Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Why We Should Care About Lebanon Even When It Isn't Hurting

France is also real to me, and many others in the U.S. because it exists in our
overflowing digital albums on Facebook or Flickr.
Saturday morning, we in the U.S. woke up to the news that ISIS had claimed responsibility for the multiple terrorist attacks in Paris and Beirut, as well as the plane that crashed in the Sinai several weeks ago. Most days, it feels like particular kind of violence is never going to end. And anything "endless" strains the carrying capacity of our finite worldviews. We don't want to admit it, but we Just. Can't. Deal. Despite the outpouring of verbal support on social media today for the Paris and (belatedly) the Beirut victims, by next week, the mental and emotional energy we need to even think about, much less talk about, much less "DO" about Lebanon, Syria, Paris tragedies will be gone. Work will claim our attention. HBO's newest drama will be there, dominating conversations. It's not that we don't care, it's that we can only care so much ... especially when that "caring" achieves so little. 

Outwardly we express sadness, but inwardly, we carefully distance ourselves. Our slightly-guilty internal conversations resemble those I have with my middle-class American social studies students. "Aren't you glad we aren't in Syria? Let's hope our borders are 'safer' than Europe's. Still, maybe we should be more involved in taking in Syrian refugees into the U.S., rather than letting Europe shoulder the social burdens alone. But then, that opens us up to some of the same security risks. Aren't you glad we aren't the ones who have to weigh the ethical and pragmatic pros and cons of that decision?" It's an empty and privileged and well, downright callous conversation, but it just IS. Meaningful compassion, much less action, is undermined by our fundamental American (and well, human) inability to cope with so much death and destruction outside the sphere of  our individual influence. We can care all we want, but long-term avenues for positive involvement in other cultures or countries seem barred to us. 

If we in the U.S. have an inability to cope with the world's problems, we also cannot wrap our minds around the world's treasures. Generally, we second to eighth generation Americans cannot cope with life outside our insular world unless it is packaged in one of the following ways:
  1. Material needs (They need us to intervene! We need to save! We need to be messiahs! Otherwise we feel helpless and guilty.)
  2. Fearful speculation (But that will affect us! It might happen here! We have X ethnicity, X religion here! X kind of group migrates here! We have military engagement over there!)
  3. Travel itineraries (How can we avoid that huge border control/visa problem when we go to Hungary? I mean, we don't need visas but, we don't want to get stuck in a refugee filled queue, either.)  
  4. Entertainment value (Is it news? I mean, is it loud--bright--scary--juicy?)
  5. Economic effect (Wait, but the last time Greece went bankrupt, it affected MY business. What about this time? Should I sell those stocks?)
What we forget to do is care about the world when it's not hurting. When we see Pakistan in the news it's because ISI has some new internal scandal, or there's been a church bombing, or the Af-Pak border is causing more problems for U.S. military personnel. We don't hear about the new Sufi-rock group going on tour, or the new female-centric TV-drama, or the journalist starting a small social revolution in Karachi... that is until one of those parities has been victimized by a militant group's actions or a environmental catastrophe. 

It's not that the world exactly "cares about Paris" more than Beirut, but we in the U.S. certainly "KNOW" more about Paris. France has been in our imaginations (and maybe even our passports) our whole lives. We think we know France, we may even feel that we are France in some loose ontological way. It's also easy to argue that European and North American society owes France a massive cultural and philosophical debt. Our literature, music, and political history is intertwined. We may be too comfortable with our stereotypes of French culture, but at least we HAVE stereotypes about the fundamentals of French national character.

We don't know Beirut or Lebanon ... even our stereotypes are empty. Lebanon doesn't exist for us as a separate entity from other vaguely violent Arab-majority countries, and might only exist in the minds of Americans 40 and up because of the long presence of the Lebanese civil war in the nightly news or the significant Christian population (40%).

Just a few days before the Beirut attack, my students and I played a "guess the language/location of this song" game. When we came to Fairouz's Le Beirut (which has the name of the capitol in the very refrain) everyone struggled to even place the city on a map, much less divine the language or culture.

