Here are some "short and sweet" reviews:
"Bridesmaids": Hysterical and surprising. It demonstrates what I've known for a long time now: Women can be just as raunchy as, if not more than, men.
"Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides": Disappointing and stuck. As a fan of the series, and one of the few who enjoyed parts two and three, this one left me hungering for Gore Verbinski to return to the director's seat. Everyone in the film, including the newer additions, looked as though they had no energy, and the action sequences were less than inspiring. At least the first three gave you something cool to look at.
"Kung Fu Panda 2": Fantastic, emotional! The first one was quite good; the second one is a much better film, working on a higher emotional level than "How to Train Your Dragon," and I love that movie.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
AFI Project Entry #1, Plus a Bit More.... (Gone with the Wind, Yentl, and Antichrist)
This post took a lot longer to write than I had intended, but I finally finished it. Hopefully you all will enjoy it. There are spoilers for all three of the films I discuss, so consider this your warning.
Last weekend I watched the first film of my AFI 100 Best Films Project, and that film was Gone with the Wind, number six on AFI's latest list (only sixty-five more films to go). This is one of those films that I'm surprised to have missed over the years. After all, adjusting for inflation, it is still one of the highest grossing films of all time, and after viewing it I can see why. It is an epic in every sense of the word. Everything the film does is big, or rather BIG: larger than life characters, a broad overview of an era, a sweeping score, and beautiful cinematography, a surprising element considering the aspect ratio. In short, I was reminded that nobody makes films like this anymore, which is both a good and bad thing.
Films are not viewed in a vacuum. Like all art, we bring our own histories, our own context, to each piece of art, which informs our reactions and our interpretations. I spent most of my time in college writing about women, so there is plenty in Gone with the Wind that I find disturbing, but before I get into the more disturbing aspects of the film there's something else I need to explain about last weekend. Gone with the Wind was not the only film I watched, of course. Surprisingly (or not), last weekend I watched a couple of other films with prominent female characters: Yentl and Antichrist. All three films are very different and yet each is a powerful representation of women, each film a point in history, another movement towards understanding the complexity of not just women but also of human nature.
Gone with the Wind (1939)
Really, a lot has been written about this classic, and there's really not much I can add here... But I'll try nevertheless. First, consider how women are treated and characterized within the film. There are five women who are given enough time to develop their characters: two are slaves, Prissy and Mammy; one's a Madame with a heart of gold, Belle Watling; one's the very picture of a "good Christian woman", Melanie Hamilton; and then there's the driving force of the entire film, Scarlett O'Hara.
The most interesting aspect of the film, obviously, is the growth and development of Scarlett's character, which can be measured by her marriages. Her first marriage, with the smitten Charles Hamilton, is born from Scarlett's jealousy and frustration, a rather childish reaction. After all, she didn't get the man she wanted, Ashley Wilkes, who went to marry Melanie Hamilton. Lucky for Scarlett, poor Charles dies of pneumonia early in the Civil War. Her second marriage comes later, but that marriage is not driven by some childish emotion but out of necessity. The taxes on Tara, Scarlett's home, are more than she could afford. Rather than risk the eviction of her and her family, Scarlett marries Frank Kennedy: a business owner, family friend, and more importantly a man with enough money to save Tara. Her third marriage, after Frank's death of course, is to the handsome and devilish Rhett Butler. This last marriage, for the first time in Scarlett's life is not out of necessity or some petty bout of anger. No, at the time of her marriage to Rhett, Scarlett has enough money to provide for her family, which means while Rhett has considerably more money than Scarlett, there is no pressing need to marry. For the first time in Scarlett's life, she is free to marry a man she loves, though of course she doesn't admit it at first, incapable to show any sign of true vulnerability.
These marriages highlight the three major sections of the film. They are the mile-markers of Scarlett's growth as an independent woman. She is decisive, fierce, ambitious, and determined. In short, Gone with the Wind is second only to Citizen Kane as the most "American" film I have ever seen. However, for the time period, Scarlett could not get away with such social atrocities, so in the final section of the film she suffers quite a lot, a string of devastating events culminating in probably the most famous line in film history, "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn." From my 21st century perspective, this last seems quite unfair, but not nearly as unsettling as some of Rhett's earlier actions. In one scene, quite drunk, Rhett forces himself upon Scarlett, which is the scene I found most disturbing of the whole film. He later apologizes for his "actions", but Scarlett doesn't seem the least bit hurt by those "actions", a reaction that's almost as disturbing as the implied act itself. Also, after the death of their daughter (Bonnie), Rhett mentions that he saw Bonnie as a younger Scarlett, before the war had turned her into the formidable woman she became. So is that what Rhett wants, a woman who never grows up? It seems he doesn't know what he wants. He was attracted to her character, but once married that attraction changed. He loved her domineering spirit, but only until the wedding vows, afterwards the taming began. But Scarlett is not to be tamed, and I for one will always imagine her as continually fighting for what she wants. Her final monologue, ending in the line "Today is another day," mirrors America's own independent spirit, the driving force behind everything that we have accomplished as a nation, both the good and the bad, of course.
Yentl (1983)
If Gone with the Wind demonstrates that women have just as much determination and ambition as men, then Yentl is a further extension of that, an extension into the realm of intellectual capabilities.
I haven't seen too many Barbara Streisand films, and even now I've only seen three: Funny Girl (great fun, great music), The Mirror Has Two Faces (eh, I'd forgotten I'd seen it until I looked Streisand up on Imdb) and Yentl (beautiful). While I love Funny Girl, Yentl is far more fascinating as an exercise.
Of course, you have to get over the whole gender swap thing: a forty-year old woman cuts her hair and is accepted to an all-male religious school (the only kind in this film). The disguise itself is not at all convincing, but that's not the point. Since Shakespeare we've been suspending over disbelief over gender, so why stop now. The point is not Streisand's un-boyish look, but her intelligence and determination to learn. Here's a woman who is very smart and willing to learn everything, always wanting more.
On her way out of her hometown, Yentl meets Avigdor and a friendship blossoms. However, it's a bit complicated for both. I have always found the homoerotic nature of gender-swapping intriguing, for obvious reasons. However, most films don't adequately deal with those emotions. After all, it's okay because the audience knows Yentl is a woman, so Avigdor is forgiven his romantic feelings for his friend. Interestingly, Streisand doesn't stop with man-on-man feelings, she goes further when, by a head-scratching plot-twist, Yentl ends up marrying Avigdor's love, Hadass.
This complex (can it be called "love"?) triangle is only somewhat resolved in a heated exchange after Yentl reveals to Avigdor that she is in fact not a boy, but a woman. Needless to say, the shit hits the fan, and immediately Avigdor can no longer see Yentl as a superbly intelligent boy but as a woman, incapable of a sustained, intelligent argument. No, worse, she is unworthy of argument. It's a truly devastating scene that reveals Avigdor is not worthy of Yentl and she could not conceivably accept any relationship where they are not equals.
In his review, Roger Ebert wrote that the ending is a cheat. I disagree, although I did find it humorous that Streisand would put Yentl on a boat, clearly evoking Funny Girl. Honestly, I don't think it should have ended any other way. The time was not right for Yentl to find her place in the world, and so she must remain in our memories as a individual still searching for acceptance and unwilling to settle for anything less than what she deserves. It's quite an uplifting moment to a very beautiful film.
Antichrist (2009)
Now, enough with all this uplifting crap! On to the horror!
And I really mean that.
Antichrist is probably the most disturbing movie I have ever seen, more disturbing than Doom Generation, I think. I remember reading about the controversy surrounding Lars von Trier's film at Cannes a couple of years ago. Many were calling it misogynist, and after viewing it I can see why. However, such a critique is only supportable if you look at the violence literally. There is no way this film is meant to be taken at face value. It's images must be considered at length, although I'm not too sure I'd want to view it again, not so close to my first viewing at least.
The plot is fairly simple. The film opens with a couple (they are never given names so they will be referred to as He and She) making love, passionate love, all over the place. And in the middle of their love-making, their son climbs up to window, opens it, and falls to his death. Unable to cope with the loss, He suggests going out to their cabin in the woods, for some one-on-one therapy (He's a therapist). Well, the therapy doesn't work. Both end up losing their minds and take out their emotions in the most violent fashion. And, ladies and gentlemen, it is very, very graphic.
The film itself is beautifully shot, but what's most fascinating about the production is the fearlessness of the actor's involved, Willem Dafoe and Charlotte Gainsbourg. I couldn't imagine what I'd say if a director ever asked me to do the things they do in this film. I'd probably rip a page out of Scarlett's book and slap the crap out of him, every hour on the hour.
The fearlessness of the actor's aside and before I move into my analysis of the films hidden feminist side, I'd like to discuss the title of the film, Antichrist. What's interesting here is that the title itself brings out preconceived notions of evil (the end of days and all that), but the onscreen look of the title is not one word, but two. "Anti" sits above "Christ". This layout dispels any notion that an embodiment of evil will make an appearance: anti-Christ, not Antichrist. No, the film is about the darkest side of out nature, our capacity for cruelty and hopelessness. Once that child dies, all sense of reason and compassion vanishes.
