I have long struggled with my addiction to Twitter. I gave it up for Lent, then was right back on the thing as soon as it was "allowed" again. I spend approximately two minutes (not exaggerating) a day on Facebook and multiple hours--spread throughout the day--on the bird-platform. I've talked about it before, so I don't need to rehash old statements. The long and the short of it (#shakespeareiseverywhere) is that I prefer that social media to the Book of Faces.
One of the reasons that I like Twitter so much is that it gives me a chance to read from a lot of unexpected sources and get insights into what a lot of people are talking about. I've purged my follow list a couple of times, trying each time to focus more on what I really want out of the platform: Information regarding agents, writers, and goings-on in the world of my interests (teaching and publication and comic books and video games and Shakespeare and…and…). I do a poor- to fair job parsing down the accounts, then tend to accumulate more and more until I need to winnow again. It seems that time is upon me again. What's happening is kind of inside baseball (to use a phrase I know exists but doesn't make any sense to me), but the basic thrust is this: Comic book and book publishing are getting their turns in the sunlight, and it isn't a pretty sight. I don't buy a lot of comics these days--I don't buy a lot of anything, thanks to Ms. Rona--so I don't know exactly who's doing what and how they're abusing their power. However, this site helps put a finger on the reckoning that's going on. It isn't just comic books, either: The reason that I even found the aforelinked website is because a writer named Myke Cole and his friend (and fellow writer) Sam Sykes both are dealing with allegations of misconduct and abuse. I say allegations, but Myke Cole, during the heat of the #MeToo movement, wrote about it in February 2018--and it seems like he hadn't changed his attitudes or behaviors. I don't know the details of the newest stuff, but both he and Sam Sykes have been called out as perpetrators of sexual harassment. I own one book each from the two men, though I've never read them. (I'm a fan of ebooks in principle, though I tend to prefer non-fiction on my ereader, and since both of the purchases were electronic, well…) Their main interest to me was watching them banter across the internet in some decidedly hilarious interactions. Cole had a lot of worthwhile things to say about the recent protests, about how white supremacy usurps and twists historical concepts to serve their purposes, and the need for police defunding and abolition. Sykes had a number of insightful threads about the creative and writing process, and he was a great amplifier for artists whose work he liked. As far as I knew, they were just normal creatives on Twitter with books for sale. I guess I was right: They were "normal". And that's the problem. It's not hard (like, really not hard at all) to recognize that all people deserve to be treated as human, that their consent and preferences be taken into account when interacting with them, and that they should never be made to feel uncomfortable or unsafe. Women in particular (and by that, of course, I include transwomen--because they're women, obvs--and non-binary people who rely on female designations for whatever reason) are human beings with equal rights, boundaries, and personal agency. Yet women in particular end up becoming targets of sexual harassment (and worse) far too often. Men, too, are put into compromised positions by others in power. It is an abhorrent reality that too many people face. The #MeToo movement helped show us how pervasive sexual misconduct (to put a too-polite word on the behavior) is within American society. Misogyny in any form ought to be anathema to, well, everyone. It has no place in our world. …except that it's here. It doesn't deserve to be here. It's like the divine right of kings: At best a relic of an antiquated age that needs no renaissance, at worst a tool that some may seek to remain in power for whatever personal gain they hope to achieve. (And lest you think that there aren't a lot of people who wish for a king in America, you perhaps haven't been paying attention to the loudest and most ardent followers of President Trump.) Misogyny (and its less-frequently seen sibling, misandry) shouldn't be in the world, yet it is. And we have to do something about it. No cancer is cured without intervention; no malady of humankind will go away without confrontation. There are lots of complexities in this issue, but the part that is most salient, I think, is a recognition of power. As cis-het White males who've been published, both Cole and Sykes are in positions that create a power imbalance. Power imbalances are inherent in our system--parent/child, teacher/student, politician/voter (in theory), employer/employee--and the differences in power positions is the area in which abuses are most likely to occur. The idea that an abuser can do heinous things and get away with it is one of the ways that these power imbalances become more and more entrenched. In the case of two published and visible (comparatively) writers, there's an additional power dynamic that a non-writer may not immediately see: Envy. I can't speak for other creative enterprises (though I imagine it's pretty similar), but in the writing community, aspiring writers are the most vocal and eager component of a fanbase. Book signings are often scenes of long lines of would-be writers hoping to get a bit of the signee's luck to rub off on them. The reason is pretty simple: It is extremely hard to break into writing. It's even harder to make a career out of it. And it's next to impossible to gain a wide readership. The competition is omnipresent and fierce. Going to a writer's conference is going into a place where the air has been replaced with desperation. Aspirants are desperate to learn something that will get them on the other side of the panel--to have "made it" and to be the one dispensing advice rather than writing it down. Published authors are desperate to keep their success going--to shill their books to the attendees and hope that the can earn out sometime in the near future. Editors are desperate to find someone whose work will provide a stable residual income for them; agents are desperate to strike a partnership with someone whose writing they love. Despite the fact that everyone is desperate, there are different degrees here. Power is strongest in the editors. They tend to be the ones acquiring the new talent, going to bat for the new books and new authors. This means that the editors have additional leverage over people who are desperate, and that increased power can far too often translate into heinous abuses. (A non-writing example would have to be Harvey Weinstein, who doesn't need any more thought spared to him.) Though neither Cole nor Sykes is an editor, they're both guys who "made it". They're one step closer to the dream. That means that people who might not normally accept an off-color or sexually suggestive remark will give a partial laugh and half-smile when it comes from an author that they like, or an agent they're thinking of querying. Richard Paul Evens learned the hard way that giving an unsolicited hug to fans can cross a line he didn't realize was there--and he did it, as the article says, probably "thousands of times". Were there thousands of victims? No. But there were some, and they were victimized because of the power imbalance. (Another example of this, though its effects are more diffuse: J.K. Rowling, despite having a lot of progressive concepts and values in her books, is a TERF, and she's recently come under fire for comments that dismiss transwomen. In this case, her power is less personal--she has an immense influence in the writing world, despite the fact that she isn't writing nearly as much as she has in the past--and it has turned into a flashpoint for a number of fans. So while you couldn't say that a specific person is harmed by Rowling's statements in the same way that the victims of Cole's or Sykes' behavior have been, there's still a kind of abuse that's happening here.) The results of these allegations have come rapidly. Cole has removed himself from Twitter for the foreseeable future; Sykes is insisting that victims continue to speak out. Everyone responds to this situation in slightly different ways. In my case, I remain in an uncomfortable crux that I've been in for many years now: What to do with the fact that human beings are behind so many of the things that I love. This isn't to dismiss the negative things that come from the embedded misogyny and racism that has built the world I live in. Being human means making mistakes, of course, but that doesn't mean that success should be deprived you because of those mistakes--but neither does it mean that second (or third or tenth) chances should be afforded, either. In some cases, it's a matter of reception. Milton and Shakespeare are near and dear to my heart and they're also emblematic of the Dead White Male that dominates the English departments. Eve in Paradise Lost moves between shockingly original and disappointingly dismissed. Kate in The Taming of the Shrew is a portrait of Stockholm Syndrome and one of the great tragedies in the canon, despite being a comedy. How can I maintain my feminist credentials, as it were, when embracing these two anti-women writers? Neither Milton nor Shakespeare can be "cancelled"--their presence in the world of letters is settled, at least during my lifetime. Their works are crucial to our modern identities, regardless of whether or not we recognize it. And I can't very well stop buying Milton or Shakespeare--they aren't getting royalties, and voting with my wallet will do nothing to their reputation. If economics is the barometer, the Bard and the prophet-bard are safe from reprisal. But what about Rowling, Cole, Sykes, or any other number of "problematic" authors who've done/said something that shows a sinister side to them that I can't agree with? My dollars will support Orson Scott Card if I buy his book, which means that I continue to empower a known- and proud homophobe. Is buying another round of butterbeer at Universal Studios only prolonging how long Rowling will be visible, pertinent, and