In the age of the Internet and YouTube and globalized trade, there's literally no reason for us to strain to know or care about a maybe uncomfortably different, maybe geographically vague country called Lebanon when it is hurting. A lot of people are hurting, and anyhow, caring about someone only when they're in a crisis situation is the least meaningful and personal way to care. If we want, we can EASILY access things that will make us care about threat to an entire culture (even if that culture ISN'T European). Lebanon (or Egypt or Iraq or Pakistan for that matter) is literally one click away.

So let's change that. Share what you love, even when nobody else knows its origin, or its context, or its meaning. Make us love things that are far away, different, and a little terrifying in their alien rules and rhythm. Places, like people, deserve to be loved for what they are, not just what has been done to them. 

Thursday, September 24, 2015

Steele Obsessed With You: Remington Steele Rewatch (Episode 3)

The sophomore episode of Remington Steele has always annoyed me, and perhaps played into the initial balking at a proper re-watch of the series (along with some scheduling conflicts with my watch buddy, Bad Wolf). So, a bit older and wiser, let's all jump to one of my long-time favorite episodes of the first season.

Season 1 Episode 3: Steele Waters Run Deep 

Rigged up with a shaky grasp of technobabble ... this episode dips its toe into the dangerous world of gaming--arcade gaming, that is. While Laura waits in the office for Remington to come and "close" a security deal with the owner of a franchise of 30 or 40 supermarkets (George D. Wallace) ...



Remington reluctantly leaves his posh apartment (already decked out in those mounted 1940s posters my 16 year old self would have sold her soul for). 

Though no real human eats that many grapes for breakfast unless he is a Roman emperor


But outside the complex, Remington is snatched by some part-time hooligans in partially destroyed denim and driven to an underground warehouse. There he meets his real abductor, a squirrelly inventor and programmer of immensely popular video game consuls (Peter Scolari). Apparently one of his company's founding partners has up and disappeared with the new prototype (which is a huge Atari-ish arcade, so no small feat). Now, if only Laura could be persuaded to see the high romance in missing motherboards. 

Actual quote and I agree. Most comforting. First thing I visit in a new city. 


Feminist Rating: Season 1 Episode 3 
3.75/5

Laura holds her own, but with a shrewish demeanor almost as rough as her march of tweed skirts. Still, she has good reason to be irritable, as Remington is hardly more than an untamed manchild this early in season 1. 



And as usual, she's juggling about 15 more real-life problems (THAT WE KNOW OF*) than Remington, so once again, I'm inclined to forgive the sour attitude. And excellent if confusing menswear was premiered. 

I auditioned as Marion for Raiders and all I got was this crummy Prime Time TV show


Fashion Flashback


Pay no attention to the Laura photo bomb. These folks are sporting some serious geek CHIC. I mean, one of them is probably evil but I think we can all appreciate the dedication to Silicon Valley haute-couture. 

Creeper of the Week

Blind sound designer who asks Laura, "May I touch your face?" when he she sets off the alarm in the warehouse at night. Face also means neck now, FYI. 



Laura acquiescing to get information may or may not affect her feminist point average. (What do you think? Ballsy, methinks.)




Relics!
















Video game companies as run through the Groucho Marx Quote Generator.

Classic Movie Reference of the Week
















"I make it about two miles off shore, North by Northwest."

Wittiest Response

Between ...

"I sit behind a computer all day, I'm not programmed for that kind of trouble!"



And everything these two dish up. (Spin OFF! spin OFF!)




Relationship Road

Laura moves from stern disapproval of Remington to "let's pretend to be lovers as we wait for someone to start shooting" as soon as they find themselves "alone" on the docks. Practically third base where Laura is concerned. So far, my theory that Laura is mostly turned on by five things ...
1. Stakeouts
2. Wind
3. The Outdoors
4. Lying
5. Ugly carpeting



... is firmly supported by this episode. 

Final Questions

I think this might be the episode that inspired the addition of Mildred in season 2. I mean, the ending with Mr. Arnok (spoiler), refusing to get on that plane at the end because he thinks he's found his calling in private detective work?! The perfect formula, just missing the right raw data. [Don't hate on the metaphor, I have no coding or maths skills.]



*Theoretically, at any time Remington "might" be dealing with a number of mundane problems or past demons that we aren't allowed to see because it would spoil the allure. I hear there was to be a book on the subject, The Remington Mystique, but traditional second-wave-ian Betty Friedan was offended, and in the end, it wasn't greenlit. For the best, I'm sure. As the conversation goes in this very episode:

Laura: Ah yes, the mysterious past. Never to be revealed. 