At first, it seems as though He is only trying to help his wife. He is arrogant enough to believe that he alone is capable of curing her of her grief, but there's more to it than that. That "I'll cure her" mentality eventually leads them out to their cabin where He's facade gradually melts away to reveal his own desire to punish her for their son's death. And this is only the surface of the psychological complexity of the film. He is dealing with anger. She is dealing with her own anger, but also with guilt. Anger and guilt are the driving forces behind both characters and cause them to commit atrocious acts against each other. However, only with She are those acts internalized.
She had gone to the cabin a year before their son's death to finish her thesis, which dealt with the cultural preconception that women are inherently evil. While there she succumbs to this very belief, despite the fact that she meant to criticize that same belief. And when She informs He of her feelings, He tries to get her to see otherwise. However, He later finds a few pictures of their son with the wrong shoe on the wrong foot. He presses her about this mistake, forcing her to see herself as damaging their son, forcing her to see herself as a bad, evil mother. It's a devastating moment for both because it's now clear that neither have been psychologically "okay", even before their son's death. After that picture is revealed, the violence against each other begins.
I don't think I've ever seen a film with so much sex and so little eroticism. Sex is used as a weapon in this film, a brutal one at that. The only time sex is seen as pleasurable is in the opening montage. After that, it is a distraction and a weapon, but never again erotic.
As a reaction to her guilt and anger, She mutilates both He's and her own sexual organs (her's is the most graphic and makes me shutter still, though his was the most surprising because it seemed to come out of nowhere; her's was a slow progression; you saw what was going to happen before it did). She is reacting against the very forces that produced the child in the first place. If the source of her pain is vanquished, then the pain of loss will vanish along with it.
In the end, He kills She and burns her remains, like so many witches before her; and in the epilogue, He is walking through the forest when a hundred women with blurred faces descend upon him until he vanishes from the screen, overcome by sheer numbers. He, I believe, having killed his wife, is complicit in the countless murders and mutilations against women throughout the world and throughout time. After all his posing and all his education, He is no better.
Trier's film is an indictment against misogyny in all its forms, especially those that are hidden under the guise of caring. It is a reminder that women still suffer in this world, and it is also a reminder that Scarlett's actions, though not as violent, are quite similar and just as psychological complex as She's. Evil in this world does not derive from some outside source, but from our own darkest sensibilities.
It's strange the connections one can make, no?
Last weekend I watched the first film of my AFI 100 Best Films Project, and that film was Gone with the Wind, number six on AFI's latest list (only sixty-five more films to go). This is one of those films that I'm surprised to have missed over the years. After all, adjusting for inflation, it is still one of the highest grossing films of all time, and after viewing it I can see why. It is an epic in every sense of the word. Everything the film does is big, or rather BIG: larger than life characters, a broad overview of an era, a sweeping score, and beautiful cinematography, a surprising element considering the aspect ratio. In short, I was reminded that nobody makes films like this anymore, which is both a good and bad thing.
Films are not viewed in a vacuum. Like all art, we bring our own histories, our own context, to each piece of art, which informs our reactions and our interpretations. I spent most of my time in college writing about women, so there is plenty in Gone with the Wind that I find disturbing, but before I get into the more disturbing aspects of the film there's something else I need to explain about last weekend. Gone with the Wind was not the only film I watched, of course. Surprisingly (or not), last weekend I watched a couple of other films with prominent female characters: Yentl and Antichrist. All three films are very different and yet each is a powerful representation of women, each film a point in history, another movement towards understanding the complexity of not just women but also of human nature.
Gone with the Wind (1939)
Really, a lot has been written about this classic, and there's really not much I can add here... But I'll try nevertheless. First, consider how women are treated and characterized within the film. There are five women who are given enough time to develop their characters: two are slaves, Prissy and Mammy; one's a Madame with a heart of gold, Belle Watling; one's the very picture of a "good Christian woman", Melanie Hamilton; and then there's the driving force of the entire film, Scarlett O'Hara.
The most interesting aspect of the film, obviously, is the growth and development of Scarlett's character, which can be measured by her marriages. Her first marriage, with the smitten Charles Hamilton, is born from Scarlett's jealousy and frustration, a rather childish reaction. After all, she didn't get the man she wanted, Ashley Wilkes, who went to marry Melanie Hamilton. Lucky for Scarlett, poor Charles dies of pneumonia early in the Civil War. Her second marriage comes later, but that marriage is not driven by some childish emotion but out of necessity. The taxes on Tara, Scarlett's home, are more than she could afford. Rather than risk the eviction of her and her family, Scarlett marries Frank Kennedy: a business owner, family friend, and more importantly a man with enough money to save Tara. Her third marriage, after Frank's death of course, is to the handsome and devilish Rhett Butler. This last marriage, for the first time in Scarlett's life is not out of necessity or some petty bout of anger. No, at the time of her marriage to Rhett, Scarlett has enough money to provide for her family, which means while Rhett has considerably more money than Scarlett, there is no pressing need to marry. For the first time in Scarlett's life, she is free to marry a man she loves, though of course she doesn't admit it at first, incapable to show any sign of true vulnerability.
These marriages highlight the three major sections of the film. They are the mile-markers of Scarlett's growth as an independent woman. She is decisive, fierce, ambitious, and determined. In short, Gone with the Wind is second only to Citizen Kane as the most "American" film I have ever seen. However, for the time period, Scarlett could not get away with such social atrocities, so in the final section of the film she suffers quite a lot, a string of devastating events culminating in probably the most famous line in film history, "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn." From my 21st century perspective, this last seems quite unfair, but not nearly as unsettling as some of Rhett's earlier actions. In one scene, quite drunk, Rhett forces himself upon Scarlett, which is the scene I found most disturbing of the whole film. He later apologizes for his "actions", but Scarlett doesn't seem the least bit hurt by those "actions", a reaction that's almost as disturbing as the implied act itself. Also, after the death of their daughter (Bonnie), Rhett mentions that he saw Bonnie as a younger Scarlett, before the war had turned her into the formidable woman she became. So is that what Rhett wants, a woman who never grows up? It seems he doesn't know what he wants. He was attracted to her character, but once married that attraction changed. He loved her domineering spirit, but only until the wedding vows, afterwards the taming began. But Scarlett is not to be tamed, and I for one will always imagine her as continually fighting for what she wants. Her final monologue, ending in the line "Today is another day," mirrors America's own independent spirit, the driving force behind everything that we have accomplished as a nation, both the good and the bad, of course.
Yentl (1983)
If Gone with the Wind demonstrates that women have just as much determination and ambition as men, then Yentl is a further extension of that, an extension into the realm of intellectual capabilities.
I haven't seen too many Barbara Streisand films, and even now I've only seen three: Funny Girl (great fun, great music), The Mirror Has Two Faces (eh, I'd forgotten I'd seen it until I looked Streisand up on Imdb) and Yentl (beautiful). While I love Funny Girl, Yentl is far more fascinating as an exercise.
Of course, you have to get over the whole gender swap thing: a forty-year old woman cuts her hair and is accepted to an all-male religious school (the only kind in this film). The disguise itself is not at all convincing, but that's not the point. Since Shakespeare we've been suspending over disbelief over gender, so why stop now. The point is not Streisand's un-boyish look, but her intelligence and determination to learn. Here's a woman who is very smart and willing to learn everything, always wanting more.
On her way out of her hometown, Yentl meets Avigdor and a friendship blossoms. However, it's a bit complicated for both. I have always found the homoerotic nature of gender-swapping intriguing, for obvious reasons. However, most films don't adequately deal with those emotions. After all, it's okay because the audience knows Yentl is a woman, so Avigdor is forgiven his romantic feelings for his friend. Interestingly, Streisand doesn't stop with man-on-man feelings, she goes further when, by a head-scratching plot-twist, Yentl ends up marrying Avigdor's love, Hadass.
This complex (can it be called "love"?) triangle is only somewhat resolved in a heated exchange after Yentl reveals to Avigdor that she is in fact not a boy, but a woman. Needless to say, the shit hits the fan, and immediately Avigdor can no longer see Yentl as a superbly intelligent boy but as a woman, incapable of a sustained, intelligent argument. No, worse, she is unworthy of argument. It's a truly devastating scene that reveals Avigdor is not worthy of Yentl and she could not conceivably accept any relationship where they are not equals.
In his review, Roger Ebert wrote that the ending is a cheat. I disagree, although I did find it humorous that Streisand would put Yentl on a boat, clearly evoking Funny Girl. Honestly, I don't think it should have ended any other way. The time was not right for Yentl to find her place in the world, and so she must remain in our memories as a individual still searching for acceptance and unwilling to settle for anything less than what she deserves. It's quite an uplifting moment to a very beautiful film.
Antichrist (2009)
Now, enough with all this uplifting crap! On to the horror!
And I really mean that.
