HopkinsCinemAddicts

A Fortunate Decision (Tori)

I know it’s always a bad idea to start watching a new TV show during the semester, particularly during a week riddled with midterms and essays.  Yet recently I started watching Netflix’s A Series of Unfortunate Events, and I’m immensely grateful I made that unfortunate decision.  

The show, based on the popular children’s books of the same name, follows the trials of three siblings: Violet, Klaus, and Sunny Baudelaire.   After the death of their parents, they are taken in by the malicious Count Olaf—a man driven by greed as he attempts to usurp the Baudelaire fortune left to Violet when she comes of age.  I remember reading the first book in elementary school and then trying to check out the other 12 all at the same time because I was so eager to find out what would happen next to the three orphans.  So, of course, I was very interested in the Netflix television series when it was announced, and it did not let me down.  The show manages to be both hilarious and heinous simultaneously.  This juxtaposition is best seen through Neil Patrick Harris’ characterization of Count Olaf.  He is ridiculous and theatrical at some points and abusive and frightening at others.  The way this show is able to blend the scary and the silly is masterful. 

The show’s premise isn’t out of the ordinary: three children, mistreated by adults in their lives, must prevail in the face of adversity.  It reminds me of a Matilda vs. Miss Trunchbull or Annie vs. Miss Hannigan story; we are not strangers to the theme of children vs. oppressive adults in literature and film.  Yet I would argue that this show is still extraordinary due to the narrative and visual choices made to bring the series' pages to life.

The books themselves are narrated by their author, “Lemony Snicket,” who sets up the story at the very beginning and is consistently appearing and reappearing, offering everything from warnings to anecdotes to vocabulary lessons.  This feature poses the difficult and extremely important question of how to handle Lemony Snicket’s presence onscreen.  The decision made was to cast an actor as Lemony Snicket who would make frequent appearances onscreen in order to incorporate Snicket’s clever quips seamlessly throughout the episode.  Thus, like Lemony Snicket’s narration in the novels, he commences the story and is consistently popping up.  Using Lemony Snicket in this way, rather than employing some other technique like a voiceover narrator, was the only way to portray this function of the novel really accurately.  A voiceover, though it would function similarly, would take away from Lemony Snicket’s character by making him seem omniscient.  While that choice works for many films and TV shows, it is crucial to A Series of Unfortunate Events that Snicket is not just an all-knowing, nameless, invisible voice but a subjective character with thoughts, ideas, and motives. 

The design elements are just as key to the success of the show as the choice to portray Lemony Snicket as a narrator.  The design of the show is almost cartoon-like; for example, the contrast between Justice Strauss’ bright, colorful, welcoming, immaculate home that is the embodiment of good and Count Olaf’s dark, crumbling, haunted mansion that is the embodiment of evil right across the street could not be more stark.  In a show devoted to the power of children, this design is perfect because it gives the viewer a sense of unrestrained childlike wonder in which extremities are not avoided and something like a house can feel truly good or evil.            

As an English major and a life-long lover of reading, I sometimes get nervous when novels are adapted for the screen.  It can be frustrating to see a world you’ve envisioned in such detail in your head come to life in a way you did not imagine; then that film-world is what you see in your head every time you come back to the novel.  I was concerned about all of this when watching A Series of Unfortunate Events, but I shouldn’t have been.  Through the narrative and visual choices made, the world of the Netflix series was just what I imagined the Baudelaires' world would look like in my mind when reading the books in third grade.  So, maybe, in retrospect, I should have waited to start watching this show and avoided the late nights it spurred.  However, this is one of those shows that’s worth it.

It Did Happen Here: Now What? (Conor)

 

    The November election of Donald Trump will undoubtedly prove to be one of the more significant events in recent American memory. We Americans are now standing in a unique place in history: we are living under a regime that inarguably has fascist characteristics and now must decide how best to face that threat. It is absolutely critical that in the very near future we develop strategies for coping with the damage the Trump administration has already done, mitigating the future damage he has planned to cause, and ensuring that something like this cannot happen in America again for a very long time. Looking films that deal with the rise of fascism and responses to it can provide us with interesting and topical information on how best to understand and respond to the fascism presented to us in the present day.

    A Face in the Crowd (1957 dir. Elia Kazan) offers a sobering and realistic take on the potential rise of a fascist or proto-fascist leader. Andy Griffith’s Lonesome Rhodes is a fiery blues and country artist who, upon being discovered in prison by a small radio program uses his considerable rhetorical and musical talent to grow his influence and power to extreme heights. The film portrays Rhodes slide into Fascism in a brutal and unflinching way. Easily the most relevant and disturbing aspect of his transition is how silently every other character in the film takes it. Anthony Franciosa’s Joey DePalma best voices this frustrating inaction in a short piece of dialogue towards the end of the film: “all those months he was calling me ‘Vanderbilt ‘44’ and ‘Frontal Lobe’, I should’ve been punching him in the nose”. But DePalma does not punch Lonesome and so he is free to continue spewing his vitriol on the public airwaves.

