Lady Gaga

So. I saw this the other day.

I don't usually care one way or the other about Lady Gaga. I hear her and I shrug my shoulders and I continue on my day.

But honestly? My favorite bit of this video?

Is when she's being male on the top of a piano in the middle of a cornfield.

When I say that I wish for nothing else that I could be androgynous? Yeah. That's /exactly/ what I'm talking about. So utterly elegant and male and female in the simplicity of its presentation.

And don't even get me started on when male!Gaga pulls fem!Gaga in for a kiss.

It's just so hetero-normative shattering on so many levels that I just end up watching the video again, just to soak it all up.

(music? what music? who cares about the music?)

Discourse - Lucifer: Evensong, Volume 11

Everything about this was beautiful and amazing.

But since this blog is devoted to gender and sexuality issues, I'd just want to say this:

Elaine inherited the position of God.
Mazikeen inherited the position of Lightbringer.

And may I just say that Elaine getting rid of hell -- that is true mercy.

Oh my fucking god. I just kind of want to cry and hug everybody forever and ever.

Lucifer and Death

Words cannot adequately express how much I love this image.

It's so rare to see a woman carrying a man like this. Or a man in such a vulnerable position.

Oh my god.

Discourse - Lucifer Volume 3: Dalliance With The Damned

Unfortunately, this is going to be less a review and more of a highlights. So, without further adieu (since I still have Volume 4 to read and it's due back at the library tomorrow):

Lucifer as God; Angels as Demons

Still enjoying the inversion that's going on here. Lucifer makes his realm and his only command is

Bow down to no one. Worship no one. Not even me. Do you understand?

So beautiful.

And then of course one of the angels comes to the man in the form of a serpent, inspiring doubt in the man's (the man's! gender-bender) about Lucifer's role as creator as well, the paradox (so popular in Christian mythology) of freedom in slavery to a deity, polarizing opinions of good and evil, the philosophy that the end (or, in his words, the intent) justifies the means, the nature of desire, and other things of a philosophical nature that I wish I had the time to more thoroughly think about.



Still. Gender-bendery goodness, nature of good and evil, all good stuff.

Mazikeen

Yesterday, I enthused how Mazikeen didn't tie herself down to Lucifer and how she went off on a journey and how I still liked it, regardless of how much the reader saw of her journey or not.

Well. I'm here to tell you that Mazikeen's journey was bad ass.

She goes to find her identity, and is instead elected leader of the Lilim after she outwits her trial (since her fellows thought she had betrayed them by staying with Lucifer).

And when in hell, someone introduces her as Lucifer's consort? Oh no. She's having none of that.



Also, I really love how she refused to play act by costuming to the period that Hell had set as its desktop.



I also think I want her t-shirt: normal consciousness will be resumed.
I think I know my next Halloween costume. Oh yes.

So, in volume 2 she left to find her face -- a quest for identity. And then she found her identity in a role of leader of the Lilim. And when Lucifer refused to ally himself with them -- she didn't stay again. She left with her people. I think that's so great.



And you know what's also great? That Lucifer isn't threatened by her not staying with him all the damn time.

Pain As A Drug

One of the things I've learned in my writing class is that people -- and especially writers -- thrive off the misfortune of others. We love to gossip about it. Etc.

I've often thought about this -- noticing the little ways I myself take pleasure in the pain or discomfit of others (I can only speak for myself, but I think every individual has their own private bit of themselves that enjoys the non-happiness of others in their own unique way).

And that was illustrated (heh, pun) here, with the pain powder that was...orgasmic. But it was orgasmic because it wasn't true pain, not like he later describes:

One of the nobility of hell has picked me out to be her toy. Compared to you I am happy indeed. But somehow it rings like false coin. Do you remember the first lad or lass you loved? When you felt your chest was too narrow to hold your heart? When it seemed the world was made anew by your passion? And do you remember the fear that comes with love? The fear that it cannot last? The fear that you cannot be worthy of it? Truly we were not. none of us. But did it not come anyway? How we have poured our souls into another's lips and eyes. How we have died and been born again in the ebb and flow of their breath. All gone. The flesh you loved is dust. The words you whispered stir no echoes. And it may e that the one you loved most dearly sits at supper now with angels, and has forgotten your name. They think they mortify us with whips and wheels. But then, they have neither lived, nor loved. In truth -- they know nothing of pain at all.

