March 2018: Spectacle, or Spectacular

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Illustration by Maria Fabrizio via STAT (more about the article farther down this post)

If I’m being cynical, Boston’s inferiority complex as a“top U.S. innovation city” is why we have a city-wide partnership between 14 museums and galleries called “Art + Tech”…. In truth, there is nothing to suggest that “Art + Tech” came down from local city government, no “presented by Mayor Walsh” or “made possible by the General Electric” tagline…. But why mount this initiative now, Boston, when new technology is so thoroughly interwoven into every aspect of our lives that we barely acknowledge it—and Boston’s personal art history doesn’t seem to be featured?

I wrote about a few venues in the “Art + Tech” initiative for Aeqai this month. The review is more positive than the intro cited above, but I can’t get over my initial reaction, surely stemming from my own personal Boston hang-ups.

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If being surrounded by a cultureless abyss insufficiently communicates to confused tourists that they are in Houston, the bean’s verticality will therefore act as an additional reminder of their poor life choices.

I LOVE the “bean war” happening between Chicago and Houston right now. The above is an excerpt from bitter Kim Janssen of the Chicago Tribune. This article in the Houston Chronicle is a good print-friendly distillation of the barbs, and two funny Chicago protesters picketed with #notmybean signs last week.

While the Chicago bean is better for selfies (I even have one somewhere), I like the Houston bean better as a piece of art. Public art, anyway. I say this from a very safe distance.

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“Skeleton Crew” by Dominque Morrisseau
Huntington Theatre Company, closed March 31

“Skeleton Crew” is the third most-produced regional play in the 2017-18 season nationwide, and it’s easy to see why: great writing that features four affable characters enduring a depressingly American experience. The auto factory (door stamping, specifically) where they work in Detroit is slowly approaching complete closure. I thought the female half of the cast—Patricia R. Floyd as Faye, union rep and crew matriarch mere months away from her retirement benefits, and Toccarra Cash as Shanita, a heavily-pregnant model-worker—shone particularly brightly. Wilson Chin’s slowly disappearing set, with car doors on conveyors hanging above the main break-room action area, was also a highlight. Check out Josh’s review on Talkin’ Broadway for more.

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“And Your Daughters Shall Prophesy” by Adrian Shirk
2017, Counterpoint Press
Memoir – 261 pages

Adrian Shirk’s book is a memoir guided by the lives of religious women throughout U.S. history, highlighting the weirdness and survivalism inherent to woman’s American existence throughout the past 250 years or so. Mary Baker Eddy, Flannery O’Connor, Sojourner Truth, and Marie Laveau intermingle with her troubled brother, an independent, letter-writing aunt, and Shirk’s own tarot-reading, church-going, chain-smoking self as she journeys back and forth across the country. I enjoyed the journey, though I was admittedly more interested in the historical figures and her personal interactions with their histories than the author’s own chapter-long stories. The book also isn’t a great choice for someone looking for more typical, popular memoirs—while Shirk’s artful prose is clear-cut, there isn’t a tidy narrative, no defining moment, no clearly stated truth. That’s part of the point, though, and I appreciated the book as an exploration, and a celebration of overlooked women mystics through a personal lens.

To illustrate Shirk’s tone, treatment, and research, here’s a bit about Linda Goodman, who wrote the first astrology book to make the New York bestsellers list:

[Goodman] wasn’t writing about astrology in 1953, so what was it? Metered poems or short stories? Perfecting her top-notch copy? Coming of age in postwar America, during the years women were being filtered out of the workforce and into the suburbs, into a domestic ideal most closely resembling the Victorian era, I wonder if she knew in advance that shed have to write something larger than life, that in order to do anything professionally creative, she’d have to make a spectacle of herself, or be spectacular. 72

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“The Bell Jar” by Sylvia Plath
1963, Harper Collins 50th anniversary edition
Novel – 244 pages

I remember the older cover of this book vividly from my high school library, where I had free periods as a senior. I think I was a little afraid to read it, since I knew that the author had committed suicide. It felt invasive. But, I probably would have loved it then, as I loved it now, despite its sickly sheen; Plath’s prose is a total joy, deftly, innocently leading us into incredibly dark depths. I certainly would have read it differently in high school than I did now.

