and pokes holes in almost every point of view, especially when dealing with the stereotypes that often creep up - because they do.  It’s the reality of the world we live in.  It’s our context. 

Furthermore, as the show has progressed, the representation of Liz has moved away from “sane person surrounded by crazies” to “crazy person surrounded by crazies.”  In later seasons, Liz is no less batty than Jenna or Tracy (or Jack or Pete or Twofer or Frank) on one of their good days.  It seems a very pointed decision by the writers to not glorify Liz’s point of view, and instead ground her in the idea that everyone on this show is insane, Elizabeth Lemon included.  Tina Fey talked about this notion in a recent “Fresh Air” interview with Terry Gross - the idea that 30 Rock is expected to be prescriptive in its treatment of women, and that in reality the show has never actually endeavored to do that.  It’s the millions of women just like Liz Lemon, 1970s feminists thinking they’re Leslie Knopes, that see Liz in their own context, identify with her, and foist her as a feminist icon - not the show itself.

Leslie Knope, however, is specifically constructed, by the writers, to exist above her context.  She is untethered from many of the issues facing women today simply because the show’s goal is to represent an ideal where gender is a non-issue.  Don’t get me wrong; this is 100% the goal.  In a way, Parks and Recreation is prescriptive in its portrayal of gender, and I admire the show for that stance.  We need to see Leslie Knopes on television.  But it doesn’t make Liz Lemon’s existence any less valid. 

And it's this misconception that irks me most concerning the Liz Lemon vs. Leslie Knope debate: that there can only be one.  Tina Fey has inadvertently become the Spokesperson for Feminism, simply through the exposure she’s received and the measurable amount of success she’s experienced as a result of her decidedly lady-oriented point of view.  The media has made Tina Fey the Face of Feminism, and Liz Lemon is therefore dragged into that as a character that has been birthed from Tina Fey’s brain.  Liz Lemon is expected to be an Outstanding Feminist because Tina Fey is the Face of Feminism, the Lady Voice of all Lady Voices. 

What’s frustrating about this is that it’s actually anti-feminist to make someone the Face of Feminism.  Recently, Amy Poehler spoke at Harvard’s commencement ceremony, and the young man introducing her said, “I would like to thank the class marshalls for allowing me to open for blonde Tina Fey.”

Excuse me, good sir?  You just very succinctly summarized and vocalized what is so wrong with how the media handles women: there can only be one.  Obviously, I don’t know this dude in real life, but introducing Amy Poehler at a Harvard Commencement Ceremony as the “blonde Tina Fey” makes me want to call him a douchebag.  Tina Fey is not the standard for all women in comedy, and the idea that every woman must be related back to her is absurd, sexist, and insulting - especially for Amy Poehler, whose career and success, while similar to Tina’s, is a direct result of her own talents and ambitions. 

Amy, bless her, good-naturedly extended her middle finger in response to this royally insulting comment, and I’m very glad she made it clear she was not going to stand for that shit.

In a related example, Kristen Wiig recently wrote and starred in the female comedy Bridesmaids, which opened to shocking-but-not-really-when-you-think-about-it success at the box office.  And what’s the media saying about Kristen Wiig?  “She’s the next Tina Fey!” 

Words cannot express my distaste for this cultural suggestion that only one woman can represent the “face” of all women in whatever their field.  And somehow, it always gets twisted into the idea of competition - aka, a catfight.  Leslie Knope versus Liz Lemon.  When Amy and Tina were both nominated for Best Actress Emmy in 2010, an interviewer at The Envelope wanted Amy to spill the juicy details about being in competition against her best friend, citing it as a “classic diva clawfest.”  (Again, Amy called this guy out on his bullshit, because she is Amy Fucking Poehler and Will Not Stand For This Sort of Nonsense.)

The idea that it should boil to Liz Lemon vs. Leslie Knope for Leading Feminist of Television is simply a manifestation of sexism - who saw that coming?  The fact of the matter is that Liz Lemon is a product of reactive feminism, and her show makes light of her engendered context, and pokes holes in her points of view.  Leslie Knope is an enlightened, proactive feminism, one that transcends her context and simply dazzles with the idea that feminism is about being yourself, embracing other women, and not judging the decisions other women make because they don’t fit in with your own “feminist” worldview.  There’s no wrong way to be a woman. 