I found that an interesting concept.

Lucifer as Anti-hero

There's this problem, see, with anti-heroes in stories. Anti-heroes walk a fine line. They can't be too base because then they'd make poor protagonists and then nobody would like them anymore.

Sometimes writers try to avoid this by defanging or declawing them, as it were. Spike sort of went through something similar (unfortunately).

It's difficult because you don't want them to stagnate and be boring, but they can't really be someone whom they're not at the same time (I fancy all characters have this problem, it's just really obvious and more noticeable with anti-heroes in my experience).

So, there are these two scenes where Lucifer is a magnificent anti-hero -- and the writers could have shied away and had him done something more palatable.

But they didn't.



First, he gives a demon a soul. I mean that's just. Wow, that's just cruel. And I'm in awe of it and yet, at the same time, that's...cruel (well, I suppose one doesn't become lord of hell for nothing). But yet - it's a testament to the multi-facetedness of the character.

The second bit was when some kids snuck into his house -- and prayed to God. Of course, he wouldn't save them for that. It reminded me of those people who are like -- and thank god my loved one survived this terrible accident when, in reality, it was because someone was a damned good doctor who gave a shit about his job.



So I really enjoyed that scene as a writer -- because Lucifer's still an anti-hero here instead of bowing out and taking the noble option -- and as a person who is appreciative of social commentary, wherever it can be found.

Tangled: A Review

I am almost embarrassed to admit how much I liked - no loved - Tangled.

The sheer bender-gender-ness of it was fantastic - and so different from Disney's other Princess films where the female protagonists are little better than insipid, agent-less, love-sick cyphers.



Anyway, I really liked the way Disney decided to make the male character the peasant character instead of a prince as the original myth had it while Rapunzel gets to be a lost Princess. Yay! It was actually a pleasant re-write from an English perspective because the original tale had cast women in a negative light with Rapunzel's mother as an Eve Figure, the Witch herself, and Rapunzel as the typical agent-less, insipid male accessory.

So, Tangled seems to re-write a lot of those limiting gender roles that literature - especially fairy tales - generally seem to impose on women.

I also liked the gag with frying pan - it reminded me a lot of some of the themes in my Caribbean Lit class -- how women, described as kitchen-poets, who were confined in a domestic sphere without a literary tradition of their own could still contribute to their culture in a significant way with their own tradition which is validated and elevated instead of seen as just women's work or whatever. I really liked that Tangled sort of nodded to this re-appropriation of domesticity.

This was a small moment but I really liked it - towards the middle of the film, when they show the royal couple and the townspeople releasing the lanterns into the sky, the king sheds a tear and it's the wife who wipes it away, instead of the other way around.



I also liked how there was no agenda of Reform going on - I found both Eugene's and Rapunzel's character growth to be very authentic and coming from within their own selves, as opposed to being the result of someone else's agency or a desire to change for another person or whatever. That was refreshing. And for the first time, the princess seemed like a real person instead of someone with a dream ready to give it up at the first chance at true love - which is what happened with Belle. Or a girl who just wants to get married - like Ariel. And don't even get me started on Sleeping Beauty.

But with Rapunzel - there's real self conflict. Even though the presentation of it was very obvious (the cut scenes to sheer joy to abject depression when she first steps out of her tower), it still felt real to me. One of my big problems with the Rapunzel myth (which I've ranted about before, I think), is how she was willing to stay there in that tower, just waiting. Or whatever it was she did there -- and that's with a lot of other princesses too - they just seem to /wait/ an awful lot of the time. But here, the manipulation of the witch and Rapunzel's own conflicted feelings about the matter really three-dimensionalized the character for me and made it a real coming of age story.



Check out the Rapunzel character poster above to this collage of Disney princesses (which I think is an official thing instead of a fan made thing) - look at the difference in poses. The above are very passive whereas Rapunzel is -- not. I love that.

And, of course, the issue about the hair. It always bugged me that Rapunzel would just let people climb up her hair like she was their own personal stairway (though that does happen in the movie with the witch, it's obviously a Bad Thing as opposed to the prince getting away with it like it was his privilege or whatever).

