Feminist Director Crisis of Faith: Elia Kazan

So I’m at home in Scranton for a little more than two weeks before returning to the city to direct Alcestis. Before I left I picked up a book at the Strand (another very famous New York landmark) called Kazan on Directing. Published just this year, it’s a collection of Elia Kazan‘s notes and journals. Kazan is one of the first American auteurs, in terms of both film and stage. He was a founding member of The Actors Studio and was an instrumental force in our nation’s two attempts at forming a national theater. (It wasn’t his fault they failed, America’s just pretty bad at funding the arts in general, and it didn’t help that a lot of America’s best theatre artists had Communist ties, sending certain American congressmen into hissy fits.)

Kazan also directed one of my favorite films of all time, East of Eden, the first film James Dean starred in. Dean is amazing in it, and the storytelling is just breathtaking. (Steinbeck and Kazan add up to a very twisted kind of Biblical Americana.)

Expressionism + Method Acting + Steinbeck = Awesome

After seeing East of Eden, I saw A Streetcar Named Desire, the film adaptation of Kazan’s acclaimed stage production (written by a troubled Southern gentleman named Tennessee Williams). I’ve talked about the ineffable charisma of this film before, but I will reiterate that it’s one of the most interesting studies in gender relations and cultural studies on celluloid. It both mourns and indicts genteel and blue collar Southern culture, setting up the two representations of these cultures (Blanche and Stanley, respectively) on a path to destruction.

Cultures collide. In the most disturbing and sexy way possible.

At least that’s what I saw in the film. I saw two equal forces fighting for the love of one woman: Stella. A woman who started out like Blanche, delicate, unprepared for the real world, and fell in with Stanley, a man she happily compares to an animal, because he gives her permission to be an animal sometimes too, to like sex, to be a sexual being. The battle for Stella is the fight between primitivism and ingrained chauvinism. Blanche found a way to empower herself through the chauvinism of the culture she grew up by cultivating a personality that needed to be taken care of, that made men feel secure in her dependence on them. Stanley and Stella have a troubled relationship but it is much more equal than any relationship Blanche wants to have.

Okay, that said, now this is what Kazan himself said about the piece:

Blanche is an outdated creature, approaching extinction, like the dinosaur. She is about to be pushed off the edge of the world. On the other hand, she is a heightened version, an artistic intensification, of all women. That is what makes the play universal. Blanche’s special relation to all women is that she is at that critical point where the one thing above all else that she is dependent on–her physical attractiveness, what men find appealing about her–is beginning to fade. Blanche is like all women, dependent on a man, looking for someone to hang on to: only more so! [Bold stands in for Kazan’s italics.]

A (Pansexual) Love Letter to Kurt Hummel

On Tuesday night’s Glee, “Laryngitis,” (It’s less cutely titled than usual, thank God) Chris Colfer’s character, Kurt, became quite possibly the most interesting LGBT character on a predominantly straight show.

(I will admit I am not as familiar with shows that are predominantly LGBT  as I’d like to be. I watched The L Word, Queer as Folk, and like pretty much everyone in America, I watched Will and Grace until things got all weird and Grace was pregnant and it was strange. I’m certainly taking recommendations if anyone has more things for me to watch.)

Why is he interesting?

Well there’s the whole football “Single Ladies” thing.

He also almost out sopranos Lea “Spring Awakening and Ragtime when I was a baby” Michele when they both compete to sing “Defying Gravity.”

Above all, Chris Colfer lets Kurt keep his dignity, which is the character works in the first place. There are plenty of stereotypical gay men in the media. (Thank you Will and Grace and Ugly Betty.)