Antichrist is probably the most disturbing movie I have ever seen, more disturbing than Doom Generation, I think. I remember reading about the controversy surrounding Lars von Trier's film at Cannes a couple of years ago. Many were calling it misogynist, and after viewing it I can see why. However, such a critique is only supportable if you look at the violence literally. There is no way this film is meant to be taken at face value. It's images must be considered at length, although I'm not too sure I'd want to view it again, not so close to my first viewing at least.
The plot is fairly simple. The film opens with a couple (they are never given names so they will be referred to as He and She) making love, passionate love, all over the place. And in the middle of their love-making, their son climbs up to window, opens it, and falls to his death. Unable to cope with the loss, He suggests going out to their cabin in the woods, for some one-on-one therapy (He's a therapist). Well, the therapy doesn't work. Both end up losing their minds and take out their emotions in the most violent fashion. And, ladies and gentlemen, it is very, very graphic.
The film itself is beautifully shot, but what's most fascinating about the production is the fearlessness of the actor's involved, Willem Dafoe and Charlotte Gainsbourg. I couldn't imagine what I'd say if a director ever asked me to do the things they do in this film. I'd probably rip a page out of Scarlett's book and slap the crap out of him, every hour on the hour.
The fearlessness of the actor's aside and before I move into my analysis of the films hidden feminist side, I'd like to discuss the title of the film, Antichrist. What's interesting here is that the title itself brings out preconceived notions of evil (the end of days and all that), but the onscreen look of the title is not one word, but two. "Anti" sits above "Christ". This layout dispels any notion that an embodiment of evil will make an appearance: anti-Christ, not Antichrist. No, the film is about the darkest side of out nature, our capacity for cruelty and hopelessness. Once that child dies, all sense of reason and compassion vanishes.
At first, it seems as though He is only trying to help his wife. He is arrogant enough to believe that he alone is capable of curing her of her grief, but there's more to it than that. That "I'll cure her" mentality eventually leads them out to their cabin where He's facade gradually melts away to reveal his own desire to punish her for their son's death. And this is only the surface of the psychological complexity of the film. He is dealing with anger. She is dealing with her own anger, but also with guilt. Anger and guilt are the driving forces behind both characters and cause them to commit atrocious acts against each other. However, only with She are those acts internalized.
She had gone to the cabin a year before their son's death to finish her thesis, which dealt with the cultural preconception that women are inherently evil. While there she succumbs to this very belief, despite the fact that she meant to criticize that same belief. And when She informs He of her feelings, He tries to get her to see otherwise. However, He later finds a few pictures of their son with the wrong shoe on the wrong foot. He presses her about this mistake, forcing her to see herself as damaging their son, forcing her to see herself as a bad, evil mother. It's a devastating moment for both because it's now clear that neither have been psychologically "okay", even before their son's death. After that picture is revealed, the violence against each other begins.
I don't think I've ever seen a film with so much sex and so little eroticism. Sex is used as a weapon in this film, a brutal one at that. The only time sex is seen as pleasurable is in the opening montage. After that, it is a distraction and a weapon, but never again erotic.
As a reaction to her guilt and anger, She mutilates both He's and her own sexual organs (her's is the most graphic and makes me shutter still, though his was the most surprising because it seemed to come out of nowhere; her's was a slow progression; you saw what was going to happen before it did). She is reacting against the very forces that produced the child in the first place. If the source of her pain is vanquished, then the pain of loss will vanish along with it.
In the end, He kills She and burns her remains, like so many witches before her; and in the epilogue, He is walking through the forest when a hundred women with blurred faces descend upon him until he vanishes from the screen, overcome by sheer numbers. He, I believe, having killed his wife, is complicit in the countless murders and mutilations against women throughout the world and throughout time. After all his posing and all his education, He is no better.
Trier's film is an indictment against misogyny in all its forms, especially those that are hidden under the guise of caring. It is a reminder that women still suffer in this world, and it is also a reminder that Scarlett's actions, though not as violent, are quite similar and just as psychological complex as She's. Evil in this world does not derive from some outside source, but from our own darkest sensibilities.
It's strange the connections one can make, no?
Friday, May 20, 2011
Adaptations, Remakes, Reboots, and Sequels: The Terror!
Recently, I read that Will Ferrell was upset with Paramount because they decided not to do a sequel to his hit film Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy. In an article for The Daily Beast titled "How Sequels are Killing the Movie Business," Roger Ebert writes,
Of course, I have not seen Anchorman so I don't know if I should be upset by the news that a sequel is not in the works. However, Ebert also lamented the fact that a record number of sequels are scheduled for release this year: 27. This beats the previous record holder: 2003 with 24. I have even criticized (only to those friends who would listen of course) the 2010 best picture nominees because most were not original ideas but based on some other source (Toy Story 3, 127 Hours, The King's Speech, Winter's Bone, True Grit, The Fighter, The Social Network), only a few were not (Inception, The Kids Are All Right, Black Swan). Black Swan's inclusion in the list is debatable, I believe, because it relies heavily on Swan Lake, but it's presentation is original enough to warrant a spot in my second classification. Funny enough, the same could be said for The Social Network due to it's very liberal adaptation of Mark Zuckerberg's building of Facebook.
Of the best picture nominees I saw (still have not seen Winter's Bone), all were really good films, but the most original films seemed to have the least amount of chance of winning. Oh well, I'm not a member of the Academy so I don't get to make those decisions. If I did have the opportunity to make that decision I would have chosen the film to which I had the strongest emotional reaction, the one I enjoyed watching the most: Inception.
Sequels, remakes, and reboots are not bad in and of themselves. Actually, they can be quite good, sometimes eclipsing the original in quality (The Dark Knight, Spider-Man 2, Star Trek 2: The Wrath of Khan). The quality of adaptations usually depends a lot on the source material. Either way, there does seem to be fewer and fewer original ideas making their way through the Hollywood system.
Jason Dietz from Metacritic has a more mathematical approach to the problem: He ran the numbers. In his article, "Are Original Movies Really Better than Derivative Works?," Dietz lays out the numbers quite clearly. Yes, studios tend to play it safe rather than take a risk on an unproven idea, but he also reports that critics trended much the same way: "over the past five years, movies based on existing concepts have been reviewed slightly more favorably than films based on original ideas" (Dietz).
Original ideas get hammered by critics and audiences, so it makes logical sense that studios only do a few original concepts a year. Of course, Dietz has an answer for that too:
Truly original ideas are hard to sell. Inception had an advantage because Christopher Nolan had had a huge success with The Dark Knight, and Black Swan had the advantage of a lesbian sex scene. Both writers also failed in making what I thought was an obvious observation: With rising ticket prices and a deep recession, audiences have become more frugal with their money. After all, not everyone can be a critic, able to see movies for free (unless I'm mistaken here), so studios have adapted to the changing times by producing more of what audiences are more willing to pay for.
There is something else I find intriguing as well. Many original concepts have the potential to make most audiences uncomfortable (or those same concepts could be really, really bad) when all most people are after is easy and fun entertainment. Most people are just not willing to take the risk. Being uncomfortable is not an easy place for many, and many of us do not deal with change well. Derivative ideas are comfortable exactly because the concept is not new. There is little to no risk involved; no one is rocking the boat with a sequel. What would have be even more interesting in Dietz's numbers is if he and his team had gone just a bit further back in time, say to 2000 and 2001. Many of the franchises of today began after 9/11, when the world as we knew it changed drastically, a considerable rocking of the boat. Hopefully, if the world is ever allowed to calm down a bit, we can get back to a time when, as Steven Soderbergh wrote in an email to Ebert, good original works are released on a more frequent basis: "Several decades ago audiences could expect a film such as The Social Network every week; now we are lucky to have one or two a year" (qtd in Ebert).
Of adaptations, remakes, sequels, and reboots, I have the most problem with reboots, not because I don't enjoy the good ones, but because there should be a considerable amount of time between the original series and the reboot. Two to five years is not a considerable amount of time. A cleansing of the palette must occur, otherwise what's the point?
All in all I don't think derivative works are inherently bad. What frustrates me, and possibly others as well, is the seemingly rapid fire release of these works. Every couple of years we know to expect the latest installments of a franchise, especially if that franchise has proven profitable. Maybe what Hollywood needs is a reset button, a reset on the economy and the psychological state of audiences; that way they will be willing to take more risks, not enough to go bankrupt, but just enough to make the sheer quantity of derivative works more bearable.
[Will Ferrell] has helpfully called the executives who made the decision "idiots," and told the movie's fans, "You really have to assert some sort of email hate campaign to Paramount Pictures. They told us, 'We've run the numbers and it's not a good fit.'