I can also see why it’s been labeled “the female catcher-in-the-rye.” The comparison between the two books makes me think of a film article I read a few years ago, “‘Bird Man’ is ‘Black Swan’ for Boys.” Although Holden and Esther are roughly the same age in their respective books, unlike Michael Keaton and Natalie Porter in these films, their woes feel like a similarly gendered handling. It is the thirst for authenticity and—in “Bird Man,” anyway—the quest for exceptionalism that drives the male protagonists to madness/suicidal tendencies; with women, it’s a loss of self, a disappearing.

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After Richard Linklater’s Slacker became an unexpected box-office hit in 1991, every major studio in the United States dropped untold amounts of money trying to clone its success…. These films relied, without exception, on two crucial tropes: the cynical cool of rejecting ambition and popularity, and the mopey, tortured Gen X man-child who embodied that cool.

“You’ve Reached the Winter of Our Discontent” by Rebecca Schuman, part of her “The 90s Are Old” series for Longreads

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There are fans who seem to think Rick’s horrible behavior is justified because he’s cognizant of the damage it does and the cycle of self-loathing that attends each bout of emotional abuse. A charitable read on the sitcom, however — and BoJack Horseman probably does this better — would find an argument against taking such dour satisfaction from one’s moral indifference. At their best, both BoJack and Rick and Morty attest that you don’t get points for merely acknowledging how you’re a bad person; you also have to try to change. 

“‘Rick and Morty’ and the rise of the ‘I’m a Piece of Shit’ Defense” by Miles Klee for Mel Magazine

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When we study our participant before planning an Odyssey, we take many approaches. The first is a questionnaire that takes hours to complete…. Next, we conduct phone interviews with the friends, family, children, parents, coworkers, lovers of the participant, after which we go on retreat to spend a week as a team thinking deeply about our subject. We drink their favorite beverages, watch their most beloved films, listen to the albums they get nostalgic over, and even try to dream about them. The goal in this process is to fall in love with them. Yes, they are a stranger to us, but when someone is that vulnerable with us and we have the energy to give them our undivided attention, it is surprisingly easy to become enamored.

“What I’ve Learned from Turning People’s Hopes and Fears into Private Immersive Performances” by Ayden LeRoux for Electric Literature

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Writing, to me, has always been the duty of anyone in proximity to culture…. Words can be our tools for building the architecture of cultural memory, and art without the written word is like a protest without its organisers. Inciting changes requires commitment. And so, I show up, sometimes as a sheepish writer and sometimes as an interviewee. Since the beginning of my career I have been taught that it is an honour and privilege to record and be recorded, but sometimes I dream about how different the questions could be.

“why we need to radically need to rethink the power issues of the art world” by Kimberly Drew for i-D

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It is difficult to admit making a mistake, dear celebs, but this is an insufficient reason to double down on a mistake when it poses a true mortal danger to people in the sex trades. Time is running out as this bill gets closer to a vote in the Senate, threatening to isolate people already at the margins and deprive them of the means of doing their work safely. Now is the moment for celebrities to give up the fantasy of saving “Jane Doe” and do the hard work of seeing and listening to people in the sex trades as fully formed, complex individuals who have actual names. 

“If You Care About Sex Trafficking, Trust People in the Sex Trade — Not Celebrities” by Alana Massey for Allure. This was published on March 7, and unfortunately, SESTA passed in the senate on March 21. The negative consequences Massey and many others predicted are already happening.

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Ostaseski remembers Agnes as a woman of quiet determination who smoked Camels and kept the pack tucked into the pocket of her short floral apron. It’s tempting to try and imagine her at the moment she fully comprehended the minefield she was about to traverse with both men on her shoulders, while also carrying the grief of a wife and a mother. She stood out to Ostaseski. He trains those who care for the dying, and is interested in the role that family caregivers like Agnes play in the health care setting — how ill-equipped they can sometimes be, and how our culture and medical system might remedy this shortcoming.

“With the help of a loved one, a family finds what is essential in the end” by Bob Tedeschi for STAT. Side note: I loved the illustration for this story, it’s the featured image for this post.

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People justify video game bad behavior … by invoking the pseudo-scientific notion of “blowing off steam.” While I do find what is called the “catharsis hypothesis” to be more than a little troubling, I also find video games to be an effective means of temporarily eschewing real world concerns…. But the PC game A Mortician’s Tale (2017), in many ways, is the opposite of catharsis. In it, you assume the role of a recent funeral direction graduate tasked with operating a mom and pop funeral home. 

