Romney-Ryan and the Rape Apologists

I've returned from blogger purgatory to finally opine about the presidential campaign. In lieu of TV news, I'm now getting my news almost exclusively from internet memes and Daily Show clips; these days, the results are pretty much the same. Cable news distills complex, multi-faceted issues into facile left-right debates (or, more accurately, centre-right vs. extreme right debates). Internet memes, Buzzfeed gif-a-thons, and Jezebel rants just make the whole thing a bit more palatable.

All of us who studied media or journalism in school learned that infotainment is the scourge of mainstream journalism and the culture at large. I agree that news programs that privilege entertainment over in-depth reporting are damaging. But something J-school doesn't teach you - at least in the U.S. - are the potential dangers of 'fairness' and 'objectivity', the unimpeachable virtues of North American journalism. Which leads me to my current bugaboo: the Right's obsession with women's bodies. Why should mainstream news sources, in the interest of fairness, present without comment the opinions of a few elderly white men who seek to impose "God's will" on a nation of women? Why does CNN give voice to inaccurate, misleading information about abortion, contraception, and rape? And since when was rape up for debate?

Of course, the right wing has long fixated upon control of the body, especially female ones. Political arguments founded on female sexuality are a Western tradition. But this is 2012, and many of us had become complacent about the progress feminism had fought for and won in the U.S. Brave women (and men and transfolk) have battled for decades, and have succeeded in widening access to birth control, helping to make abortion legal and safe, and changing the way our culture looks at sexual assault and violence against women.

But these days, with the tacit (and sometimes vocal) approval of the Romney-Ryan campaign, extremists are seeking to redefine rape and limit women's health care access and choices. Todd Akin made a splash with his theories about "legitimate rape" and the magical fallopian tubes that bitch-slap a rapist's sperm. Then Richard Mourdock, a Senate candidate from Indiana whom Romney has endorsed publicly, argued that if a rape victim gets pregnant, she must carry the fetus to term because it's "something God intended." Let's just forget that God's sick little plan is something that a man will never have to endure.    

Now you might say "Oh, but Mitt Romney says he doesn't believe that shit!" Well, you would be wrong. Romney said he supports personhood amendments, which would declare a fertilized egg a human being. Thus, all abortions would be illegal. (By the way, this shit is so crazy that it lost easily in Mississippi.) Also, Paul Ryan sponsored a Personhood Amendment in the U.S. House of Representatives. Ryan - and Romney,  too, before his convenient slide toward the political center - believe that abortion should be illegal in all situations. These things are not a secret. It's just that most news sources are doing such a terrible job of reporting them. Further, the retirement of a liberal Supreme Court justice could make these evangelical dreams a reality. A Court with a Romney-appointed conservative justice could easily overturn Roe v. Wade and inflict generations-long damage on this country.

'Social issues' are divisive, and they are deployed at critical times using loaded language to instill fear and rile up the base. But 'social issues' are always economic issues, too. A great fallacy of American politics is that social and economic issues can and should be separated. Republicans, who beat the anti-abortion drum, complain that the economy should decide this election, and that these silly social issues need to take a backseat. But politicians' decisions on wedge issues like abortion and contraception have acute economic effects on women. We cannot pretend that the freedom to choose whether to have a child, or access to health care, are distinct from the 'economy.'

BIG TUNE

I'll always prefer the paper-thin euphemisms of modern R&B over bottle-poppin, Cristal-sippin hip hop. Yes, I know that R&B post-1980s is created in the hip hop idiom -- and I love hip hop -- but to me, R&B is uniquely innocent and seductive. Just listen to the smooth rhythm of Aaliyah's classic, seasoned with one-and-a-half-entendres like "work the middle" and "change positions." Not altogether subtle, but her sensual voice and delivery create the perfect storm of sex, humor, and groove. And "you get me where I'm going" will never not be a clever line.