In this light, it’s perhaps the best conclusion to look at Liz Lemon as where we’ve come from and Leslie Knope as where we should be heading.  As we trickle into the 21st century, the post-modern beliefs are being shed, and the social culture seems to be that we are meant to reject our labels, because they do not define us.  Progressive media is no longer about representing what’s in our backyard, but what is on our horizon.  We are not our races, our genders, or our sexualities: we are humans.  The sooner we can move away from the contextual approach to our identities, the better.  The reactionism was a necessary first step in balancing power, embracing minority with pride.  But the goal is equality, and we can’t achieve that without embracing the notion that in a fundamental way, we are all the same.

And perhaps we will always live in a world that is engendered and encumbered with the associations and prejudices against that which is not white, straight, and male.  Perhaps this progress is merely an asymptote, never quite reaching the goal of balance and equality.  But I have to believe as old ways of thought die out, and new generations become aware of the dangers of prejudice and the implications of privilege, that the contextual power inherently granted to some and not others will fade away.  And one day, those who are not blessed with power will not have to pull twice as hard to gain any ground.  Every day will be a pride parade.  Every day will honor Black History.  Every day will celebrate women around the world.

Until then, we need to think critically and honestly about the societal implications of inequality and privilege, and recognize that there is no easy answer, and not lambast those who are struggling to understand the true goal - you can love Liz Lemon, and love Leslie Knope.  It’s probably better if you do.  So don’t accept the bullshit that society is giving you - from either side of the argument.  Politely decline, or just give it the finger.  Balance will happen one day.

Good reads: 1 | 2 | 3

The RBI Report: "New York"

Hello friends, new and old!  Last week at DR SHE BLOGGO was a Snark Tank, and I hope I don't disappoint you when I say that this week will not be.  The review for "Funeral" got a lot of attention, both good and bad, but we've got new episodes to conquer!  Namely, "New York!"  And then after that, none whatsoever until September.  (...oh.)

But you should stick around because I will likely be retroactively reviewing Season 1 in the oh-so-shiny "Retro RBI Report" specially designed for summer hiatuses!  And perhaps some other fun stuff.  But before we all sign each others' yearbooks and part ways with Glee for the summer (KIT, Glee!) let's dig into the last episode of Season 2.

"New York," written and directed by Brad Falchuk

This week, we were treated to a Double Falchuk!  Yes, Mr. Falchuk had the difficult task of taking as many unfinished threads from this season and trying to weave them together into something that was remotely cohesive.  And that wouldn't give the audience whiplash while doing so.  It's a tall order, and I can't say that the episode didn't deliver where it counted.  But man, was there a lot going on, and I also can't say that some of the events made me look back at the season as a whole and think, "Wow, that was kind of a mess."  Regardless, let's take a look at each thread that was addressed in "New York."

QUINN FABRAY'S PLAN OF DOOM

So, Quinn was supposed to stir some shit up this episode, right?  We had the promise from last week that there was a serious plan up her sleeve for potential destruction of everyone's happiness, because I imagine that when Quinn Fabray gets angry, the result is something like the face-melting at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark.  I mean, it's just a hunch.

No, instead of emotional terrorization, Quinn instead succumbed to a mess of feelings, spilling over onto Brittany and Santana about the heartbreak of not being loved.  First things first: how much do I love that Quinn finally got some material with the two people who were the first friends she had on the show?  The Quinn-Brittany-Santana dynamic has been the biggest stone unturned, and I for one want to see what delightful bugs are lurking underneath.  (Please excuse how disgusting that metaphor is.  It's late.)  

But this episode delivered that!  Quinn broke down, and Santana and Brittany were there to offer support, and maybe also a threesome.  Or a haircut, whichever.  I will say, I'm of the opinion that the only person who needs to love Quinn Fabray right now is Quinn Fabray herself - which is something she shares in common with one Santana Lopez.  So here's hoping that these two very similar characters with very similar struggles will actually lean on each other in the process of figuring themselves out and accepting their own identities.  Perhaps a common arc for next season, mm?  Hopefully this is the last time the writers saddle Quinn with bitchy plotting and get her started on her character arc - and with Santana along for the ride?  Count me in, please.

KURT AND RACHEL

Ladies and gentlemen, let me just say this: Kurt and Rachel are so divinely joyous, it's as if heaven itself opened up and gave us these two characters with their most glorious and beautiful dynamic.  I don't think I can fully express to you how much I love them, with Kurt bouncing on Rachel's bed, perfect hair and all, so they could get dolled up for breakfast at Tiffany's.  Oh dear.  I think sunshine may have burst out of my body.  (Not Sunshine, though.  We'll get to her in a second.)