capable of spreading her misconceptions about women? Now that I've purchased their books, is my continued non-reading of Cole and Sykes a way of boycotting them? And how is that different than the fact that I haven't gotten around to reading their books in the first place? These kinds of questions have been on my mind, as I said before, for years. And while I may have given examples that don't resonate with you. Maybe there are other views that these people espouse that you fundamentally disagree with--like Cole's calls to abolish the police. So you're okay with seeing his career end (will it, though?) or go on an unexpected and prolonged hiatus. You now will no longer buy books from a guy you weren't planning on buying from anyway. Have you done something to him? A creative's life is one of perpetual rejection (most of it's hidden, as authors don't stalk bookstores and feel personally offended when every patron who walked past her book on the aisle leaves without even picking up the book), so are you doing anything by boycotting his books? People talk about voting with their wallets all of the time--I used the phrase myself in the course of this essay--but I don't think it's quite as clear cut as we'd like to assume. After all, you may be able to buy a book from Rowling or Card or Sykes or Cole, but you could just as easily buy a book from Okorafor or Kuang or Chu or Kowal. All of these authors write in the same science fiction/fantasy genre, so why not pick one of these "less problematic" writers? Except you can't go to Hogwarts with Kuang and Okorfor's version of Ender is a Black girl named Binti, and does Kowal have as much fantasy violence in her books? In other words, you normally can't read one person's book and get the same story from a different author. So if Hogwarts means something important to me, something crucial, then I can't just go anywhere else. See? It's complicated… Or maybe it isn't. What's the difference between writers anyway? If you don't like one person's story, buy someone else's. Write your own books (which only makes sense to anyone who's never tried to write a book before). Don't do research into the humans who make your art. Don't expect them to abide by your own morals. Only buy from those who share your morals. Only retread what you've seen before, keeping your diet safe and vanilla, hypoallergenic and without surprises. Refrain from interpreting, interpolating, or interrogating the books you read--it's just fiction, it's just a story. No need to put anything else into it. I don't know how to square this circle. I bring it up from time to time in an attempt to get my feelings figured out, but it always slips free. I don't want to support people who've done harmful things. I don't want to give a pass to creators whose content I like simply because I like what they've made. I also have to acknowledge that someone has a problem with everything that I like for a whole host of reasons, so I have to understand what my own lines in the sand are…and what that says about me. Lastly, what this whole sordid tale exposes to me is the reality that I, too, have made mistakes. Never have I knowingly acted in a way that was intended to be inappropriate or harassing, sexually or otherwise. But that doesn't mean that I haven't been the reason someone felt unsafe or that I had ulterior motives in what I said or did. I know that there have been times--I can think of a couple--where brave women told me that what I was doing was making them uncomfortable. I immediately apologized and changed my behavior and that was the end of it. How many times have I inadvertently "shot mine arrow o'er the house, / And hurt my brother" (Hamlet 5.2) or sister? Lots of questions, I fear. And, as it happens so often for me, precious few answers. NO SPOILERS: Captain Marvel is great. So is Captain Marvel. (See why it's so important to italicize the titles of books, plays, albums, and movies, kids? It makes a difference.) Of the two origin stories of people named "Captain" that take place in the past, I liked it much more than Captain America: The First Avenger. I've liked Carol Danvers' character for a couple of years--she showed up in Marvel Ultimate Alliance 2 back in the early days of the PlayStation 3 and then made a strong showing in the mid '10s that made me aware of her. No, that's not to hipster brag, but instead to put out there that, in terms of high-powered female characters in the Marvel universe, she's a good choice.