They've run the numbers? This is more evidence, not really needed, that a majority of modern big-studio releases are marketing decisions yoked however reluctantly to creative ideas somewhere down the food chain. The majors in general make good films either (1) for Oscar season or (2) purely by accident. Weekend releases between May and September might better be covered by marketing specialists than film critics. (Ebert)
Of course, I have not seen Anchorman so I don't know if I should be upset by the news that a sequel is not in the works. However, Ebert also lamented the fact that a record number of sequels are scheduled for release this year: 27. This beats the previous record holder: 2003 with 24. I have even criticized (only to those friends who would listen of course) the 2010 best picture nominees because most were not original ideas but based on some other source (Toy Story 3, 127 Hours, The King's Speech, Winter's Bone, True Grit, The Fighter, The Social Network), only a few were not (Inception, The Kids Are All Right, Black Swan). Black Swan's inclusion in the list is debatable, I believe, because it relies heavily on Swan Lake, but it's presentation is original enough to warrant a spot in my second classification. Funny enough, the same could be said for The Social Network due to it's very liberal adaptation of Mark Zuckerberg's building of Facebook.
Of the best picture nominees I saw (still have not seen Winter's Bone), all were really good films, but the most original films seemed to have the least amount of chance of winning. Oh well, I'm not a member of the Academy so I don't get to make those decisions. If I did have the opportunity to make that decision I would have chosen the film to which I had the strongest emotional reaction, the one I enjoyed watching the most: Inception.
Sequels, remakes, and reboots are not bad in and of themselves. Actually, they can be quite good, sometimes eclipsing the original in quality (The Dark Knight, Spider-Man 2, Star Trek 2: The Wrath of Khan). The quality of adaptations usually depends a lot on the source material. Either way, there does seem to be fewer and fewer original ideas making their way through the Hollywood system.
Jason Dietz from Metacritic has a more mathematical approach to the problem: He ran the numbers. In his article, "Are Original Movies Really Better than Derivative Works?," Dietz lays out the numbers quite clearly. Yes, studios tend to play it safe rather than take a risk on an unproven idea, but he also reports that critics trended much the same way: "over the past five years, movies based on existing concepts have been reviewed slightly more favorably than films based on original ideas" (Dietz).
Original ideas get hammered by critics and audiences, so it makes logical sense that studios only do a few original concepts a year. Of course, Dietz has an answer for that too:
One reason these "original" films may not be scoring as highly as you might expect is that they really aren't very original at all, in the conventional sense of the word.Both Ebert and Dietz make some really good points, and I must say it's interesting to see the numbers laid out. All of this talk has reminded me of something I learned in theater a long time ago: You have to produce a show everyone will see so you make enough money to produce the show only a few people will see.
In fact, even though they aren't based on any one specific existing film, many of these "original" movies may simply re-hash tired genre tropes that audiences have already seen countless times in prior films. One of the reasons a movie like Inception resonated with audiences and critics last summer is that not only was it the rare big-budget event film not to be based on another property, but it also incorporated a storyline and visual style that were relatively unique. That's why many movie fans are also excited about upcoming films like Super-8 and The Tree of Life, and less so about not-so-original "original" films such as Friends with Benefits, which seem far more common in recent years. (Dietz)
Truly original ideas are hard to sell. Inception had an advantage because Christopher Nolan had had a huge success with The Dark Knight, and Black Swan had the advantage of a lesbian sex scene. Both writers also failed in making what I thought was an obvious observation: With rising ticket prices and a deep recession, audiences have become more frugal with their money. After all, not everyone can be a critic, able to see movies for free (unless I'm mistaken here), so studios have adapted to the changing times by producing more of what audiences are more willing to pay for.
There is something else I find intriguing as well. Many original concepts have the potential to make most audiences uncomfortable (or those same concepts could be really, really bad) when all most people are after is easy and fun entertainment. Most people are just not willing to take the risk. Being uncomfortable is not an easy place for many, and many of us do not deal with change well. Derivative ideas are comfortable exactly because the concept is not new. There is little to no risk involved; no one is rocking the boat with a sequel. What would have be even more interesting in Dietz's numbers is if he and his team had gone just a bit further back in time, say to 2000 and 2001. Many of the franchises of today began after 9/11, when the world as we knew it changed drastically, a considerable rocking of the boat. Hopefully, if the world is ever allowed to calm down a bit, we can get back to a time when, as Steven Soderbergh wrote in an email to Ebert, good original works are released on a more frequent basis: "Several decades ago audiences could expect a film such as The Social Network every week; now we are lucky to have one or two a year" (qtd in Ebert).
Of adaptations, remakes, sequels, and reboots, I have the most problem with reboots, not because I don't enjoy the good ones, but because there should be a considerable amount of time between the original series and the reboot. Two to five years is not a considerable amount of time. A cleansing of the palette must occur, otherwise what's the point?
All in all I don't think derivative works are inherently bad. What frustrates me, and possibly others as well, is the seemingly rapid fire release of these works. Every couple of years we know to expect the latest installments of a franchise, especially if that franchise has proven profitable. Maybe what Hollywood needs is a reset button, a reset on the economy and the psychological state of audiences; that way they will be willing to take more risks, not enough to go bankrupt, but just enough to make the sheer quantity of derivative works more bearable.
Works Cited
Ebert, Roger. "How Sequels are Killing the Movie Business." The Daily Beast. 15 May 2011. Web. 20 May 2011.
Dietz, Jason. "Are Original Movies Really Better than Derivative Works?" Metacritic. 21 Apr. 2011. Web. 20 May 2011.
Dietz, Jason. "Are Original Movies Really Better than Derivative Works?" Metacritic. 21 Apr. 2011. Web. 20 May 2011.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Possible Project (Like I need anything else to do at the moment)?
My sister came over this weekend for a quick visit and that made me happy for two reasons: 1) I got to see my sister, of course, and 2) because the friend she brought over gave me a really good idea, or at least I hope it's a good idea. She mentioned that a friend of hers (that is to say, a friend of my sister's friend.... this can get confusing) was making his way through the list of top 100 films of all time. A light bulb went off. This is something I've always wanted to do, make my way through the top 100 films of all time. However, I did foresee a problem: Which list do I consult? There are hundreds of lists out there that attempt to quantify the best films. And with the great variety of styles and tastes, it's hard to judge one film against another. For example, a couple of years ago I thought Inglorious Bastards and Up were the best movies of their year, but really, how can the two be compared? I also thought about going the route Roger Ebert takes, listing "Great" movies without any resorting to a numbered scale.
But, I remembered that I wasn't the one making a list; I'm the one going through the list and watching what many consider to be the best films ever. This comforted me and shortened the list of potential lists to consider considerably. I decided on the American Film Institute's list of 100 films. While I make my way through that monstrous list, I'll start making a list of my own (no numbered) of my favorite films and directors. After all, aren't all lists no matter how objective just a list of "favorites"?
Here's AFI's 2007 (the latest) List of 100 Best Films: I've indicated the films I've already seen. 34 out of 100 isn't all that bad, but I still have quite a few to go.
But, I remembered that I wasn't the one making a list; I'm the one going through the list and watching what many consider to be the best films ever. This comforted me and shortened the list of potential lists to consider considerably. I decided on the American Film Institute's list of 100 films. While I make my way through that monstrous list, I'll start making a list of my own (no numbered) of my favorite films and directors. After all, aren't all lists no matter how objective just a list of "favorites"?
Here's AFI's 2007 (the latest) List of 100 Best Films: I've indicated the films I've already seen. 34 out of 100 isn't all that bad, but I still have quite a few to go.