I confess that I didn't really "get" Aaliyah for a long time. Her death at age 22 was tragic and horrible. But I didn't always understand why her music career was mourned so profoundly. Surely she was talented, and she had some great songs, but her voice couldn't rival Mariah, Monica, or even a young Beyonce, right? How could I have been so wrong?! So ignorant? One day last year, it just clicked. I heard this song on the radio and I finally got it: a little of R&B perished that day with Aaliyah. After she died, smooth jams like this were largely relegated to urban radio, and "lover man R&B" (and lover woman, too) was ghettoized. Urban music superstars like Mary J. Blige and Usher had more success with pop songs. If you want to remember just how bleak mid-2000s mainstream music was, check out some of the top artists of the era: T-Pain, Nickelback, Chris Brown, Flo Rida, and Black Eyed Peas. (This is to say nothing about the pop music scene today, dominated as it is by Euro-dance-pop napalm that destroys all of the subtlety in its path.) I think we should thank our lucky stars for Mariah's "We Belong Together," Mary's "Be Without You," and Beyonce's first three albums.

It's not that R&B disappeared with Aaliyah. Many female artists were still recording great stuff, especially Jill Scott, Angie Stone, Bey, Erykah Badu. But there was no replacement for a sexy-smart woman with a silky voice who could kill a sex jam to DEATH like Aaliyah. After all this time, I miss her confidence, her sweet and gentle voice, and great songs like this one.      

West Side Story, or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Broadway

Music was a part of my life for as long as I can remember, ever since my mother started blasting Michael Jackson and Earth, Wind, and Fire throughout our white suburban household. I started playing the clarinet when I was 9, and dabbled in the saxophone and piano for a while, too. For about 10 years, making music was my life, and I was pretty good at it. Memories flood back to me, clear as day, when I hear certain pieces of music: the Mozart clarinet concerto I played for a 10th grade solo festival; my ongoing obsession with Abbey Road; the angst I felt when I heard Fiona Apple's Tidal; and yes, the entire soundtrack of Rent, which I imagined as my future life story after my inevitable sojourn to the Lower East Side.

I had one of those moments today, when a few notes of West Side Story evoked a wave of memory. Not just of a specific time and place, but an old feeling that reminds me that music can tell stories like no other medium, that the rise and fall of simple melodic intervals can strike at the core of who we are. A bit melodramatic, a bit adolescent, yes, and that's precisely why these emotions are so potent: they make me feel something I felt when I thought I knew everything about the world, and when I was looking for profundity at every turn.

Hearing Leonard Bernstein's West Side Story was a formative musical experience for me. I didn't know that music could make you feel that way. It unleashed the music nerd in me. I was a chubby, effeminate 7th grader who played the clarinet and sung in the choir. It was in the stars, really; West Side Story hit me at the ideal time in my life. It appealed to my affinity for tragic, Shakespearean melodrama and soaring melodies. I got to see gorgeous movie stars pretend to sing these massive songs and dance-fight each other. It was perfect. Still is. All kidding aside, West Side Story has to be some of the greatest music ever written for American theatre, if not the absolute pinnacle. 

Take "Maria," for instance, Tony's ode to his brand-new lover. It's basically Tony just singing the name Maria over and over. So the lyrics are a bit precious. But who can argue with this melody? The tritone that begins the chorus of "Maria" is so unexpected; it's a foreboding interval, resolved immediately by rising a half-step to complete the name. To me, "Maria," and the whole score, announces that Broadway has left the sunny world of Oklahoma! and entered a new frontier of star-crossed lovers and urban violence, without sacrificing melodic grandeur.

The quintet, especially, quenched the young gay boy's thirst for high drama. It has been reiterated and parodied by Les Miserables and South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut, and it's obvious why this song is so influential. Bernstein and his lyricist, Stephen Sondheim, use the quintet to stoke the flames of the various plot threads that have been building through the first act: the Jets' and Sharks' mutual enmity, Maria and Tony's forbidden affair, and Anita's unenviable plight, stuck in the middle of warring gangs and her foolish-in-love friend. Each party is represented by a musical motif we've heard before, with each group's melodic lines building on top of each other to produce complex harmony and rhythm. If "Maria" and "Tonight" are the musical's most beautiful melodies, then the quintet is its most ambitious and inventive. 

Listen to the way each group takes up and alters the meaning of "Tonight": for the gangs, tonight represents the culmination of rising tension that will explode into violence. For Tony and Maria, tonight recapitulates their Romeo and Juliet balcony scene, but this time with sinister undertones. And for Anita, tonight is safe from the spectre of violence, when she can finally be alone with her man. This weird and volatile mix of violence and sex is part of what makes the quintet so powerful.   