* SOME SPOILERS: One of the things that I love about the MCU is how they're willing to do deep-cuts in a way that appeal to the mass audiences and still give a strong verve that shows their roots: Guardians of the Galaxy is pretty out there--I hadn't heard of them until the movie was released--and they're now major fan favorites. Captain Marvel is, I think, in a similar vein. The movie's premise--taking place in 1995 as it does--was a fun departure. We've had Captain America: The First Avenger happening in 1945, and a couple of parts from the two Guardians movies transpiring in 1985 (-ish? I haven't watched them in a long time, so there might be a more specific date that I could look up but I won't; and if Ant-Man happens earlier, I wouldn't know, as it's the only duology of the MCU that I haven't seen). Otherwise, the MCU dabbles in the not-too-distant future (considering the level of technology, maybe it's just safer to say that it's an alternate present). For Captain Marvel, the nods, flashbacks, and shorthands utilized were adroit and enjoyable. What better way for us to know that the story is happening, not at the same time as Infinity War, but before it, than to have the heroine crash through the ceiling of a Blockbuster? (And, hilariously, pick up a copy of The Right Stuff?) Gayle and I both really enjoyed it, as the music was almost all (quite deliberately, I'm sure) selected from popular songs from the decade made by female artists. There was some Nirvana and R.E.M. that I noticed, but, for the most part, it was number one jams from Garbage, Hole, and No Doubt that were rocking the soundtrack. The NIN shirt, flannel, and cut jeans looked perfect on Brie Larson, the actress playing the captain, and the technology references and jokes landed well for me. Another aspect of the production that was really appreciated was the respect that the camera had for the character. The camera never lingers on lady parts, all of which are logically protected (considering the role that Danvers has to play throughout the film). Additionally, Carol Danvers was never sexualized nor objectified. She didn't look unattractive or frumpy, but she wasn't being glamorized or catwalked either. I love Gal Gadot's work as Wonder Woman, and that character deserves to be heartbreakingly gorgeous in basically everything she does, so the fact that Marvel (both the studio and the character…and the movie, I guess, which makes the italics thing kind of tricky at this point) goes in a more practical direction is a good way to demarcate difference.** There probably was a lot of pressure to live up to Wonder Woman's success, and I think that it was wise to find the variety that they did. Plot wise, it had a fairly predictable "reveal" of the real baddie, but there were a couple of surprises that worked well for me. I walked in with the idea that the Skrull would definitely be super evil--Secret Invasion and all that--so the change in their behavior partway through caught me off-guard. It filled in some gaps--why Captain Marvel wasn't around before the Avengers Initiative got off the ground, for example, or how she could have survived the Snappening--and, in typical Marvel tradition, strongly sets up and supports the next chunk of the story. Some people dislike the way that these "B-story" characters end up being ancillary and stepping stones to the bigger dangers, but it doesn't bother me. Captain Marvel has a great story that has a lot of focus on her growing as a person, making her own decisions and going her own way--which is what I wanted out of the movie. That there are other components that are building up the broader MCU doesn't detract from that, to me. Admittedly, I'm the target audience for this sort of thing. I may not be as well-read in the comic book lore as I would like, but I've read enough Captain Marvel comics to know this movie was on brand for the character and her place in the world. So maybe I'm able to intuit certain story elements that wouldn't be as easy for a more casual moviegoer to appreciate. But, hey, I'm not them. A couple of things about Captain Marvel's strength: I think it's safe to say that she is, in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, at least, the strongest hero, and second strongest (to Thanos only) character of them all. The comics have different ways of depicting power (in the comics, for example, Wonder Woman lifted a planet; in the movie, she struggled with a tank), so from what I can tell, Captain Marvel could lay down Hulk in a single punch. Movie Wonder Woman and movie Captain Marvel wouldn't be much of a fight: Marvel would wipe the floor with the Amazon princess. But that's not really germane--"Which one's stronger?" isn't a very interesting analysis. What's significant is how both Wonder Woman and Captain Marvel are--and are not--particularly feminist. There are lots of ways that feminism enhance and improve texts, and the one area that they almost always force writers of fantasy and science fiction (myself very firmly in this camp) into new narrative directions is that feminism encourages "strong female characters". The issue with this--and, again, one that both of these films struggle to understand--is that a "feminist" movie*** isn't about "ra-ra-girl power! Yay!" but instead looking at the resolution of the conflict in ways that are inherently more feminine. So while Wonder Woman and Captain Marvel easily pass the Bechdel test (which, everyone should always remember when this test is invoked, doesn't point toward quality of the film, but rather a very low bar of required content), both characters use violence and anger as their tools to solve the crises. There's nothing wrong with a woman being angry, of course: She has emotions. They ought to be used in various ways. But how do both women stop the Big Baddie™ at the ends of their