I've spent the last 3 months waiting for trains. Every weekend or so, I'd wait for the train that brought Charlotte back from DC for the weekend, then, when she had to go, We'd get to the train station ten minutes early, and almost every weekend, the train was an hour late. One day, I turned to her and said "I should write a book about all the things I do when I'm waiting for my life to happen". She laughed.
Of course, it goes back further than that. At least as far as the day I met Charlotte just two years ago. the Spring semester of 2013, as I recall. I'd asked her, a stranger, for romantic advice, but something about the advice she gave me sorta... struck me weird. It was like she was telling me how to woo herself. Curiousity got the best of me, and some months later, I asked what she thought of me. She admitted to our mutual attraction. I spent most of my summer talking to her, thinking that any day, we'd get together, we were just waiting... but Charlotte wasn't ready for a boyfriend. I ended up dating other women for a while, but I found I was sabotaging myself at every turn, first by being flighty, then, after a particularly terrible relationship (that I won't specify), by drinking enough alcohol to make myself fat and unappealing.
There was this girl I'd met online, named Skyler. She was 17, and she was in love with me. She told me all the time that she wanted to move out here and get married to me. She wasn't particularly smart, so my feelings for her were purely physical, an ironic condition in a long distance situation, but it was enough that, even when she was distant, which was always, her appearance of attraction to me kept me docile about my life. I'd just keep waiting for opportunities, and never do anything for myself, then, Saturday night, I'd watch an entire season of Family Guy for the hundredth time, and drink Vodka mixed with grape soda.
I came back to school from the summer of 2014, and things didn't exactly go my way. I had been waiting for something to happen in my life, and what happened was two terrible days in a row. Monday morning I got on Facebook to discover that Skyler had found a boyfriend where she lives. Suddenly the reality of how miserable and alone I was choosing to be struck me. Was it depression? Not really. I honestly think that the terrible relationship I'd had the previous winter, full of lies and coercion, had just turned me off from the whole prospect of trying. I wasn't depressed, I was just happy for the wrong reasons. Jeanna told me it would all get better, and I looked her in the eyes and said "No. It won't. Sometimes life just sucks and there's no hope of things getting better." I hadn't made eye contact with anyone in months, and the moment felt incredibly heavy. But I had become complacent. The next day was a Tuesday, and that was the day that my ex-girlfriend's boyfriend threatened me in a parking lot, and it was the day that Charlotte heard that story and called to check up on me.
The next time I saw Charlotte, she indicated to me that she was ready to start dating, but that she didn't know who liked her or who was gay or any number of things she needed to know to get a boyfriend. Did I make a move? No. Not in person anyway. I texted her a few hours later to let her know I still was interested. We talked in person the next day, and things looked promising.
Thursday evening, I was driving home from Martinsburg blasting "Friday I'm In Love" by The Cure. By my estimation, we'd get together on Friday. It was a hopeful and ultimately foolish estimate, but it turned out to be right. To this day I'm unsure if the fact that I told her I loved that song factored in, but I never bothered to ask. It took us over a week together to finally kiss, but I waited. Surprisingly, after that, waiting went out the window, and about a week later, we admitted we were in love.
The next thing I had to wait for was to get into Graduate School, but I didn't have to wait long, getting into WVU just 3 days after my last letter of recommendation was received. I'd waited since July of 2013 to make my screenplay, Four Inches, into a movie, and Capstone provided me the moment I needed. So now, I'm waiting for my life's next chapter, as a graduate student with a girlfriend worthy of having a future with, and I am incredibly happy that my life has been worth the wait.
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
Maus and Ethics
The story of Maus is one that is important to be told, but ethically, any story of it's kind can be tricky.
The biggest ethical dilemmas of a memoir are issues of truthfulness. Essentially boiling down to the following:
Metaphor: Acceptable when obvious. The author didn't mean that Nazis were literally cats, and that Jews were literally mice, and any reader able to handle the material would reasonably understand the metaphor.