Stay tuned to the blog, because it's just occurred to me why violence, aggression, sexuality, and a Broadway score would appeal to a gay 12-year-old.

I Heart Libraries

In honor of National Library Week and the recent resolution of the Toronto library workers strike, here are a few reasons why libraries are essential to a healthy, open society.

1. Because the library is one of the few remaining public spaces in North America that doesn't revolve around commerce. I grew up in the suburbs of Western New York, and our public square was the mall. Societies need spaces that encourage intellectual stimulation, and which are relatively free from consumer culture.

2. Because ideas must be accessible to all, free of charge. Survival of the fittest abides in too many aspects of our society, but access to ideas should not be one of them; if we truly believe in an equitable, democratic society, lifelong learning must be an option for everyone, regardless of socio-economic position. Every citizen deserves the right to discover The Communist Manifesto, Dickens, Morrison, the Oxford English Dictionary, and hell, even Atlas Shrugged, if that's what you're into.

3. Reading is fun!

4. The library is a great place to take your demon offspring when they get bored with Dora the Explorer. Kids are actually pretty responsive when an adult sits down and reads to them. Dr. Seuss and Maurice Sendak will always be the shit. And reading to your kids will make them smarter. (However, please station your kids far, far away from me.)

5. The library sure beats the noisy and crowded Eaton Centre and Yorkdale Mall. Check out the beautiful Runnymede library (2178 Bloor St. W.), housed in a preserved heritage building in Bloor West Village.

6. Free internet! You may have to wait until that one guy finishes looking at porn, but still. It's free.

7. The public library is a great place to study, because you don't have to buy a latte to justify sitting there all day. Libraries are there for people to use, for free, for as long as you want (or until the librarians kick you out). Also, librarians ain't no punks when it comes to chit-chat. You may not be able to control the volume in a Starbucks, but best believe your local librarian will not stand for excessive noise!

8. You can test-drive a book before you buy it; or better yet, don't buy it at all!

9. Libraries have those huge, 50-lb. dictionaries you've seen in movies. Why lug one all the way home from the vintage book shop when you can just use the library copy? Although the OED is available online, the print version is more interesting, and they won't charge you a subscription fee just to read it. (Maybe these reference books appeal only to me?)

10. If you're lucky, your local branch may have a delightfully bitchy librarian who warns, "The library is a wonderful resource; DO NOT abuse it." She's right.

The Hunger Games - Bread and Circuses

The film version of The Hunger Games was always bound to succeed or fail based on its portrayal of Katniss Everdeen. The faithful adaptation, special effects, and the macabre spectacle of the Games were bound to impress, or at least satisfy, thanks to the strong source material and massive budget. But the movie would crumble if the audience didn't believe in Katniss. Thankfully, Jennifer Lawrence is electric. Her Katniss is earnest, compassionate, charismatic, and fierce; for me, she is the real highlight of the film. I realized that Lawrence was the ideal choice during the Reaping scene; it's featured prominently in the trailer, and for good reason. Primrose's name is called, and Katniss volunteers to take her place in the Games. Lawrence's face communicates a litany of emotions, taking us through disbelief, shock, terror, resignation, and just a bit of resistance. As she makes her way to the stage as District 12's volunteer tribute, Lawrence's performance filled me with awe and dread at her character's loyalty and acceptance of her certain death.

The Hunger Games is the current tween craze a la Twilight and Harry Potter, a publishing sensation with a plot just begging to be captured on film. But Suzanne Collins' book is morbid, brutal, and rife with cultural and political critique. Most of us know the story: in a futuristic, totalitarian nation called Panem (that's bread in Latin), the powerful Capitol subjugates its 12 defeated districts through years of hunger, poverty, and political impotency. Each year, the Capitol selects by lottery 24 teenagers from the districts to compete in a televised battle to the death, the victor to be showered with wealth. The narrative demands that we question our voyeurism, our obsession with reality television and any entertainment that allows us to witness others' emotional and physical pain while sharing the drama with a community of viewers. The novel satirizes our infatuation with violence to an absurd degree:  it forces us to watch and cheer on children as they brutally gore each other, as the spectacle is edited and packaged into compelling television.