Remington: What for? The one you've created for me is perfect. Why puncture it with something tedious, like the truth? 

Tuesday, June 17, 2014

Agfacolor: Introduction

Veit Harlen's Opfergang (The Third Reich, 1944)
I don't know about you, but I'm easily tempted by unusual film color palettes. Color has lured me into watching beautiful unsubtitled things and horrid disappointing things that I wish had been unsubtitled.

Outside film school circles, people don't talk about color film stock and styles much. Pretty much everyone recognizes the label Technicolor, and some might even recognize Kodachrome (from the Simon and Garfunkel song, if nothing else). But back when Technicolor first started gaining ground in Hollywood around 1939, Germany came up with it's own (cheaper) alternative film stock and corresponding development process. This process became known as Agfacolor, and was perhaps most infamously used in the Third Reich release of Munchhausen (1943).

Carnival Night (USSR, 1956)
When the Soviet Union gained East Germany along with the rest of the Eastern Bloc, a prominent Agfacolor production house fell into their laps. Soon, the process was rebranded as Sovcolor . . . and was used throughout the Eastern Bloc and Russia in color cinema up through the 70's. It was also adapted in Western Europe for Belgium, German, and Italian films. But, Agfacolor's process wasn't as visually consistent as Technicolor or even its primary competitor, Kodak (of Kodachrome) Eastmancolor. And, so, it all but died out after the 50's in the U.S. I'm speculating, but it also may have smacked too much of enemy 'isms in the U.S. (fascism, communism) . . . and so the few films that were made in its (I think) strikingly homey and almost folk-illustration tones . . . remained just that, a few.

Seven Brides for Seven Brothers (U.S., 1954)
The American list does include a few classics, notably, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers (1954) and Kiss Me Kate (1953). [A bit of info that finally clears up why I have always liked the visual quality of the latter more than the actual story.] But it is films like the more obscure The Man on the Eiffel Tower (U.S., 1949) and the wildly popular Empress Sissi trilogy (Germany, 1950's) that most closely resemble the look of the Russian films from the 50's and 60's I've been enjoying so much over the last year.

Razny Sudby (USSR, 1957)
For yes, it was the look of Sovcolor films that first struck my fancy and drove me to find more of the same. Unfortunately, the info out there in the Interwebs is woefully limited. I'd settle for a world cinema filmography or two, but I have yet to find anything that could be construed as comprehensive, much less exhaustive.

So, while I was about to publish a a longer version of this post months ago . . . I hit the breaks, hoping to find more leads on other films made in Agfacolor stock.

This week, I struck gold. Or at least another vein of ore to follow.

Equinox Flower (Japan, 1958)
I started watching Yasujiro Ozu's Equinox Flower (1958), mostly because I had been intrigued by stills I had seen floating around Tumblr. And then, what do I see in the opening credits? Agfacolor. The word is that Ozu CHOSE (rather than settled for) Agfacolor for his debut effort in color because he felt it showcased red tones better than anything else. Which is exactly what I had noticed in every film, exactly what I love about Agfacolor . . . but had yet to hear one other person mention! [I was starting to think I was the only one who could see it.] Beyond that, historical blurbs always seem to mention the economic or convenience factors, never the visual preference factor; and it was refreshing to hear someone acknowledge the obvious--that some artistes and theatregoers probably liked it for its own sake.

But in all fairness, Eastmancolor ain't so bad either. [And at times, indistinguishable from Agfacolor, if I'm being honest.]

Guys and Dolls (U.S., Eastmancolor, 1955)


















I guess I'm not just a sucker for unusual color pallettes. I like 'em cheap and fast, too. As I dig around for more Agfacolor stock films, I will write separate posts on the films I've seen (here or at Filmi-Contrast), and start compiling a master list of films confirmed or suspected as Agfacolor stock, probably on a separate page.
To be continued.

Sunday, June 8, 2014

that's so gothic: Bottled October

Almost Gothic, but not quite is Scarlet Sails (USSR, 1961).
Every summer I harbor a fleeting desire for fall. Especially fall on the dangerous coast of a deserted moor, which is even harder to come by. It's probably the Minnesota humidity, which my brain likes, but my rheumatism doesn't. Just kidding, I probably don't have rheumatic joints and I'm still in my twenties . . . (albeit definitely on the far side and please don't let it be rheumatism). It also might the karmic result of trying to control Nature.