“R.I.P.: A Mortician’s Tale”  by Lee Matalone for The Rumpus

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Much of science fiction deals with imagining dystopia. I’ll talk about why that is later, but I strongly believe that, at this moment in time, we need to remember that one of the highest callings of science fiction is imagining utopia. I don’t mean starry-eyed visions of a fairyland that drops out of the sky. I also don’t mean a static society built on some fundamental irony like panopticon or the suppression of free will. I mean honest, earnest engagement with the question of what a better world looks like.

“Instructions for the Age of Emergency” by Monica Byrne on her blog. I’m smitten with this longread/keynote address and the future vision it presents.

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In March, my bi-monthly blood donation coincided with the Bleedin’ 4 Amina blood drive, organized by the Call Your Girlfriend podcast. Beloved co-host Amina has endometrial cancer, and while the blood donations obviously don’t go directly to her, they do help others in need. I’ve been donating or attempting to donate  since the Pulse nightclub shooting (after years of thinking I wasn’t eligible because of living abroad), and went on St. Patrick’s Day this year. I was dehydrated, so it took longer than usual, but thanks to persistent technicians, I managed to fill the bag. If you’re eligible, consider donating, this month or anytime!

April 2017: The Sheer Uncertainty of the Whole Enterprise

 

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Illustration by Amy Jean Porter via The Awl

 

2 criticism crash courses, 6 thoughts on “Beauty and the Beast,” 2 musicals, 1 validation of my Luddite leanings, 3 “failed” “feminist” startups, 1 re-appropriated Bible verse, 1 professor I wish I’d taken classes with, 2 novels

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Two specific “criticism” events this month, very different from each other: a lecture at DiverseWorks by Claudia La Rocco—poet, artist, critic and editor-in-chief of SF MoMA’s Open Space—and a day-long workshop at WriteSpace about writing food and restaurant reviews with Houstonia’s managing editor, Katharine Shilcutt.

I’m thinking of these two events in tandem, even though they work at cross purposes on the surface level: one posits thoughtful criticism as an art that is an antidote to noise, the other is more “service journalism” than art. The two events were good complements to each other in reminding me of the power of good criticism—and considering how much to insert the self into a review or response.

I only have scattered notes from Claudia La Rocco’s lecture, but one exercise stands out: we watched a performance by Lime Rickey International, and she asked us to take notes and review it as it unfolded. Then, near the end of the talk, she read her own observations, as thoughtful and lyrical as one would expect from a poet. Between this and the Experimental Action panel in February, I feel much more prepared to review performance art.

Criticism is a container for people’s confusion
Susan Sontag: rules of taste enforce structures of power
The moral clarity of the immature
There are worse things than being obvious
Practice criticism (remain present and stay open) 
We owe criticism attention and thought
When reviewing or responding to performance art: what does it do to your body? 
David Foster Wallace: To be literate is to feel stupid all the time

What can we do to reduce the noise of social media and instant gratification?

We could do the painstaking work of looking/listening/deepening our thinking

We could create a worthy container for expansive discourse

I didn’t leave this lecture thinking “gee, the next logical step from here is to write restaurant reviews.” I’ve never really had a desire to write them, but I love the day-long workshop format that WriteSpace offers, and I was curious. The day included a history of food reviews (did you know restaurants didn’t really exist before the French Revolution, when all the cooks were put out of work?), reading good and bad examples of reviews, taste testing paired with writing exercises, going out to lunch, and then writing a review of that lunch in the afternoon. I went to the Australian-themed Platypus Brewery and got to gleefully use a lot of bad Australia puns in the review (and the meat pies were DELICIOUS). The other three women in the class were good writers, and Katharine was a totally delightful teacher who graciously took us through an entire issue of Houstonia pointing out how to best pitch each section.

Common threads: listen, educate yourself, and always remember that there are worse things than being obvious.

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After the Women’s March in January, I ducked into a movie theater and watched a Sailor Moon movie. After the Tax Day March on April 15, I did the same with the new live action version of “Beauty and the Beast,” the 1992 animated version of which is probably my favorite Disney movie. I think it’s interesting that I went to see these two Romantic, female-centric films right after both of these marches, but why write about that when I could just list my super hot takes?

