parenting

Why teaching kids not to hit is a bad idea

A few months ago, an eighth grade science teacher in my kids’ school district was arrested on child pornography charges. My children, ages 9 and 6, are still in elementary school, but these events required a[nother] discussion with my kids about predators — including how to protect themselves.

For the most part, in our house we have a “don’t hit” rule. However, this rule applies only to people who actually live in our house. The kids don’t hit each other or their dad or me; we don’t hit the kids or each other. My husband and I discipline our kids, for sure, but never by spanking, slapping, or hitting.

Anyone else is fair game.

Before you start freaking out, please know that my kids are good kids. They display excellent behavior at school, and we find them to be generally pleasant, fun, and decent kids. We have not given the kids license to settle every playground disagreement by force. Since my children have emerged from their toddler years (where every kid operates in a feral zone), they have not hit another child outside our home. (They do sometimes still hit each other, but these occasions are quite rare.) But when it comes to bad guys, all options are on the table.

Unfortunately, it is hard to tell the good guys from the bad. The term “guys” here does, in fact, refer to males. While there are female sexual predators, the vast majority are men. And since 90 percent of all child victims know their offender, that offender could be a teacher, coach, neighbor, family friend, or relative. And all of them seem so nice. Terrifying, I know.

I had to tell my kids what the teacher in our district had been accused of. I had to tell them exactly why those actions were wrong. I had to tell them that I hoped none of the man’s students were his victims, but until the investigation is complete, we won’t really know. I had to tell them that even if some of the students had been victims, they may be too ashamed to tell. I had to tell them that it’s never the kid’s fault if something like this happens. Never. I had to tell them that if an adult tells a kid to keep a secret, or threatens them, or threatens a kid’s family or pets, that the first thing that kid should do is to tell a trusted adult (a parent, for example).

I had to tell them that their bodies are theirs and no one — not me or their dad, not a relative, a teacher, club leader, or cafeteria aide, not our neighbors, or any of our friends or the kids’ friends — should ever touch them in any way that feels creepy, strange, uncomfortable, painful, weird, or bad.

This can be a challenging rule in light of overly affectionate great aunts or other distant family members. Nonetheless, don’t make your kids hug or kiss relatives if they don’t want to. This is one of the first things you can do to show a child that their body really is theirs. Forcing a child to hug or kiss anyone when they don’t want to sends a message that their bodies are theirs … unless and until someone else wants to do something to them. This is a terrible message.

Giving kids control over their own bodies can be a challenge for caring and nurturing moms and dads. Parenting instincts notwithstanding, don’t make a kid dress for your comfort. If it is cold outside and you, yourself, feel cold, don’t force your kid to bundle up if he tells you he is fine. Doing so demonstrates that your child can’t even tell if her own body is comfortable. And if the child can’t tell when her body is comfortable, how will she be able to tell when it’s not? So, let your kid make these basic decisions about their own bodies, please.

I had to tell my kids that if anyone ever touches them in an inappropriate way or asks to be touched, they can and should say no — loudly and plainly. They can and should get away and get to a safe adult immediately and tell us as soon as possible. I had to tell them that if saying no doesn’t work, or if they couldn’t get away, they should yell, scream, kick, bite, claw, and hit. I had to tell them that not only could they do it, but that they should do it. No matter with whom or where — even if it’s at school, or in public, or in a friend’s house, or in our own home. And I told them that if this ever happened, whether they said no or not, or whether they caused a scene or not, or tried and failed to get away or not, that it would never, ever be their fault.

I reiterated this message and reassured them that they could tell me if anything like this ever happened to them — that it would be an adult conversation, just like the one we were having right then. I reaffirmed that I will not freak out, and I will always listen to them. I told them that they have my and their dad’s full support in using whatever force they deem necessary to protect themselves. I told them that they will never get in trouble by me or their dad for protecting themselves, no matter what method they choose. I also told them that, if they get in trouble by anyone else for protecting themselves, I would handle it.

The kids asked some questions, which I answered as best as I could. Then I took a deep breath and hoped that they heard at least some of our discussion in their bones. Since then, I have raised the subject again a time or two in a casual, informal way. I will continue to do so in the future.

Parents spend a lot of time telling kids what not to do. But these “nots” have some exceptions. We, as parents, need to make sure that we give voice to those exceptions and tell kids exactly when it is OK to ignore the “nots” — and how to go about it.

mens-haircut

Perfecting the look can be a hairy situation

This post is coming to you from Studio D Salon, the hair care choice of both the Modern Urban Gentleman and his Sensible Feminist. In fact, both of your beloved columnists don’t only go to the same facility but share the very same stylist, Brittany.

Yes, you are reading that correctly: the Modern Urban Gentleman goes to a hair stylist. There is no reason for shame; in fact, a hair stylist is a great choice for a gentleman’s needs. These ladies and gentlemen are trained, passionate professionals who are constantly honing their crafts by attending seminars and workshops. They often have dynamic personalities and are in tune to the latest styles, putting you ahead of the curve if you are brave enough to trust them.

And you must find a stylist you trust. Try a few; make sure your personalities gel and you can communicate clearly and comfortably with the person you are entrusting with your scalp. That trust goes both ways; you must be honest and straightforward with your stylist.

A former stylist of the Modern Urban Gentleman, who has since gone on to greener pastures, recently shared the list of eight lies you need to stop telling your hairdresser; some are nearly exclusively female-oriented, but the gentleman can learn a thing or two from perusing the list. Pay special attention to the admonition about allowing the stylist to “do whatever you want.” If you say this, make sure you mean it. If you have a strong, trusting relationship, the stylist will make you look good, but it may take you outside your comfort zone.

