Wednesday, 30 April 2014
Stop trying to make "fetch" happen. It's not going to happen. Mean Girls on the other hand, totally happened, and we loved every second of it.
It's officially been ten years since our lives were changed forever. Oh how we loved thee Glen Coco. You go Glen Coco! In what is easily Lindsay Lohan's best movie to date (and sadly, her last good movie in like... forever) Mean Girls was the teen movie that launched a thousand memes about girls, high school, and life in general. Let's be real, who doesn't have a toxic friend like Regina George, or a crush worthy Aaron Samuels to fawn over?
Mean Girls is to the 90s generation what Heathers and The Breakfast Club were to those who came before us. Or so I'm told. I've never actually seen Heathers, and The Breakfast Club bored me.... The point is, Mean Girls has proven itself to be a cultural touchstone that has earned its place as a cult hit. Ten years later, even the teeny tiny teens who don't know how to work a walkman, know and understand all the cultural references of Mean Girls. And they don't even remember when Lindsay Lohan wasn't a train wreck. Now that's staying power.
Just think, where would we be as a culture if we didn't have this wonderful movie to explain the nuances of "girl world" to us? (We'd probably be fine, but the point is that this movie is awesome.) I actually judge people who haven't seen this movie. A month ago I told my guy friend that his "hair looked sexy pushed back" and I was aghast that he had no idea what I meant. HE DOESN'T EVEN GO HERE! Mean Girls is chock full of quotable goodness, and I consider it a crime to deprive oneself of its creamy pop culture sweetness.
While I can't honestly say that the movie has sentimental value, Mean Girls stands out as a quintessential film about the female high school experience that was so incredibly over the top that it was delicious. I was 14 when it came out and I was still rooting for Lindsay in The Great Aaron Carter War of 2003 (how misguided I was... #TeamHillary). Mean Girls was the perfect mix of filth and fluff for my delicate virgin sensibilities. I mean:
"You look like a baby prostitute."
"Boo, you whore!"
"That's why her hair is so big. It's full of secrets."
"He's too gay to function!"
It doesn't get any better than that, bitches.
So in honour of this momentous occasion, I command you all to take 90 minutes out of your day to rewatch this cult hit (while wearing pink!), and experience its awesome all over again. It's streaming on Netflix. You're welcome.
Feel free to post your favourite Mean Girls memories and quotes in the comments below!
Wednesday, 23 April 2014
This cover means a lot to me. As I've written about before, Lupita's It Girl status is a momentous coup within a system that actively demonizes and degrades women who look like her (and me!). She is the anti-thesis of what is considered the ideal: not just black, but dark skinned, with full lips, a muscular frame and close cropped, natural hair. She is the opposite of everything we've been told we're supposed to find beautiful, and yet here she is, dazzling away on the cover, being heralded as the most beautiful woman in the world.
It matters. It really does. And I can understand the impulse to say that it's no big deal in the long run. After all, it's People Magazine. The arbitrary title of "Most Beautiful" is not so secretly bestowed upon those with best publicists. But it's a huge fucking deal because black women usually aren't even allowed to play in this sandbox. In 25 years, Lupita is only the third black woman to be named "Most Beautiful", while Julia Roberts alone, has nabbed it four times!
Yes, she's obviously gorgeous and it seems like a no-brainer, but obviously gorgeous black women have been told they were hideously ugly for FOREVER, simply because of their blackness. And while Lupita certainly can't change everything, and shouldn't have to, she does seem to be unintentionally spearheading a seismic shift in beauty standards, and it's wondrous to behold.
What I love so much about Lupita however, is that she is completely aware of the socio-cultural impact that her visibility has on our culture, and isn't afraid to speak openly and honestly about it. She consistently articulates that she understands what her success as a black woman means, and how much potential for change she signifies, because she once felt the same way. She is acutely aware that she is helping to chip away at our anti-black vision of beauty, and she isn't shying away from leading the charge. Her sheer joy shines through, and it encourages the rest of us to find our own inner joy.
My only further wish for Lupita is that her star continues to rise. It's easy to call her beautiful and declare the system no longer racist, but the proof is in the pudding. It remains to be seen if Hollywood is going to allow her to follow through on the promise that they implicitly made when they gave her that statue, by giving her access to solid, meaty roles deserving of her talent.
Trudy over at Gradient Lair wrote another great essay over that you should also check out that deals a little more deeply with the impact that Lupita's cover has, and the misogynoir and colourism that her visibility combats, and I encourage you to read it.
All in all, seeing this cover made my day, and made me tear up a little. It's officially #BlackGirlTime.