| # | MOVIE | YEAR |
| 1 | CITIZEN KANE (Deserves this spot for many reasons!) | 1941 |
| 2 | THE GODFATHER | 1972 |
| 3 | CASABLANCA | 1942 |
| 4 | RAGING BULL | 1980 |
| 5 | SINGIN' IN THE RAIN | 1952 |
| 6 | GONE WITH THE WIND | 1939 |
| 7 | LAWRENCE OF ARABIA | 1962 |
| 8 | SCHINDLER'S LIST (A soul-moving portrait by a truly great director) | 1993 |
| 9 | VERTIGO (My favorite Hitchcock film of the one's I've seen so far) | 1958 |
| 10 | THE WIZARD OF OZ (This one just keeps working its magic, generation after generation) | 1939 |
| 11 | CITY LIGHTS (Poignant and hysterical, what physical comedy should be like) | 1931 |
| 12 | THE SEARCHERS | 1956 |
| 13 | STAR WARS (Brings out the latent fanboy in me) | 1977 |
| 14 | PSYCHO (Great, although the feminist in me prefers Julianne Moore's performance as the sister in Van Sant's remake better) | 1960 |
| 15 | 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY (Slow, brilliant, intellectual exploration of our journey through time and space) | 1968 |
| 16 | SUNSET BLVD. | 1950 |
| 17 | THE GRADUATE | 1967 |
| 18 | THE GENERAL | 1927 |
| 19 | ON THE WATERFRONT | 1954 |
| 20 | IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE (The sentimental holiday favorite. I dare you to watch this movie and not produce at least a few tears) | 1946 |
| 21 | CHINATOWN | 1974 |
| 22 | SOME LIKE IT HOT (Hysterical) | 1959 |
| 23 | THE GRAPES OF WRATH | 1940 |
| 24 | E.T. THE EXTRA-TERRESTRIAL (See comment for It's a Wonderful Life) | 1982 |
| 25 | TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD | 1962 |
| 26 | MR. SMITH GOES TO WASHINGTON | 1939 |
| 27 | HIGH NOON | 1952 |
| 28 | ALL ABOUT EVE | 1950 |
| 29 | DOUBLE INDEMNITY | 1944 |
| 30 | APOCALYPSE NOW (Tense, beautifully photographed) | 1979 |
| 31 | THE MALTESE FALCON | 1941 |
| 32 | THE GODFATHER PART II | 1974 |
| 33 | ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST (Wonderful performances. That nurse haunts my dreams) | 1975 |
| 34 | SNOW WHITE AND THE SEVEN DWARFS (The first full-length animated film and still one of the best in family entertainment) | 1937 |
| 35 | ANNIE HALL | 1977 |
| 36 | THE BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI | 1957 |
| 37 | THE BEST YEARS OF OUR LIVES | 1946 |
| 38 | THE TREASURE OF THE SIERRA MADRE | 1948 |
| 39 | DR. STRANGELOVE (The more you watch this one, the funnier it becomes, and after all it's Kubrick) | 1964 |
| 40 | THE SOUND OF MUSIC (Impossible not to sing along. Julie Andrews is sublime) | 1965 |
| 41 | KING KONG | 1933 |
| 42 | BONNIE AND CLYDE | 1967 |
| 43 | MIDNIGHT COWBOY | 1969 |
| 44 | THE PHILADELPHIA STORY | 1940 |
| 45 | SHANE | 1953 |
| 46 | IT HAPPENED ONE NIGHT | 1934 |
| 47 | A STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE | 1951 |
| 48 | REAR WINDOW (Quite possibly the perfect suspense thriller) | 1954 |
| 49 | INTOLERANCE | 1916 |
| 50 | THE LORD OF THE RINGS: THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING (The second film on this list that transforms me into a giddy fanboy) | 2001 |
| 51 | WEST SIDE STORY | 1961 |
| 52 | TAXI DRIVER (Dark, depressing, brilliant performances) | 1976 |
| 53 | THE DEER HUNTER | 1978 |
| 54 | M*A*S*H | 1970 |
| 55 | NORTH BY NORTHWEST | 1959 |
| 56 | JAWS (Still mesmerizing and outshines most of the blockbusters its success inspired) | 1975 |
| 57 | ROCKY (A great feel-good, underdog movie) | 1976 |
| 58 | THE GOLD RUSH | 1925 |
| 59 | NASHVILLE | 1975 |
| 60 | DUCK SOUP | 1933 |
| 61 | SULLIVAN'S TRAVELS | 1941 |
| 62 | AMERICAN GRAFFITI | 1973 |
| 63 | CABARET (Great music, great dancing, art direction, and of course Liza Minelli working those lungs of hers) | 1972 |
| 64 | NETWORK | 1976 |
| 65 | THE AFRICAN QUEEN | 1951 |
| 66 | RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK (I so wanted to be an archeologist when I first saw this movie. Hell, I still do whenever I watch it now) | 1981 |
| 67 | WHO'S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLF? | 1966 |
| 68 | UNFORGIVEN | 1992 |
| 69 | TOOTSIE | 1982 |
| 70 | A CLOCKWORK ORANGE (Strange, disturbing, funny, definitely not for everyone) | 1971 |
| 71 | SAVING PRIVATE RYAN (Brutal opening, beautifully filmed, proved that Schindler's List wasn't a fluke) | 1998 |
| 72 | THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION (Another great feel-good movie) | 1994 |
| 73 | BUTCH CASSIDY AND THE SUNDANCE KID | 1969 |
| 74 | THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS (Anthony Hopkins will always be Hannibal Lecter for me, and he is one of the reasons why this film is stomach-clenching-almost-to-the-point-of-puking tense) | 1991 |
| 75 | IN THE HEAT OF THE NIGHT | 1967 |
| 76 | FORREST GUMP (Wonderful movie that chronicles the 60's like no other film I've seen before) | 1994 |
| 77 | ALL THE PRESIDENT'S MEN | 1976 |
| 78 | MODERN TIMES | 1936 |
| 79 | THE WILD BUNCH | 1969 |
| 80 | THE APARTMENT | 1960 |
| 81 | SPARTACUS | 1960 |
| 82 | SUNRISE | 1927 |
| 83 | TITANIC (Wasn't sure about this one at first, but it's technical execution and the fact that Cameron got so much right is enough to overlook its other flaws) | 1997 |
| 84 | EASY RIDER | 1969 |
| 85 | A NIGHT AT THE OPERA | 1935 |
| 86 | PLATOON | 1986 |
| 87 | 12 ANGRY MEN | 1957 |
| 88 | BRINGING UP BABY | 1938 |
| 89 | THE SIXTH SENSE (A beautiful look at overcoming traumatic experiences that plays well, even better, after you know the secret) | 1999 |
| 90 | SWING TIME | 1936 |
| 91 | SOPHIE'S CHOICE | 1982 |
| 92 | GOODFELLAS | 1990 |
| 93 | THE FRENCH CONNECTION | 1971 |
| 94 | PULP FICTION (Resists categorization, funny, touching, and all together genius) | 1994 |
| 95 | THE LAST PICTURE SHOW | 1971 |
| 96 | DO THE RIGHT THING | 1989 |
| 97 | BLADE RUNNER (I'm still wondering how I feel about this one, although it has one of the best sci-fi worlds I've ever seen) | 1982 |
| 98 | YANKEE DOODLE DANDY | 1942 |
| 99 | TOY STORY (Started the CGI animation movement and is still one of the best, just like Snow White) | 1995 |
| 100 | BEN-HUR (I saw this in class in the seventh or eighth grade I think, don't remember it all that well) | 1959 |
Friday, May 13, 2011
The Downfall of Many: "What do I write about?"
I have only been teaching for a couple of years now, but I have noticed a trend among many of my students: Those who don't turn in their work or are often late usually have problems deciding on the topic of their essay. However, when I talk to students individually I find they usually have quite a bit to say. Part of the problem, I believe, lies in their lack of confidence (at least when it comes to writing) and their inability to articulate in writing what it is they want to say, but there is a problem with something else as well: If not used to looking for ideas, a writer won't have them when asked to write an essay. For a beginning writer, observation, the discipline to maintain a log of ideas, and the ability to organize those ideas are all great skills to develop.
Observation is essential to the development of writing topics. However, this does not mean making daily trips to the nearest Starbucks to people watch, although having a daily dose of coffee goodness would not be unsavory. In order to save money, not to mention weight, I suggest just being observant of what happens all around us. Far too often, we become blind to our daily routines, forgetting that there are others out there toiling away. Even the most reclusive person, who stays shut up in his/her house or apartment all day, would eventually notice the various daily sounds that penetrate his/her protective cocoon of solitude. For example, I spend most of my time indoors when not teaching. I actually love the relative quiet and peace of my apartment; however, the outside world tends to intrude through banging doors, children running up and down hallways or screaming because they fell out of bed, late night lovers' quarrels, the unwanted vibrations of modified mufflers. The list could go on and on but such a list would be pointless to continue. The fact remains, I cannot escape the sounds of life beyond my walls and neither can anyone else. Cultivating an acute observer's eye is important to anyone who wants to be a writer (or at the very least wants to be a better writer), but having a good eye for detail is not enough. After all, not many people like to read lists (although lists are a great way to organize ideas and are the fallback of many of the articles on the web). For essays, there has to be something connecting those details together, something to keep the reader's interest, and sometimes it takes time to connect what you observe to a theme or unifying idea. For this reason, it is also important to maintain a log of ideas.
Whether you keep your ideas in your head or use a more tangible method, keeping a log of ideas is important to any writer, regardless of the level of writing. I keep a lot of crap in my head (memories, story ideas, future lesson plans, blog ideas, past dreams... you get the idea). Of course, this usually results in me being more than a little absent-minded. I can't keep dates in my head to save my life, a fact that results in many late birthday cards. I have a good recall when it comes to writing ideas, so I rarely have to write down the idea itself. However, I do have to write down anything that comes after the initial idea; these notes usually take the form of long, rambling paragraphs, or fragmented sentences. I rarely use formal outlines; I don't know why but for the most part the outline has rarely produced quality work for me; it's too limiting. If taking plenty of notes is your preferred method then by all means take pages and pages of notes. The point is you have to start documenting the ideas that pop into your head. Actually, I must also say that different techniques are required for different projects. For example, I did create a bare outline for my thesis because the organization of that work was way too much for my head to handle. It was nice to have a reference point whenever I felt myself veering off course. There are many methods out there; play around with a good variety until you start to find your groove.