The journey to Brittany has been a long odyssey for the Modern Urban Gentleman. For the first 24 years or so, this gentleman wandered in the wilderness of shopping mall hack jobs. It was a twist of fate that brought some direction to these hair stylings.

One day, while walking by Holiday Hair at the local shopping center, the unmistakable laugh of a co-conspirator on a long-ago political campaign caught this gentleman’s ear. As it turned out, Rusty was more than happy to welcome an old acquaintance into his chair. It was not long before Rusty moved on to Washington, D.C., leaving the Gentleman in the care of his colleague, Matt.

Now, no disrespect to the fine people of the Regis Corporation, but it was a relief when Matt moved to an independently owned salon. The new place had more personality, freer spirits, and, most importantly, free wine. This is key: find a salon that serves wine. From there, Matt moved to Studio D (the Modern Urban Gentleman followed) and then to Los Angeles (alas, too far to travel for a haircut). Enter Brittany, the stylist working on your humble servant this very day.

A haircut is not just a haircut for the cultured man. A gentleman without a hair strategy, no matter how fashionably dressed or well-read, will always appear rough around the edges. The changing seasons allow for variety in hairstyles: shaved close on the sides with just enough to comb on top in winter, then grown out to match the Movember mustache.

Much like sunglasses and beards, the best hairstyle is fitted to each man’s face shape. There are plenty of online advice columns to suggest pairings, but it can be difficult to truly assess a face that you’ve stared at in the mirror for decades. The best resource for hairstyle recommendations is, of course, your stylist.

Go no longer than six weeks between cuts. For hair kept short, four is better; longer hair can wait for eight. Be sure to schedule your next appointment as you pay for the current cut; otherwise, being a man, you will let it slide and find yourself overgrown and disheveled. Between cuts, enlist the assistance of your beloved to keep neck hair at bay. Nothing intricate is required: just have him or her shave downward from the hairline with unguarded clippers — you know, the same ones you use for your, um, beard.

Guys, we all remember when a haircut cost your-age-plus-a-dollar. The days of the $9 snip and shampoo are over. Be prepared to spend a bit of cash on a good trim. But given how rapidly the numbers in the age column are going up, a $30 cut may end up being cheaper than the old kids’ cut formula would demand.

Remember: like most of the key components of a gentleman’s image, a slick haircut is an investment. It is also recompense for the years of hard work, experience, and research accumulated by your stylist. If you need more convincing, here is some good reading about the true cost of a haircut. And a gentleman always remembers to tip generously.

There is one shortcoming to a salon: very rarely can a gentleman get a proper shave at a business that makes most of its money in women’s dye jobs. In many jurisdictions, including the Modern Urban Gentleman’s home state of Pennsylvania, only a licensed barber — not a stylist — can wield the razor blade near a man’s face. The barriers to a barber license can be steep, and with the dearth of true gentlemen in this day and age, the paltry demand can lower the potential payoff, keeping barbers few and far between. If you do find and settle on a barber, keep in mind that while wine is essential to the salon experience, the hallmark of a good barbershop is free-flowing whiskey.

Mind items one and two on the “eight lies” list above: the gentleman must carve out time to style his hair with the appropriate product each day. Take the advice of your stylist or barber to determine what the right product is, and don’t expect to look as good as you do when you exit the salon without some effort.

Gentlemen, it is far too easy to dress up a great look and then blow the effect with terrible hair. Take your haircuts seriously and you’ll be rewarded not just with your improved image, but quite possibly with a lifelong friend and confidante.

wineclip

What I’m Pouring: May 7, 2014

2010 Chateau Moulin de Clotte Côtes de Bordeaux (France): Mostly Merlot with a little Cabernet Franc blended in, the nose is reminiscent of a cedar chest, with dark berries and herbs, while the palate is a great combination of fresh raspberry, black cherries, spice, and toast.  A-  $13

2011 Domaine de Magalanne Côtes du Rhône (France): Interesting blend of equal parts Grenache, Syrah, Carignan, and Cinsault. Cherry liqueur, berries, and a hint of grilling on the nose, followed by a fruity palate and an interesting dried cherry and baking spices on the finish. B+  $12

2012 Lothian Vineyards “Horny Owl” Shiraz (South Africa): A cooler climate wine, with some of the normal blackberry and pepper component of Shiraz, but also fall spices, and hints of game meats. B-  $14

2013 Ravines Sauvignon Blanc (Finger Lakes): Lychee fruit and floral aromatics on the nose, with zippy lime, grapefruit, tropical notes, a hint of chalk, and acidic minerality on the finish. A-  $18

2012 Ravines Keuka Village Red (Finger Lakes): An easy drinking everyday red, with or without food. Red berries and plum, with a dash of pepper.  B   $13

2011 Ravines Pinot Noir (Finger Lakes): On the nose, nice strawberry/cranberry, floral, and leather notes, with good tart cherries on the palate, with nice touches of earthiness and subtle hints of spice and oak. Old world style. A-  $24

2010 Fulkerson Vincent (Finger Lakes): Dark berries, plum, mushrooms, earth, funk, moderate tannins on the finish. Not Bad. B-  $10

2012 Keuka Overlook Gewürztraminer (Finger Lakes): Floral and spicy on the nose, with lemon/lime, lychee fruit, and subtle hints of nutmeg and clove. Paired nicely with spicy grilled chicken. B+ $14

han-solo

Rebuttal: Prequels are fine sci-fi, bad Star Wars films

Your regular Nerd/Wise contributor and my esteemed colleague, Kevin Hillman, made a very strong argument for the value of the Star Wars prequel trilogy. As a lifelong Star Wars fan, I largely agree with him. There are a lot of fun and exciting things in the prequels.