  1. Emma Watson is great and all, but if Dan Stevens of “Downton Abbey” fame is going to play the beast, Lady Mary should have been Belle. I don’t care if she doesn’t pass for a teenager. In fact, the story would probably be better if Belle had been written a tad more spinstery, and at 35, [totally gorgeous] Michelle Dockery would have been considered that in Renaissance France. “Spinster Belle” would have a more stern authority. Then maybe Belle and the beast would have actually had chemistry, and all of us who were callously [willingly] sucked into “Downton Abbey” could get some payback for Matthew’s clumsy car crash exit.
  2. Why is the librarian in Belle’s village relatively young and attractive? Wouldn’t she have just married him, since he obviously gets her?
  3. Remaking beloved animated classics into live action versions that repeat the script and songs verbatim totally sucks the joy out of the entire endeavor.
  4. The new songs I could take or leave, but I understand why they were added. The emphasis on this sentimental angle isn’t what I would have gone for (see point about “Spinster Belle”) but it was sweet to behold and very Disney.
  5. The credits rolled with French titles, with the English translations artlessly underneath. JUST COMMIT TO ONE ARTISTIC CHOICE, DISNEY. It’s not like we’re still saying “freedom fries.”

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In other “your faves are problematic” news, I read this interview at The Interval with Pam McKinnon, director of the new “Amélie” musical, based on the 2001 film that I still watch sometimes when I’m depressed. The interview is fantastic, but I twitched at some particular language in the intro:

“Netflix describes [the character of Amélie] as impish; a precursor to the manic pixie dream girl, bathed in the same French aesthetic that makes Americans buy books like French Women Don’t Get Fat. How does one turn a très male gaze film into a musical in 2017?”

The twitching is almost certainly because of my teenage attachment to the film (so badass watching it in French class!), but it that phrasing still made it feel like feminist buzzword clickbait. It wasn’t so much as the misuse of the term “manic pixie dream girl” (which the internet shamelessly applies to all cutesy young women even when they’re the protagonist, which makes the term invalid) that irked me as “male gaze.” McKinnon goes on to say that since they barely “let” Amélie speak in the film, even though she’s the main character, she’s being subjugated.

I understand fatigue in terms of the type of women we see in films (and McKinnon was a grown woman when she saw it, while I was a high school student), but here, a shy feminine person is the lead, and it’s hard to see Amélie as being created for male pleasure: she’s dressed in cardigans and combat boots for most of the film, she eschews sex as boring, and she is the pursuer, not the pursued. Maybe it’s just because she’s attractive (in a fiendishly aesthetic film)? Or are McKinnon and the interviewer viewing the fact that she’s shy and doesn’t talk much as a reflection of men’s desires for women to shut up? I’m grasping here.

Amélie is 23 years old—she’s naive, but she takes action, even if it’s twee action that gets her mislabeled as a manic pixie dream girl. It would have been a shitty characterization if Nino or another male character had been the lead and she only existed to help them accomplish their goals, but that wasn’t the case. I know that I’m hauling my adolescent baggage in my critique, but I wish we could recognize different types of heroines without labeling them as manic pixie dream girls.

Defensive griping aside, the musical version is sounding better and better. After the initial disappointment that Yann Tiersen’s soundtrack wouldn’t be included, McKinnon’s account of the creative process has me all excited again.

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Speaking of musicals:

“My family’s story isn’t one that you would have seen in a Hollywood movie or a Broadway musical. For one, it doesn’t conform to stereotypes that white executives and producers have about us. There are no silent and sexualized Asian women. There are no conniving and emasculated Asian men. And there are no white men.

Instead there’s a South Vietnamese English-teacher-turned-soldier, my father, fighting the Viet Cong. He meets a South Vietnamese woman, my mother. They fall in love and exchange letters for two years, before he travels 200 miles, from Qui Nhơn to Đà Lạt, to ask for her hand. There is a turning point, April 30, 1975. The teacher is imprisoned. His wife, now a mother of two, is left alone to support her family.

You won’t see this love story on Broadway. Instead, what you will see is Miss Saigon.”

— Diep Tran at American Theatre: “I Am Miss Saigon, and I Hate It”

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“I miss the days when the most stressful thing about popularity was the sheer uncertainty of the whole enterprise. Back when popularity was cool and aloof, identifiable only by the feelings of desire, envy, and yearning experienced by those who looked upon it. Today, there is no mystery. The metrics of popularity are pervasive and unavoidable. News stories, video clips, music playlists — everything comes with view counts, share counts, and crowdsourced ratings.”