roads? Anger and violence…the same thing that everyone else uses. Strong female characters aren't actually about strength qua strength--they aren't dudes with boobs. There are different, acceptable ways that they manage conflict which don't require fists. The mercy extended their adversaries in both films points toward that realization, but the mercy can only be extended because of the raw power that each woman has over their opponents. Peter Parker "defeats" Sandman at the end of Spider-Man 3 (a flawed movie, of course, but it gets this part right) not through punching him, exploding him, or sucking him into a Dustvac (as he does in an early comic), but by forgiving him. That's the kind of thing that I need to practice doing, as my physique does not lend itself to fighting off intergalactic hordes. This isn't to say that there isn't a lot of progressive work inside of both films. They're interested in making the characters thoughtful, flawed, nuanced, and capable of fixing the mistakes that they make. That's good writing; that's good character development. That's what makes a "strong female character": Not how much she can dead lift or how many punches she can take, but how willing she is to own up to her mistakes and confront those who have treated her unjustly. The frustrating dilemma about this genre is that, formula- and expectation wise, we audience members expect a cool fight in the third act, some spectacle-filled clash between superpowers. If Captain Marvel didn't blow some stuff up with her energy blasts, we would feel frustrated. (Think, for example, about how one of the big criticisms about Superman Returns was that there wasn't enough action--hence the hiring of Zack Snyder for Man of Steel--though Superman Returns has a lot of other problems in it, too.) So finding a way for the character's strength, rather than her arm's strength, to be the thing which solves the problem is hard to do with all of the genre expectations. I don't blame Wonder Woman nor Captain Marvel for failing to find the perfect way to do that. I love the fact that both of them show mercy on the antagonists, even though it wasn't an easy thing to do. That's a step in the right direction. I wonder if there's any way to really square this circle, now that I think on it. Anyway, the movie is great. I really liked it, and though I don't have the same love for Carol Danvers as I do Diana Prince, Captain Marvel is certainly up there as one of the better Marvel movies.**** --- * I personally would have preferred She-Hulk, but there's already a green-skinned woman in the Marvel Cinematic Universe and that might be crossing the beams a bit too much. I couldn't get a solid answer about future projects from the internet--a lot of speculation, but maybe I just missed the accurate information? Anyway, I don't have a huge catalogue of She-Hulk titles, but John Byrne's run was meta and tons of fun. If Marvel wanted to have a go with Marvel-exclusive fourth-wall breaking in the PG-13 realm, they could copy themselves (to an extent, I guess?) by having her be comedic in the same vein as Deadpool. But, considering how much hate manbabies have over female-led comic book movies, having a She-Hulk film that's cutting a little too close to Deadpool's territory may not be the best move, especially if there isn't anything really fresh to add to the whole thing. I'm digressing a lot in this footnote. Okay, I'll stop. ** In the comics, Captain Marvel's switch from the black one-piece swimming suit and thigh-high boots (see below) to the blue, gold, and red motif was one that got fans rumbling. While I personally wish they'd kept the sash--for no reason other than that I love sashes on characters, for some reason…long headbands, too…and capes--the comic moved into this slightly more armored version of the character quite a while ago. It's an excellent move, honestly, because it translates onto the screen much better than the domino-mask-and-evening-gloves look, and makes it more believable that she's a warrior out to stop a war than it would if she instead looked like she'd just come from a Baywatch audition. *** In some definitions. Feminism is a large community, and not without its own self-contradictions. I acknowledge that.
**** Geez, four asterisks? There's gotta be a better way to handle multiple footnotes. Anyway, I brought you down here again because I think the idea of ranking the different films is kind of stupid, despite what I said above. The Marvel Formula © ®™ is operating on essentially every level in almost every movie. While some are more or less forgettable, they all have a particular tone or feeling to them. It ends up being more about what suits someone's fancy than anything else. And my fancy on this one? Why do I still like Wonder Woman despite the rocky third act? Because there was so much riding on Wonder Woman doing well, resonating with audiences, and believing in itself. There's more to watching a movie than simply the images on the screen. The baggage, expectations, assumptions, and histories of everyone who walks into the cinema are different. That variety is important; it shapes the experience. (Remind me to tell