If there ever was a series that has attracted more outrageous and unfair criticism than Episodes I to III, I surely haven’t heard of it. Kevin calls out the most fallacious and unsustainable criticisms directed at the films and, one by one, knocks them down with reasonable arguments. I see no reason to engage in a point-by-point rebuttal.

Because Kevin is missing the forest for the trees.

I disagree with the basic premise that Kevin is trying to argue, namely that the prequel trilogy is good in some objective sense, and therefore is of the same quality as the original trilogy. Art — whether cinema, television, literature, poetry, painting, sculpture — can by its very nature only ever be experienced subjectively. Nonetheless, there is an element of objectivity to good film-making. Indeed, there are basic tools that can objectively improve the structure of a work, thereby increasing its subjective appeal.

That’s where George Lucas dropped the ball with the prequels.

I see four major, overarching issues with Episodes I to III: a lack of editing, an abundance of sub-par humor that doesn’t serve the story, a lack of continuity between the films, and the squandering of cultural capital earned among fans of the original Star Wars trilogy. It’s hard to keep these areas entirely separate, so expect things to get a little blurry around the edges at times.

Let’s start with what I feel is the biggest issue: Lucas chose to squander the overwhelming good will he had with Star Wars fans by making pointless and frustrating edits to the original trilogy. In 1997, the Star Wars Trilogy Special Edition was released upon the fan base, followed immediately by much gnashing of teeth. It was full of edits and CGI additions, all of which felt forced and unnecessary.

I’ll pluck the low-hanging fruit first. The infamous “Han shoots second” edit reduced Han Solo from a cunning, dangerous, and lightning-quick gunslinger to a man who got lucky. Never mind that the edit is awkward and obvious: it was a bad storytelling decision.

Though none of the other edits are as egregious, the CGI additions just don’t fit. They lack the solid, grounded feel of the practical special effects, model work, and puppetry of the trilogy as it was originally designed. And some of the new scenes are just pointless. Did we really need an extended musical performance in Jabba’s Palace? Did we really need any more dewbacks in Mos Eisley?

Fans, by and large, didn’t think so. And then Lucas added insult to injury by making it so that the original, unedited Episodes IV to VI would never be available again. If you wanted the original trilogy, you had to settle for Han shooting second. The fan base feared that this was a sign of things to come.

Now, to be fair, Industrial Light & Magic and Lucasfilm have always been innovators in the special effects world. A lot of what they were doing with digital sound, green-screen work, and CGI effects would revolutionize the film-making industry. And despite the hatred heaped upon them by disgruntled fans, the prequel episodes will always have a place in the world of film making, along with The Matrix and James Cameron’s Avatar, as hallmarks of technical innovation in cinema.

But why did Lucas choose to spend his cultural capital by changing the movies we loved into something we didn’t like? Why did he change a pivotal scene and alter the nature of a popular character forever? Why did he do all of this right before releasing a series of films that were aimed straight at those same fans?

Obviously, I can’t answer those questions definitively. But it is my opinion that Lucas could have side-stepped some of these issues had he held off on the release of the remastered versions of his original films until the prequels had been completed. Further, if he had edited the original trilogy in such a way that would patch some of the continuity holes that exist between the two sets of films, the fan base would have been more positive going into the 1999 release of Episode I. (One example: Lucas could have explained where the heck R2-D2’s rockets, present in Episode III, disappeared to in the 20 years before Episode IV, when the droid could have used them.)

My esteemed colleague Mr. Hillman likes to say that arguing against changes to the original Star Wars films is an appeal to nostalgia, and I don’t necessarily disagree. But my point is that Lucas chose to open that door for us; revitalizing a 20-year-old franchise was inherently an appeal to nostalgia. If I could still get my hands on a licensed DVD or Blu-ray version of the unaltered original trilogy, I would gladly buy it from Lucas. And I would be a lot more tolerant of his prequels.

Moving on, we come to issues of editing. As a storyteller myself, I have come to believe that the guiding principle behind all storytelling is simple: everything you put on the page or screen must serve the story. Do otherwise and you run the risk of losing the audience. Stephen King said in his On Writing, “In many cases when a reader puts a story aside because ‘it got boring,’ the boredom arose because the writer grew enchanted with his powers of description and lost sight of his priority, which is to keep the ball rolling.”

The prequels fall victim to this misdirected enchantment, stuffing in extraneous material that stretch Episodes I to III to a total run time of about 45 minutes longer than the original movies. Let us consider the pod racing scene in Episode I. This thing lasts the better part of 12 minutes; that’s about one-tenth the total run time of The Phantom Menace. While the scene certainly starts out exciting, it rapidly descends into self-indulgence. In fact, scene after scene of the prequels degrades into what are essentially long special effects demo reels. The battle between the droids and the Gungans, the precarious duel on floating platforms over rivers of lava on Mustafar, traveling through the droid factory on Geonosis: these are but three examples of scenes that started out interesting but went on just way too long.

This is another wasted opportunity for Lucas. As the scripts for these two film trilogies were written 20 to 30 years apart, the temptation to alter the original films, due to both hindsight and new technology, proved irresistible for Lucas. The tinkering resulted in many continuity errors that brought aficionados of the older films to their feet in frustrated outrage, shaking their fists and demanding explanations.