What's beautiful about Kurt and Rachel's interactions in "New York" is that they were a celebration of how far these characters have come.  Their first duet on the show was a competition, singing "Defying Gravity" as they vied for the solo they both so desperately wanted.  And now, they're standing on the "Wicked" stage, having broken in like adorable gangbusters, singing about how they've changed each others' lives.  How beautiful is that?  (Seriously, I'm beginning to think that this happened not because of a kiss but because of the hopeful, teary-eyed, loving expressions on the faces of Lea Michele and Chris Colfer's faces as they sang "For Good."  I mean, I sure felt like that.  I believe in the magic of Hummelberry!)

Of course, Kurt and Rachel's scenes mostly dealt with the idea that there is Ohio, and there is New York.  There is Finn, and there are dreams.  This set up the construct of the episode, which has been one that's lurked all season long: Rachel Berry must choose between Finn, and her future.  Which leads me to...

RACHEL, FINN, AND THE FUTURE

Firstly, I don't entirely understand why the construct exists that it has to be Finn vs. Future.  The show has set this up, albeit a bit haphazardly, since "Original Song" or so, and I don't quite get why this is the drama that is defining this couple.  Truly, I don't know what to think of it.  The feminist in me doesn't like the idea that Rachel has to choose, and the realist in me knows that young teenage couples don't make it past high school, and it's a real issue.  The storyteller in me thinks, "This is an awful lot of resolution for something that doesn't need resolution right now," and my confused self is happy to not think about it too much.  

So I'll just say this: I want Rachel to achieve her dreams more than anything, and I'm not sure why it has to come at the expense of a relationship, especially considering that Rachel is a junior in high school.  Finn and Rachel have had their ups and downs, good moments and bad, but barring all that, I think what makes me uncomfortable is the idea that it's either/or for Rachel's current goals.  And I don't think the issue with Finchel is that Rachel is unwilling to "take a chance" on Finn.  To me, that colorizes the situation, because we want Rachel Berry to take chances.  She sang "Taking Chances," for Pete's sake.  It's not that Rachel choosing Finn is her taking a chance.  Honestly, it's her taking a risk.  There's an itty bitty difference there, all to do with perspective.  To Finn, and the audience who's behind his POV, it's a chance.  To Rachel, and the audience who's behind her POV, it's a risk. 

I do appreciate though, that at episode's end, the attitude was a laidback "Got any plans 'til [graduation]?" because the less drama surrounding these two, the better.  Be happy now, you crazy kids, and hope the writers don't saddle you with backwards-moving character arcs!  See you in Season 3!

Oh, and can we take a moment to appreciate Rachel Berry in her natural habitat?  That 360 shot of Rachel standing in Times Square as though she were on stage and waiting for the curtain to open and the spotlight to click on was simply glorious.  And hey, Patti LuPone!  I could not handle Rachel Berry's face when she realized that Patti LuPone was asking her her name.  The idea that Rachel Berry can sometimes have doubts about her future is at once heartbreaking and charming, in that it's so unexpected for a character with such self-confidence.  Rachel Berry, one day everyone will know your name!  Let Kurt remind you, sweetheart.

SUNSHINE AND DUSTIN

Oh yeah, remember them?  Well, Sunshine's participation in this season was fumbled and dropped, but the writers had the decency to redeem Rachel for what she did to Sunshine (I still can't get over the crackhouse device... sigh) and allow Sunshine an eensy arc within the episode.  Even if it did involve the idea that Sunshine felt the need to flee the country in order to escape Vocal Adrenaline.  We'll breeze past that.

It's fitting that Rachel's repent came in the bathroom, the location where she and Sunshine first dueled in duet, and I appreciate the idea that Rachel apologized, admitted she was threatened, and cheered Sunshine on.  Was Sunshine a necessary plot device this season?  Not so much.  But there's not anything we can do about it now, and I salute the writers for at least wrapping it up with as much panache as they could muster.

As for Dustin... well, it's a damn shame that Cheyenne Jackson came on the show and didn't sing.  The resolution for Mr. Goulsby was not nearly as put-together as Sunshine's, but does anybody really care?  Let's move on from this.

WILL AND HIS BROADWAY DREAMS

Honestly, the biggest disappointment of this storyline wrapping up was that there was no Cheno.  What gives?  It could be my ulterior motives sneaking in (because, hello, CHENO) but logic seemed to stand that if we were going to see Will confront CrossRhodes, we would actually see Ms. Rhodes in the process.  But, alas.  Will's dedication to the kids shone through, as one janitor thinking he was awesome was enough for his stage dreams, and he can go back to Ohio a fulfilled man.  Works for me.