you about my viewing of Iron Man 3 to expand on that.) For all its quality and, in some areas, superior execution, Captain Marvel can't be, can never be, what Wonder Woman was when it came out. Diana Prince had to pave a path that Carol Danvers could only follow in. The need for a female-led superhero movie to be a commercial and critical success was palpable when it came out. Despite the intense injustice of having so much ride on Wonder Woman (especially when duds like Batman v. Superman didn't destroy the careers of those attached to it), Gal Gadot and Patty Jenkins pulled off a necessary story. The real life narrative about whose stories deserve to be told is as crucial to a movie as the movie is, sometimes. (Black Panther is another great example of this.) Because Wonder Woman came first, because it earned the emotional power that the No Man's Land sequence created, because it paved the way, Wonder Woman will always be the "superior" of the two films, despite having more problems with it than Captain Marvel did. Okay. I'm actually done now. Thanks for sticking around to the after credits. I watched a video essay for screenwriters about writing interesting characters. The essayist, Henry of The Closer Look, has an excellent tripartite analysis of what people look for when deciding if a character is interesting or not. If you're not willing to watch the ten-ish minutes of the essay, I'll spoil it here. A good character is one that has likeability, competency, or activity. That is, you like the character, the character is good at something, or the character acts (instead of reacts) and chooses throughout the story's world.
This makes a lot of sense for a good chunk of characters. His examples of Batman and Sherlock being competent and active, though not particularly likeable, are good ones that really illustrate his point. And his conclusion that having a character excel in all three gives you someone like Superman is an excellent conclusion. But there was something about his analysis that bothered me. Not, like, foaming at the mouth irritated. No, I couldn't get it to sit quite right, rather. Then I realized why, and it's a massive part of the next video: How to make a strong female character. (I disagreed with him even more on that video, though I appreciate his points and think he has a lot of good arguments.) In that video, he talks about assigning the gender (in fiction) after the character has been conceived, because a "strong female character" uses the same traits as a "strong male character". And while I don't disagree with that basis, I don't see it as the conclusion he does. Why? Well, it's in the video: Wonder Woman. Having clips of Wonder Woman on the screen whilst Henry talks about the aspects of the character that make her (or him) interesting and "strong" and simultaneously considering his previous arguments about the tripartite form of interesting characters, and I realized that Wonder Woman violates his rule of having only two of the three aspects. Now, I'm not the first to notice that Diana Prince is a better Supergirl than Supergirl is, nor that she closely parallels Kal-El in a lot of important ways. But she fills all of the three "boxes" of being likeable, competent, and active. She spends the whole movie pushing onward toward her goal. She fights incredibly well (that battle in the trenches…wow). And hardly anyone who meets Wonder Woman isn't instantly smitten by her--and not just her good looks. Wonder Woman, however, doesn't have a video essay by Henry talking about how it's hard to write for Wonder Woman, the way he does with Superman. There are likely many reasons for this. Not being Henry, I don't know them all. However, I think that one of the fundamental differences between Superman filling Henry's three boxes versus Diana filling the three is that Diana is a woman. Story time: A few years back, during the annual trip to Cedar City for the high school competition, we were "treated" to the SUU version of Hamlet. Normally, I'm always really excited for any version of Hamlet. (As a friend says, "Shakespeare is like pizza: Some is better than others, but you're always excited to have more pizza.") When I sat down, the director's notes said that, because of the way his cast was set up, the play worked a lot better if the entire production were gender bent: Female Hamlet and her father, Queen Claudia. Killed Queen Hamlet. Father Gertrude. Male love interest Ophelio (pronounced "Oh-FELL-e-OH", so it sounded like they were saying "Fellow"). Sister Laertes. Male Polonius (which…um, kinda broke that motif). Female Horatio. There are plenty of valid reasons for gender bending a Shakespearean play. The fact that sometimes that's how the casting works out makes sense. I've seen female Hamlets (always playing as a male character, though), and female Guildensterns and female Horatios. It can make a subtle, but not particularly significant, difference in the way that I feel about the character…for about two seconds. Then it stops mattering. But this play? Whoo, boy. It was a train wreck. Almost every choice was bizarre and out of sync with potential themes. The words were all there (almost all said correctly, save the pronunciation of "union" as "onion"…I kid thee not), but nothing fired the way it was supposed to. For example, Ophelio, by far the strongest actor, sold his position well--so well, in fact, that his version of the character didn't seem the type to walk around with flowers at the end of his time on the stage. I try to be generous and the best I can say that isn't some sort of self-perjury is, "They had very pleasant weather that night." I have thought about this version of the play a lot (which was one of the director's goals, so…hey, mission accomplished). And the reason that Hamlet: Princess of Denmark doesn't work is because there are aspects of the relationship that are built around masculine points of view. This might get my feminist card revoked, but some stories are masculine. Much like a gender-bent Pride and Prejudice will lack the import and nuance of its original, so, too, does Hamlet in which she laments the passing of her Queen Mother. I'm not here to probe the intricacies of this rabbit hole, but would rather pull it back to where I started: Wonder Woman is all three of the things that make for an interesting character and her film relies upon her femininity. Now, you could make a case about how competent she is, or when she switches from active to passive roles, but those are vicissitudes of the film, not fundamental aspects of her core character. At her heart, Diana is a likeable person who is incredibly competent and never sits around when she sees there's something she can do to make the world a better place. And I think that part of what sells that is because she's Wonder Woman. I'm not keen on relying on stereotypes or broad generalizations when it comes to genders: We're all individuals and have a distinct approach to the spectrum we choose to manifest. So I say this next part less as a requirement and more as an observation that often proves true: The way a woman processes a situation is distinct from how a man does. In the case of Wonder Woman, her femininity "allows" her leeway in the ways we like her. Even Eta Candy is impressed by her looks*, whilst her innocent appreciation of babies (whom she loves) and ice cream are all humanizing signifiers that the audience is given permission, through character response, to incorporate. Diana's story and the world she's navigating and her reactions to it are all dictated by her gender. It's a crucial component to the movie. On the whole, I agree with Henry: Characters that have two-thirds of the checklist make for interesting characters, as it builds in a flaw that makes them feel like there's room to grow, or an excuse/explanation for their behaviors. But I disagree that writing "strong** female characters" is about writing agender characters and then assigning them a gender afterwards. That, to me, doesn't work.*** I still like the videos though. They made me think. --- * This is a great example of what I mean, by the way: Gender bend the scene of Candy, Diana, and Steve in the department store. You have an Arnold Schwarzenegger style hero with a pretty guide and her overweight, British butler. The butler says something about how handsome and ripped the hero is. Even if the characters don't bat an eye at the honest remark, the audience will likely code it as a homoerotic comment (which it isn't). Women more often comment on a woman's good looks than men will of a fellow man. ** I get what the phrase is trying to say. I disagree with what it implies. It's a term that we'll be better off once we drop it from our lexicon. *** J.K. Rowling said that Harry Potter was always male. He walked into her mind pretty fully formed. I've had that sort of experience: A character shows up on the page, and it's clear that she's supposed to be female (or vice versa). On occasion, I've tried switching the character's gender to see if it still fits. Sometimes, it doesn't make a difference (so I make her female). Other times, it matters a great deal, and the character "rebels" in my mind until I put the correct gender/orientation into the hard drive (as it were) of the story. I'm willing to bet this is a similar process for a lot of other, though by no means all, writers. One of the most important things, in my estimation, when appreciating art is to consider the ways in which it influences and perpetuates problems. By learning to recognize these areas, future art can avoid, subvert, and disassemble (re)iterations that perpetuate damaging conceits and concepts. Some art is available as critique without future iterations: The classics of literature aren't going to be changing in response to changing mores, for example. Other art is content in being a problem, even when nestled into the context of its time: The propaganda of the Third Reich can demonstrate that point. Nevertheless, both contemporary and modern art (and I don't necessarily mean "modern" in its sense of modernity and postmodernity and other appellations, but rather the idea of art that has happened in a more modern sensibility--which, broadly speaking, is probably traceable back to the Enlightenment) will find themselves in dialogue with their audience