For example, how can it be that Tatooine, described in A New Hope as: “if there’s a bright center to the universe, you’re on the planet it’s farthest from,” appear in the prequels to be just a few hours travel from the galactic center? How can the planet have an economy that supports a racetrack long enough for one lap to take 12 minutes at jet-fighter speeds?

I posit that, had Lucas devoted those extra 45 minutes in the prequels not to showcasing special effects but to strengthening the connections between the two trilogies, giving us explanations for the seeming inconsistencies, the movies would have tied together more cleanly and caused less cognitive dissonance in the moviegoer familiar with the original trilogy.

That cognitive dissonance also rings loudly with the humor of the prequel films, which would have benefited had Lucas shown better editorial judgment. Jar Jar Binks is all slapstick and fart jokes, and those elements do nothing to support the story. The long, painfully awkward, unfunny sequence where C-3PO and a battle droid swap heads and act confused neither adds drama nor cuts the tension of the Battle for Geonosis. It should have ended up on the editing room floor.

In the original films, R2 and 3PO were funny because of the way their personalities interacted with each other and the rest of the cast as they went about doing things that moved the plot along. Han was witty and sardonic — while moving the plot along. Jar Jar bumbling his way through a battle with droids, obviously incompetent and clueless, does not move the plot along and, to boot, is not funny. In a real army, “General Jar Jar” would have been put out of commission by a subordinate officer as a danger to the unit, and no one would have batted an eye.

The sum of these weaknesses manifests in the overarching problem I have with the prequels. I sometimes refer to it as continuity, and sometimes as a tonal shift. It’s the hardest of the criticisms to explain, and some of its impact is deflected because Lucas was obviously going for a different feel to Episodes I to III than he had used in Episodes IV to VI. Still, I feel the tonal shift and incongruities between the two sets of films are unforced errors.

This is another one of those areas where Mr. Hillman likes to pull the nostalgia card on me, saying that I am looking at the past through rose-colored glasses. I disagree. After all, I am one of the few people I know who liked X-Men: The Last Stand, and I cheered when I heard there would be a Batman reboot. I like The Amazing Spider-Man and X-Men: First Class. I’m not averse to change. Sometimes things are done better the second or third time around. I get that.

But that doesn’t excuse the prequels. They are not a reboot; they exist in the same universe. To that end, there must be a coherence in tone and in story throughout the entire hexalogy.

My complaint is rooted in my own experience. I watched Operation Desert Storm unfold on television 23 years ago. I remember the footage from smart-bomb cameras, the scenes on the ground the day after the air war, the broadcasts from the Baghdad hotel as the U.S. Air Force spearheaded the attack. I remember the event. This is one of those things that happens as you travel through life — you remember significant things from the past.

So how is it that in the original trilogy, 18 years after Episode III, no one remembers the Separatist Droid Army, the nature of Clone troopers, the home planet of the famous General Skywalker, or Naboo? Why didn’t Yoda or Obi-Wan Kenobi, both preeminent trainers of Jedi, ever mention midi-chlorians and their role in the Force? For that matter, why didn’t anyone recognize the power of the Force? (Consider the disbelieving Imperial officer, Force-choked by Darth Vader, or Han’s dismissive attitude; these men, both of whom were alive during the Clone Wars, don’t believe in the Force in Episode IV.)

I can go on. Why didn’t Anakin ever consider checking in on his only surviving relatives (OK, step-relatives) at any point? How come Anakin, as Vader, doesn’t recognize R2-D2, who spent nearly 20 years as his constant companion, or C-3PO, who Vader built with his own hands? Why do all the Jedi wear Tatooine desert garb? Why is it that no one, anywhere, remembers the miracle of the virgin birth of Anakin, an event the Weekly World News would still be milking for all its worth if it had happened 20 years ago in this country?

There are dozens and dozens of little details like this. And that’s what drives me nuts and keeps me from enjoying the prequel trilogy.

In many ways, I think that what the prequels did wrong was that they didn’t diverge far enough from the original films. The story of Anakin parallels that of Luke Skywalker a little too closely. The mythic background of the Clone Wars, set up by the original trilogy, loses something by being broken down into a rather mundane political crisis and armed conflict. There are loose plot threads everywhere — and I can’t even buy a DVD with Han shooting first.

It’s frustrating.

At the end of the day, the prequel trilogy was very successful. It spawned a whole raft of new tie-in novels, television shows, and video games, many of which are excellent (Star Wars: Republic Commando remains one of my favorite Star Wars experiences of all-time). It gave the writers of the Expanded Universe a new playground to work in, and they worked hard, doing their level best to re-imagine a Galaxy Far Far Away in the light of Lucas’ new vision. The heroic effort to tie everything together seamlessly is admirable.

But it’s a patch job that was necessary only because of the poor choices that led up to the prequels and the slap-dash nature of the scripts for the prequel films — scripts that more or less ignored the events of the original trilogy and just assumed that no one would question the details.

In conclusion, just as the J.J. Abrams Star Trek reboot is a fine science fiction movie but a terrible Star Trek film, the Star Wars prequel trilogy is a perfectly serviceable space opera — and a terrible Star Wars film, at least according to my entirely subjective criteria. And that’s a tragedy, because with all of the technical know-how and special effects wizardry that Lucas had at his fingertips, there is no reason he couldn’t have taken the effort to go back to the original trilogy and bring it in line with his new vision. Sure, we would have bitched about that, too, but at least the loose ends would have been tied up and the story would be complete.