See, I just don't let myself indulge in autumn melancholia the way I used to.

Brooding in the dark is never as cool as Winona makes it look.
Oh for the days of sitting in the dark and writing depressing stories to the blue light of an ancient PC and the crackling of mice in the fallen leaves outside my window. And the burned track of Lacrymosa from Mozart's Requiem that I killed with an excess of love. Once upon a time, the only way I knew how to cope with the blues that came on with the changing of the seasons was to write my name in blood upon the fall months and make them swear an oath to serve me forever.

Which is a [crazy] way of saying that I liked to embrace my dark side back then. Now I know that THAT way lies blindness, isolation, and lots of scribblings too personal to be ultimately meaningful. 19th century novel fan fiction was cathartic, but not something I could point to as a product of time well-spent. And while a bit of Gothic could spark creative bursts, too much put out the flame entirely. But I haven't given up the occasional Gothic pursuit. I just have to compartmentalize them these days so that they don't take over my whole life.

What follows here are some recommended Gothic indulgences (chosen for their relatively low profiles and unusual levels of female agency), to be consumed in moderation of course.


Forever Knight (Canada, 1992-1996)

 Sure, my favorite/most watched television show of all time is Buffy the Vampire Slayer. But I'd venture to say that BTVS (and certainly its spin-off, Angel) wouldn't exist without this short lived Canadian series. If anyone in your house was a SyFy Channel junkie in the 90's, you probably are at least aware of its existence. But, considering that the airing times were often in the late evening, and that stylistically it reeks of 1992, you could have easily flipped past it.

That's a mistake. Unlike most of the vampire films and TV series popular at the moment (I'm looking at you Vampire Diaries and True Blood), this series was built around NOT giving the audience what they want. Not even for one episode. Appropriately enough, the homicide detective/vampire protagonist, Nicholas (Geraint Wyn Davies), never gets what he wants, either. Instead, he desperately wobbles between craved humanity (i.e. being human again) and his darker side . . . usually embodied in the persons of his sire LaCroix (the brilliant Nigel Bennett), or his centuries-old flame, Janette (played by Deborah Duchene, and still the sexiest vampire club owner I have seen to date.) Subtly, the series balances out these vampire influences with the human male/female duo of Nick's down-to earth partner Schanke (John Kapelos), and physician/coroner Natalie (Catherine Disher), both of whom strive to help Nick embrace a "normal" life.

While there are a few episodes with more graphic content than one would expect for 90's TV (hello
Canadian non-censors!), the overall tone of the three-year series is philosophical, rather than sensationalist. There are plenty of thrills, both Gothic and horror-related to be had. But the important thing is that the protagonist himself is not satisfied by those thrills, and neither are we. Most nights Nick is stuck with the cow blood in his fridge and an empty (if strikingly decorated) apartment until he gets radioed into another murder scene. He makes a lot of mistakes. His city is messy and doesn't make sense. Women in white are usually marked with an X for Doomed. Lies to loved ones cause scary ripple effects. Other vampires rarely appear except as a painful legacy of the past, or as manipulative agents of temptation in the present. Lady love is too smart and self-possessed to completely invest in a relationship with someone whose problems she knows as intimately as she knows Nick's. And Nick never gets the timing right. For anything. Ever. It's like a Whedon wet dream.


Tregaron's Daughter. By Madeleine Brent (AKA Peter O'Donnell, the brain that brought you Modesty Blaise):

My dear mother is an English lit professor, and one of my favorite things to do as a child was to dig through her old books from college for hidden gems. Emphasis on hidden. I was duly warned away from her Thomas Hardy's and Aristophanes. And the other classics in her collection were not exactly light reading. When it came to adult fiction, she had never really collected anything trashy or even commercial.

But buried among the heavy-lidded lot was this pleasant and fairly pop-fiction-y novel, It traces the adventures of tomboyish and Cornish [Tomcornish?] heroine Cadi, the newly adopted ward of a rich English family. A long the way she will [of course] have to fend off some clinically insane family members (though the real crazies will only be revealed at the end), decide if the mysterious Lucian is worth trusting/loving, solve the mystery of her creepy recurring childhood dream, and expend some energy trying to save her adopted family from themselves. Also, Venice.