Saturday, 19 April 2014
"From the beginning, we were concerned about casting, the issue of race. What we realized is that this story is functioning at the level of myth, and as a mythical story, the race of the individuals doesn't matter. They're supposed to be stand-ins for all people. Either you end up with a Bennetton ad or the crew of the Starship Enterprise."
Handel's comments were so completely bizarre to me because of how blatantly they reinforced the problematic idea that whiteness is a universal experience that everyone and anyone can relate to. He acknowledges that the movie is myth (and therefore a fiction they have created, over which they have total control) yet refuses to acknowledge that this does not in any way, logically translate into an all-white cast. His words reminded me of a little quote from novelist Kayla Ancrum I stumbled upon a little while ago while perusing a tumblr blog about women of colour in sci-fi and fantasy:
"Seriously guys, put PoC in your sci-fi movies, books, and tv shows. Seeing a film with none of them at all is actually kind of scary for me."
"It would be like you sitting down to watch a movie about a dystopian near future and there are absolutely no men and the plot doesn't address that at all. Like, literally wouldn't your first thought be that men were at some point eradicated completely by the women?"
"That is what we're pretty much forced to think about your entirely white fictional society. Maybe y'all herded us into death camps Maybe y'all just shot us all in the streets. All I know is there are none of us left and no one seems to find it suspicious or unusual."
"If you don't want people to think that about your work, then for the love of God, include us in your narrative."
It got me thinking. What does it mean that so many white authors and filmmakers find it perfectly natural to erase the presence of people of colour from their dystopian narratives? Forget addressing the issue of fleshing out actual minority characters, but literally just not including them at all?
|Illustraion by Ron Ackins|
I've seen it said that the reason many black authors gravitate towards futurism in their works of fiction is because it allows them to envision a different world where they set the rules and I can definitely see the appeal. With the ability to craft a narrative completely from scratch, science fiction is a way to create characters that reflect us, as well as help us explore a world free from the political constraints that plague us in the real world. It's why speculative fiction is so intriguing to me. At it's core, it's all about answering the question, "What if?"
To me, this is why I tend to lean towards Ancrum's thinking. If we're talking dystopias; worlds in which the theoretical apocalypse has already come and gone, and there are no people who look like me in it? I'm going to wonder about why that is. I'm going to wonder if that whiteness was intentionally constructed by the people who remain in that world. I'm going to wonder if the people like me were exterminated. There is, after all, a "historically accurate" precedent for that assumption.
When it comes to an author or filmmaker having free reign over their imagination, my concern about their inclusion of people of color isn't about trying to please everyone. It's about wondering what kind of thinking they live by wherein minority people simply do not exist, the issue is never mentioned, and the fact that they are nowhere to be found is nothing to be alarmed about. It makes me wonder about the kind of people they are that their race blindness is so severe that even in their minds, we're invisible. Or worse, that the only people they recognize as human, are white.
Personally, I think the lack of diversity in science fiction is particularly egregious because it's the one area where you can't claim "historical accuracy." Speculative fiction opens up possibilities that would never exist in the real world, allowing us to imagine scenarios that we could only dream of in real life. That so many of those imagined possibilities still include whiteness as the default, to the point of whitewashing characters originally imagined as non-white, is disheartening.
When you get to create a world completely from scratch, where you could rewrite the laws of gravity or the science behind genetics should you so choose, but your vision of all the people is still lily white? I really do find that worrisome. It bugs me that people are more easily able to imagine the existence of non-human intelligent beings, or interactions with a completely alien race, than that a protagonist might be anything other than white. It tells me that in the real world, we have a problem imagining the humanity of people of color. It tells me that as a culture we still see people of color as nothing more than bit players in the lives of white characters, if we even see them at all. Why is it that so many people find nothing problematic about the willful erasure of people of color from their visions of the future? Because there's a real and almost tangible problem with race if audiences can suspend their disbelief enough to accept that a fictional character can burst in to flames, repeatedly, at will, and not die, but not enough to accept that the same character could be black.
I don't think that we should force our way into meetings and demand that casts be more diverse, or hold authors hostage until they rewrite the features of their protagonists, but I also don't think there's anything wrong with continuing to hold people accountable for the prejudices they may display through their creative choices. I can't force anyone to recognize the implications of the message they send when they simply "forget" to write minority people into existence, but I can keep pointing out how those biases in fiction, in representation, continue to affect the way we interact with race in the real world.
In the same way that authors and filmmakers continue to question why they should include people of color in their narratives, I continue to ask:
What exactly is it do they think their stories will lose if they did?
