Glee and the Culture of Building Representational Online Identities

I'm not sure if I made any sense with all of this. I just had an idea this morning on the way to work and decided to run with it. So this post is a bit of a departure form my normal writings, but something useful may come out of it. 

I was purchasing some music through iTunes today--thanks to my loving sister for the birthday gift--and excited to download some of Glee's more recent songs when something interesting hit me. Glee is a TV show that uses pop music to help tell the stories of the characters. Sometimes the songs fit the characters and their storylines perfectly; sometimes they don't fit so well. The writers use popular songs to help define their characters; that is, these songs are acting as shortcuts to building identities. The songs the characters choose to sing are representations of how they perceive themselves: their identities are tied up in popular culture, which is something I see happening every single day through social networking sites like Facebook, MySpace (maybe not this one as much anymore), Twitter, and all the others out there.

Let me explain further. Last week's episode consisted of nothing but Whitney Houston songs, a tribute to the late singer's memory. The kids were directed to choose a Houston song that matched their current emotional states. The show opened with a mournful--and quite beautiful, I might add--version of the hit song, "How Will I Know." Usually a more upbeat song, the song is a lyrical questioning of love, whether the singer's companion actually has "true love" for the singer. Sung as an elegy to Houston, the writers of Glee, used the song not as it's lyrics suggest, but in a way that represents the characters' questioning of what their lives will be like after school, after loss. While the songs lyrics don't fit with the story arc, the emotional representation is close enough for the characters. In other words, by changing the style of the song, the writers have altered the song's meaning to fit the current emotional identities of the characters.

I'm not entirely sure if that came off as clearly as I'd like. Hopefully, if it's not all that clear now, it will be.

Today, with so many on social networks, blasting their personal preferences--their favorite films, their favorite music, their chosen political/religious/spiritual positions--all over the Internet, people use a kind of shorthand to establish their online identities. Of course, I believe this is something people have been doing long before the Internet and social networks, but the very nature and speed of the Internet has transformed this kind of representational identity into an explosion of tastes and counter-tastes. Many users don't care to explain their tastes with anything more detailed than a reference, a quote, a picture, or even a song. The idea is that others with similar tastes will simply "get it," while those who do not "get it" will simply skip over the information. Such shortcuts are supposed to identify the user; that is, the chosen piece of popular culture are keys to understanding the poster's chosen identity.

As a personal example, I frequently post news articles, videos, and pictures that identify my own feelings on homosexuality and gay rights. Obviously, as a gay man, I hope for a more inclusive society one day, no matter what a person's sexual orientation is--whether real, imagined, or fluid. Now, I have no problem fully explaining my positions and the reasoning behind them. I am a writer after all and teach my students to go further in their arguments than a simple "I agree" or "I disagree." However, many people do not, or they go about establishing their beliefs in the wrong way. I've read, and sometimes participated in online arguments that don't illuminate but infuriate. Argumentation is supposed to help people reach an understanding of some kind. Unfortunately, online arguments turn into vicious cycles of claim, evidence (if any is used), counter-claim, restatement of position, more evidence (or the same evidence, just in case the person didn't understand the first time), clarification of position.... and on and on and on in a seemingly never-ending battle for who's right and who's wrong. Usually, I stop reading and avoid posting to any form of argument that turns into this. Participating is nonproductive and frequently headache-inducing.

The Internet has created a culture of representational online identities, where the latest meme is used as representational markers of public identities. Basically, the Internet is a "I see only what I want to see" universe where new information, or anything a user may not like, can be easily discarded or overlooked.

Now, how does this relate to Glee, a show I love? The show is a fictional representation of the type of reality we live in now. So much of our lives are lived online that it's becoming increasingly harder to separate our online identities from our real life. Glee may get a lot of criticism by being over-the-top in its musical numbers, but how different is that from how we represent ourselves online? If I post a video of Gotye's "Somebody I Used to Know" to represent my mood after a break-up (I'm not broken up by the way) and my friends are able to see the video as a representation of my current emotional state, how is that so different from the mimicry fantasy of Glee, where the characters frequently place themselves in reproductions of popular music videos? The point is, it's not that different. Glee, therefore, is a representation of how people chose to represent themselves in online environments.

