Oh, goodness me! It is November! Look at that! And SEVERAL DAYS have elapsed whilst you stood around not reading my article on “Twilight” backlash, available in The American Prospect (publication date: October 26)!
Now, under normal circumstances, I would link you to it. Look: here is a link! BUT… and this is a very important BUT I am about to lay down on you… YOU CANNOT READ THE ENTIRE THING UNLESS YOU ARE A SUBSCRIBER!
I know! A predicament! I recommend subscribing. But what if this alone is not enough to satisfy your need to run my glorious article on “Twilight” backlash – my glorious, glossy article on “Twilight” backlash, which comes with several lovely photos in full color – through your own personal hands? Well, you could be like my mom, and print out things you read on the Internet so as to savor them with the added touch of legitimacy paper always supplies. But there is ANOTHER solution! For, you see, there are certain article-dispensing devices (“mah-gah-zeens,” I have heard people call them) in which you can find the articles themselves, printed in a limited and very attractive edition! Often published together with OTHER articles, so as to provide a comprehensive and pleasurable reading experience! Which is certainly the case for this “American Prospect” issue, and also their other issues. I myself have been reading it for days now, only occasionally pausing for two or three hours at a time to be hypnotized by the sight of my own extremely attractive name on the page. (Which is an expected problem for me, due to my monstrous narcissism; but perhaps also an unexpected and delightful problem for YOU? The name is very attractive!)
Yes! You – YOU, reader of exciting progressive media – can buy this “mah-gah-zeen!” And should! Because generally it is always awesome! And there are many more useful things you can do with it! For starters:
You can frame it!
You can put it in your guest room or bathroom for the pleasure of your various houseguests!
I would recommend against putting it in your bathroom, however. For it is simply SO ABSORBING your guests might need to spend several hours within, reading the many exciting words that are on its pages!
You can make a jaunty paper hat! (A glossy and COLORFUL paper hat, with very tasteful typography.)
You can buy several hundred copies (a strategy I recommend HIGHLY), disassemble them, and make a creative and informative wallpaper!
You can buy a copy for all your friends, and form a discussion group!
Yes, there are many uses for your limited edition Sady-Doyle-containing issue of “The American Prospect.” But principally, I would recommend you read it! Read it right now! DO IT. SERIOUSLY. THIS IS VERY EXCITING.
You know: I find that, when you are hanging out at home, delighting in the invention of Netflix, sometimes there is nothing better than to watch a movie you really enjoyed as a kid. Like Short Circuit! Which I watched tonight!
They are remaking Short Circuit, did you know that? Some people are angry about it! Because the Paul Blart: Mall Cop director is attached to the project. And, of course, everyone is all, “nooooo! Paul Blart: Mall Cop! That was the worst movie! How can a philistine such as Paul Blart: Mall Cop director Steve Carr possibly translate the high-brow quality entertainment film Short Circuit with all the depth, nuance, and artistry it requires???” Somewhere, somehow, some dude is really over-enthusiastically using the term “raping” to describe this. Possibly it’s his “childhood” Steve Carr is “raping.” I don’t know, I don’t have the energy to look it up. I just know it’s happening, because people do those things.
But here is the thing: sooner or later, you are going to have to realize that these treasured memories of your childhood were of things that did, objectively, blow. You did not realize this, of course! You were but a child! But it is time to stop defending them. Let it go. Beginning with, let’s say, Short Circuit.
First of all, I’d like you to meet Fisher Stevens, a White Person.
And who’s this? Why, it’s beloved Short Circuit and Short Circuit 2 character Ben [Last Name Undetermined]! Ben [Last Name Undetermined], on whom I can vaguely recall having an elementary-school crush! (He seemed like a smart man, what with his job building advanced robot soldiers and all; furthermore, he was shy, and projected a certain vulnerability; also, he had glasses. My tastes, regarding these matters, were set at an early age.) Ben [Last Name Undetermined], whom I have to thank for many deeply felt chuckles and guffaws, and who was perhaps my favorite character in the movies! Yes, Ben! Ben, who was pretty definitively Not a White Person!