At least, from a certain point of view.

godfather-2

Bechdel test gives glimpse of inequities, not quality

This week on Curiata.com, many of our contributors are writing about Star Wars, given that Sunday was Star Wars Day. In honor of that spirit, I am going to examine, with A Feminist Sensibility, a topic at the nexus of cinema and feminism: the much-debated Bechdel test. For anyone who may be unfamiliar with the concept, the Bechdel test was created in 1985 by feminist cartoonist Alison Bechdel. She suggested a rating system for movies based on the following criteria:

  1. Is there more than one named woman in the film?
  2. Do the women talk to each other?
  3. Is the conversation about something other than men (or one specific man)?

It’s easy to see how Star Wars — and many other classic films — can come under fire if the Bechdel test is the sole criteria for measuring the worth, feminist or otherwise, of a movie. At least, it seems Star Wars would come under fire based on the comments at bechdeltest.com. I don’t know for sure because, you see, I have a confession: I have never seen Star Wars. Well, I’ve never seen Episodes IV, V, and VI, but I have seen the prequel trilogy. I’ll give all of the Star Wars purists a chance to clutch their pearls and head over to Kevin’s article to tell him how wrong he is about the prequels.

Despite not having viewed the original films, most of the plot, characters, and controversies of the movies have pervaded mainstream culture and media. There are volumes written about the sexual portrayal of Princess Leia and the fact that she is the only female main character. And as I’m not personally knowledgable about the failings of Star Wars in terms of the Bechdel test, I’ll leave it to the folks over at Bitch Flicks, who already did a great breakdown of women in the Star Wars franchise.

Instead, I’ll talk about the Bechdel test in general and its effects on how we view and value films. Fans of Curiata.com will note that we take our movies seriously. All one has to do is check out our reviews from the Academy Awards, the 2014 Tribeca Film Festival, or even this week’s Star Wars coverage to see that is true. In my cinematic experience, I have discovered that there are amazing cinematic works out there that fail the Bechdel test miserably, and there are truly awful films that pass with flying colors.

A few weeks ago, our local cinema showed The Godfather on the big screen. This was my first time viewing the film in its entirety, and I was blown away. The Godfather is a true piece of cinematic art that is still amazing and beautiful to this day. The only thing The Godfather fails at is the Bechdel test.

Yes, there are several named female characters (Kay Adams, Connie and Carmela Corleone, Apollonia), but not once in three hours do they share conversation in a scene. Not only does it miss the mark on the critical Bechdel test questions, but the closing scene where Michael Corleone is conducting business and the door closes in Kay’s face made my feminist blood boil! I came out of the film both angry and awed; I declared it amazing, despite its chauvinistic tones.

(Note from the editor: The aforementioned scene sets up The Godfather: Part II, where the Michael/Kay tension is dealt with head-on. Incidentally, the featured image on this page is from the scene in The Godfather: Part II that allows that film, unlike the first installment, to pass the Bechdel test.)

Conversely, all five films in the Twilight saga pass the Bechdel test. I’m not trying to pick a fight with the Twihards, but I think we can all admit that no one came out of Twilight thinking, “Wow, that film really pushed the art of cinema forward.”

As an aside, I feel compelled to mention that I’m not arguing all modern-day blockbusters are terrible films. I’m planning to see a midnight premiere showing of X-Men: Days of Future Past. I realize that even though it is likely I will enjoy the movie immensely, I doubt I will come out of the theater with the same zen cinema-as-art feeling as I did after The Godfather. I’m also interested to see if Days of Future Past, with strong females including Mystique, Storm, Rogue, and Kitty Pryde, can match or exceed the Bechdel test success of previous X-Men films.

The point I’m making is that the Bechdel test is but one method of measurement. It does not inherently determine whether a feminist will find a film worthwhile. As a matter of fact, films that are, at their core, anti-feminist, like The Godfather, can give a feminist like me great enjoyment while reaffirming my dedication to the equality of women.

The Bechdel test gives us a place to start the conversation about the role of women in Hollywood. Are women under-represented in Tinseltown? Absolutely. According to a study by the San Diego-based Center for the Study of Women in Television and Film, women account for just 30 percent of all characters and a paltry 15 percent of the protagonists of the top 100 U.S. films in 2013. Not only that, but the same report found that women were less likely to be portrayed in leadership roles.

These are all issues that need to be discussed and corrected. The Bechdel test gives us an easily digestible, buzz-worthy platform to discuss these inequities. But the judgment of a film’s pro-feminism or its cinematic quality must be made by an audience tuned in to more in-depth criticism than the Bechdel test offers.

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A love letter to The Star Wars Holiday Special

The Star Wars Holiday Special is a thing of legend. It was a television special set in the Star Wars universe that ran one time in November 1978. The story goes that George Lucas thought the special was so bad, he said that if he had enough time, he would smash every copy in existence.

As a Star Wars fan, I was naturally curious about the special. What could be so terrible about the piece of history that introduces Boba Fett to the world? Could anything Lucas touched really be that bad? (Even the prequel trilogy has its defenders.) A copy of the special is not exactly easy to come by, but thanks to the miracle of the Internet, my friends, husband, and I were able to obtain one. We picked a night and settled in to what we thought would be two hours of “it’s-so-bad-it’s-awesome” television.

We could not have been more wrong — or more right.

First, let’s discuss the basic plot of the movie: Han Solo and Chewbacca are racing through space, dodging the Empire, and trying to get back to Chewie’s home planet of Kashyyk in time for the Life Day celebration. For all intents and purposes, Life Day appears to be the Wookiee version of Christmas. We get to meet Chewie’s family and actually end up spending a good deal of time getting a peek at how a “typical” Wookiee family prepares for Life Day … including approximately 15 to 20 minutes of untranslated Wookiee conversation.