    DePalma plans to reveal the truth about Rhodes in a book he is writing, but even this proves insufficient. It is Lonesome’s poor manipulated manager/girlfriend Marcia Jeffries who takes him down by directly interfering with his show, exposing him to the masses for what he really is. Even then Marcia’s responses to Rhodes earlier in the film are so detestable that her final action is not nearly enough to absolve her. When she is trying to rationalize her tacit acceptance of fascism to DePalma she finally remarks: “and well, there’s an awful lot of money at stake”. Jeffries and DePalma allow Rhodes to continue on his trajectory because it is profitable to them. At the end of the day, Marcia’s desire to stay with Rhodes in order to help reign in his wilder impulses only enables Rhodes to grow to further and further heights. The film condemns both Rhodes and the milquetoast response to his growing influence. Collaborating with fascists, even in an attempt to control them, is hardly a worthwhile pursuit. Think of how easily the democratic party and the #nevertrump republicans folded and either demanded that the public give Trump a chance or ended up voting to appoint his disastrous cabinet choices. This is a perfect example of precisely what the film warns against: you cannot expect to reform fascism from the inside, and that anyone who collaborates with a totalitarian government is ultimately doing it out of their own self-interest and cannot be trusted to lead any sort of effective political resistance to fascism. Going with the flow, or attempting to keep out of trouble tacitly supports the status quo; when the status quo is dangerously nationalistic, xenophobic, oppressive, and violent then supporting it is one of the most dangerous things anyone could do.

    Casablanca (1942 dir. Michael Curtiz) provides a much more concrete example of acceptable responses to fascist or totalitarian regimes. The antagonists in the film are literal Nazis, so there are absolutely no disguised or muddied definitions here: they are explicitly fascist. Like A Face in the Crowd, most of the people appear to tacitly accept the existence of fascism. Humphrey Bogart’s Rick spends most of the film trying to keep his head low. He profits directly from the terror the Nazi’s inflict on the refugees there by selling them exit visas despite his history as a committed anti-fascist. Captain Renault is far, far worse, using his position of influence and power to extort money and sex from helpless refugees while not hesitating to sell any of them out to the Germans.

    However, there is a much stronger undercurrent of rebellion in Casablanca than in either of the other films. Rick’s jaded cynicism is eliminated by his connections with other human beings, most notable Ingrid Bergman’s Ilsa Lund and Paul Henreid’s Victor Laszlo. Laszlo, an escapee from a German concentration camp, is open about his desire to escape occupied Europe so he can more effectively lead resistance against the Nazis; he continually acts in the best interests of the oppressed even when it endangers his life. It is Laszlo’s revolutionary conviction and Ilsa’s profound love for others that convince Rick to take the fight to the fascists. Rather than be cowed or act in his own self-interest Rick risks his life to ensure that the resistance leader can escape and in a striking act of moral fortitude he does not hesitate to shoot the Nazi Major Strasser when he attempts to interfere.

    While Rick does delay in deciding to help fight, it is only for a few days and not for a few years like in A Face in the Crowd. Bogart identifies the fascist menace and takes the necessary steps to ensure that it is weakened. In the face of a more and more tyrannical state Casablanca reminds viewers of the power of human connection and interaction. In essence, Casablanca proves the necessity of strong personal action in the face of fascism while remembering that these actions are more effective if they are organized and directed. By betraying the fascists, Rick immediately joins a huge community of others who oppose fascism. Even the crooked Renault is somewhat absolved by Bogart’s cleansing violence. He orders his men to carry Strasser’s body away without reporting Rick, putting his responsibility to fight fascism above his own desire for personal greed.

    In order to effectively combat Trump’s fascism, we will need to place our own moral responsibility over many of our other desires. As Casablanca and A Face in the Crowd suggest, if you are not actively making trouble for the fascist state you are implicitly supporting it. There is no longer an option to stay uninvolved, you either openly oppose fascism and are willing to organize against it or you tacitly support fascism by supporting the fascist status quo. Trump’s America is both cruel in its message like Lonesome Rhodes’ television shows, and oppressive in its action like the Vichy regime in Casablanca. Effective resistance can only be achieved through concrete organization with other people and a willingness to engage fascism not just within the system but outside of it too. It is not enough to, like Marcia Jeffries or Joey DePalma, let fascist action slide in order to avoid making waves or losing money. Trump is a bully; he is obviously smart enough to manipulate an enormous part of the country to support him and his message is increasingly violent and dangerous. In order to oppose him it is imperative that we act more like the active and organized heroes of Casablanca and take the fight directly to fascism every day and in every way we can.