But what’s this? Ben – who is Not a White Person – bears a remarkable resemblance to noted White Person Fisher Stevens! How can this be? You recall Ben as being definitively not-white, and here is this actor who is white, and… oh. Oh, SERIOUSLY? In 1986, they were doing this? But, I mean, you remember Ben as having some kind of accent, and at the time it was pretty convincing, so…
OH. OH, WOW.
Now, there are many problems with Short Circuit and Short Circuit 2, not least of which is that they were movies undertaken with basically no understanding of their intended audience; you would think that they were children’s movies, given the way everyone in them is overacting wildly (Children’s Movie Acting 101: assume children cannot interpret human facial expressions, and exaggerate yours to an appalling degree that will haunt their nightmares), and how hokey the jokes are, and how all the characters are written with the level of emotional intelligence and complexity that one would expect from a third-grader, and also the fact that they center on an ADORABLE TALKING ROBOT who struggles with child-type problems like learning about words or how the culture works or the difference between “good” and “bad” and also how to accomplish basic tasks without going buck-wild and breaking everything in the house. This is clearly a protagonist meant for children to identify with, yes? It was a children’s movie. Oh, except for not really, because people say “shit” a lot, and there are numerous sex jokes, and also your adorable talking robot protagonist with whom you intend children to identify is BRUTALLY BEATEN TO DEATH WITH AN AX WHILST SCREAMING, BLEEDING, AND BEGGING FOR HIS LIFE in the sequel. (Seriously: the memory of Johnny 5 screaming “dooo not kill meeeeeeeee” whilst his blood spatters all over his assailants was engraved upon my consciousness from the moment I saw it until I hit puberty. It is only alleviated now by the fact that I have seen Short Circuit as an adult, recognize how fucking annoying Johnny 5 was, and suspect that I would have been the one most enthusiastically swinging the ax down upon his adorable frame.) So, anyway, Short Circuit was both confusing and confused. And also, not very good. At all. Look, this happens in it:
There. Proof.
But back to Ben. The brownface, yes; the accent, yes; these things would lead you to believe the character of Ben is offensive. Oh, but no. Ben is SO MUCH MORE THAN MERELY OFFENSIVE. Ben – along with noted White Person Fisher Stevens, and the makers of Short Circuit and Short Circuit 2 – is working some truly Mickey Rooney, Breakfast at Tiffany’s-level racism magic. I would pit “ohhhhhh, Meesa Gorightry” up against Ben any day in terms of sheer Let’s See How Racist This Shit Can Get quality. The entire joke is that this dude is Indian. And, therefore, talks funny; as in, “the last time I am seeing him,” as in “this is being quite the predicament,” or as in his many hilarious malapropisms such as “I am standing here beside myself,” or “oh for the sake of Pete” or “oh, bulldyke.” (Yes. Sure. “Oh, bulldyke.” Why not? For the kids!) In the first movie, he says he’s from Bakersfield, and his “ancestors” are from Pittsburgh, and unless Bakersfield and Pittsburgh are both known for their marvelous Severe Aphasia Colonies, I am thinking that this is not to be making the sense at all; in the second movie, he’s studying to become a citizen, which – again, unless Bakersfield has seceded from the union – is to be making even the less sense than the before sense which to be making it was not even remotely. Also? English is one of the most widely spoken languages in India. (And Bakersfield!) Also? I find it kind of unlikely that dude could become a top-secret US government robot scientist without picking up any remotely idiomatic English. That is, assuming that he’s from a place where they don’t speak English! Which, according to the movie, is not where he’s from! Ugh, I AM TYPING HERE BESIDE MYSELF, you guys. Also, his last name changes. It is either “Jabutiya,” or “Jahrvi,” or “Jahveri,” or WHATEVER, depending on who is speaking and which movie you are watching and some of this is a joke? About how people can’t get his name right? But mostly it is a case of Slap A Wacky Indian Name on the Indian Guy, Because WHOA, They Have Wacky Names. And they can’t even keep the same wacky name from movie to movie. And even though he is the hero of the second movie, because Steve Guttenberg dropped out of the project (BEN AND/OR WHITE PERSON FISHER STEVENS: When Steve Guttenberg Is Too Good For Your Project, They’re There) and is correspondingly to be getting the tiniest fraction more of the human dignity and also the romantic love interest, the many “Ben [Last Name Unspecified] wants sex, which is nutty, because he’s not a white man and only those dudes can be sexual without it being inherently ridiculous or scary” jokes from the first movie will live in infamy.