It's not a great book, but it is atmospheric without the strain that often comes with deliberate moodiness. Cadi is likeable without committing the sin of perfection. And it is actually fairly feminist for a Gothically inspired piece.


The Queen of the Damned (Dir. Michael Rymer, 2002)

I'm going to go out on a dangerous limb and say that this film is far better than Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles (of which it is a loose interpretation). And that it's far more fun and female-driven than  Interview With a Vampire (which I've never been able to stomach--the child-vampire thing makes me want to run away screaming).

It's a bit experimental, supremely dark, and yet retains an overarching sense of humor about itself. Not sure if that's due to the devil-may-care snark of Stuart Townsend's Lestat, or clever editing, but this vampire tale never gets buried under the weight of its own mythology. For me, this has the added bonus of being one of those little rebellions I engaged in when surrounded by people who strongly disapproved of it . . . and that it was the film that introduced me to Vincent Perez, an underrated Swiss actor whom I love.

Despite Lestat's sporadic narration . . . none of the background of the vampires as a species, of the nerdy
origins of the Talamasca, or the personal history of the human heroine, Jesse (Marguerite Moreau) is properly fleshed out. My guess is that this choice to forgo detail pissed off its primary target audience and contributed to its lackluster public reception. True, for the devotee more can be gleaned from deleted scenes, which in my brief exploration seem to be mainly exposition and philosophizing. But when it comes to world-building, I'm one of those people who feels that less is more. Vague stylistic impressions of a subculture are far more interesting to me than a sociological treatise on that subculture. I like that the weird visual cogs of this universe fit together, but are rarely remarked upon.

Plus, I couldn't have asked for a better ending. Don't bother telling me that it's a soulless deflowering of the source material. (We could have a conversation about the feminist implications of Jesse's final choice. But don't talk to me about how her story was completely ruined.) I found the source material to be a gilded, narcissistic mess, so I can't agree that there was much to destroy. The film actually gives the main trio of characters a satisfying moral arc. And for me, a moral undercurrent is essential to a good vampire yarn. Without a sense of the mystical sacred or universal good (whatever that may be in context) there can be no shiver in the presence of mystical evil. And without a final transformative choice, there is no point in showcasing the longing of one person for another's way of existing.


The Battle for the Castle. By Elizabeth Winthrop.

If I tell you that this is technically a book for 12-year-olds about a restless but intuitive boy who shrinks himself and journeys through his miniature castle to a medieval world where he will be forced to save a pre-modern kingdom from the horrors of man-eating rats . . . the correct question should be, "Where has this been all my life?"

A sequel to the Winthrop's better known The Castle in the Attic, this book is darker (if possible) and even more satisfying than the first. If CitA was the story of a single boy defeating evil adults against all odds, BftC is the story of a trio of friends protecting a country from a Gothic threat in the absence of all able-bodied adults or magical assistance. Ghost ships, medieval moors, cryptic visions, and near death in a besieged castle dungeon round out the list of October-friendly elements. But I lied. There is no such thing as over-indulging in this one.

Preferred method: Listen to the dramatized audiobook.


The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (Dir. Joseph L. Mankiewicz, 1947)

This is an easy film to show to those with Victorian sensibilities in your social circle. You know who they are. Because although this may be a love story set in a coastal and creaky English cottage, and although there's sexual tension in spades (as you'd guess from a plot dependent on a briny sailor showing up in a women's bedroom at all hours and relating his adventures), the randomly appearing sexy ship captain (Rex Harrison) is a ghost. So, no funny business allowed. Mrs. Muir (Gene Tierney) is as demure as her name might subconsciously suggest, and deports herself with impeccable grace and stature throughout the years. Other romantic relationships appear on the horizon, and yet all are doomed to failure. Mrs. Muir belongs to someone who doesn't exist corporeally and all other men in the vicinity are cads, apparently.

1st Prize: for worst self-referential headline in a trailer.
So yes, it's kind of hauntingly beautiful. Lovely locations, too. I'll take this kind of Gothic doomed love any day over your Heathcliff or your Tess of the D'ubervilles nonsense. But it's also kind of depressing, technically prudish, and is uncomfortably ambiguous in its gender politics. Even so, I can't help but admit that all of those factors add up to something charming and not easily pigeon-holed. So, watch away.