Embellishment: Inappropriate, generally. In something like Persepolis, embellishment comes with the unreliable nature of a child's memory. In Maus, we don't know what could be embellished, but it's my suspicion that the father's ex-girlfriend didn't actually get on the ground and beg him to marry her.
Self-Image of the protagonist - Part of embellishment, but perhaps a little more subtle, sometimes, authors change stories to remove elements of their lives where they made mistakes or acted unkind. This is clearly not the case in Maus, as evidenced by the father's disdain for his second wife. It is also not the case in Persepolis, where the author includes the bits about chasing a boy with nails.
Representations of others - The other side of the protagonist's self image is the way he describes other people, whether it is in a good or bad light, and whether that light is an accurate representation of the others. In most cases, we don't get to know what others think about their representations unless they happen to be alive to tell their own story. A good example of this from recent history is the case of Woody Allen, who had abuse allegations levied at him from one of his children, but another one of his children defended him, saying that Mia Farrow had brainwashed the memory of abuse into her child. It is impossible to know which story is true, but knowing there are different interpretations of the same events leads to a greater degree of skepticism in the reader.
Factual Accuracy - It's very important to be able to recognize that sometimes, people's memories don't match the history books. Therefore the question for a memoirist is whether information should be presented as remembered or should it be fact checked when it comes to verifiable things? In most cases, I'd say that the "author's truth" is more important than the "historical truth", so long as it does not stray too far from reality.
The biggest ethical dilemmas of a memoir are issues of truthfulness. Essentially boiling down to the following:
Metaphor: Acceptable when obvious. The author didn't mean that Nazis were literally cats, and that Jews were literally mice, and any reader able to handle the material would reasonably understand the metaphor.
Embellishment: Inappropriate, generally. In something like Persepolis, embellishment comes with the unreliable nature of a child's memory. In Maus, we don't know what could be embellished, but it's my suspicion that the father's ex-girlfriend didn't actually get on the ground and beg him to marry her.
Self-Image of the protagonist - Part of embellishment, but perhaps a little more subtle, sometimes, authors change stories to remove elements of their lives where they made mistakes or acted unkind. This is clearly not the case in Maus, as evidenced by the father's disdain for his second wife. It is also not the case in Persepolis, where the author includes the bits about chasing a boy with nails.
Representations of others - The other side of the protagonist's self image is the way he describes other people, whether it is in a good or bad light, and whether that light is an accurate representation of the others. In most cases, we don't get to know what others think about their representations unless they happen to be alive to tell their own story. A good example of this from recent history is the case of Woody Allen, who had abuse allegations levied at him from one of his children, but another one of his children defended him, saying that Mia Farrow had brainwashed the memory of abuse into her child. It is impossible to know which story is true, but knowing there are different interpretations of the same events leads to a greater degree of skepticism in the reader.
Factual Accuracy - It's very important to be able to recognize that sometimes, people's memories don't match the history books. Therefore the question for a memoirist is whether information should be presented as remembered or should it be fact checked when it comes to verifiable things? In most cases, I'd say that the "author's truth" is more important than the "historical truth", so long as it does not stray too far from reality.
Thursday, February 19, 2015
Melodrama = Tragedy + Time
The most profoundly important writing on the subject of playwriting is Aristotle’s Poetics, which outlines the elements of a tragedy in the Greek form, with a special interest on the “perfect” play, Oedipus Rex by Sophocles. In mythology, this is equaled by Joseph Campbell’s Hero with a Thousand Faces, which outlines the essential elements of any mythological text, from Gilgamesh and the Bible to Star Wars and Lord of the Rings.