I’m sorry, do we need to see this again?
Yes. Yes, I think we did need to see it.
Now: you might not have gotten how racist this was, when you were a child. I know I didn’t get it! And you ask yourself, now: was Newsweek right about you? Were you a terrible BABY RACIST? No; you were just a baby in a fairly racist culture. Because practically no-one else got it, either. I can’t find any 1986 reviews of “Short Circuit” that even mention Ben in more than a line or two, let alone point out how awful the brownface was. One review of the sequel called him a “cross between Gandhi and Gracie Allen,” whilst also decrying “stereotypical movie Latino hoodlums.” (OH, THE HOODLUMS WERE STEREOTYPICAL, WERE THEY?) In this Siskel and Ebert clip, they deliver a right-on assessment of the movie as a whole – it is entertaining, it is not great, it’s sad when the robot gets curb-stomped, kids will like it, etcetera – and then Gene Siskel enthusiastically mentions all the jokes, especially the funny bits involving Johnny 5’s “Indian friend.” And this is when you realize: at one point, a point in your lifetime, this stuff was downright acceptable. It wasn’t just bad people who put up with it; it was good people, too, who just didn’t get the problem because the thinking behind it was so ubiquitous as to be unquestionable. It was totally OK to hire a white dude to play an Indian man in a role that revolved mostly around making fun of him for being Indian and/or positing the existence of Indian people as fundamentally hilarious.
Because, you know, shit was fucked up. It continues to be fucked-up now, in fact! With any luck, our descendants will look back on our movies and be like, “Jesus, people WATCHED that? And didn’t get how TERRIBLE it was?” Because things will be better for them than they are for us, and they will get to take more for granted, which means we will all seem stupid and somewhat loathsome, which is as it should be. The point is: there was a point in time – a recent point – at which it was radical and outlandish to suggest that “Ben,” as played by Noted White Person Fisher Stevens, was probably not the best idea ever. (ALSO: Hiring A White, Non-Indian Dude To Play Gandhi. Seriously. Why is THAT not a great idea? I defy you to find me one good reason!*) Which says a lot. But one of the main things it says is:
Seriously. Stop complaining about the Blart thing. You’re expressing nostalgia for something that never existed. A version of Short Circuit that was actually good.
*Oh, except that his Dad is Indian, actually? GOD, KNOWLEDGE IS AMAZING. Much like the eternal mystery that is Ben Kingsley. Who was not born “Ben Kingsley,” apparently? “He changed his name from Krishna Bhanji to Ben Kingsley, fearing that a foreign name would hamper his career,” as per Wikipedia, so what we have here is the story of a guy who changed his name to something non-Indian sounding because having an Indian-sounding name would have hurt his career which took off when he played an extremely famous Indian person. ANYWAY! Also, here is a quote from a Fisher Stevens interview for you:
I originally was hired, and then they fired me because they decided to make the role Indian. Originally he wasn’t Indian. And then they hired Bronson Pinchot. Then they fired Bronson and hired me back.
Ok, so, are we following the logic here? Ben was (1) made Indian (probably for the many laughs such a characterization would provide). Ben was (2) determined to be, as an Indian, unplayable by noted White Person Fisher Stevens. Ben was (3) determined to be, as an Indian dude, best playable by notable Sensitive Accent Portrayer BRONSON PINCHOT. Or possibly Fisher Stevens, again. But not an actual Indian guy! Never! Not in a million years!
How does Fisher Stevens feel about this role?
I loved it. I went to India and I studied Hindi. I got into yoga. And this is in 1985. I lived with Indian people. I really immersed myself. I used to be a total Method actor, so I was really deep in the deep end. And I had a great time. And the malapropisms, they worked. I thought they were great. So I really loved it.
Say, ladies! Are you a fan of drinking? And NOT a fan of sexual assault? I can totally sympathize! It’s true that drinking alcoholic beverages – IN MODERATION – can be a delightful way to pass the time. And it’s also true that the world is a scary place. Never more scary than when, after a study finding that “date rape drugs” were less common than rapes that happened after the lady in question had been drinking, folks were like, oh, WHEW, must have been those drunk ladies’ fault for getting all raped then! PROBLEM SOLVED. Witness: “Date-rape drugs are largely an urban myth used as an excuse by women who booze themselves into a stupor,” from the Daily Mail.