You read that correctly, no need to go back. There is a significant portion of the show in which the audience is left to either speculate what Chewie’s family might be saying to each other, pull out their Wookiee dictionaries, or do what I did and lie on the floor crying out that they didn’t understand what was going on.

The strangeness doesn’t end there. The audience is subjected to suggested Wookiee porn (go to 3:30 in this video), an obviously not-all-there Carrie Fisher singing a Life Day song to the tune of the Star Wars theme, Bea Arthur looking sadly out of place as the owner of the Cantina, and a pretty fantastic Jefferson Starship non sequitur. It was honestly enough to make several in our group fall to the floor and wish for death to take them, non-ironically.

I will not say that The Star Wars Holiday Special is without merit — this is a love letter, after all. As I stated before, no matter how you may feel about the character, the fact that the special was the first appearance of Boba Fett is a pretty noteworthy thing in Star Wars fandom. There was a fantastic cast that, under normal circumstances, would have made the special worth viewing just by being on the screen. If you watch it with a group of friends, you will definitely feel bonded for life to those people with whom you have shared the experience of watching the most terrible, most nonsensical, and — somehow — the most awesome holiday spin-off special in existence.

And if the fact that so many people are willing to go to such great lengths to find, watch, and experience this piece of Star Wars history doesn’t make Lucas feel at least a little better about its existence … well, then I don’t know what will.

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Season 7, Episode 4: ‘The Monolith,’ part 3

There are about a dozen things that the previous posts mentioned that I had not even thought of for a second. The allusions to the Mets’ World Series run and to 2001 had not hit me at all. Kudos.

To me, this episode was about war. Lou, for no reason other than a competitive killer instinct, has decided to bring down Don Draper. With the partners agreeing to put Don to work on the new Burger Chef pitch, Lou decides to use the opportunity to embarrass Don and prepare for inevitable war. What do good leaders do when they’re about to start a fight? They draft the best fighters for their own side.

Peggy was possibly as much of a threat to Lou’s dominance as even Don. It’s been made apparent from the beginning of the season that Miss Olson finds Lou infuriating, as well as a roadblock to her success. With Don back in the building, however, Lou realizes he must make amends to limit his opposition — and make a soldier out of a rival.

Peggy, despite her incredible creative talent, falls into the trap, reveling in the power that she now wields while also continuing as the “woe is me” character she has become. Do the work. Peggy has, and now she has something to show for it, even if her latest step up is as a pawn in a giant chess game.

Bert Cooper’s resentment toward Don is definitely jarring, but it leads me to wonder about another potential evolution in the series. Despite the perpetual reminders about Lane’s suicide, I am no longer sold on the idea that Don will off himself to end the series. The cut-throat world of SC&P seems to finally be developing into a Civil War of sorts. Don’s constant statements to the partners about having founded the agency seem to point to Don’s next move. Do the work. Start a new agency.

Don has already made an ally in Freddy Rumsen and seems to have the support of Dawn and most of the creative team. With Harry Crane’s heel turn, along with Cooper’s, and Cutler’s infatuation with the new computer that has led to a literal displacement of the creative team, the line in the sand is obvious. It even points to an inevitable split between lifetime partners Sterling and Cooper.

The potential divorce with Megan now appears to be another case of foreshadowing — this time, of the divorce between Sterling and Cooper and the creation of a new agency. Don, Roger, and the creative team will start anew, with Cooper, Cutler, Lou, and Crane leading the opposition and likely maintaining control of the current firm. Campbell appears to be siding with Don more often than longtime fans of the show would expect, but the move makes sense after we remember that Don is at least the devil Campbell knows, and Don seems to have developed at least a grudging respect for Pete.

If this situation comes to pass, the real winner will be Peggy Olson. She can’t stand Lou or Don, so where would her allegiance lie? I can see Lou offering her head of creative to side with their agency, while Don would finally have to give in and offer Peggy a position as a full partner.

Perhaps I’m reaching, but this story could come to pass. Sure, the “new agency” plot has happened already, but this is their second chance — which is something every one of the new agency employees needs or has needed. Freddy is a recovering alcoholic; Peggy has a young child whom she ignores; so does Campbell. And Roger and Don have too many moral failings to count. Perhaps this final season truly is about redemption.

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Season 7, Episode 4: ‘The Monolith,’ part 2

Gabe, you’ve stolen almost all of the points I had planned to make! I’m especially excited you also caught the Miracle Mets allusion. After my existential breakdown last week, it’s a relief to know I was picking up on the same things as the other great minds of our time. So are we to believe Don’s upcoming recovery will be aided by a miracle — some work of God? Or is it going to be grounded in the hard work he seems set to do after this episode?

This episode is about chickens coming home to roost, for both Don Draper and Roger Sterling. Don has put himself in a position where his every move will be monitored, his spot in the hierarchy subjugated to those who have not yet or who never will surpass his abilities. He accepted those terms last week, but now he has to deal with the real consequences. At the same time, Roger is confronted with his own shortcomings when his daughter, Margaret, holds a mirror up to her father as he lectures her about her son needing his mother in his life.

Don’s challenge is brought into relief by a new addition to the office. A Space Odyssey has come to Sterling Cooper & Partners. The employees circle the installation of a new computer in what used to be the creative lounge like apes trying to understand what this means for their futures. The creative team is, of course, in a tizzy. Already stifled by Lou’s vanilla approach to business, they have now lost the space that served as the incubator of their output. They’ve been pushed to the edge of extinction by Lou, Jim, and Harry Crane, who has turned full heel.