I'm not really sure why Disney chose to advertise Tangled with images like this:



Because it doesn't happen, not till just the very end, and well, Rapunzel's all tied up and it's really the witch and of course Eugene is all adorably concerned for Rapunzel and I didn't really get a Using-Her-As-A-Stair-Case vibe so I'm okay with it.

I think I would have preferred Rapunzel cutting off her own hair, but truth of the matter is is that I'm Very Okay with how the film presented it. And by very okay I mean that I loved it because -- oh shit! I was not expecting them to have Eugene stabbed! Not in a Disney film! No way!

But yes way!

And I was totally on edge even though I knew, I /knew/, there was no way in hell that Disney would have a protagonist die at the end -- but still. It was pretty cool.

And she wants to save him and he wants to save her and it's all very, very sweet.

And perfect.

And did I say sweet? Because it totally was.

Wow. Look at the gushing. It's like I'm a puddle of goo or something.

But yeah. Rapunzel is definitely my favorite Princess movie no matter from which perspective I'm viewing it (either through an academic perspective or just an informal perspective).

It also helped a great deal that the animal companions didn't talk. Best move ever, Disney. Finally, they're funny instead of just painfully stupid.

Hehehe. Maximus and Flynn = hysterical. Hysterical.

So yeah. Everybody should go watch it.

Promethea: A Review

Promethea is amazing because it is a story about women, about strong women. There is no husband chasing or love interest (and the one "romance" that appears is positively tragic and portrayed in a negative light). The threat to the women, who have all embodied Promethea, a character made of stories, an idea given flesh, are masculine. There is no Eve syndrome, no Virgin-Whore dichotomy, damsel of distress - none of the typical stereotypes you see in a lot of mainstream entertainment.

As a woman, I found it unbelievably refreshing to have such a breaking of gender roles.

Many of the times when I watch/read a lot of mainstream literature, I feel that women are often portrayed in very simplistic ways, that they rarely achieve the depths of a male protagonist. However, in Promethea, we have different women playing off different aspects of Promethea, making Promethea possibly one of the most complex characters I've ever encountered.

Besides the gender dynamics, I think the story is ultimately about ideas and how they construct reality. Thus, on one side, certain people (usually male) fear that Promethea will bring about the end of the world. Others, usually women, believe that the end of the world is simply the fall of old ideas and old perceptions to new ideas, newer perceptions that forge forward into realms unknown.



One of my favorite images in the novel is when Promethea/Sophie runs into Little Red Riding-hood as she had imagined her earlier: smoking, a take-no-bullshit attitude, and oh, a machine gun. Such a transformation from the origins of the myth as a cautionary tale for young women. It's also very meta in that Sophie created this idea of Red Riding-hood "just after this movie Reservoir Dogs came out. It had you holding a gun, and this caption saying 'Let's go to Grandma's!" Now, it's been a while since I've seen Reservoir Dogs, but I do remember it as being extremely masculine. And it appears that Sophie's applied ideas that are usually seen as a male gender role and applied them to a female, creating not only a new, bad ass version of Red Riding Hood, but a spectacular feat of gender-bending as she breaks down and deconstructs the ideas that shape the world into a new world of "no limits."

I particularly liked Moore's commentary on how women, even when they're thrust into a role of so-called empowerment, are still overtly sexualized from a hetero point of view (ie, women fighting in stilettos and leather corsets).

To the Promethea of the Sword, whose kingdom was usurped by masculine authors under one identity, she was written in a sexualized fashion:

All that drivel he wrote about my taut thighs and heaving bosom...I mean, I don't think I can remember my bosom ever having heaved. Has yours?

Or, from the Author himself:

What a PICTURE you are, with thine flashing BLADE, thine rippling THEWS.

"Rippling thews?" Oh, you ridiculous creature."

I just like that Alan Moore points it out and deconstructs it. He dispels a conceptualized gender role ideal and replaces it with something more real (even though the character he uses to do so is essentially an idea herself, really, quite fascinating).