Oh, but wait: if somebody gets raped while they are drunk, and not while intoxicated with Date Rape Drugs, isn’t the rape still… bad???
DAMN IT. We’re going to have to start this whole conversation over. With the help of Amanda Hess of The Sexist, and her excellent piece on the matter, and my enduring love of the booze!
Hello! And greetings! From glamorous central Ohio!
Things move a little slower out here, in central Ohio. And by “things,” I mean, “me, because I am in my mom’s house watching Project Runway.” Oh, but also it is Sexist Beatdown day! So, you know, there’s that.
So, you know what job the Superfreakonomics guys think you should look into? Prostitution, probably! They’re pretty convinced it will work out very well, due to the fact that they have talked to basically two prostitutes (and they even talked to one of them for more than five minutes at a time) and one of them seemed just super upbeat about it. Prostitution: it is just like being someone’s wife, as long as you believe that wives are basically service employees for dudes also!
Anyway. Kater Gordon got fired from Mad Men, where she was a writer. Which is sad, because she did really excellent work! And for some reason this was treated as a Potential Sex Scandal by a variety of places. And Jimmy Kimmel is dating some lady he works with. Which was treated as a Potential Sex Scandal by a variety of places. And David Letterman had sex with some ladies he worked with. Which was treated as a Very Real Sex Scandal in everywhere. And then Amanda Hess and I decided to talk about that.
Anyway. Before we get started, here are some amazing true facts:
I don’t think I’m cooler than Anna North of Jezebel.com! Nor do I find her dumb! In fact, I’m pretty certain she’s a lot cooler and smarter than I am, and have really loved a ton of her work on the old Jezebel.com. We might disagree on some things, but that is OK.
I also don’t think I’m cooler or smarter than Kate Harding, whom Amanda linked to in her own preamble to the chat! I have interacted with Kate once or twice, and here is a thing I learned: she might actually be Jesus. At least, that is how I explain her being possibly the nicest person I’ve ever interacted with, and also one of the very smartest. In point of fact, I agree with most of the things I have read from her on the Letterman Thing!
Here is something everyone probably knows: I stand in great awe of Melissa McEwan, and furthermore like her very much as a person. Melissa McEwan has also probably taken the hardest line on the Letterman scandal that I have read. And I disagree with that line, to an extent! But here’s a thing that’s 100% true: the fact that our perspectives diverge on this matter does not mean that I have any less respect for her as a blogger or as a person or as a feminist or as a carbon-based life form. Because I think that people will inevitably hold differences of opinion in some respects, even when their opinions coincide on many other points, and that’s fine. North didn’t even mention McEwan in her post, but this is included because I want you to know: it would be really sad if people thought I held all feminists who feel differently than me on the whole September Sex Scandal Mania thing in contempt. Mostly because I can’t think of a single instance in which that is actually true.
That said, I do think that in the wake of the Polanski/Letterman one-two Scandal Punch (which: I REALLY don’t feel we should be drawing equivalencies, there, without taking care to note how they are different, for example insofar as one of them included rape) people in the mainstream (not feminist) discourse are looking for Sex Scandals all over, and sometimes sort of inventing them, and this is not good, because (a) I care about sexual assault and sexual harassment cases, but don’t think consensual sex is any of my business, and (b) lots of the mainstream (as opposed to feminist) coverage is salacious, and serious issues such as sexual harassment and coercion are speculated about, not in a responsible (or, you know, feminist) way, but to feed the public appetite for sexy sexy details.
Do you disagree? Well! Clearly I do not hate you! Unless you are Roman Polanski, maybe.
Sexy sexy details (or, you know, full transcript of the chat) beneath the jump!
Someday – maybe someday very soon! – there will be actual posts on Tiger Beatdown again. I promise you this much. What they will look like, whether you will like them, whether any of them will bring the many fans of Taylor Swift to my doorstep, equipped with paper bags full of poop and butane lighters and rage… these things, I do not know. But someday, someday soon, I will post on Tiger Beatdown again.