Note: for anyone IN LOVE with George Sanders (or just in awe of him, probably a safer mindset) this is golden material.


Byzantium (Dir. Neil Jordan, 2013)

Two Irish drifters (Saoirse Ronan and Gemma Arterton) are more than they seem. You might call them vampires, they prefer the term "soucriant." And, be prepared, these are not the usual breed of vampires popular in fiction or film. Unfortunately, most critics openly admitted to being Twilighted-out when this film released, and seemed to be unable to look past that phenomenon in their reviews. That combination of factors did the film an injustice. It really deserved an honest and untainted critical approach AND a November, rather than summer, release.

Yes. Gemma's chest is practically another protagonist in this film.
This is a mood movie. It shows more than it says, but when it speaks, it speaks eloquently. It's heart-wrenching, it's feminist without being exploitative, and the universe it paints is surprisingly in-step with with that of the Bronte's creations; specifically, Anne Bronte's gutsy Tenant of Wildfell Hall.

Anne's brand of Gothic: the story of a woman running away from socially-acceptable-misogynistic control to raise her child on her own terms is reworked and revamped [See what I did there?] and is just as relevant as it was in Anne's day.

If you are looking for gore, nudity, girl/girl action, or hot and heavy romance, this one is sure to disappoint.
Not to say that there isn't a sharp edge to Byzantium, but that the "adult content" is always subservient to the demands of the story. Every drop of blood is necessary, as is each kill [to the killer]. And there is no dearth of killing here, if you were wondering.

But, if you are in the mood for pale and consumption-y invalids, gloomy coastlines, or just Gemma Arterton's *ahem* figure. . . or if you're waxing philosophical and want musings on the price of female liberation (from men or other women) or on what constitutes a morally justifiable bid for life or death, this should do the trick.

Strong performances are almost matched by the overall artistic vision, and the casually non-linear storytelling devices should keep those with ADD in their seats. And for the softer of heart, this film might inspire as well as entertain. If you enjoy it, let it be known. It's a crime for this film to continue to suffer for the sins of its lesser relations. Although, that would certainly be an ironically Gothic fate.

Thursday, April 24, 2014

Semantic Paranoia

I'm going to be getting back to this blog soon . . .   because I have several projects that I'd like to post about more often. One of those projects is obviously the Remington Steele re-watch (which temporarily fell into scheduling hell between me and Bad Wolf). The other is related to the two classes/curriculums I am developing for next fall.

Both I hope will be a great way to get more teaching experience while I'm in the long stretch of academic limbo  . . . but beyond that . . . I hope to (A) find an outlet for my global interests and by extension appreciate my semi-narrow career track more, and (B) to help a few high school students catch the world "pop culture" bug. 

This week I had to develop the course descriptions, which meant I actually had to come up with the general theme and structure of of class time. (Which was difficult by definition of being something I'll have to live with for the next year!) I think I managed to come up with flashier, fun gimmicks for the courses (something that will appeal to those mysterious non-studious types) but I'm less worried about "mass appeal" and more about parental approval. I need to refrain from raising the eyebrows of a rather conservative group of parents. 

If I'm going to talk about Indian film and literature,
I have to at least mention the Ramayana.
I'm not interested in telling the students to forsake any values. That's none of my business, and a rather grey endeavor, anyhow. It's just that I'm worried that I'll end up self-censoring and wringing my hands over whether or not to use terms like multinational corporations or the environment
These are JUST words, but have become annoyingly politically charged.

How does one broach the ambiguous sexuality of Egyptian bellydance culture or Orientalism or anything with a group of students whose upbringing probably taught them to ignore the first, and pooh pooh the latter? What about world religious practices that students might be "creeped out" by? (As certain members of my family--who shall not be named--feel about Hindu rituals in Indian movies.) 

Well, by not calling them by their names, of course! If you don't name it, no one can trip you up on semantics. Right? Right?

My primary goal in the course is to bypass ethnocentrism and alarmism and conflict centrism and all those isms that global studies courses and social studies find themselves bogged down by . . . and let the students see the humanity and the brilliance of other cultures. Like, instead of glossing over Cambodia with just a blurb dedicated to the Khmer Rouge genocide and then moving on to the next great world disaster, why not give the students a taste of something like this, first? 