Clearly, violence -- political, economic, physical -- is central to this story. The physical violence of the arena is the most visceral, and I was curious to see how graphic the movie would be. It was important to stick to a PG-13 rating so the book's young fans could see it, but to gloss over the brutality would be also be a disservice. The film's violence is filmed in quick, sometimes blurred shots. We see blood, and we certainly know what's going on, but the camera never ruminates long enough to seem indulgent. I wonder, though, if indulgence in violence is kind of the point. The novel satirizes our culture's bloodlust by forcing us to witness violence over and over.  

I do think the movie suffers without Katniss' narration. The novel is written concisely and urgently in Katniss' voice, offering the reader insight the movie lacks. There are a few points in the movie that lack depth or clarity, the most glaring being Katniss and Peeta's "showmance." Also notable is Rue's death. I think the director completely botches the staging, making it appear that Katniss sidesteps Marvel's spear and unwittingly allows Rue to die. (The book's description is so brief -- two sentences -- the reader has little idea how it happened.) Also, when Katniss drapes Rue's body in flowers, the film audience may not understand that Katniss' act of love was also a blatant act of rebellion against the Capitol, an intentionally provocative display to prove that the tributes can sometimes retain their humanity and respect for life.

The expanded roles of President Snow, gamemaker Seneca Crane, and Caesar Flickerman substitute for Katniss' narration, helping to elaborate on the manipulativeness of the Games, and their importance for subduing the districts. In fact, the scenes in the Capitol are mesmerizing. With one glaring exception: Katniss' costumes! Rubbish.

For more Hunger Games analysis, please read my friend LL's essay on the trilogy. I haven't read all of it (spoilers abound), but I know it's great because she is great.


(Photo credits: College Humor, Lionsgate.)

  

Top 10 Harry Potter Characters, 5-1

I'm back from the dead with my top 5 Harry Potter characters! Enjoy and share your own!

BAMF. She don't play.

5. Albus Dumbledore. I always felt safe when Dumbledore was around. He was like everyone's grandpa. But then came Deathly Hallows, and we find out he: a) practiced dark magic with Grindelwald, b) possibly killed his sister, and c) knowingly sentenced Harry to death in order to vanquish Voldemort. Ummmm, ok. So the most perfect and trustworthy wizard we know actually has a dark past? YES! Dumbledore is more fascinating for the guilt and regret that we know burdened him throughout his successful life.

4. Dobby. Dobby is not the most nuanced character, but he is my sentimental choice. Who better espouses Rowling's most cherished values of love and friendship? Dobby is driven by gratitude, loyalty, and love for Harry, risking (and losing) his life for his friends and for the cause. Few sacrificed more for the good fight.

3. Harry Potter. Not much more needs to be said about Harry. I adored little orphan Harry, I understood emo 13-year-old Harry, and I marvelled at heroic Harry. I never questioned Rowling's choices with her protagonist; his occasional arrogance and self-importance seemed normal to me, and were outweighed by innumerable acts of selflessness. I think I realized how much I cared for Harry when I read the final chapters of Deathly Hallows: when Harry walks into the forest, ready to face death with his parents at his side, I devolved into a hideous, weeping troll. I thought he was really gonna die!!!

2. Minerva McGonagall. McGonagall is a bad bitch. Maggie Smith's stern, stiff-upper-lip, Scottish schoolmarm with a heart of gold is exactly the kind of character that appeals to me. But her real bad-ass-itude doesn't show until the wizarding world is in peril. In war, the combatants get most of the glory, but it takes a convicted and steadfast soul to live a moral life and protect children in occupied territory. At the Death Eaters' Hogwarts, McGonagall is the personification of "Keep Calm and Carry On." Minerva ain't no punk.

1. Hermione Granger. To me, Hermione is the heart, soul, and brains of this saga. She began as a bookish scold, a smarty-pants who could make her classmates feel small. But we soon discovered that Hermione is deeply compassionate, clever, and loyal to a fault. Through every adventure the trio embark upon, Hermione saves their asses every. single. time. Think about it: the potions in Philosopher's Stone, the time-turner in Azkaban, and the numerous times she knows a spell the boys don't. She's even their moral compass. I'll admit that I have a weakness for the smart girl; let's call it a Lisa Simpson complex. But Hermione is truly a compelling character, because she's not just the brilliant saving grace of the HP trio, but she's an insecure, brave, arrogant, annoying, and loving woman who kind of saves the whole damn world.