Not for a while, though. Not regularly, at least not for the next month. I’m going on semi-hiatus.
There are a few reasons why I have to do this. I’m hesitant to tell you all of them. Which is, in a sense, a major part of the problem. But, let’s start with Reason #1, the simplest and least embarrassing and most bloggable of reasons, which is:
I’M BUSY.
I’ve been doing things for other people, typically not short things. I am basically working every day of the week. And, since Tiger Beatdown is the one area of my life in which no-one will be disappointed or mad at me (or at least not disappointed or mad in that “you’re fired and also I told all my friends you are the worst person in the world to hire and also I went and spoke to the people at the Dunkin’ Donuts and the H&M and the McDonald’s and the volunteer used bookstore where they don’t even pay their employees and they all said they weren’t even interested in hiring you in the first place but NOW THEY COULDN’T POSSIBLY BE PERSUADED TO CONSIDER IT” way) if I don’t post, it gets kind of shafted. Which is sad, since – as commenters have wisely pointed out – I’m sort of a guest at a party when I post elsewhere, and obeying all the Emily Post rules of etiquette and what have you, and this is more like my living room, where I can just hang out. But I’m never on my living room couch any more. I mean, not metaphorically. I mean, literally, I am on my living room couch a lot. I mean:
LIFE IS HARD.
This is the part I didn’t want to tell you about. Life is hard these days. I could cite contributing factors, but that would sound like whining. Mostly because I would be whining! But there was a really amazing post on Feministe, about vulnerability, a while back, and I keep coming back to it for what are fairly obvious reasons:
Social justice is about theories and ideas underpinning our actions, but if those theories and ideas are to mean anything, they have to be grounded in our real lives. They have to pay attention to what happens to us, and what can hurt us… A functional movement isn’t one like the one we have, where people burn out and drop out and vanish because it’s all too much and they aren’t being supported and they just can’t take it any more, where everything we do is met with all of us tearing each other apart and always always always going for the throat until we stop being people to each other and start being…adversaries? interlocutors? enemies? objects? Have you noticed who suffers when we build a movement premised on never admitting that we can hurt each other, on never admitting that we’re tired and limited and human and just aren’t up for it today? Who stops making blog posts, who stops showing up to meetings and town halls and community projects, stops putting their work out there and speaking openly and honestly? Who stops making friends? Who stops taking risks? Have you noticed what happens in a world where we do this?
Here’s the thing: I write this blog because the things that scare me most – things that are scary and wrong and painful – are a compelling force in my life. For some reason, instead of staying away from them, I want to chase down all that stuff and look at it and argue with it. But what this requires me to do is to look at the scary painful wrong shit every day. And after a while, it becomes overwhelming. After a while, the people you’ve been calling out on their sexism are still sexist, and the world is still what it is, and you’ve written one too many posts with headlines like, “Rape: It Is A Big Deal, Actually,” or, “Beating Your Wife: An Inadvisable Course of Action,” or, “Seriously: Can We Just Say That Rape Is A Big Deal And Stop Acting All Sophisticated And Chill About It, Because It Is A Big Deal, Actually” and you start to feel that if you had any power and could do any good then… well, the world would be better. So that’s one part.