Melodrama is rife with “perfect” texts, but has not been analyzed to the structure of Campbell’s mythologies or Aristotle’s tragedies. The closest thing to a structural analysis of melodrama is a series of identifiable motifs present in films of the genre, and the universal archetypes, first theorized by Carl Jung, that are present in all genres. Hollywood Melodramas are, arguably, closer to Greek Tragedies than nearly any other form. The elements that are different between the two genres reflect the differences in attitudes between the eras in which they were conceived. Tragedy is a product of a hopeful time, when gods and kings were the driving force behind society. Melodrama is the product of a cynical time, a postindustrial world where Karl Marx is more influential than god. Thus, the old adage, comedy equals tragedy plus time, is more aptly applied to melodrama than comedy.
Tragedy, in Poetics, is described as the story of a character with a high social standing, with a tragic flaw, or hamartia, that experiences a change of fortune, which in turn provides catharsis, or emotional release, to the audience.
Melodrama is, essentially the same. Class conflict is a heightened portion of the story, with the protagonist being some sort of victim to it, though a high social standing is not necessary. Many melodramas concern the middle class, and the desire for upward mobility, or the lower class, and the desire for respect. The tragic flaw that melodramatic characters have is often related to this class conflict, i.e. vanity (in American Beauty), or disillusionment (in Ordinary People). The change of fortune in melodrama, however, is reversed. Lester Burnham goes from having to worry about keeping up his vain illusion to, in his words, “waking up”. The catharsis comes from the expression of extreme emotion in a character that has previously been stoic.
Melodrama is rife with “perfect” texts, but has not been analyzed to the structure of Campbell’s mythologies or Aristotle’s tragedies. The closest thing to a structural analysis of melodrama is a series of identifiable motifs present in films of the genre, and the universal archetypes, first theorized by Carl Jung, that are present in all genres. Hollywood Melodramas are, arguably, closer to Greek Tragedies than nearly any other form. The elements that are different between the two genres reflect the differences in attitudes between the eras in which they were conceived. Tragedy is a product of a hopeful time, when gods and kings were the driving force behind society. Melodrama is the product of a cynical time, a postindustrial world where Karl Marx is more influential than god. Thus, the old adage, comedy equals tragedy plus time, is more aptly applied to melodrama than comedy.
Tragedy, in Poetics, is described as the story of a character with a high social standing, with a tragic flaw, or hamartia, that experiences a change of fortune, which in turn provides catharsis, or emotional release, to the audience.
Melodrama is, essentially the same. Class conflict is a heightened portion of the story, with the protagonist being some sort of victim to it, though a high social standing is not necessary. Many melodramas concern the middle class, and the desire for upward mobility, or the lower class, and the desire for respect. The tragic flaw that melodramatic characters have is often related to this class conflict, i.e. vanity (in American Beauty), or disillusionment (in Ordinary People). The change of fortune in melodrama, however, is reversed. Lester Burnham goes from having to worry about keeping up his vain illusion to, in his words, “waking up”. The catharsis comes from the expression of extreme emotion in a character that has previously been stoic.
The essential part of melodrama that differentiates it from tragedy is modernity. Greek tragedy, to the modernist, would be absurd and hamfisted. Melodrama is the imposition of tragic story onto a modern world.
Sunday, February 15, 2015
Belongingness in Melodrama
This week, I wanted to do some research into the idea of belonging in melodrama, as a sense of familial belonging is an important element in "Four Inches of Danny Jefferson". For a critical analysis, I will discuss my own viewings of "Goodfellas" and "Ali: Fear Eats The Soul". For a scholarly background, I will be looking at Nichola Rehling's essay “It's
About Belonging”: Masculinity, Collectivity, and Community in British Hooligan
Films".
In Goodfellas, Henry Hill, played by Ray Liotta, finds belonging in his life by joining the mafia, eventually forming a sort of family with Conway (De Niro) and DeVito (Pesci). But Goodfellas is not a melodrama, rather, it is closer to tragedy, due to the fact that, unlike Lester in American Beauty, Henry is unable to choose to preserve the sacred because of his tragic greed. Thus it is my opinion that the difference between tragedy and melodrama is what Aristotle called hamartia, meaning a tragic flaw, that prevents the hero from choosing the sacred over the secular, as per Garry Leonard's essay that I reviewed last week.