Maybe I'm not the best example, but starting with a story . . . starting with a song . . . starting with a sample of someone else's hopes and dreams. . . in their own particular unique style and delivery . . . I'm not only way more likely to feel the tragedy, but also want to see more BEYOND that tragedy. As I said in the course description . . . the aim is to understand the people behind the headlines, not just the headlines themselves. 

Friday, March 21, 2014

Steele Obsessed With You: Remington Steele Re-watch (Episode 1)

We are two steele-hearted females from the American Midwest ... Miranda and Bad Wolf, 80's & 90's kids respectively ... collaborating to honor our most sacred and "ancient" common ground. Here's to making the relic of Remington Steele REAL again to another generation (or just like five potential readers).



Season 1: Episode 1. License to Steele 

(see here for summary)

No one in this first episode is who they seem to be. Everyone is pretending  to be (and/or being mistaken for) someone they're not.


This ambitious dedication to different versions of the long-con ultimately brings international man of mystery Richard Blaine/Remington Steele (Pierce Brosnan) and detective Laura Holt (Stephanie Zimbalist) together in a common quest to maintain public image status-quo; while they secretly indulge in their mutual addiction to excitement and deception.


Also, we learn that sexism is as ugly as the 80's day-player characters who thrive on it.


Feminism Rating: Episode 1


                                        Feminist Points Awarded: 5/5                                           

Laura as the backseat driver. Brilliant visual metaphor. 























1. In an episode with murder and international crime and rampant deception from all sides, it is sexism and that annoying "good-old-boy" mindset which receive the blackest ethical marks. 

2. In a merciless fashion, this episode sets up Laura Holt's central (feminist) problem: that she is a genius entrepreneurial private eye going completely unrecognized and unsought-after just because she is a woman. Unrecognized, that is, until she creates a fake, perfect boss called Remington Steele. Then her cases come rolling in. What she doesn't expect is having to deal with a real life person "impersonating" the perfect Mr. Steele . . . an imposter that gets (and will continue to get) all the credit and glory (while she does most of the work). Note: this first episode paints such a frustrating picture of Laura's situation that we found it a hard re-watch. 

3. This show did "socially conscious female detective" way, way before Veronica Mars. Even from this first episode, it manages to mix the wit and wisdom of fast-talking dames from the screwball era, the noir tropes of Raymond Chandler & and his ilk, AND the "new" awareness of women's struggles in the workplace. We'll talk a lot about HOW the show does all this in future episode posts.


Fashion Flashback


Laura won in this episode, fashion-wise. Nobody else could hold a candle to her style, especially when she was wearing the red-number at the car-unveiling/Remington Steele unmasking party.

Sorry for the blurriness, but this is one of the only full-length moments we get of this fabulous, gravity-defying (how DOES Laura's chest stay up?) dress. 
























Also, this smart, Lauren Bacall-reminiscent suit from the beginning of the episode:














Ok, Ok. There was this, too. 
















Relics! 


Steele/Pearson's car. The blue Mercedes.



We don't think it shows up again after this episode (it was probably stolen anyway), but we love it. Not as much as LATER cars that we will document ad nauseum, but a fine beginning nonetheless. [Miranda: My SUV is jealous anyway. . . ]

Also, a makeshift developing room. How quaint.
















Classic movie reference of the week: 




























Wittiest Response


Corporate ass to Remington: I thought you'd be older . . .

Remington: Oh, I can age on demand.

Relationship Road 


Ok, so if you've seen this show, you know that it's about feminism, neo-noir, throwback 1930's comedy, and the will-they-won't-they/power struggle-oriented relationship between Remington and Laura.




And this was really a "set-up" episode in every sense of the word. Laura and Remington's future struggles were accurately foreshadowed in a couple of lines like this one:

























And this one directed at poor, brotherly Murphy:



Yay for a constant barrage of double entendres! Also, for a pilot episode, the dialogue is first class.

Final Questions


"Is it just me, or were people uglier in the 80's? Or maybe it was just a nationwide Burt Reynolds hangover."
~Miranda

























"What the heck is a Magnum?"
~Bad Wolf