When Tragedy Becomes Entertainment (Tori)

   

    When I first heard about the movie Patriots Day, I was shocked.  As a proud Bostonian, the horrific events surrounding the 2013 Boston Marathon have a personal effect on me, and I was appalled when I heard that a film recounting the attack and its aftermath was going to be made.  There were people who wanted to use those terrifying few days as entertainment?  Less than four years after the event took place?  Spectators re-living a real attack that took and changed lives forever?  I remember that day so clearly.  I remember thinking how unreal it seemed; how it was as if real life had become a film as my family watched the news and listened to sirens blazing and stayed locked down in our home as a manhunt took place.  I had to keep reminding myself that it wasn't a movie.  It was real.  It was frightening and disturbing and actually happening.

    Now, it is important to note that I have not actually seen Patriots Day, nor do I know anybody who has seen it, and though I find the link between tragedy and entertainment interesting and thought-provoking, I will not watch this film.  That this painfully real event was turned into a movie so quickly doesn’t seem right to me.  It’s as if the creation of a film could diminish the actual event, as real people are made into characters, and horrifying actions are accompanied by background music and artistic cinematography.  But this is certainly not the first film to depict a tragedy.  In fact, this sort of thing happens all the time, and it is not something I always find so disturbing.  Why is this?  Is it just because of my more personal connection to the marathon bombing?  Is it ever okay to link tragic events with entertainment? 

    Over winter break, I saw a musical called The Scottsboro Boys at the SpeakEasy Stage Company in Boston that raised many of these same questions.  The 2010 musical, written by John Kander and Fred Ebb, composers and lyricsts of other renowned shows such as Chicago and Cabaret, tells the true story of nine black teenagers in Alabama who were sentenced to death in 1931 for the rape of two white women—a crime they did not commit.  I was actually unfamiliar with this particular story, something I now find appalling, as it is such an important one to know and is thought to have been a catalyst for the Civil Rights Movement.  At the same time, the story is horrifically familiar, as it is reminiscent of modern day injustice for black men in the court of law.  I found it particularly evocative of the infamous Central Park Five/Central Park Jogger case of 1989.  I received tickets to this show as a Christmas present, and honestly, upon entering the theater, I was very unsure what I was about to see. 

    Musical theater does so many things.  It can provide a means of escape from everyday life.  It can capture you in nostalgia.  It can transport you to faraway places and it can be uplifting and poignant.  But I had never before seen a musical based entirely upon a horrific, disturbing, and, most importantly, true tragedy.  The musical is told through the medium of a minstrel show, a choice that is controversial and provocative given the long history of terrible racism against African-Americans in that particular genre of performance.  The show features big dance and song numbers and on paper sounds as though it could be extremely offensive and destined to be a massive failure.  But, in my opinion, it somehow works.  This musical punches you right in the stomach in the way that it confronts this tragedy in an extremely creative, thoughtful, and heartbreaking way.  It is consistently demands self-reflection.  It asks a plethora of questions—questions about the truth in regard to race (one chilling line that has stuck with me ever since I saw the show was when a lawyer states: “you’re guilty because of the way that you look”).  It asks questions about what it means to be free in the world and in your own mind.  It asks questions about ingrained prejudice and bias in each and every one of us.  This show is truly impossible to accurately convey in words because of the constantly conflicting emotions it incites in you.  The Scottsboro Boys  is so much more than a retelling of a tragic event.  It starts crucial conversations about the long history of racism present in our country.  The music is fantastic, and the choreography is stellar, but you are simultaneously loving it and hating it. 

    Those who know me are familiar with my adoration of musical theater.  Throughout my 19 years, I have managed to see and listen to a multitude of different musicals, and each one has affected me in its own, unique way.  But I can easily say that The Scottsboro Boys provided me with the most profound musical theater experience I have ever had.  However, it is true that what the Scottsboro boys went through is not something I ever have to or ever will have to worry about happening to me.  As a white woman, can I even decide that this musical is justified?  I’m not sure I can.  But I do think that condemning a show like The Scottsboro Boys would prevent crucial conversations from being held.  It would stop people from gaining a better understanding of the tragedy of racial injustice in America.

    So maybe I have misjudged Patriots Day.  It is certainly important to keep these types of stories alive through film and performance and to use these stories to better the world in which we live.  Often people forget what entertainment is capable of doing and how powerful it can really be.  It’s great to go see a film or a musical and forget about your life for a while, as you focus only on the characters and the fictionalized world you see in front of you.  But these types of art forms are capable of so much more.  They can make you think profoundly and painfully.  They can hold up a mirror to reveal the injustices in our world.  They can pose questions so poignant and powerful that you can’t stop thinking about them.  The Scottsboro Boys does all of this.  I’m not sure about Patriots Day, but perhaps it does, too.  The connection between tragedy and entertainment is always going to make me a bit uneasy, but if done right, it can provide a means of improving ourselves and our world.