On another front, Glee can also be seen as symbol for a culture that has run out of new ideas. I have been finding it increasingly difficult to talk about my own book because when I do it sounds so generic, so "been there done that." I guess I'm feeling what Harold Bloom once wrote about: the anxiety of influence. How can we create anything new when someone else has probably already beaten us to the idea? Every piece of new literature then becomes a collection of references and allusions to other works. The only way to come up with anything new in this kind of environment seems to mean using such a large amalgamation of references and allusions that the material then takes on a life of its own, outside of and away from the source material. In other words, something like Glee, or even better, something like a Tarantino film.

So, it seems Tarantino was more ahead of his time than I'd previously thought. I'll have to ponder on that a while... Maybe a post on Tarantino is not as elusive as I thought.

Anyway, if you've made it this far, thanks! This post is kind of a mind dump for me, hopefully so I can later expand this into a more scholarly article one day. At least, I hope. :)

Failures, a Lack of Confidence, and the Ramblings of a Writer

This post seems to be an exercise in frustration and just "getting it out there." That means this reads much more like a journal entry than some of my other posts. Basically, I just needed to get all of this off my chest. If these ramblings just aren't to your taste, feel free to simply skip this post and move to others. Much more positive writings can be found on this site... somewhere, I'm sure. :)

If you continue, thanks.  

Ugh! I can't think of anything to write!

Once again, I'm faced with having to write, or wanting to write, and finding that my brain simply does not want to focus on any of the various projects I'm working on. It's not that I don't know what to write. The stories and analysis are all there, in my head, but the act of translating the images in my head onto the page is becoming too much for me.

My Dracula paper--which I've posted here before, but a much shorter version--is becoming more of a mess than I ever thought it would. Pieces just are seeming to fall into place, and then there's the research. The articles I'm using to support my argument are not helping at all. That's not to say they're not good. In fact, they're inspiring a kind of inadequacy in me that is frustrating. The articles seem to flow from one idea to the next with such ease that I can't help but feel like a kid pretending.

The funny thing is, I've felt that feeling many times before. The most recent occurrence occurred just a couple of weeks ago, actually. During an interview for a full-time job--and, of course, I abhor interviews with a passion--I suddenly found myself filled with such insecurity that it was almost overwhelming. There I was, sitting in front of all these accomplished college educators, and I felt like an imposter, like they were simply humoring me, much like a parent will do when his/her child is playing "dress-up."

I'm pretty sure this is just my own anxiety and insecurities, and I hope it didn't show in my interview; but it is frustrating, especially when I didn't get the job.

On another front, my book was once again rejected by an agent. The good news is that she was kind enough to actually send me what looked like a small critique: "While I found the concept intriguing, the voice didn't pull me like I'd want it to." It's a small step forward in terms of responses, but now I'm worried that my writing voice may not be all that interesting.

From the looks of it, I'm facing a crisis of confidence lately. Those nagging questions that start filling the mind; those negative voices in my head have started overpowering the vastly outnumbered positive voices. It's the struggle I'm sure many writers have/had to deal with on a daily basis, and I take solace in the fact that with today's technology my writing will find a space, however small, to be heard. My small voice, whether it "pulls" at more than friends and family, has an area where it will be understood. Our ability to express ourselves is infinite. But if no one is around to listen, the attempt becomes futile and pointless, and could eventually lead to nothing, silence.

Hmmmm......

Those last lines are quite depressing, even for a depressive like me. Truth be told, my voice will never be silenced. This very post is evidence of that. When faced with not being able to write, what do I do? I write. Writing has been, and will always be, my best form of expression. Even when it feels like I can't express myself. Writing it down--whatever "it" is--has always helped me work through my problems.

And if no one is around to listen, then I guess I'll just keep writing. The voices in my head do make for great company sometimes. If only I could get them to focus a bit more.

Favorites: Inception

In keeping with my last post, I will continue writing about film in this post (also, I have not been feeling well the past couple of days and am now bored at home, so what do I do? I watch movies). Up now, one of my more recent favorite films, Inception. By the way, I'm probably going to reveal some plot points, so be warned.