Maybe I Won’t Be Moving to the UK: The Times of London’s “Trouble With Women”

Via Jezabel, I found out that the Times of London has been running a feature series called “The Trouble With Women.” Titles in this series include “They Live in a Fantasy World,” “They Need to Stop Asking Pointless Questions,” “They Grow Up and Get Boring,” which includes chauvinist gems like this:

Women just don’t seem to retain that sense of childhood fun. Without the giddying effect of alcohol, or the energy generated by the first bloom of a new romance, they lack the spontaneity and freedom to enjoy unconditionally life’s simple pleasures. There are two reasons why this is so. One is that women’s brains are — obviously — wired differently from men’s. Primeval women existed to reproduce and protect the next generation. This maternal drive still remains, and the seriousness of this genetic responsibility manifests itself in sombre maturity. Women get stuck with being serious. On the other hand, primeval men were, as the cliché goes, the hunters, not the gatherers. They required a positive and outgoing approach; so they weren’t good parents, but they possessed an all-important sense of adventure. The evolutionary outcome is that men innately know how to have childlike fun. This type of behaviour is often not a good look, though, and that is something that matters to women. Perhaps it should also matter to men, but at least it doesn’t stop us appreciating fun.

And that’s just the beginning. “Stu,” who is only a year older than me, tries to comfort me about not wearing makeup by saying that men are more obsessed with the cheerleader from Heroes than with Lady Gaga: “Blokes actually like seeing their girlfriends unmade-up. It’s a privilege to be the only one who gets to see that side; it’s like exclusive access.” . . . Oh, okay. Like in a harem in some xenophobic Douglas Fairbanks movie?

Of course, my love, you're the only one who has access to me.

So I've got exclusive access, right? ....Right?

This series is filled with men bemoaning how women haven’t been understanding them, how they hate small talk and lots of makeup, and see the big picture while we’re lost in the little details, how we should just leave them alone so they can watch 24. (My question is, can I watch 24 with you?) Also, some plonker said the wage gap and glass ceiling was caused by women whining and moaning about how they should get a raise or a better job. Seriously.

Lemoning the Popcorn Films for Summer 2010: Part One

Summertime! And the air conditioning is preferable… Popcorn’s popping and movie attendance will be high. But Lillian, you say, I’m a discerning filmgoer. I’m queer and feminism conscious. What popcorn films can I see?

Well, my friend, I have devised a scale very similar to Mr. Kinsey’s except with misogynism and feminism instead of hetero or queer.

Let's call 1 "Whalerider" and 6 "I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell" (It's pretty homosocial when you think about it.)

Remember, a higher number in this case is more problematic. This is in no way a judgment on homosexuality, I just like implying that Tucker Max is not in any way the hetero bro he so insists he is. These are all guesses at the issues presented in the film and judgements based on the marketing.

Sometimes I’ll give fangirl ratings. That’s working on the usual 1 to 10 system with 10 being the best. (All films are listed in order of release date.)

And Frank Deford Wonders Why Women “Aren’t Into Sports,” or the Curious Case of the Ben Roethlisberger Rape Apologist

This will probably be the only time I talk about sports other than soccer, blitzball, and quidditch (I promise).

Let me preface this by saying I was raised on NPR. I even worked at my local public radio/television station, WVIA, for a whole summer, and it was an amazingly nurturing and safe working environment. That said, I am absolutely livid at NPR right now. If I didn’t know that WVIA’s programming is often independent of NPR, I would be urging others to withdraw their membership dues.

Why am I so incensed? Well because of this story. In it, one of my favorite sport commentators, Frank Deford, says that we should dismiss the accusations of sexual assault against Roethelisberger and revoke the NFL’s temporary suspension of him because:

To what earthly benefit is it to suspend Roethlisberger? Does it teach little, impressionable children a lesson? Is it going to make other football players pause and think about being a role model late at night when they are on the cusp of committing mayhem? I mean, let’s give Roethlisberger credit. At least he wasn’t packing a firearm like so many of his athletic brethren do when they are out taking the air these evenings.

I’m sorry, Mr. Deford but I really think you’re missing the point.

This isn’t a higher standard. This is a human standard. Sexual assault is not a charming, roguish behavior, especially when it involves a barely legal to drink college girl and an acknowledgment by Roethlisberger himself that the situation was not a good one. A selection:

The young woman, who by all accounts was extremely drunk, told her friends, “We need to go. We need to go.” She told them she had just had sex with Roethlisberger. They asked if it was consensual. “No,” she said.