So because most of the protagonists in this book are women, a lot of the women do things that are typically attributed to men in most mainstream fiction:

They save other women (but even the women they save are not pathetic, doll-like creatures)




they guide and protect and heal people (but that is not their sole function),



(also, note the red poppies) (also note, this is the most "sexualized" form of Promethea in that she is the one that wears the least amount of clothes, yet, no attention is called to it - it is neither celebrated nor denounced - she simply is allowed to be; she also takes on a "motherly"-ish role as she helps guide Sophie and, from that point of view, it's very rare to see the body of a mother portrayed in such a fashion - to me, it acknowledges the fact that women are three dimensional, complex, and full of depth)

and sometimes, the saved becomes the savior.



And I just find that - absolutely beautiful. The gender bending, the empowerment.

There was one little niggle I had - there seemed to be an anxiety regarding lesbianism running through the book. I'm not sure how it'll be resolved, but I thought it interesting that it was there. I look forward to seeing where it goes throughout the later books with fingers crossed.

I leave you with one of my favorite images from the novel and with the sincere hope that you will read it, whenever you have the chance.

Doctor Who: Absolutely Gonzo

I honestly don't even know where to begin with this extremely dense, complicated, beautiful episode. But first, I'd like to apologize. In my previous Doctor Who post I said this looked like mostly filler -- I was completely wrong, please forgive me. This episode also reduced me to tears every time I watched it (which was three times, total). Also, apparently I have been mispronouncing Vincent Van Gogh's name. I am sorry, my good sir. American ears, American tongue -- oh don't even ask. (Also, forgive the pic spam - the cinematography in this episode was exquisite).





I suppose I will start with the title: "Vincent and the Doctor" -- because it really is all about those two, though Amy, you were magnificent too. And also with a brief nod to the plot: I was astonished when the monster died a full twenty minutes before the end of the episode -- it's so rare where the plot isn't about killing the ep's Big Bad but completely and totally about the characters. It was delicious.

But, for the first time, the Doctor's usual "role" was given to a human. Normally, it's people who don't see what the Doctor sees, humans who fear to look out of the corner of their eyes. Usually, the Doctor, in his 907 years, has experienced more than one human could in their paltry life span.

But this time, it's Van Gogh who sees differently, who sees what the Doctor doesn't see. This, of course, goes beyond a mere monster, but to aspects of the Universe which the Doctor probably couldn't even imagine.

It was a fascinating role reversal -- the character dynamics/exploration was fantastic.

Vincent says,

It's color - color that holds the key. I can hear the colors. Listen to them - every time I step outside, I feel nature shouting at me: Come on, come and get me. Come on, come on: capture my mystery!

And it's beautiful how the Doctor tries to hear what Vincent hears:



Then, another physical manifestation of the two role reversals: Vincent intrudes into the Doctor's personal space in a very Doctor-esque manner:



And, Van Gogh says, through tears:

Doctor: my experience is that there is, you know, surprisingly, always hope.

Vincent: Then your experience is incomplete.

As I said, the character dynamics in this episode are astounding.

The second major element in this episode is that of sight -- who sees what and who doesn't. Coincidentally enough, even though the crack doesn't show up personally in this episode (or did I just miss it?), I believe the idea of it is still there. In the same way that the Doctor can't "see" (as in understand) the crack in the universe, so can't the Doctor see the monster, though Van Gogh can. In the same way that Amy can't "see" Rory, so can't she see the monster, though Van Gogh can see the sorrow of her heart in the same way that he can see the monster.

Vincent: If Amy Pond can soldier on, then so can Vincent Van Gogh.

Amy: I'm not soldiering on - I'm fine.

Vincent: Ah Amy - I hear the song of your sadness. You've lost someone I think.

Amy: I'm not sad.

Vincent: Then why are you crying? It's alright - I understand.

Amy: I'm not sure I do.

Such a beautiful exchange - my heart almost broke (it was also fascinating to see how the Doctor reacted to Rory's death -- besides accidentally calling Vincent "Rory," whenever Amy seemed to get cozy with Vincent he'd always interrupt or change the subject; just heartbreaking).

The third element of excellence is that this episode is very, very meta. It was all about exploring both art and story and the purpose of such pursuits.

The episode answers the question of what art is:

Vincent: It seems to me there is so much more to the world than the average eyes see -- I believe, if you look hard, there are more wonders in this universe than you could ever have dreamed of.

And, if you look hard enough -- you can find it, and show the entire world what they don't see, revealing to them the beauty of the universe.