Which is naive. If you were going to change the world in the first place, you’d need something bigger and more impressive than blog posts. But there are moments where I can’t look at the bad stuff and remain calm about it any more, where I get burnt out and fundamentally pessimistic. And, speaking of change: there are a lot of immediate, unpleasant things going on right now in my own personal life. I don’t feel good any more. I’m really sad and anxious a lot of the time. I don’t feel like I know where I’m going to be next week, or next month, or next year; I don’t trust that it is going to be a happy place. And all of that means that the chirpy funny friendly Tiger Beatdown voice is not as accessible as it used to be. And Feminism actually isn’t the answer to most of the questions that I’m dealing with right now. I wish it were! I wish it answered everything! But it doesn’t! The point of this – which does, as I feared, sound like whining – is that, when I think about scary and hurtful things, I don’t necessarily go right to the Bigger Social Issues any more. I go to me. And that’s not something I’m comfortable with writing about here. Speaking of:
I’M NOT SURE ABOUT TIGER BEATDOWN
I really like having a blog. My blog is a happy place. But I need to think about the whole project of this site. Neither the blog nor its focus hold the shine for me that they once did. Not because I’m any less passionate about it, but because it’s familiar. Tiger Beatdown is a year old now, did you know that? It is even older than a year! And if you read the archives you will find a portrait of me falling desperately in love with a subject, pursuing it obsessively, testing myself, going deeper, working for new insights, and then… well, and then what? I’m not saying that I’m never wrong; in point of fact, I have serious issues with much of what I have written over this last year. I’m saying I miss being in that place where being wrong always felt like an option, an acceptable option, because I was learning. The problem, I think, is that I believe I know what I am talking about now, and am talking about it more to share thoughts that are already formed than to work out new ideas. And I don’t like that feeling. I don’t like repeating myself. I’m actually doing this thing, now, on Tiger Beatdown, where I talk against myself – take things I thought I was certain of, and see if I can poke any holes in them – and while that’s annoying to witness, and makes me look like some wacky “post-feminist” person at times, it’s at least a quest for the new. I don’t want to know what to expect from myself. I want to go forward, into another place, a place where I might actually find some new idea to fall in love with. I want to be passionate about Tiger Beatdown again. But I need to figure out how.
Say, does anyone remember that one Dollhouse post? Because: I sure do! Jesus! It was all over the place. At the time I wrote it, it was just a little thing about a sure-to-be-cancelled show that I thought was quite a bit smarter than most people gave it credit for. Now, it’s one of the more well-trafficked, well-known things that I’ve done. Oh, and also, Dollhouse is still on the air! And I am recapping it, as promised.
Now, I, of course, take total credit for the fact that the show was renewed for a second season. But there is no need to thank me! Because the eminent Mr. Joss Whedon has already attempted to thank us all. By providing us with some of the WORST EPISODES OF ANY OF HIS SHOWS EVER, INCLUDING THE FIRST SEASON OF “ANGEL.” Oh, yes. I went there.
The season opener, “Vows,” was solid enough, with Ballard continuing his creepy rescue-fetish routine by actually becoming a client and pimping Echo out in order to bust noted sexy British arms dealer Lee Adama. It contained some really fantastic character work (more about that later) but the plot itself was disappointingly by-the-book, and saved only by the fact that I just now realized Jamie Bamber is an attractive man. Yes! Even with the John Edwards hair! Which he still has, and which is terrible! But, for once in my life, I was able to actually look at his face without him opening it to make that terrible Lee Adama noise about wanting to put the entire Space Robot Nuclear Holocaust on the back burner so he can discuss the fact that his Space Dad never tossed a Space Ball around the old Space Yard with him and instead he made him be a stupid Space Pilot in the stupid Space Robot Nuclear Holocaust and he DIDN’T EVEN WANT TO and do you know what his dad never showed up to ANY of his ballet recitals, not ONE, and he wanted to DANCE! To DANCE!!! Let me tell you: a Bamber who does not utter the word “DAAAAAAaaaaAAAAD” at any point in the hour-long television drama in which he appears is a Bamber vastly improved. And yet! After the first half of Season One, which put the Charlie’s Brainwashed Angels concept on hold and focused on creating believable characters and a variety of very exciting and provocative ethical dilemmas, it felt like a less than perfect debut.
Oh, and then there was “Instinct.” Dear God, I hated “Instinct.” Here’s a thing that I have never actually liked about Joss Whedon’s shows: the way he tends to use his Monster of the Week plots for big, obvious, hit-you-in-the-head-with-a-sack-of-hammers Metaphors. This week, we got a metaphor for… post-partum depression? Wife abuse? Those promos for “Changeling” where Angelina Jolie kept shrieking “I WANT MY SON BAAAAAACK?” I don’t know, GOD. Probably all of those things!