Honorable mentions: Sirius Black, Tom Riddle, Remus Lupin, Luna Lovegood. 

My Top 10 Harry Potter Characters, 10-6

War heroes, Hogwarts glitterati, fashion-forward wizards.

I came to Harry Potter late. I somehow avoided the hype throughout my teen years, finally relenting at 24. As we've heard many times before, I was initially sceptical that these too-long children`s books could hold my interest. I was an English major, after all, and our lot is prone to snobbery. I was accustomed to Austen, Spenser, and Joyce, not some fantasy series adapted into blockbuster movies. I amended my judgement as soon as I read the first chapter of Philosopher's Stone: the Dursleys, the cupboard under the stairs, the owls, and the orphaned boy who would become our hero. I was captivated.

Now that I've read all seven novels -- most of them twice -- I am a devout Harry Potter fan. I think Rowling's great strength as a writer is her ability to write sensitive, credible characters. Say what you will about her shortcomings: the 50 pages of expository dialogue at the end of every novel; the misguided liberal hogwash that was SPEW; the frequent deployment of deus ex machina, which solves story lines with convenient plot devices and rule changes. (The latter never bothered me too much, except for the crux of Goblet of Fire, when we discover that the villain impersonating Moody is Barty Crouch, Jr ...... who?.) 

But Rowling can write a damn good character. I think the key is that Rowling rarely indulges in cheap, Disney sentimentalism; rather, an English sense of restraint and moral ambiguity pervades the novels. The series' best characters stumble through moral grey areas. This is how Rowling most clearly shows respect to her young readership: she shows us that humans -- even Dumbledore! -- make poor decisions, act selfishly, and endure crises of faith. I loved Harry's angsty adolescence, Dumbledore's sinister past, Snape's ambivalence, and Hermione`s evolution. Even when their dialogue was written simply as heavy lifting for the plot, these characters retained their humanity.

And now -- although the list is the tool of lazy writers and journalists everywhere -- I made a damn list of my 10 favorite Harry Potter characters, based mostly on the books and some on the movies and some on whether or not I like the actors. I'm no purist, k?

After some agonizing cuts, here are my top 10 favourite Harry Potter characters:

11. Narcissa Malfoy. Ok, I`m cheating. But I am so fascinated by Narcissa`s third-act about-face in Deathly Hallows. Why does she tell Voldemort that Harry`s dead? Does she sense that the war has been lost? Does she make a moral decision? Is her motivation purely selfish, her only goal to collect her son and get the hell out of there? That Rowling says almost nothing about Narcissa`s decision makes the ambiguity more potent.

10. Bellatrix Lestrange. What's not to love? She's a sycophantic, id-driven sociopath with an erotic obsession with Voldemort and an awesome bird's-nest wig. (That's actually her craigslist personals ad.) Some fans take issue with the fact that she's married but loves only Voldemort. Um, she's a mass murderer. Is adultery really her principal crime here? 

9. Molly Weasley. She is the only real maternal presence in Harry's life. She is an absolutely fearless defender of her convictions and her family. As someone with a strong and devoted mama, I am a Mrs Weasley devotee through and through.

8. Dolores Umbridge. To me, Umbridge is the series' best villain. Sure, Voldie's got the pathos, but Umbridge's evil is more terrifying, because of the quiet pleasure she derives from it. She's a cardigan-wearing, kitten-loving Eichmann, who metes out punishment with calm inhumanity. She seems to have no beliefs, aside from discipline and power. Her evil can be adapted to whatever and whomever will keep her employed. Eek.

7. Neville Longbottom. Neville is the non-Harry (the Uncanny Harry?) - a boy who lived, but not The Boy Who Lived. Neville is not burdened by legend, but instead burdened by expectations and the shadow of his shattered, but once brave, Auror parents. His journey from scared little boy to leader of Dumbledore`s Army is one of the most emotionally satisfying aspects of the series. 

6. Severus Snape. I was totally fooled by Snape, right until the end. I thought Dumbledore`s fatal flaw was his capacity to trust. Was I ever wrong. Snape is still kind of a bastard, but is capable of such deep compassion and courage that all his stankitude must be forgiven. Alan Rickman, by the way, is so masterful in the films, especially in Snape`s final montage. I most enjoy his glacial pace of speech in the final film, as if he methodically chews and spits out every word with disgust.