The year Inception came out, 2010, was a good year in movies. However, most of the best picture nominees were derived from some other source. Inception was truly an original film, right next to Black Swan, and that's why it's still my favorite film of that year. And I'll tell you why: Watching it was and remains to this day, the most exciting time I've had at a movie in quite some time. I loved how it played with my mind, without cheating it. The film set up its premise and stuck with the rules it set up nearly the entire way. The moment that van rolled over in one dream, causing Joseph Gordon-Levitt's character to have to fight projections while his dream went ass-over-end, caused me to smile, a big Gandy-man smile (for those of you who remember the commercials). I was a boy again, enthralled with the images on the screen, thoroughly engaged with the storytelling, and loving every single second of it.

There are not many films I can say have had such an effect on me. At the moment, I can name four: Inception, The Dark Knight, Crash, and Schindler's List. The first two are exhilarating, tense experiences. The latter two, while also tense, are still two of the best movies to ever make me cry, and not just one tear; I'm talking about Alice in Wonderland crying. Such movies are rare, even among my long list of favorites.

Inception is unique in not only its storytelling--though I'm sure others will argue this point--but also in its combination of action and emotion. The film would not have been as good if not for the Cobb-Mal romance/dynamic. Yes, it would have been quite a good action film, but not nearly as effective.

Christopher Nolan knows how to keep his audience grounded in an emotional reality while everything around them is going to hell. He's done this before in Memento and will probably do it again. For Inception he provides two, shall I say "totems," to help us along the way: Cobb and Mal's love and Ariadne (played by Ellen Page). Both elements help to keep the audience "in the loop." Without them it would have been much easier for everyone to be lost. Ariadne serves her namesake quite well, for Cobb and for us.

Nolan himself once said that the film is about the process of making a movie, with the characters representing various jobs within the filmmaking process. However, the main reason I love the film so much is in how it deals with trauma. While in graduate school, I came across a literary theory that just seemed to speak to me (although I don't exactly know why): trauma. In our class, we discussed how trauma can be revealed and relieved in art, specifically film. To start, we had to understand how the mind reacts to and attempts to overcome traumatic memories.

At first, any traumatic event that is too much for the brain to handle is suppressed, locked away, until the brain can create a more manageable narrative of the event. The problem with this suppression is that frequently symptoms of the traumatic experience break through the suppression and manifest themselves in many different ways: such as irrational anger or crying over something others consider small.

Cobb has experienced a very traumatic event: the death of his wife. As the film progresses, Mal appears in his dreams, often acting against his own interests. Of course, the Mal Cobb sees is nothing more than his own guilt surfacing, angry at being forced into hiding. Until Cobb faces what happened, accepts his role in it, and forgives himself, he cannot be released from the traumatic memory.

Nolan follows this process by revealing Cobb's narrative, piece by piece, to Ariadne, and also to the audience. If the audience had known ahead of time what had happened, the film would not have worked quite as well. Indeed, we would have been cheated of the healing process. It doesn't matter if the spinning top at the end of the film ever falls. The more important point is that Cobb has stopped caring. He has found his reality. He no longer needs the dream. Nolan is asking where we are in our journey. Do we care whether it falls?

Inception reminds me of the power of film, how it can transform us, how it can hurt and subsequently heal us. Above all, it reminds me of why I go to the movies: for a damn good time.

Contact: Sagan's Love Letter to the Earth, and to Us

Last weekend I finished Carl Sagan's Contact. The film adaptation has long been one of my favorite films. In fact, I believe I once listed it in my top-ten for an interview. Ever since experiencing Robert Zemeckis' film, I have wanted to read the book. After all, Sagan is well-known as brilliant scientist. Hell, I knew as much long before I ever saw Contact.

I once gave a speech in the ninth grade, for an octathalon competition, on the effects of nuclear war. A book on the subject by Sagan was an invaluable resource, and I'm happy to say he helped me get a gold medal in public speaking.

I'm always struck how films and books can differ as mediums, most especially when adaptation is involved. Sadly, most adaptations don't live up to the original medium. I love the Harry Potter films but much prefer the books. However, every once in a while, a book and film combo come along that seem to defy the general consensus that "the book is better than the film." Indeed, I'd venture to say that both versions of Contact are equally great, just in different ways.