Here’s one thing I’m pretty certain of: it sucked. It went like this: Echo is programmed to be some tiny baby’s mom, because his Actual Mom is dead. Echo is weirded out by the whole situation, because the kid’s dad really doesn’t like her and/or the kid that much. Echo overhears the dad planning to send her back to the shop and give the kid away, runs off with the baby, is apprehended, does the “IIII WANT MY SONNNNNNNNNN” thing for approximately forever, and then has her mind erased. But! Even after her mind is erased! She still wants her son baaaaaack! Because the Maternal Instinct has magical science-defying powers of undying devotion which are purely biological and not at all circumstantial or different from woman to woman, which is why all moms love their children in precisely the same way and there have never been any abusive, neglectful or indifferent mothers anywhere ever. (The show’s explanation: she has a bond with the child that cannot be erased, because she is lactating, and boob glands are more important to establishing a person’s priorities than personality or memory or context. Yes, they LITERALLY SAY THIS. Dear Joss Whedon, thank you for your interest in Feminism, but we cannot make any hiring decisions at this time.) The paternal instinct, meanwhile, is apparently so weak that a stiff breeze can annihilate it, but Prostitute-Hiring Mood Swing Dad ends up with the kid eventually, and this is heartwarming, because he’s decided that he “loves” him. For now. We’ll see what happens the next time something goes wrong; I predict he drops him off at a Little League game and never comes back.
(Oh, and also, Alexis Denisof is on the show now. Hi, Alexis Denisof! Missed you! Here is a fun fact about Alexis Denisof: although he is from the States – I know this! I have Googled! – he has, for some reason, the most unconvincing American accent I have ever heard. Brit it up, Wesley! You know you want to!)
You know what? Let’s erase “Instinct” from our memories, everyone. Much like that one episode where Echo was a blind Jesus person (oh, no! GLITCHING) it never happened. Did you fall asleep? Yes, for a little while. We all did. Let’s focus, instead, on what has been good about this season.
1. Topher is no longer the creepiest person on the show.
Oh, no! That title now belongs to Ballard. In last season’s finale, he “saved” November from the Dollhouse by giving her the freedom to leave it, but kept Echo there. And this wasn’t – as Adele notes – because he cared more for November than for Echo. It’s because he has a fantasy about “saving” Echo, and that fantasy requires her to need saving. He needs her to be powerless so that he can rescue her. And, in the meantime, he’s more than willing to put her at risk. Obviously, this theme – that men who want to rescue you are just men who want you powerless, turned inside-out – was a big part of last season’s finale. But I’m glad that they’re continuing it into this season.
Are you reading my guest blog on Bitch? You should be! It is on pop music! You can read the archives – all in one delightfully convenient, commentable place – here!
Although, seriously, you should just read their entire blog. It is Bitch, people! Bitch! Remember when I was like fourteen years old and I found it at a Barnes and Noble and I was like, “whoa, other people care about this stuff and are thinking about it?” Well, I SURE DO. And am excited that they let me post things there. It is kind of weird, like reality is collapsing, and reminds me of that one moment in The Ring where the scary little girl is totally not-real and in the TV one moment and then in the next moment she is climbing out of the screen and is TOTALLY REAL LIFE NOW, YIKES* except awesome.
*Please note: this is the same feeling I have whenever I see someone talk about or link to or reference this “Sady Doyle” person like she is not just me breaking the exclamation point key on my keyboard with regular and emphatic use. It keeps being weird! I don’t know what to do! I have to convince myself to put on pants every day! Why do people care what I think?! Exclamation points!!!!!!!
You know, you guys: it has been kind of a depressing week. What with everything being all POLANSKI! POLANSKI! POLANSKI and all, and the vast amounts of time we have all been forced to spend contemplating (a) child rape, (b) people getting away with child rape, and (c) the existence of people who fervently want someone to get away with child rape, I think that we could all use a break. A break to talk about something that is not child rape at all! A break to talk about CONSENSUAL SEXUAL RELATIONSHIPS!
Oh, no, wait, those are depressing too.
Specifically, they are depressing when viewed through the lens of College Sex Columns. The Nation says they are “radical!” Which, you know, maybe they were, in the Nineties, when the College Sex Columnists were all FETUSES, MY GOD. Right now, though, they are just some sexist heteronormative boring business dished out by privileged college students who can’t believe how many genitals they have had occasion to witness at close range since leaving Mom’s house!