SANTANA AND BRITTANY

So, Santana and Brittany have been on their own journey together in the back third of this season, and "New York" saw them solidify their bond as best friends who love each other.  Honestly, I wish that something stronger happened in their final scene.  I loved so much that Brittany seems to have embraced the Glee Club the most, with her strange brand of optimism and calling-it-like-she-sees-it, and that she is a lot smarter than people realize.  I also appreciated the reaffirmation that Brittany and Santana love each other more than anything.

However, these two were in the company of someone who was having a meltdown over the fact that she doesn't have love, and it would've been such strong storytelling if that scene with Quinn were a call to action for Santana.  The episode set up the idea that Quinn does not have love, and wants it, and Santana has love, but is too scared to embrace it.  It seemed only natural to pay that off with Santana finally taking the plunge.  But alas, we're only slowly building back to it.  Which frankly, is a valid decision, in the grand scheme of things.  I'm looking forward to what Quinn and Santana's storylines will be in Season 3 as a result of this parallel construct that's emerged in the latter parts of Season 2, and hopefully it will be well paid off.

JESSE ST. JAMES

Oh yeah, Jesse was there to help triangle it up a little more.  Jesse's return is frankly unnecessary, since they're piling on the drama with Finn and Rachel rather thickly.  (And, may I point out for a moment that the Finchel reunion drama has nothing to do with what plagued their relationship in the first place... it's all just new, constructed drama weighing down and covering up the original issues.  Jesse is really unnecessary in this capacity.  Plus, no one likes a character who exists only to be a romantic rival.  Sigh.)  I'm curious to see what happens with Jesse in Season 3, or if he'll just disappear.  Maybe April can cast him in her show and they can be delusionally daffy together, with heaps of success on Broadway.

NEW BEGINNINGS

Kurt and Blaine shared their first "I love you" in a moment that I actually found rather darling.  Instead of an overwrought emotional sequence, we just saw the fact that Blaine was motivated to share his feelings based on the fact that Kurt was so nonchalant about losing, and peaceably focused on the bigger goals.  And Kurt replied with a simple, "I love you too." No fuss, no muss.  I appreciate those choices.  Small moments speak volumes.

Now.  Hold everything right this very minute, because you guys, this episode gave us the introduction of Sam and Mercedes.  SAM AND MERCEDES.  Not gonna lie, I am on board.  I am ready.  I may or may not have squealed, and I may or may not have thrown my arms in the air in exultation.  That's how ready I am for this.

In a way, this new development with Sam and Mercedes is a hallmark of what Glee does best, and what it's done all season long.  Glee is not afraid to shake things up, and the standalone merit of that is excellent.  However, when Glee doesn't shake things up, it holds onto them like a dog with a bone, and that becomes frustratingly repetitive.  And of course, sometimes Glee likes to shake things up so much that what was shaken up in the first place gets shaken up again before anything real or meaningful can happen with it. 

And that is perhaps the best way to describe what happened in Season 2.  We were given many new things, some of which were good, some of which were not-so-good.  Some of these things wiped away quickly and easily, and some stuck around.  And some things were held onto with a dogged tenacity that grew tired after awhile.  I suppose these are really the only options when it comes to storytelling, so I hope that the writers can assess what events need to go in which categories for maximum effect.  Season 2, as a whole, was something of a storytelling mess because of this confusion, and the writers are fortunate to have a strong core message (family and acceptance... hey, look how smart Brittany is!) and a talented cast to fall back on when characterization and plot arcs get away from them.

As for Season 3, I hope the writers approach it with a cohesive plan for each of their characters, and allow for what's set up to be paid off, as each kid moves forward on their arc, and hopefully isn't stuck in the revolving door of conflict.  And, while I'm wishing for things, can I ask for more friendships and more balance among the characters' storylines?  Those tiny choices would go a long way.

So with that, readers, I sign off for the recapping of Season 2.  I do hope you'll stick around over the summer-long hiatus, as I promise I have things planned!  (Some things also might happen at my Tumblr, should you be interested in seeking me out there.)  And, of course, I must thank you so very much for reading along with my thoughts as we've moved through this season together.  You've not only endured my long-winded thoughts, but you've encouraged them, and I can't thank you enough for loyally reading along.

The RBI Report Card...
Musical Numbers: B

Dance Numbers: B

Dialogue: B

Plot: B

Characterization: B
Episode MVP: Brittany Pierce, for not only bestowing us with "My Cup" but also with a healthy dose of self-awareness rarely seen in any other character on the show