Linda Holmes has already chewed Deford out a bit on her NPR blog, but she doesn’t have a segment on NPR, she has a blog. And frankly, she doesn’t go far enough.

Sexual assault, or even sex where consent is confused is in no way comparable to the consensual infidelity of Tiger Woods or carrying a firearm into a club. And it is just insulting to every woman to assume the boys will be boys attitude that we ladies all want to have sex with Ben Roethlisberger, drunk or no. I go to school in Pittsburgh, alright. We know he’s a terrible person. In fact, a lot of the town hates him for both his attitude and his general stupidity. This is a man who has already been accused of sexual assault. I don’t care how magnetic you think athletes are, Mr. Deford, they aren’t that seductive.

Frank Deford owes an apology to anyone who has ever suffered from the effects of a sexual assault, victims, survivors, and allies alike. Roethlisberger’s suspension is not about him failing to be a role model, it’s about him failing to be a decent human being, and Deford’s trying to twist the story into some statement about how we force our athletes to be role models is not only misguided but downright ignorant.

I’m not okay with assault or carrying a concealed weapon, but they are not comparable to sexual assault. They just aren’t. It is unacceptable. And I say that as somebody who still loves Russell Crowe despite his bad behavior, which includes assault and various levels of terrible person-ness.

For example:

Never were Crowe’s spirits more in flux than when he was to read the climactic, “And I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next” scene, in which his character, Maximus, removes his helmet and reveals his identity. It was only the most seminal line in the entire movie, and yet Crowe was convinced that it was ridiculous – overwrought, puffery that no man would ever be caught dead saying, least of all a brawny, sword-carrying killer standing under the unrelenting African sun. Scott was one of the few people who seemed to understand Crowe, that underneath all that volatility was a very scared actor who needed to feel safe. Rather than blow up at him, Scott waited until the tantrum subsided. Then he agreed to shoot the scene the way Crowe preferred.
After doing the take, Crowe still looked dissatisfied. “Let me see the other script again,” he said to Scott, referring to the loathed revision. After studying the page stonily, he shrugged. “Well, we might as well try it.”
And so, the scene was reshot. Everyone agreed it was brilliant. Everyone, that is, but Crowe. “Russell, what’s the problem?” Scott asked, finally showing a hint of exasperation. “It worked.”
“It was shit,” Crowe repeated, “but I’m the greatest actor in the world and I can make even shit sound good.” And with that he marched off.

That’s an athlete and a role model, Ben Roethlisberger and Frank Deford. Who do you think you are?

Billy Crudup Sees Me Without Makeup and Other Stories

So if you’re a frequent reader you might have noticed a bit of a decline in posting in the last month. That’s because I’ve started observing the rehearsals of Adam Rapp’s new play, The Metal Children, at the Vineyard. When you tell theater people that you’re observing Adam Rapp, you tend to get mixed reactions. His work is polarizing, like all brave modern theater, and writer-directors tend to be viewed with less charity by directors (mostly because they keep us out of a job.) So when I get a so-so or even a negative reaction to my observership, I have to resist the urge to say “Oh, by the way, Billy Crudup’s in it too.”

Clash of the Titans, Or, A Defense of Hades and the Exposition Delivery System

I don’t want to get into the habit of posting movie reviews on LL because that’s not what the site is for, but seeing as I’m directing a Greek play this summer, have already written about Avatar, and have an obsession with Ancient Greek hair, I feel the need to speak up about the remake of Clash of the Titans. (As is to be expected, minor spoilers to follow for both versions of Clash of the Titans.)

The original Clash of the Titans was part of my geek upbringing. I first saw it at a friend’s house and I borrowed and re-borrowed it from the library shortly after. It’s one of the pictures that made me love action adventure movies, that made me proud of my sometimes cheesy tastes. Yes it was an action-adventure movie utilizing the special effects techniques of Ray Harryhausen, but it also sports performances by Maggie Smith (before she was both Dame and our favorite Hogwarts professor) Sir Laurence Olivier (as a magnetic and mercurial Zeus) and an often shirtless (pre-L.A. Law) Harry Hamlin.