Also, they all seem to be written by people with synonyms like “Buster Darkhole” and – my personal favorite – “Mr. Darcy,” who is apparently that dude that collects blow jobs from you while you have that debate about whether you are “dating” or “getting back together” or “possibly just having your emotional shit fucked around with while you are already apparently vulnerable, for evidence of which see: willingness to give jerks blowjobs” (oh, THAT dude – I went to college with him, TOO!) and will straight-up admit that shit in public like it is original thought-provoking news. (“A lady’s imagination is very rapid: it jumps from admiration to love, from love to administering various non-reciprocal oral favors to my genitals whilst I lead them on with the vague, elusive possibility of a relationship” is NOT, sadly, a line included in Darcy’s column. “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you, and wish – as I debate whether or not to commit to this relationship – to have various non-reciprocal oral favors administered to my genitals by you?” No? Oh, well. GOOD TRY, Mr. Darcy.) Anyway! College students talking about college sex, zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Amanda Hess of The Sexist has done diligent research on the subject of College Sex Columnists, it turns out! And I will basically form a vehement opinion about anything! Join us, therefore, on this journey of knowledge.
ILLUSTRATION: “And have I mentioned that I’ve framed this as some contest between you and another lady without apparently telling you about it? Ha ha, GOD, I suck. Now, let’s get me a column and/or blowjob!” – A Line That Was Not In “Pride and Prejudice”
SADY: ah, the kids today. what are they up to? other than pretending they know enough about sex to write about it, OBVS, since the kids of many various days seem to believe the same thing.
AMANDA: also, inventing hilarious pseudonyms for themselves, like Rex Butthole or V. Gina
You know what’s really hard for me to write and/or think and/or read about? The Roman Polanski case. There have been many smart, praiseworthy explanations of why some dude should not get away with drugging and raping someone and subsequently fleeing the country. I agree with those discussions! Wholeheartedly! But every time I look at one of them – or try to write one, OH HEY GUARDIAN – I become a bitter, despairing harpy whose internal organs threaten to develop 197 spontaneous ulcers, dissolve, and emerge from her mouth as a spontaneous torrent of puke and gore. (Description! Literature!) Because you know what those smart, praiseworthy explanations remind me of? THE FACT THAT WE STILL FOR SOME GODFORSAKEN AWFUL REASON HAVE TO EXPLAIN THIS, GOD.
I mean: this is not specifically a feminist issue. This is not even specifically an anti-rape issue. This is an issue for a new group of political activists I am forming right now, which I am going to call People Who Don’t Think It’s Cool For Criminals To Just Opt Out Of Their Sentencing Because They’re Afraid Jail Would Be Kind Of A Bummer (PWDTICTJOOOTSBTAJWBKOAB, for short). It is, I am surprised and alarmed to discover, a fringe position! And lo, many a person has weighed in to talk about how awful and hysterical and unreasonable and mean PWDTICTJOOOTSBTAJWBKOABs are. Often with colorful comparisons!
And, you know? I might not be able to talk about Roman Polanski. But I can talk about these dudes allllll day. So: what do you support by not supporting Roman Polanski? Join us, as we enter the sophisticated, reasonable, and in all ways non-hysterical discourse of Roman Polanski defenders to find out!
#1: THE TERRORISTS
From noted political analyst Peter Fonda, we have this sobering thought: we, the people, should have been “celebrating the arrest of Osama bin Laden and not the arrest of Polanski.” Yes, it’s true! In what will no doubt go down as one of the darkest days in US history, authorities were informed of the precise locations of both Osama Bin Laden and Roman Polanski, and were aware that both dudes were just going to hang out and be totally arrestable for a while and they should maybe go check that out. BUT! They were too far away from each other! And there was only one Batman dude in charge of arresting notorious terrorists and/or criminals! Batman the dude in charge of arresting notorious terrorists and/or criminals WOULD HAVE TO CHOOSE. And then Maggie Gyllenhaal Roman Polanski got blowed up arrested and long story short Osama Bin Laden has half a face now and is even more evil and The Joker cackled his demonic cackle and was like TONIGHT YOU WILL BREAK YOUR ONE RULE and everybody was all, “ooh, acting” and WAIT. Actually, I made this all up! Because it turns out you can actually look for more than one notorious terrorist and/or criminal at a time. You can even find more than one of them! Because, basically – and I know this will shock you! – the justice system is not a gigantic game of Whack-a-Mole. NEXT!
ILLUSTRATION: This fucking week, man.