Saturday, 12 April 2014
An Incomplete (Play)List And Critical Analysis of Beyoncé's Feminist Evolution And Praxis Through Music: Part One
I am 100% certain that absolutely everyone is fed up of hearing me talk about Beyoncé. I've written about her quite a bit in the last few months. It isn't because I'm her biggest fan, but more because I recognize what an amazing economic and political statement her latest album was, and it irks me to see the way so many people have been absolutely determined to downplay her accomplishments.
Beyoncé, a powerful, visible, and extremely famous black woman, managed to drop an album with no advance notice (and zero leaks!) sell over 800 thousand copies in just three days, and go platinum in just under a week. That's a huge deal! And on top of that, she managed to do it with an album that saw her unabashedly embrace feminism; a concept she's been pretty publicly inching towards for some time now.
Now this isn't to suggest that these accomplishments mean either Beyoncé or her feminism is above reproach. Her continued association with Terry Richardson alone is enough to make me judge her, (just a little) but when the majority of criticism lobbied against her effectively scapegoats her for all the perceived problems within the feminist movement (Oversexualized! Too much focus on her marriage!) while refusing to view her music and public image through an intersectional lens, I get annoyed. Can we please let a black woman prosper?
What people keep forgetting is that Beyoncé is not required to be a perfect feminist. No one is. Such a magical unicorn simply does not exist. Contrary to popular belief, feminists are in fact human beings, (even Beyoncé!) and sometimes human beings mess up and get it wrong. To try to "revoke her feminist credentials" over her past mistakes reinforces the idea that feminism is an elitist club that does not welcome new members. And I haven't even gotten to the pretty blatant racial double standard yet.
Personally, I love that Beyoncé has been fairly public about her slow transition from apprehension about feminism to fully embracing it. I think that it's an honest reflection of the way most women come into feminism; bit by bit and piece by piece, slowly building on their understanding of the term, what it means, and how it applies to their life. I love that Beyoncé has admitted to watching videos about feminism on Youtube. For so many women, and especially women who look like her (myself included) the internet and popular culture is exactly how they came into feminism. It's entertaining and refreshing to find that even Beyoncé, Ruler of The Universe, accesses feminism in this way, and in turn, contributes to this practice by inserting feminist ideals into her music. It also reinforces for me, that Beyoncé is figuring this thing out in exactly the same way the rest of us did, and she deserves the room to slowly and carefully expand her feminist understanding.
I've always loved Beyoncé's music, but I didn't really consider myself a full-fledged fan until after the release of her latest album. Looking back however, it's clear to me that although Beyoncé has only just started cozying up to Feminism: The Ideology, she's be flirting with it for almost the entirety of her career. From Bills, Bills, Bills to ***Flawless, feminist themes have always been a subtle presence in her music. So here, in approximate chronological order, is part one of "An Incomplete (Play)List And Critical Analysis of Beyoncé's Feminist Evolution And Praxis Through Music."
Friday, 11 April 2014
The term "tone policing" is often incorrectly used as a defense against privilege blindness and insensitivity. This is not okay.
People sometimes unintentionally make the mistake of reducing the vocabulary that makes up the framework that oppressed people have created to articulate their oppression, to meaningless buzzwords that have lost their purpose; usually through misapplication.
"Tone-policing" is a specific term with a specific meaning, and misusing it directly co-opts the tools that oppressed groups have created to defend themselves against a system that discriminates against them. Misapplying the term dilutes its meaning, and reduces any impact it can have when used appropriately.
It is not okay to use "tone policing" as a blanket defense against people who disagree with you.
It is not okay to use "tone policing" as a shorthand way to silence dissent.
It is not okay to defend being an asshole by claiming that anyone who calls you out is "tone policing."
It is not okay to co-opt the language of the oppressed because someone was mean to you once and it hurt your feelings.
To revisit the lesson: Tone policing is the act of using the messenger's method of delivery against them, as justification to dismiss the message, when they have a stake in having said message be accurately received. It is the act of disregarding the substance of someone's argument by focusing on the way it was conveyed. A tone argument focuses on delivery as a means to sidestep the issue at hand. It is a derailment.
Wednesday, 9 April 2014
I want to talk about last night's episode of Glee. Specifically the return of Samcedes.
I know, I know, who even watches that show anymore? I do. I love musicals. Even though Glee's decline over the last few seasons has been stark and unceasing, it's brilliant moments of meta-comedy (far and few between as they may be) keep me coming back. Plus I really love a show I can sing along to. I'm secretly five years old. Judge me.