In "Ali", the theme of belonging comes from Ali's struggles with racism, and his difficulty finding a place where he belongs, only ever finding happiness when with his eventual wife, Emmi. However, even this is spoiled when they return home from vacation and she begins treating his culture as a novelty for her newly-accepting friends. He only finds belonging when he and Emmi reconcile later on, though by then it is too late, and the stress of being an outsider is killing him at the end.
Rehling's work looks at British hooligan films, the type of film that the greater public knows through Trainspotting. The films discussed use violent crime as a meeting point for masculinity, youth, and identity. Identity, here, is found in the homosocial relationships between hooligans. Ultimately, Rehling's work suggests that the violence of the hooligan films comes from a desire of homophobic young men to be masculine enough to maintain strong homosocial bonds with other men without coming off as gay to anyone. Violence is a bonding point that keeps these men together, while also keeping them secure from their own homophobia.
At the beginning of my film, Danny has no real place in the world, but by the end, his place is clearly with Jenny, as a father to their unborn child. This is both a moment of belongingness, because he has found a place where he can be happy for the first time in his life, and a moment of redemption, because he gets to counter his father's parenting methods with his own.
In Goodfellas, Henry Hill, played by Ray Liotta, finds belonging in his life by joining the mafia, eventually forming a sort of family with Conway (De Niro) and DeVito (Pesci). But Goodfellas is not a melodrama, rather, it is closer to tragedy, due to the fact that, unlike Lester in American Beauty, Henry is unable to choose to preserve the sacred because of his tragic greed. Thus it is my opinion that the difference between tragedy and melodrama is what Aristotle called hamartia, meaning a tragic flaw, that prevents the hero from choosing the sacred over the secular, as per Garry Leonard's essay that I reviewed last week.
In "Ali", the theme of belonging comes from Ali's struggles with racism, and his difficulty finding a place where he belongs, only ever finding happiness when with his eventual wife, Emmi. However, even this is spoiled when they return home from vacation and she begins treating his culture as a novelty for her newly-accepting friends. He only finds belonging when he and Emmi reconcile later on, though by then it is too late, and the stress of being an outsider is killing him at the end.
Rehling's work looks at British hooligan films, the type of film that the greater public knows through Trainspotting. The films discussed use violent crime as a meeting point for masculinity, youth, and identity. Identity, here, is found in the homosocial relationships between hooligans. Ultimately, Rehling's work suggests that the violence of the hooligan films comes from a desire of homophobic young men to be masculine enough to maintain strong homosocial bonds with other men without coming off as gay to anyone. Violence is a bonding point that keeps these men together, while also keeping them secure from their own homophobia.
At the beginning of my film, Danny has no real place in the world, but by the end, his place is clearly with Jenny, as a father to their unborn child. This is both a moment of belongingness, because he has found a place where he can be happy for the first time in his life, and a moment of redemption, because he gets to counter his father's parenting methods with his own.
Sunday, February 8, 2015
Hollywood Melodrama: American Beauty
"Tears of Joy: Hollywood Melodrama, Ecstasy, and Restoring Meta-Narratives of Transcendence in Modernity" by Garry Leonard explores the Hollywood melodrama first by defining it in psychological and philosophical terms through the works of Freud and Marx, among others. It then analyzes Hollywood melodramatic structure, by comparing themes used in American Beauty (1999) and Broken Blossoms (1919).
The psychological and philosophical portion of the paper is a bit dull, but ultimately boils down to melodrama as an expression of sentiment and overwhelming emotion that audiences are easily able to identify with.
The Hollywood Melodramas explored in the paper are structured as follows:
Disillusioned protagonist must choose between gratification and sacrifice, ultimately choosing sacrifice.