At the same time, the most creative mind in the building, that of Don Draper, is relegated to entry-level copy writing. No one has a starker moment of deciding how to adapt to a new reality in this episode than our hero, Don. Lou obviously put Don under Peggy’s direction to punish him, but I can’t decide if he was also doing it to frustrate Peggy. Regardless of Lou’s intentions, the expected turmoil follows. Without Roger around to talk him down, Don hits the bottle again, coming perilously close to throwing away any chance of redemption at SC&P before his guardian angel, Freddy Rumsen, can save the day.

Critical viewers are given a piece of red meat not just in the Monolith being wheeled through the SC&P doors, but also in Don’s choice of reading material as he ignores his assigned work. The protagonist in Portnoy’s Complaint, written by Philip Roth in 1969, is described as “a lust-ridden, mother addicted young Jewish bachelor.” Don may not be Jewish, but he can certainly relate to the rest of those descriptors.

Gabe, to your point: Bert Cooper has made it clear to Don that he is no longer wanted at SC&P. Like you, I can’t understand why Cooper is so angry. He wasn’t even in the room for the Hershey’s pitch, and he has known about Don’s double life for years.

The Monoliths of Arthur C. Clarke’s novels were omens from the future that spurred technological innovation among the natives. The computer at SC&P is appearing at the same time Don seems to have been motivated to work his way back to the top. Combined with the Mets pennant, now proudly hung on Don’s office wall, his path to redemption seems clear.

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Cinco de Mayo: May the Fifth be with you?

Even though the title of this article sounds like I’m telling you to carry whiskey around (I’m not not telling you that), I will in fact be talking about why we in the United States and Mexico celebrate Cinco de Mayo. We’ll also take a look at the similarities between the events that inspired that holiday and the narrative structure of one of the most beloved modern mythologies, celebrated with its own holiday yesterday, Star Wars.

Cinco de Mayo, or El Día de la Batalla de Puebla (Spanish: “the day of the battle of Puebla“), is not Mexican Independence Day, as is too-often thought in the United States. Instead, May 5 is the anniversary of a battle fought at the city of Puebla in 1862, wherein the Mexican army, outgunned and outnumbered nearly 2-to-1, crushed the army of the Second French Empire on its way to Mexico City. As it happens, the French still managed to work their way around and take the capital for a few years, but the battle at Puebla hampered their resources and might even have been a key factor in keeping the French out of the American Civil War.

Puebla, or Puebla de los Ángeles, means “village of the angels,” (as opposed to Los Angeles, California, which is an abbreviation of the city’s original name, a reference to “Our Lady the Queen of Angels,” or the Virgin Mary). Puebla is so named because the bishop of Tlaxcala in the 16th century dreamed the site where he would found the city, and he saw angels tracing it out for him. Turned out, the place was about five miles from the monastery where he lived. It’s one of the major waypoints between the Atlantic port of Veracruz (where Cortés offered up a “true cross” when he conquered the place) and Mexico City.

Mexico had spent a lot of money in civil wars and, indeed, needed to spend more in ongoing efforts to discourage rebellion, so Mexican president Benito Juárez decided to suspend repayment of the country’s foreign debts after his 1861 election. Many European creditors came in through Veracruz to get their money back. Spain, France, and Britain made a temporary alliance with each other to send their troops into Mexico for this purpose, but after taking Veracruz, Spain and Britain backed out, seeing that France wanted more than just debt repayment.

France, under the direction of Emperor Napoleon III (not to be confused with the more famous Napoleon, who was his uncle), decided to take a straight shot at expanding its empire while the Americans were distracted with their own war and in no real position to enforce the Monroe Doctrine (which was basically the States flipping the bird at Europe, telling them not to mess with our continent). Even better, if France was able to get a stronghold in Mexico and set up its own puppet regime, the French would probably support the Confederates in exchange for the Rebels tolerating France’s nearby presence. That support may have given the South the edge it needed to win.

But when France’s army of 8,000 took on the Mexican force of about 4,500 on that fateful Fifth of May, the French were repelled. The aggressors suffered casualties at three times the rate of the defenders, forcing them to retreat by the end of the day and hold off their advance for an entire year while they waited for reinforcements and additional armament. Juárez declared Cinco de Mayo a national holiday four days after the battle, and it served to help strengthen the unity of the Mexican people.

After France won the second battle of Puebla, moved on to take Mexico City, and forced Juárez into exile, the American Civil War was almost over. Emperor Napoleon, not wanting to leave all his armed forces stuck across the ocean fighting Mexicans and Americans while the Prussians were consolidating power closer to home, decided to pull out. The puppet emperor of Mexico Napoleon installed was ousted and executed by Juárez, who assumed power once again.

Without the victory at Puebla on May 5, 1862, Mexico might not have been able to keep its sovereignty as a state. So, in celebration of that battle, and the cause of freedom, we in the United States like to … drink tequila and eat tacos, I guess. Cool.