That said, one of the biggest reasons Glee began careening off the rails way back in season three was its insistence on cramming the show full of Very Special Episodes when the show's strength was the comedy derived from following around a band of sometimes eccentric misfits and outsiders who shared a love of music. Two season laters, after having dealt with teen pregnancy, a character's untimely death, coming out, homophobia and 294 other issues, you'd think they'd at least have tackling serious topics like this down to a science. But alas, Glee is a Ryan Murphy show. Continuity and sensitivity are two words he's never heard of if he's dealing with issues that don't directly speak to his own experience.
Now, I'm a fan of the couple, but though this is the third go-around for Samcedes, it's the first time their relationship is ever really being addressed with any depth. (Which Kurt references in meta-fashion after they announce their reunion) When their relationship was initially introduced back at the very end of season two, it took place entirely off-screen and we never got to examine their relationship dynamics. Glee has always been fond of off the cuff pairings, (and they have had interracial couples before) but Samcedes was by far the most interesting one, and the audience was largely denied any opportunity to enjoy them, except in retrospect after Mercedes already had a new boyfriend and Sam had moved away, only to come back again and try to win her back. Though, to be fair, this was due mostly to Chord Overstreet getting fired and then rehired in between seasons.
Thursday, 3 April 2014
Today I finally saw Anchorman 2: The Legend Continues. It was an okay-ish movie I suppose. I certainly didn't see anything spectacular enough to warrant the two hour run time. Back for another go-round, loveable doofus Ron Burgundy rounded up his merry band of newsmen to begin broadcasting on the nation's first 24 hour news channel. Some jokes were made, and I smirked here and there, but for the most part, the movie simply retread the same territory that was covered in the first film.
Except for Linda Jackson.
Linda Jackson, played by Megan Good, is Ron Burgundy's new boss in the film. She is also black.
Much is made of Burgundy's disbelief that he is in the presence of a black woman, and he uncontrollably repeats the word "black" several time upon first meeting her. The audience is meant to laugh. Later in the movie, after Ron and Linda have begun dating (because of course) she takes him to dinner with her family where he proceeds to heavily rely on racial stereotypes to "relate" to her family. When Linda asks what he's doing, he says he's "addressing the white elephant in the room." Despite clear indications that he is offending them, Ron continues, and his antics culminate in a beat down that occurs off screen. In the next scene Ron tells Linda that he thinks the night went well. When she points out that her family beat him up, he replies that he thought he was "being jumped into a gang. Only with dinner guests!"
You can probably tell that I didn't find the scene to be particularly funny.
Ruminating on the movie, I was starkly reminded of the events of the last week concerning Suey Park and #CancelColbert, and the dozens of arguments that were made in defense of Colbert's joke. When it was pointed out that invoking Anti-Asian sentiments to defend Native Americans only served to engender more racial discord, (ironically, using a satirical hashtag that was itself meant to demonstrate that satire is often not an effective means of activism) Colbert's defenders (and later Colbert himself) dismissively asserted that what Colbert said was meant as satire, that Colbert played a character that parodied things the Right would say in earnest, and that finding fault with the tasteless execution of his well-meaning sentiment in defense of Native Americans and against Dan Snyder demonstrated a lack of understanding of the concept of satire, and was a symptom of "rage addicted social justice warriors."
And in watching the offending scene in Anchorman 2, I thought about why this particular brand of racial satire didn't sit well with me. After all, I have watched The Colbert Report for years, and generally consider Stephen Colbert to be "one of the good guys." This is not the first time he has invoked stereotypes to make a point about the ridiculous nature of some of the genuine positions held by Conservative American lawmakers. Additionally, years of Family Guy has normalized white racial satire for me. It is certainly not a new concept.
But I realized that what bugged me about the execution of Ron Burgundy's lines in that dinner scene was one of the same things that bugged me about Colbert's joke. I was unsure of who the audience was meant to be. Who was supposed to be laughing here? Because it certainly didn't feel like me.
"You clearly don't understand satire!" is something that I heard a lot in the last few days. Colbert's defenders insist that the very nature of satire is such that it swings into absurdity, effectively acting as a shield against consequences for offensive statements. "Satire is supposed to be ridiculous!" I was told, over and over and over again. When I asked how, in a structural sense, racial satire, differed from actual, racially offensive things, said in earnest, I once again heard the refrain "it's satire!" and it was implied that the intent of the satirist trumped the actual impact of his words.
Well, as we say on the internet: "Intent is not magical."