Touching back on the first episode, people don't like seeing the things in the corner of their eyes. People cast stones at Vincent, describe him as mad, and even the Doctor at first believes Vincent is having a kind of "fit" when he faces the monster for the first time. And aren't all artists just a little insane? Don't we have to be -- to see what others don't? See, this is the importance of literature -- shedding light into an old, dusty world where people are content with the status quo.

The episode explores a flagrant literary device which has often become the Doctor's little I win button: the sonic screwdriver (otherwise known as the Golux of the Who-verse).

Vincent: But you're not armed!

Doctor: I am.

Vincent: What with?

Doctor: Overconfidence, this, and a small screwdriver - I'm absolutely sorted. Sonic never fails.

And then later (when the sonic most definitely failed), the Doctor says:

My only definite plan is that in the future I'm definitely just using this screwdriver for screwing in screws.

I just think it's cool that the writers-that-be recognized that yes, the sonic screwdriver is a plot device and they bloody well know it.

And what artist doesn't want to see his legacy, to know that somehow, they have shown the world something beautiful, that they have made the world a better place?

To me, Van Gogh is the finest painter of them all. The most beloved, his command of color, the most magnificent. He transformed the pain of his tormented life into ecstatic beauty. Pain is easy to portray but to use your passion and pain to portray the ecstasy and joy and magnificence of our world - nobody had ever done it before.

And isn't that a beautiful sentiment? Isn't that what artists should try to portray, to express?

Remarkable Moments

I believe that there is a timey wimey moment in this episode. In the beginning, you hear the creature stomping, stampeding through the fields of wheat. Then it pans to Van Gogh painting the same scene -- but there is no creature in the painting, like there was in the church. So, could he always see beyond the crack (and he just chose not to paint the monster) or was there a point in time when he could not "see"?

Loved the bow tie exchange:

Doctor: Nice bow tie. Bow ties are cool.

Curator: Yours is very --

Doctor: Oh thank you -- keep telling them stuff.

See, fashion isn't only limited to girls (gender bender) but can be adorably geeky too.

I loved, loved, loved the Doctor's use of morphemes in this episode (it almost sounded a tish Whedonesque - delightful):

So -- Vincent, painted any churches recently -- any, any churchy plans?

It made the fledgling grammar geek in training go squee.

Right you're here somewhere! I can't apologize enough! I thought you were just a useless gadget, I thought you were just an embarrassing present from a dull godmother and bad breath and two heads -- twice. How wrong can a man be?

I think it's wonderful and adorable how happy and excited the Doctor is that he was wrong about something. Also? The godmother? Very fairytale -- all turned on its head.

This is the problem with the Impressionists - not accurate enough. This never would have happened with Gainsborough (sp?) or one of those proper painters. Sorry, Vincent -- you'll just have to draw something better.

There was so much good dialogue in this episode -- it's just hard not to quote the entire thing from beginning to end:

Doctor: Okay, okay. So now, we must have a plan - when the creature returns --

Vincent: Then we shall fight him again!

Doctor: Well, yes...tick.

Amy: You do have a plan, don't you?

Doctor: No. It's a thing - it's like a plan, but with more grey bits.

And Vincent is obviously armed with an abundance of enthusiasm. ;)

Oh, and the Doctor bored!

I remember watching Michael Angelo painting the Cistine Chapel. Wow! What a whinger. I kept saying to him, 'Look, if you're scared of heights you shouldn't have taken the job, mate.' And Picasso - what a ghastly old goat. I kept telling him, 'Concentrate, Pablo, it's one eye, either side of the face. Is this how time normally passes, really slowly, in the right order? It's one thing I can't stand it's an unpunctual alien attack!

Ghastly old goat definitely filing that one away for when an insult is required.

But notice how very clearly that the Doctor just doesn't seem to understand art -- not like Amy or definitely Vincent (more intriguing character dynamics!). I really love how developed Amy was in this episode as one of my fears following her forgetting Rory and therefore the integral parts of the past three episodes was that her character would de-evolve, but instead, she develops!

She has a fondness for Van Gogh (never knew that before) and, even as she's watching him, it is immediately obvious that she's grown up.