Once all the notes are assembled and the idea is ready to be put down into an essay, you must keep one other thing in mind: organization. Organization is where I find most students have trouble. I believe the reason for this lies in the fact that most student papers are written once with little to no preparation beforehand. An essay must have a logical flow where one idea clearly follows another, and depending on the topic and style required the organization of your essay can vary greatly. If you're a student, pay really close attention to how your instructor organizes information and it will give you a clue about what they will prefer when reading your essay. I have two examples in this regard. While in college, I had two professors with very different ideas on how to analyze literature and very different ideas on how organize essays. One preferred a theory-based approach to analyzing literature (an approach I prefer as well) and so usually preferred having an introduction to the theories used packed into the first of the essay. The other professor preferred a historical, contextual analysis of literature and wanted any theoretical analysis to be spread out, mixed up with the analysis of the literature. As their student, I had to modify the way I organized my essays, depending on whose class I was taking. And no matter how an essay is organized, transition sentences (which usually come at the end or beginning of body paragraphs) are necessary to help the reader follow your ideas. After all, just because an idea makes sense in your head does not mean it'll make sense to someone else. We all think differently, so it is the writers job to bridge the gaps between ideas. That way, the chance of confusion and/or misunderstanding is limited.
Observation, keeping a log of ideas, and being conscious of organization are essential to anyone attempting to write an essay, but these tools are also effective in the creative arena, as well as others. Being able to express yourself easily and concisely is important in today's world, especially if it's a part of your job description to send out mass emails to employees. It would be embarrassing and inefficient if you had to later clarify what you meant. All written communication needs to be clear, concise, and well organized. Amy Tan once wrote that the best compliment she ever received came from her mother, a Chinese immigrant who spoke in "broken English." The compliment was a response to her first novel, The Joy Luck Club, and is something most of us should strive for in our writing: "So easy to read."
Note: Having a good grasp of grammar is also something most writers should have, but I won't be addressing that here, maybe at some later date. Also, I don't know if any of you noticed, but the above essay was written in the "5-Paragraph" format. I wrote this as a possible example for my students, both to help them with generating ideas and as an example of the type of essays required in most writing classes. Well, the "5-Paragraph" essay is not necessarily a requirement in most writing classes, and I generally avoid them now that I'm out of school, but it can be helpful for students who need more structure. Plus, it helped me immensely in my early college career, so I would like some input on whether this type of example is helpful.
Observation is essential to the development of writing topics. However, this does not mean making daily trips to the nearest Starbucks to people watch, although having a daily dose of coffee goodness would not be unsavory. In order to save money, not to mention weight, I suggest just being observant of what happens all around us. Far too often, we become blind to our daily routines, forgetting that there are others out there toiling away. Even the most reclusive person, who stays shut up in his/her house or apartment all day, would eventually notice the various daily sounds that penetrate his/her protective cocoon of solitude. For example, I spend most of my time indoors when not teaching. I actually love the relative quiet and peace of my apartment; however, the outside world tends to intrude through banging doors, children running up and down hallways or screaming because they fell out of bed, late night lovers' quarrels, the unwanted vibrations of modified mufflers. The list could go on and on but such a list would be pointless to continue. The fact remains, I cannot escape the sounds of life beyond my walls and neither can anyone else. Cultivating an acute observer's eye is important to anyone who wants to be a writer (or at the very least wants to be a better writer), but having a good eye for detail is not enough. After all, not many people like to read lists (although lists are a great way to organize ideas and are the fallback of many of the articles on the web). For essays, there has to be something connecting those details together, something to keep the reader's interest, and sometimes it takes time to connect what you observe to a theme or unifying idea. For this reason, it is also important to maintain a log of ideas.
Whether you keep your ideas in your head or use a more tangible method, keeping a log of ideas is important to any writer, regardless of the level of writing. I keep a lot of crap in my head (memories, story ideas, future lesson plans, blog ideas, past dreams... you get the idea). Of course, this usually results in me being more than a little absent-minded. I can't keep dates in my head to save my life, a fact that results in many late birthday cards. I have a good recall when it comes to writing ideas, so I rarely have to write down the idea itself. However, I do have to write down anything that comes after the initial idea; these notes usually take the form of long, rambling paragraphs, or fragmented sentences. I rarely use formal outlines; I don't know why but for the most part the outline has rarely produced quality work for me; it's too limiting. If taking plenty of notes is your preferred method then by all means take pages and pages of notes. The point is you have to start documenting the ideas that pop into your head. Actually, I must also say that different techniques are required for different projects. For example, I did create a bare outline for my thesis because the organization of that work was way too much for my head to handle. It was nice to have a reference point whenever I felt myself veering off course. There are many methods out there; play around with a good variety until you start to find your groove.
Once all the notes are assembled and the idea is ready to be put down into an essay, you must keep one other thing in mind: organization. Organization is where I find most students have trouble. I believe the reason for this lies in the fact that most student papers are written once with little to no preparation beforehand. An essay must have a logical flow where one idea clearly follows another, and depending on the topic and style required the organization of your essay can vary greatly. If you're a student, pay really close attention to how your instructor organizes information and it will give you a clue about what they will prefer when reading your essay. I have two examples in this regard. While in college, I had two professors with very different ideas on how to analyze literature and very different ideas on how organize essays. One preferred a theory-based approach to analyzing literature (an approach I prefer as well) and so usually preferred having an introduction to the theories used packed into the first of the essay. The other professor preferred a historical, contextual analysis of literature and wanted any theoretical analysis to be spread out, mixed up with the analysis of the literature. As their student, I had to modify the way I organized my essays, depending on whose class I was taking. And no matter how an essay is organized, transition sentences (which usually come at the end or beginning of body paragraphs) are necessary to help the reader follow your ideas. After all, just because an idea makes sense in your head does not mean it'll make sense to someone else. We all think differently, so it is the writers job to bridge the gaps between ideas. That way, the chance of confusion and/or misunderstanding is limited.
Observation, keeping a log of ideas, and being conscious of organization are essential to anyone attempting to write an essay, but these tools are also effective in the creative arena, as well as others. Being able to express yourself easily and concisely is important in today's world, especially if it's a part of your job description to send out mass emails to employees. It would be embarrassing and inefficient if you had to later clarify what you meant. All written communication needs to be clear, concise, and well organized. Amy Tan once wrote that the best compliment she ever received came from her mother, a Chinese immigrant who spoke in "broken English." The compliment was a response to her first novel, The Joy Luck Club, and is something most of us should strive for in our writing: "So easy to read."
Note: Having a good grasp of grammar is also something most writers should have, but I won't be addressing that here, maybe at some later date. Also, I don't know if any of you noticed, but the above essay was written in the "5-Paragraph" format. I wrote this as a possible example for my students, both to help them with generating ideas and as an example of the type of essays required in most writing classes. Well, the "5-Paragraph" essay is not necessarily a requirement in most writing classes, and I generally avoid them now that I'm out of school, but it can be helpful for students who need more structure. Plus, it helped me immensely in my early college career, so I would like some input on whether this type of example is helpful.
Monday, May 9, 2011
The End.... Of This Semester Anyway
Another semester down and I am ready for the extended break... not to mention a change in career. Seriously, I'm not entirely sure this whole teaching thing will work out. After talking with a friend today, I was rattled (once again) by how teaching college, no matter if you're part-time or full-time, is viewed by others. She informed me that a friend from high school, who I have not seen since graduating, asked about me. And when this friend learned of my occupation, they were excited and very happy for me, much more than I'd ever expect seeing as how I'm the one with the teaching job they're so excited about. I've seen these kinds of reactions from family and from other friends. No matter how often I say it, "I teach college," most everyone has the same reaction: "Wow! That's cool!"
The truth of the matter is it is not cool. What many people don't realize is that I'm at the bottom of the proverbial totem pole. There is definitive hierarchy in college, just like in any other job market. English composition (whether developmental or not) is not a fun class to teach. It's nearly as terrible as having to sit in it, except at this point I'd rather be in a composition class than teach it, for at least I'd be able to write something other than "You need more support for this," or "This is not the correct format," or "You have far too many ______ (insert: run-ons, comma splices, or fragments)," or "What the hell were you thinking turning this in? I can't even understand it!" Hopefully, you all knew I would never give a student that last comment, although I've often wanted to.
Endless repetition, that's the life of a teacher. And I don't have the creative energy, nor the time, to create fun exercises for my students that involve writing. How can I? Writing, in all of its frustrating complexity, is fun for me. Every new sentence is more than a collection of nouns, verbs, adjectives, phrases, and clauses; it's a new opportunity to express something that has not been written before in quite the same way; for unless you're copying someone word-for-word, each sentence is a new creation. I want to write, to create, and I have not had the opportunity to do much of that recently, or at least not as much as I want to. I mean come on, I've now written around eleven blog posts (the video one does not count since I didn't make it) plus a conference presentation. While that's quite a bit more than nothing, these forays into writing have distanced me further from teaching than anything else. I've enjoyed writing these posts, even if few people have read them. l thoroughly enjoyed the conference, all those other writers discussing writing and literature in its many forms. It was a blast. It reminded me of what I was missing out on, stuck here at the bottom, in composition hell.