Is it just me or does his hair actually kind of pass for Greek compared with Sam Worthington's buzz cut?

Also, one of the main characters is a poet/playwright, so it gets double points with me. It’s also got some pretty phenomenal filmmaking in terms of building tension and excitement.

Father Enforces Gender Binary, Makes Son Cry

This has been making its way around the internet, but I just need people to see it because it’s a really interesting conversation piece.

I love that the dad says he’s a horrible father at the end because, honestly, he looks like he believes it at that moment. Not necessarily because he’s chastising himself about the gender binary but because he realizes that shaming his child (making him cry) is bad parenting. And that’s how a coming out moment ends up being a happy occasion rather than a devastating one.

Yes, there’s something funny about this little boy’s little breakdown. It’s one of those brilliant child beat changes reminiscent of the boy from the “Charlie Bit Me” video.

Most actors would kill for that kind of beat clarity. Watch kids and you see a sharp mercurial beat change every time. Seriously, all those dumb kid videos on Youtube are valuable enough in their own way to be a Staging Principle.

This breakdown from the Tosh.0 blog (a show I honestly hate for both it’s tendency towards the problematic and it’s charisma-less host who somehow still has a job in a world where Joel McHale seems to have time to do two TV shows) is equally as interesting:

If your 3-year-old son wants to be a single lady, you best let him be a single lady. DO NOT deny that child the joy of telling an ex to go screw himself.

When this kid sings, “Just cried my tears, for three good years”, he freaking knows what he’s talking about. Years of tears, people. Beyonce shares that experience with many toddlers.

Leave it to the kid’s father to nitpick a little thing like the word “lady”. Thanks for the buzzkill, Dad.

This is strangely, even possibly unintentionally, gender confusion positive. I don’t know if they intended it, but it’s a good sign either way.

Censorship, Lyra, and the Scoundrel Christ: A Love Letter to Philip Pullman

A long time ago in a land we once called high school, a movie came out that I was sure was going to exceed the meaning of the word awesome. I had already seen and fallen in love with the film adaptations of Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, my second favorite fantasy story (and third favorite Medieval Studies curiosity story, after Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose and Avi’s Midnight Magic.) I had become so obsessed with the LotR films (as they are affectionately called) that I spent my days watching videos like this:

If the Lord of the Rings adaptation could work, then my favorite series, His Dark Materials, might have a ghost of a chance. And with Sir Ian “Gandalf, Richard III, general BAMF” McKellan as Iorek Byrnison and Daniel Craig as Lord Asriel, how could it go wrong?

How much would I have paid to see him and Nicole Kidman do Asriel and Marisa’s final scene in The Amber Spyglass? ANYTHING. ANYTHING!

Why a Month? Theresa Rebeck, Lynn Nottage, Lee Daniels, and World Theatre Day

Today is World Theatre Day. Each year, a theatre maker is selected to write a quote for the community, a sort of suggestion for the rest of us. Lynn Nottage, the most recent Pulitzer Prize Winner in Drama for Ruined, wrote this:

I challenge all of us to sustain the complexity of our world; to invite a
multitude of diverse voices onto the stage. We must open the doors and
windows of our theatres to let the world in. It is our responsibility; it is
our burden and our gift.

I find this a really pressing quote, especially when Theresa Rebeck just gave this speech on the 16th. In it, Rebeck describes the rather strange account of a New York Times review that dismissed her play The Butterfly Collection as a man-hating feminist diatribe, commending Tony-Award winning director Bartlett Sher on his impressive work “done with the playwright so ready to resent him.” She is too classy to name the reviewer. (He now seems to be focusing on writing obituaries as far as I can tell.) The production sunk, offers to publish in American Theater and transfers disappeared. Tina Howe complained to Dramatists and apologies were made, but not to Rebeck herself.

People suggested she write under a male pseudonym for a while, but Rebeck didn’t see the point. There are lots of women playwrights, aren’t there?