She brightened the place up for Vincent -- looking amazingly gorgeous, I might add.

But, even at the end, when she's so full of joy, excitement, and expectation --

Time can be rewritten! I know it can! Oh the long life of Vincent Van Gogh - there will be hundreds of new paintings!

And she realizes that he still committed suicide -- it's heartbreaking.

I'm just glad she went forwards, instead of backwards.



This is what? A church depiction of St. George slaying the dragon? I thought it was a nice parallel with Vincent actually slaying the monster and the Doctor concluding that --

Sometimes winning -- winning is no fun at all.

Of course, they discover that the Monster is blind, and afraid -- ultimately humanizing the 'monster' -- that, compared with the engraving, seems to implicitly challenge the viewers to question, to explore their inherent assumptions about the world: are the dragons in our lives really evil - or do we just think they are?

I really appreciated the Doctor saying,

I suppose we could try talking to him [the monster]. Well, yes, it might be interesting to know his side of the story. Yes. Well maybe he's not in the mood for conversation at this precise moment. Well, no harm trying.

It reminded me of The Forever War -- and notice how he didn't depersonify the monster; he used the pronoun 'him' instead of 'it'.




Another meta moment as the episode expresses what artists do, reveals the things they see that others don't -- utterly beautiful, exquisite -- poetically visual to an awe inspiring degree (and quite possibly one of my favorite scenes in this episode).

Vincent: Hold my hand, Doctor. Try to see what I see. We're so lucky we're still alive to see this beautiful world. Look at the sky - it's not dark and black without character. The black is in fact deep blue and over there - lighter blue. And blowing through the blueness and the blackness -- the wind swirling through the air and the shining, burning bursting through - the stars -- can you see how they throw their light, everywhere we look the complex magic of nature blazes before our eyes.

Doctor: I've seen many things, my friend - but you're right - nothing quite as wonderful as the things you see.

I adore how much love features in this episode in the dialogue, in the characters' physical interactions with each other...

Doctor: Anyway, Amy, only one thought, one simple instruction: don't follow me under any circumstances.

Amy: I won't.

Vincent: Will you follow him?

Amy: Of course!

Vincent: I love you

And, near the end when Van Gogh says,

We have fought monsters together and we have won. On my own I fear I may not do as well.

The Doctor gives him this beautiful hug:




And it's so sad because Vincent is right: he ends up committing suicide -- and that's tragic. Also, the Doctor looks so...old...in this image. Sad.

Amy: We didn't make a difference at all.

Doctor: I wouldn't say that - the way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things. Hey, the good things don't always soften the bad things but vice versa: the bad things don't necessarily spoil the good things or make them unimportant. And we definitely added to his pile of good things.

This is such a beautiful, beautiful sentiment. It gave me the weepies.

Vincent: [Sunflowers aren't] my favorite flower...it's not that I don't like them, I find them complex, always somewhere between living and dying.

Gender Bender: Avatar

Even though Avatar is not the most unique story ever told, I think there are some really surprising elements to it.

Though I think that both Jake and Neytiri are generic characters (not annoyingly so but not worthy to be included in my Hot People in Science Fiction lists), I think that there were still some spectacular moments of gender bending that make Avatar a little more interesting than just a panorama of beautiful imagery (which I believe is an integral part of story telling; actually, I think the story which the images tell is what saves this film from being merely shrugworthy). I thought it was really interesting when the father told Neytiri to protect The People, since in earthling perspectives, the role of protector is usually masculine, something that is passed down from father to son. I also think it's interesting in the scope of Na'vi culture as well - after all, if I understand it correctly, Neytiri was supposed to inherit her mother's role as the spiritual leader, not the role of her father.

Another moment that I appreciate for its gender bending is here:



So often (not so much now, I suppose, especially in science fiction, but I think it's still a popular perception) you see images of women as weak - frail, swooning into the arms of a masculine presence (James Cooper, I'm glaring at you). The conception is that men protect women, the fairer vessel. But here, the roles are reversed. It's Jake who is weak, Neytiri who is supporting him, protecting him.

I find it to be a beautiful image, possibly my favorite element of the movie. Not only because of it's gender bending -- it's just...tender, accepting -- I see you -- I grok you, acknowledging an individual, a person, something that exemplifies the very best of us.