Of course, that last statement was a bit of an exaggeration. I do enjoy my students. Many of them are bright, curious, and more than willing to learn. I do enjoy reading what they write because each of them provide unique views of the world, and I do find pleasure in helping them find their writing voice. What I don't find pleasure in is grading and the bureaucracy of school (I am very thankful here that I'm not teaching grade school, although college is catching up). As I said before, I'm not that creative when it comes to presenting the material because it's hard for me to see that there are other ways of presenting it. That sentence may not make that much sense to anyone not inside my head, so I'll try to clarify.
I've recently decided I am exactly the type of teacher I did not enjoy as a student. My students usually like me as a person, but many of them don't easily grasp what I'm trying to teach them and are too afraid to ask questions. Lately, I've been thinking of my worst class in college: Environmental Science. The subject was not that hard, and the teacher was intriguing, but he could not present the material in anything other than a mathematical formula. He'd describe the bonding of atoms and the composition of molecules as straight equations. And while I did get the material, others were not so quick on the uptake. They would constantly ask for the professor to help them understand the material, and instead of switching to another visual mode, he'd simply rewrite the formula again. Actually, this tactic reminds me a bit of my partner's niece, who (while trying to teach Tim's mom the lyrics to a song) became frustrated when Tim's mom was not getting the lyrics right, "No! Here, I'll sing louder." And she did, much, much louder. I imagine this is what's its like for my students at times. I honestly don't know if I'm capable of switching modes for them. I've spent so much time writing and studying writing that it's hard to switch, to understand what's like for them. When presented with their missed-understanding, I write louder.
Really, I believe exhaustion and frustration are an overwhelming force at this point and are the driving forces of this post and the one before. After a year of sort-of-full-time teaching, I thought I'd have more to show for my degree and all the praise that comes with my profession than three part-time jobs, no benefits, little pay (but more than I was making at Chili's, which is a very good thing), and a seemingly never-ending commute. I'm tired of waiting, tired of being passed over for full-time positions, tired waiting for an agent to respond to my query, tired of teaching the same stuff over and over again, and most of all, I'm tired of not creating.
I guess there's only one solution, right? Quit whining and do something about it!
And here's a hyperbolic, yet appropriate quote from a movie I thoroughly enjoy, Wanted: (Yes, there's cussing; yes, it's a bit extreme coming from someone who teaches for a living and wants desperately to be a writer, but the sentiment is about the same... kind of)
"This is me taking control... from the fraternity, from Janice from billing reports, from ergonomic keyboards, from cheating girlfriends and sack of shit best friends. This is me taking back control of my life. What the fuck have you done lately?"
:-D
The truth of the matter is it is not cool. What many people don't realize is that I'm at the bottom of the proverbial totem pole. There is definitive hierarchy in college, just like in any other job market. English composition (whether developmental or not) is not a fun class to teach. It's nearly as terrible as having to sit in it, except at this point I'd rather be in a composition class than teach it, for at least I'd be able to write something other than "You need more support for this," or "This is not the correct format," or "You have far too many ______ (insert: run-ons, comma splices, or fragments)," or "What the hell were you thinking turning this in? I can't even understand it!" Hopefully, you all knew I would never give a student that last comment, although I've often wanted to.
Endless repetition, that's the life of a teacher. And I don't have the creative energy, nor the time, to create fun exercises for my students that involve writing. How can I? Writing, in all of its frustrating complexity, is fun for me. Every new sentence is more than a collection of nouns, verbs, adjectives, phrases, and clauses; it's a new opportunity to express something that has not been written before in quite the same way; for unless you're copying someone word-for-word, each sentence is a new creation. I want to write, to create, and I have not had the opportunity to do much of that recently, or at least not as much as I want to. I mean come on, I've now written around eleven blog posts (the video one does not count since I didn't make it) plus a conference presentation. While that's quite a bit more than nothing, these forays into writing have distanced me further from teaching than anything else. I've enjoyed writing these posts, even if few people have read them. l thoroughly enjoyed the conference, all those other writers discussing writing and literature in its many forms. It was a blast. It reminded me of what I was missing out on, stuck here at the bottom, in composition hell.
Of course, that last statement was a bit of an exaggeration. I do enjoy my students. Many of them are bright, curious, and more than willing to learn. I do enjoy reading what they write because each of them provide unique views of the world, and I do find pleasure in helping them find their writing voice. What I don't find pleasure in is grading and the bureaucracy of school (I am very thankful here that I'm not teaching grade school, although college is catching up). As I said before, I'm not that creative when it comes to presenting the material because it's hard for me to see that there are other ways of presenting it. That sentence may not make that much sense to anyone not inside my head, so I'll try to clarify.
I've recently decided I am exactly the type of teacher I did not enjoy as a student. My students usually like me as a person, but many of them don't easily grasp what I'm trying to teach them and are too afraid to ask questions. Lately, I've been thinking of my worst class in college: Environmental Science. The subject was not that hard, and the teacher was intriguing, but he could not present the material in anything other than a mathematical formula. He'd describe the bonding of atoms and the composition of molecules as straight equations. And while I did get the material, others were not so quick on the uptake. They would constantly ask for the professor to help them understand the material, and instead of switching to another visual mode, he'd simply rewrite the formula again. Actually, this tactic reminds me a bit of my partner's niece, who (while trying to teach Tim's mom the lyrics to a song) became frustrated when Tim's mom was not getting the lyrics right, "No! Here, I'll sing louder." And she did, much, much louder. I imagine this is what's its like for my students at times. I honestly don't know if I'm capable of switching modes for them. I've spent so much time writing and studying writing that it's hard to switch, to understand what's like for them. When presented with their missed-understanding, I write louder.
Really, I believe exhaustion and frustration are an overwhelming force at this point and are the driving forces of this post and the one before. After a year of sort-of-full-time teaching, I thought I'd have more to show for my degree and all the praise that comes with my profession than three part-time jobs, no benefits, little pay (but more than I was making at Chili's, which is a very good thing), and a seemingly never-ending commute. I'm tired of waiting, tired of being passed over for full-time positions, tired waiting for an agent to respond to my query, tired of teaching the same stuff over and over again, and most of all, I'm tired of not creating.
I guess there's only one solution, right? Quit whining and do something about it!
And here's a hyperbolic, yet appropriate quote from a movie I thoroughly enjoy, Wanted: (Yes, there's cussing; yes, it's a bit extreme coming from someone who teaches for a living and wants desperately to be a writer, but the sentiment is about the same... kind of)
"This is me taking control... from the fraternity, from Janice from billing reports, from ergonomic keyboards, from cheating girlfriends and sack of shit best friends. This is me taking back control of my life. What the fuck have you done lately?"
:-D
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Family: Vivid Dreams and Other Genetic Gifts
The other day my aunt called to wish me a happy birthday and after initial pleasantries the conversation strayed on to other topics. Usually, conversations between family and friends are not all that interesting to anyone outside of the original conversation. After all,
that's why we edit and elaborate when describing the exchange to others. However, one topic seemed to strike a nerve with me: dreams... not just any dreams but very vivid, often violent, dreams. Now, this is not a new topic for my dad's side of the family, especially since it seems that vivid dreams are a regular occurrence for many of us. I've often wondered about this type of dreaming because I usually have some powerfully vivid dreams myself, which is probably why I was so fascinated whenever we studied Freud and Jung in some of my English classes. Indeed, I almost minored in psychology. Not too long ago, as we were walking through Barnes and Noble, my father noticed an illustrated copy of The Interpretation of Dreams and commented that he needed it. I informed him of what I knew about the book and Freud's thoughts on why we dream: that dreams are highly symbolic in nature and are best understood when you start to connect the symbols with what they refer to, which can be tricky. And even though I've recently began studying my dreams in this manner, Freud still doesn't explain why my family is so susceptible to this particular type of dreaming.
Like many children, I had some truly terrifying dreams. The first I remember doesn't sound all that terrible when written down, but I always hated having that dream. I haven't had this dream for a very long time, thank goodness, but I still remember its effect.
In the dream, I'm standing alone in a vast open space, not an earthy place, more like outer space. Although I'm standing, there is nothing (as far as I can tell) to stand on, just a never-ending blackness, splattered with some dark blues and purples. Without knowing why, I know the oppressive silence must be maintained, otherwise something truly terrible will happen: the quiet universe I'm being allowed to inhabit for the moment will be torn apart; the world will end. My heart begins to pound faster and harder inside my chest, threatening, it seems, to break the silence. I try and calm myself, tell myself that as long as I'm quiet everything will be okay. And then a sound shatters the silence. It's never exactly clear what makes the sound (sometimes I make it, sometimes another person appears and tries to speak to me), but I never have time to analyze it, or even try to snuff out the sound. A deep rumbling drowns out every other sound, splitting my eardrums. The sound grows louder and louder, eventually increasing to such an intensity that I can no longer take, and so I scream. It is at this point that I awaken, heart pounding, terrified, not wanting to go back to sleep because the dream narrative could continue and I didn't want to see what happened next (continuing dream narratives is still a frequent occurrence today, and for some dreams, such a phenomenon is not entirely unwelcome).