— Maureen O’Connor at The Cut: “Remember When Popularity Was Cool? Now It’s Just Work”

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“It’s very rare that the person who starts a company in their garage or dorm room is equipped to lead it when it has a thousand employees or $150M in revenue. Those are radically different skill sets. So, my purpose here is to criticize the venture capital model for sometimes destroying, as the cost of doing business, perfectly viable, sustainable, and beloved businesses. But also to say that bigger and faster are not always better.”

— Jen Dziura of Get Bullish: “The ‘Failure’ of Feminist Companies is Due to What, Exactly?”

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“In Christian circles, “worldly” is shorthand for being of the world. In Romans 12:2 the apostle Paul encourages Christians not to ‘conform to the patterns of this world, but to be transformed by the renewing of your mind.’ Many Christians interpret this invective as a call to eschew popular culture…. Engaging in popular culture, we were told, was like shaking hands with someone who has a cold—just by being near them, you risk exposure. And for the faithful, it’s not your immune system at risk, it’s your mortal soul.”

— Lyz Lenz at Hazlitt: “Lead Me On.” Romans 12:2 was always my favorite Bible verse as a kid, but because I purposefully mangled it to mean “outcasts are cool! I prefer to read” instead of how the patriarchs actually mean it. This essay, which pivots on Amy Grant’s fall from grace in the Christian music industry, is a long but worthwhile read.

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“Poetry is political. Period. It has often been remarked that the so-called ‘apolitical’ poem, the objet d’art, is of course political in its acceptance of the status quo. But while I agree with that view, that’s not quite what I’m getting at here. I believe poetry is political because a poet is always both working with and straining against language.”

— Richard Hoffman at AGNI: “Poetry is Dissent”

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“You Too Can Have A Body Like Mine” by Alexandra Kleeman
Novel
Harper Perennial, 2015

I’ve been seeing great reviews of this book for more than a year, and finally picked it up. The narrative follows A, a woman who is roommates with a woman B and dating a man named C. B is creepily trying to mimic and transform herself into A, while C is addicted to pornography and all the characters are addicted to television. This is a special kind of dystopia that already seems like it could be real: C wants him and A to be contestants on a game show called “That’s My Partner!” in which couples try to identify their romantic partners through a series of unsettling challenges; dads, specifically, are disappearing; it’s not uncommon to see bedsheet-wearing families; and “Wallys,” helpful associates at the local superstore who are fully obscured by foam heads, have a very specific workplace code of conduct.

A and B are also addicted to their eating disorder, which is not named but prevalent as it describes their endless search for the right food, and how they end up eating only oranges and popsicles (the reason why this was another not-great “before bed” book for me). The “right food,” for A, is Kandy Kakes. Her description of the commercials featuring Kandy Kat, who desperately wants the Kakes but can never reach them, like Tom chasing Jerry, are the most engaging part of the book. A as Kandy Kat is the conceit. Except what she’s really chasing is far more elusive, muddled by the pervasive static of this recognizable dystopia.

While the story was unpredictable, “a female fight club,” as blurbed by Vogue, it is not. I love Kleeman’s sentences, but the progression of the narrative and meditative tone made the novel feel more like a short story to me. I didn’t find the ending particularly satisfying—but A can’t be satisfied, so why should the reader?

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“The Wangs Vs. The World” by Jade Chang
Novel
Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2016

Jade Chang writes the most painfully real failing stand-up routines I’ve ever read in a novel. They are performed by Andrew Wang, the middle Wang child who, at 21 years old, has been pulled out of college by his father’s sudden bankruptcy. The story revolves around the entire Wang family: Charles, the Taiwanese patriarch who is sure there is family land waiting for him in China; Barbra, his childhood classmate and second wife; Saina, Charles’ oldest daughter, a stylish but disgraced artist who has bought a big old house in the Hudson Valley; the aforementioned Andrew, who is also a virgin (by noble choice!); and Grace, the youngest daughter, a 16-year-old fashion blogger who was sent to, and abruptly removed from, boarding school.

When the incredibly rich Wangs realize Charles has lost all their money in a bad business deal, they pack up an old station wagon and drive from L.A. to Saina’s house in upstate New York. Most of the book is about the journey, and the diversion from character to character will make a smooth transition to a Netflix series, if Chang decides to go that route (she lives in L.A. so let’s guess yes). The parts of the book that do not describe bad stand-up routines (most of it) are also excellent. A funny, sly and tender read.