Since I first encountered the film, I'll start there. Zemeckis' film adaptation, which included Sagan as writer, struck me as an intelligent and realistic portrayal of what could happen should extraterrestrial life ever make contact with Earth. There will probably be none of the characteristics common to the sci-fi genre. No little green men. No "Take me to you leader" pronouncement. No devastating assault on humanity for our resources. (Well, maybe the latter, but I'd bet we wouldn't be capable of mounting a successful defense like in Independence Day, no matter how good it'd make us feel.)

Through the unimaginable vastness of space, it seems quite logical that an extraterrestrial species would test the waters before coming all the way out here. After all, space travel is not the easiest thing in the universe. It's not like the aliens can hail a cab and say, "Earth!"

No, they'd probably send out a message first just to see if anyone was out there. And in our "technological adolescence" we'd probably respond in much the same way as the film predicts. Crazies and all. Speaking of, I'm reminded of another sci-fi film that has a quote that fits, "A person is smart. People are dumb, panicky, dangerous animals" (Men In Black). Yes, despite all our advances, all our attempts at civilization, people are not all that well equipped to deal with things on a galactic scale.

All of this is wonderfully established in the film, but what truly makes this film one of my favorites is it's dialogue between two radically different viewpoints. Ellie Arroway (Jodie Foster) and Palmer Joss (Matthew McConaughey) represent two seemingly diametrically opposed systems of belief: scientific skepticism and spiritual faith. These two belief systems generally don't react all that well whenever forced into discussion. Indeed, avoiding religion/spirituality or a person's lack thereof is the hallmark of polite discourse. However, Arroway and Joss discuss their beliefs in intelligent, reasonable ways, neither attacking nor using hurtful language. These are adults having an adult discussion. Oh, how I wish others would discuss contentious issues in such respectful manner, without resorting to attacks on intelligence. Just because one person doesn't agree with another doesn't mean that one is more intelligent than the other. Different beliefs are just that, different, no better, no worse. We can just hope that as our collective intelligence grows, our species can grow in both understanding and respect.

The film is Arroway's journey, not just through the universe, but through her own understanding of both faith, science, and the relationships she develops--especially in regards to her father and Joss. Indeed, my favorite line from the film comes from Arroway herself in response to the more cynical David Drumlin (Tom Skerritt):

Drumlin: : I know you must think this is all very unfair. Maybe that's an understatement. What you don't know is I agree. I wish the world was a place where fair was the bottom line, where the kind of idealism you showed at the hearing was rewarded, not taken advantage of. Unfortunately, we don't live in that world.

Arroway: Funny, I've always believed that the world is what we make of it.  

Not only is this particular exchange demonstrative of Arroway's optimism and nobility, it's also a wonderful dig at Drumlin's falsity.

The film version of Contact is a far more personal journey than Sagan's novel. Interestingly enough, Sagan's novel seems to be less about first contact and more of a love letter to humanity.

The book's protagonist is still Arroway--it starts and ends with her--but the book has more time to illustrate the various changes to humanity that occur after the message goes public. Arroway is the main human character, but Sagan spends almost the same amount of time on the entire human race. And he does so without the slightest hint of judgement. Yes, he does find humor in how some people might react to first contact, but his descriptions are more akin to a loving parent watching the silliness his/her child then to a fierce critic passing judgement. He loves us all: each eccentric behavior, each seemingly random choice, every triumph, and every mistake.

Sagan's book is more about humanity than it is about an alien civilization. Even the destruction of the American Machine is treated not with condemning language, but with sadness and pity. We are both our own saviors and our own enemies. There are no true antagonists in the novel, only those who have differing opinions and reactions than Arroway. Of course, being the protagonist the reader follows through the entire novel, this is understandable. Sagan offers us no "bad guy" other than ourselves.

Arroway and Joss don't have the same romantic relationship in the novel as they do in the film, but from their exchanges you can tell where the filmmakers got the idea. The two characters are a great fit, the paragons of moderation in a world of extremes, and the novel gives them more time to fully develop their arguments. However, they are not as personable as their film counterparts, or rather the novel keeps a relative distance from the more emotional aspects of the story. Of course, this isn't a criticism, just an observation. Sagan has a reason for keeping emotion at a distance, but I'll let you figure what that purpose is.

Contact in both its forms is a wonderful experience: highlighting the best and worst of us all. And Sagan approaches his subject with understanding, pity, acceptance, and love. Given the chaotic nature of the universe, we need more of each in this world.