Of course, reality and fiction often overlap. And with May the Fourth and Cinco de Mayo just one day apart, my mind naturally draws connections between the two. So what do the second French intervention in Mexico and the rise and fall of the Galactic Empire have in common? Let’s see …

  1. A politician becomes emperor after enacting a coup d’etat (French: “stroke of state”). Both Napoleon III and Palpatine were granted unilateral power over their respective state militaries and used them to overthrow the government to become emperor.
  2. Said politician misleads allies as to his true intentions in order to use their armies. In Star Wars, Palpatine uses the Separatists to spark war and scare the Republic into giving him power. In real life, Napoleon led Spain and Britain to believe he only wanted to force Mexico to repay its debts rather than to take over the country.
  3. The army of the empire overruns the front lines of the opposition with overwhelming force. In Star Wars, the Empire obliterates Alderaan with the Death Star. In history, the allied Europeans swept into Veracruz easily.
  4. A plucky, outnumbered band of courageous defenders thwarts the empire in order to avert catastrophe. In Star Wars, the rebels blow up the Death Star with the dead Bothans’ intelligence and Luke Skywalker’s powers of the Force. In history, the Pueblans repelled France’s forces despite terrible odds.
  5. A powerful force, conflicted until the very end of the engagement, turns against the empire and enables the underdogs to emerge victorious. In Star Wars, Darth Vader realizes he wants his humanity, even more than he wants revenge, and kills Palpatine, allowing the rebels to wipe out the new Death Star. In history, the Union wins the Civil War and turns at least some part of its attention to the French occupation, prompting Napoleon to get out.

On the other hand, Emperor Napoleon was generally a pretty good ruler, unlike Palpatine. He was a progressive who did a lot to further women’s rights in France, promote equal opportunities, and help the economy, until he was ultimately kicked out of power by yet another revolution (say one thing about France, say they liked revolting in the 1800s).

Also, Mexico was a political madhouse prior to France’s invasion. Embroiled in civil wars and reform wars, the opposition liberal and conservative parties were hardly afraid to back up their politics with violence whenever and wherever they could. Part of the reason Napoleon thought he could take over was because the Mexican people were sick of their country’s politics and infighting. The Battle of Puebla went a long way toward cementing the public against foreign power, but perhaps otherwise they would have largely welcomed the intervention.

Either way, Star Wars has much fewer shades of grey in its morality than real life does. Big surprise there.

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Season 7, Episode 4: ‘The Monolith,’ part 1

A panel of viewers here at Curiata.com will engage in a roundtable discussion following each episode of Mad Men’s seventh and final season. Check back throughout the week for new entries in the series.

The future has arrived on Mad Men in the form of a giant IBM computer that takes up the space once inhabited by SC&P’s creative team. Episode 7.4 was called “The Monolith” and it was filled with the sounds of progress: saws screeching, hammers pounding, men working. The future also looked a lot like Don working for Peggy, crawling his way back up from the top. And for a show that has always been overly symbolic, this episode felt especially full of foreshadowing.

We find Don Draper almost self-sabotaging his career yet again, before Freddy Rumsen, of all people, pulls him back from the abyss, gets him home to the couch to sober up, and then gives him one of the great pep talk/reprimands in Mad Men history: “Just do the work, Don,” Freddy tells his sad, drunken colleague.

Don’s plunge back into the bottle at work comes after (we’re told) three weeks of office sobriety and extreme boredom. It’s clear that Don is the dead man walking, working in a dead man’s office. He has no work and he doesn’t seem to be making connections with his former employees. When he is finally given something to do, he gets placed on Peggy’s team to write copy for Burger Chef, a national fast food restaurant. I was surprised to see that my prediction of Don one day working for Peggy has come to fruition so quickly. Shame on me for thinking Matthew Weiner and company would wait until the end of the series to hit us with this role reversal.

To say Don doesn’t take it well would be an understatement. When Peggy assigns him 25 tags to write over the weekend, Don storms out of her office, into his own, and then throws his typewriter against the window. For years, Don was the one in control, the man asking for others’ weekend work. Now that he has been left to wither away by the other partners, it’s Don taking orders. He finds a Mets pennant under the radiator of the office while fishing for a dropped cigarette. Lane’s favorite team.

Here’s another instance of Mad Men being more literal than symbolic in this episode: the 1969 New York Mets defied all odds, rising from the gutters of baseball’s standings to win the World Series. Victory snatched from the jaws of not only defeat, but despair. Sounds a lot like our boy, Don. This allusion to the ’69 Mets left me with the striking suspicion that Don’s ending may not be the tragedy everyone suspects. And even if it is suspected, do people want to see Don’s story end badly? I’m not convinced that I do.

We usually save these kinds of TV Character Death Wishes for anti-heroes, for broken men like Walter White, Vic Mackey, or Tony Soprano. These are the characters that deserve demise because of legitimate holes in their moral fabric. Yet when I see Don wading painfully through the first few episodes of Mad Men‘s final season, I don’t see a bad man. Yes, he’s a drunk. He’s a womanizer, a terrible husband, and an average father. But Don Draper deserves some kind of happy ending. This episode was the strongest indication yet that he may get it.

The other not-too-subtle subplot this week involved Roger and Mona hitting the road to bring back their daughter, now going by the name Marigold, who has abandoned her family and joined a commune. Roger, who we’ve seen mingling with hippies many times this season, seems much more comfortable at the commune than Mona does. After his ex-wife storms away in the car, Roger even spends the night there with his daughter. They shared a great scene staring up at the stars, just Roger and his little girl.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Roger awoke to find his daughter sneaking away with some guy. That must have been the final straw for Roger’s patience; when morning came, he literally tried to drag Marigold back home. She fumed at him. He asked how she could leave her family, leave her boy without a mother. She fumed back at him — how could he have left her everyday by “going to work”? How could he have had his assistant pick out all of Marigold’s presents as a child? Roger left defeated. I’m not sure it was Mad Men’s most poignant comparison, but for Roger, it appeared to really hit home.

One last thought: Why the hell is Bert Cooper so mad at Don? I cannot figure this out. It can’t still be Hershey’s, can it? If business is booming and creative is working like a well-oiled machine even in Don’s absence, why is Bert still so full of vitriol? The scene where he callously compares Don to the dead man whose office he now occupies was jarring.