In American Beauty, this is seen primarily in the scene between Lester and Angela, where he begins to undress her, then, upon her declaration that she is a virgin, decides instead to act in a fatherly way towards her. He has sacrificed gratification for something that is, in the film's terms, beautiful, or in Leonard's terms, sacred.
Leonard explains that melodrama takes our secular modern world, and transforms it into something sacred. In American Beauty, Lester feels an overwhelming sense of ennui and disillusionment, until he meets Angela, and she opens up to him the sacredness of beauty. He has the chance to take the beauty for himself, but chooses not to do so, sacrificing his own desires to maintain the beauty.
This essential conflict is present in many films, even those that don't seem to be melodramas at first glance.
In Fight Club, the sacred is identity, and gratification comes from anonymity. Jack is searching for something to end his own sense of ennui and disillusionment, and finds two options: Tyler Durden and Marla Singer. Tyler Durden uses anarchy as a way of creating brotherhood, hitting on the secular desire to fit in with others. Marla Singer, however, expresses herself as an individual regardless of other's feelings. Marla's sense of self is such a point of contention for Jack that he becomes a hypocrite by chastising her for doing the same things as him with the support groups. When Jack fights Angel, he succumbs to gratification, saying, in a line that foils American Beauty, "I wanted to destroy something beautiful". When Jack kills Tyler, he embraces the sacredness of individuality, redeeming his actions of gratification, and sacrificing the power he had as a leader of Project Mayhem.
In my film, responsibility is sacred. Danny quits drinking in the climax of the story, sacrificing his secular desire to remain youthful and free spirited. He could very well have continued to drink, and gratified himself, but he doesn't, because he sees the beauty in a family life and the sacredness of adulthood. He proposes to Jenny not out of obligation, as he might have at the beginning of the story, but out of a desire to experience responsibility. In this sense, I am making good on my desire to create a melodrama.
The psychological and philosophical portion of the paper is a bit dull, but ultimately boils down to melodrama as an expression of sentiment and overwhelming emotion that audiences are easily able to identify with.
The Hollywood Melodramas explored in the paper are structured as follows:
Disillusioned protagonist must choose between gratification and sacrifice, ultimately choosing sacrifice.
In American Beauty, this is seen primarily in the scene between Lester and Angela, where he begins to undress her, then, upon her declaration that she is a virgin, decides instead to act in a fatherly way towards her. He has sacrificed gratification for something that is, in the film's terms, beautiful, or in Leonard's terms, sacred.
Leonard explains that melodrama takes our secular modern world, and transforms it into something sacred. In American Beauty, Lester feels an overwhelming sense of ennui and disillusionment, until he meets Angela, and she opens up to him the sacredness of beauty. He has the chance to take the beauty for himself, but chooses not to do so, sacrificing his own desires to maintain the beauty.
This essential conflict is present in many films, even those that don't seem to be melodramas at first glance.
In Fight Club, the sacred is identity, and gratification comes from anonymity. Jack is searching for something to end his own sense of ennui and disillusionment, and finds two options: Tyler Durden and Marla Singer. Tyler Durden uses anarchy as a way of creating brotherhood, hitting on the secular desire to fit in with others. Marla Singer, however, expresses herself as an individual regardless of other's feelings. Marla's sense of self is such a point of contention for Jack that he becomes a hypocrite by chastising her for doing the same things as him with the support groups. When Jack fights Angel, he succumbs to gratification, saying, in a line that foils American Beauty, "I wanted to destroy something beautiful". When Jack kills Tyler, he embraces the sacredness of individuality, redeeming his actions of gratification, and sacrificing the power he had as a leader of Project Mayhem.
In my film, responsibility is sacred. Danny quits drinking in the climax of the story, sacrificing his secular desire to remain youthful and free spirited. He could very well have continued to drink, and gratified himself, but he doesn't, because he sees the beauty in a family life and the sacredness of adulthood. He proposes to Jenny not out of obligation, as he might have at the beginning of the story, but out of a desire to experience responsibility. In this sense, I am making good on my desire to create a melodrama.
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