As I wrote the above dream narrative, I had a sudden realization: The above description sounds very similar to how I would describe it was like, as a child, living with a depressive personality, where the slightest shift in conversational tone and topic could throw everything into chaos. This is what it was like to live with my mother at times, which leads to another familial genetic gift: depression. Depression, interestingly enough, comes from my mother's side of the family (and probably from my father's side as well, but it's not discussed much on that side), so it would seem that I have the best of both worlds. It's funny, I never truly understood the symbolism of the dream until I wrote the above paragraph, and the only reason I made the connection was because a similar description made its way into my book.
Depression affects many people, far too many people, but for me depression has been like another family member, a living force that frequently makes an appearance, usually without being invited. It plays tricks with your brain, twisting and bending your perception of the world so that only the sadness remains. It's no wonder J. K. Rowling used hooded black figures that suck all the happiness from a person as a symbol for depression. That's exactly how depression feels when you're in the middle of it. And if you want a good quote that effectively describes how a depressive thinks, here's my favorite from the movie Closer:
"Everybody wants to be happy."
"Depressives don't. They want to be unhappy to confirm they're depressed. If they were happy, they couldn't be depressed anymore. They'd have to go out in the world and live, which can be depressing."
Depression is a seemingly never-ending cycle that only needs the tiniest of triggers at times. And yes, after years of feeling depressed, depression transforms into a warped sort of companion, a family member that is not entirely liked but tolerated only because the connection between the two is not easily severed. So, breaking that connection and facing the wide world where happiness and sadness, success and rejection are dealt out in unequal measure can be a depressing experience. It's far easier to continue being depressed, isn't it?
I'm unsure of the science of dreams and depression, although I've had plenty of experience with both, but I do believe in the power of writing and learning. Through Freud, though he's a bit old-fashioned now, I've been able to figure out some of my dreams, not all, but at least enough to gain a better understanding of my own mind. Through writing, I've been able to put those dreams on paper (or screen), forcing them into a shape, into a narrative, so their particulars can be seen; after all, when a dream is allowed to linger in the mind without a shape, it's emotional power is increased; only through writing (a creative outlet) have I been able to take some of the power for myself.
Since moving out of my parents' house, I have not had the world-ending dream. Other dreams have replaced it. For example, after I graduated from UTPB with my MA and started teaching, I've been having a recurring dream that I'm back in Dr. Watson's Hamlet class (anyone who has taken her can attest to the fearful presence she can exude), a couple of days from graduating and I haven't even started my final paper, haven't even started researching for it, and so I fail her class and am unable to graduate. It took a while for me to understand this dream, but I've come to realize it's an expression of my insecurities now that I'm tasked with teaching students how to write. Failing in the dream represents my feelings that I am unsuited and unqualified to teach.
With each new dream, a new problem is trying to work itself out. Of course, the hard part is trying to figure out what the problem is because the subconscious mind hides the more disturbing aspects of our personalities, the parts we don't want to face, from the conscious mind. Fears are transformed into symbols. And while the people we know may make an appearance in our dreams, it's best to remember that their presence is only a symbol, a clue about ourselves, for each person that has made an impact in our lives can be used for what they represent. The same goes for the non-human details as well.
I don't blame anyone in my family for the dreams nor the depression that has plagued me, practically since my first memories. There is no one to blame. How can there be? And since both of these gifts have led me to where I am and built me into the person I am today, why should I wish them away? The fact is I won't wish them away. I will, however, attempt to manage them, which has been considerably easier since I realized a problem exists.
that's why we edit and elaborate when describing the exchange to others. However, one topic seemed to strike a nerve with me: dreams... not just any dreams but very vivid, often violent, dreams. Now, this is not a new topic for my dad's side of the family, especially since it seems that vivid dreams are a regular occurrence for many of us. I've often wondered about this type of dreaming because I usually have some powerfully vivid dreams myself, which is probably why I was so fascinated whenever we studied Freud and Jung in some of my English classes. Indeed, I almost minored in psychology. Not too long ago, as we were walking through Barnes and Noble, my father noticed an illustrated copy of The Interpretation of Dreams and commented that he needed it. I informed him of what I knew about the book and Freud's thoughts on why we dream: that dreams are highly symbolic in nature and are best understood when you start to connect the symbols with what they refer to, which can be tricky. And even though I've recently began studying my dreams in this manner, Freud still doesn't explain why my family is so susceptible to this particular type of dreaming.
Like many children, I had some truly terrifying dreams. The first I remember doesn't sound all that terrible when written down, but I always hated having that dream. I haven't had this dream for a very long time, thank goodness, but I still remember its effect.
In the dream, I'm standing alone in a vast open space, not an earthy place, more like outer space. Although I'm standing, there is nothing (as far as I can tell) to stand on, just a never-ending blackness, splattered with some dark blues and purples. Without knowing why, I know the oppressive silence must be maintained, otherwise something truly terrible will happen: the quiet universe I'm being allowed to inhabit for the moment will be torn apart; the world will end. My heart begins to pound faster and harder inside my chest, threatening, it seems, to break the silence. I try and calm myself, tell myself that as long as I'm quiet everything will be okay. And then a sound shatters the silence. It's never exactly clear what makes the sound (sometimes I make it, sometimes another person appears and tries to speak to me), but I never have time to analyze it, or even try to snuff out the sound. A deep rumbling drowns out every other sound, splitting my eardrums. The sound grows louder and louder, eventually increasing to such an intensity that I can no longer take, and so I scream. It is at this point that I awaken, heart pounding, terrified, not wanting to go back to sleep because the dream narrative could continue and I didn't want to see what happened next (continuing dream narratives is still a frequent occurrence today, and for some dreams, such a phenomenon is not entirely unwelcome).
As I wrote the above dream narrative, I had a sudden realization: The above description sounds very similar to how I would describe it was like, as a child, living with a depressive personality, where the slightest shift in conversational tone and topic could throw everything into chaos. This is what it was like to live with my mother at times, which leads to another familial genetic gift: depression. Depression, interestingly enough, comes from my mother's side of the family (and probably from my father's side as well, but it's not discussed much on that side), so it would seem that I have the best of both worlds. It's funny, I never truly understood the symbolism of the dream until I wrote the above paragraph, and the only reason I made the connection was because a similar description made its way into my book.
Depression affects many people, far too many people, but for me depression has been like another family member, a living force that frequently makes an appearance, usually without being invited. It plays tricks with your brain, twisting and bending your perception of the world so that only the sadness remains. It's no wonder J. K. Rowling used hooded black figures that suck all the happiness from a person as a symbol for depression. That's exactly how depression feels when you're in the middle of it. And if you want a good quote that effectively describes how a depressive thinks, here's my favorite from the movie Closer:
"Everybody wants to be happy."
"Depressives don't. They want to be unhappy to confirm they're depressed. If they were happy, they couldn't be depressed anymore. They'd have to go out in the world and live, which can be depressing."
Depression is a seemingly never-ending cycle that only needs the tiniest of triggers at times. And yes, after years of feeling depressed, depression transforms into a warped sort of companion, a family member that is not entirely liked but tolerated only because the connection between the two is not easily severed. So, breaking that connection and facing the wide world where happiness and sadness, success and rejection are dealt out in unequal measure can be a depressing experience. It's far easier to continue being depressed, isn't it?
I'm unsure of the science of dreams and depression, although I've had plenty of experience with both, but I do believe in the power of writing and learning. Through Freud, though he's a bit old-fashioned now, I've been able to figure out some of my dreams, not all, but at least enough to gain a better understanding of my own mind. Through writing, I've been able to put those dreams on paper (or screen), forcing them into a shape, into a narrative, so their particulars can be seen; after all, when a dream is allowed to linger in the mind without a shape, it's emotional power is increased; only through writing (a creative outlet) have I been able to take some of the power for myself.
Since moving out of my parents' house, I have not had the world-ending dream. Other dreams have replaced it. For example, after I graduated from UTPB with my MA and started teaching, I've been having a recurring dream that I'm back in Dr. Watson's Hamlet class (anyone who has taken her can attest to the fearful presence she can exude), a couple of days from graduating and I haven't even started my final paper, haven't even started researching for it, and so I fail her class and am unable to graduate. It took a while for me to understand this dream, but I've come to realize it's an expression of my insecurities now that I'm tasked with teaching students how to write. Failing in the dream represents my feelings that I am unsuited and unqualified to teach.
With each new dream, a new problem is trying to work itself out. Of course, the hard part is trying to figure out what the problem is because the subconscious mind hides the more disturbing aspects of our personalities, the parts we don't want to face, from the conscious mind. Fears are transformed into symbols. And while the people we know may make an appearance in our dreams, it's best to remember that their presence is only a symbol, a clue about ourselves, for each person that has made an impact in our lives can be used for what they represent. The same goes for the non-human details as well.
I don't blame anyone in my family for the dreams nor the depression that has plagued me, practically since my first memories. There is no one to blame. How can there be? And since both of these gifts have led me to where I am and built me into the person I am today, why should I wish them away? The fact is I won't wish them away. I will, however, attempt to manage them, which has been considerably easier since I realized a problem exists.
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