in a way that historical art can't. Video games are the most current form of modifying artwork that I can think of. In many instances, video games have the potential to tug at the way we see the world in all the best ways, utilizing their immersive and interactivity as new modes of expression. Video games, being as nascent as they are, likely won't fully realize their beauty and worth and artistic merit any time soon--and that's why video game criticism is so important. I don't mean critics. I don't mean reviews. I don't mean game bashing. I mean careful, thoughtful, and in-depth contemplation and criticism of the medium. Because video games were birthed into a postmodern world already equipped with tools and terminologies crafted to criticize sundry forms of art--up to and including the godmother of the medium, which is cinema--there hasn't been an art/theory parallax through which criticism must traverse. The language was, in many of the most important ways, already available. Unfortunately, that language is dense. It takes time, training, and a willingness to approach what can be uncomfortable and unfamiliar. And those who are most interested in the game are not necessarily those who are familiar with the semiotics of criticism. The Venn diagram of those who understand critical theory and its purpose and those who game is pretty far from being a circle. What ends up happening--in my experience, anyway--is that critical comments are perceived in the pejorative sense, even when they comments weren't intended that way. This goes back to the idea of the language of critical theory being established but misunderstood: Criticism in its literary sense doesn't mean dismissing a work or passing judgment on its work. Now, do some theorists also make judgments on the caliber and quality of the critiqued art? Yeah, certainly. Everyone ought to be allowed that freedom to express opinion. However, the gamer theorist, using the tools of both gamer and theorist, explores the game in a way that is dissimilar to a video game review or summary. There's more to look at this way, and the areas observed that are lacking are pointed out this way in order to gain greater insight and push toward an improvement in future iterations. (And, as software, video games are all about iterations.)
However, if someone isn't familiar with this concept, there's a real possibility that the criticism leveled at the subculture as a whole, or even individual titles, ends up sounding like attacks. And in a subculture that's built around the agon of digital agony, when something attacks, the gamer attacks back. From where I sit, this has led to unfortunate--and sometimes even violent--repercussions for those who have generated the criticism and those who feel that a critic of their subculture is an insult to their identity. While cultivated and purchased identity is its own issue, this complicated through-line in the video game subculture has generated an allergy toward important and necessary critiques. Today, I discussed gender representation in video games with my students. While the conversation was pretty positive, there were definitely pockets of resistance to the assertion that sexist tropes and stereotypes were problematic or damaging to women. It likely won't surprise you to learn that most of the class is male. But what ended up--I hope--being more important and more memorable, especially for the boys who didn't think sexism was a problem or that video games contributed to it, is that the girls in our class who spoke up said something that they boys hadn't heard of before. That they wanted to play more games, but knew that their gender was going to make the games less enjoyable. That they were worried about what would be said to them in online games when other players learned that they were girls. That they felt dogpiled and diminished because they weren't playing at the same level as the attacker. And I hope that the boys actually did what Navi had been shouting at them so obnoxiously again and again: "Hey! Listen!" I'm a cishet white male and their teacher, so I have mountains of authority that they're programed to respond to, but having the students hear from the mouths of those within their peer group--from those who (again, I hope) they consider friends--changes some of what I said to them from theory to praxis. I really do hope that some of the kids listened attentively enough to begin thinking more critically and sophisticatedly about the media they consume. Is it a problem that women are portrayed a particular way again and again? Well, yeah. Media absolutely modifies the way we perceive the world. It's not just video games that perpetuate sexist stereotypes or racist worldviews; everything that's promulgated has a point of view--either of building and sustaining the status quo, or one of the myriad alternatives--and it's naïve to assume that it doesn't. If I can help the students to start breaking out of their preconceived notions and insular contemplations of the world--if I can get them to listen to others--then, hey, maybe I'll have done a good job after all. |
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