Why Watch Foreign Films: A Man Called Ove

This was a Netflix DVD viewing. Back when I was still on Facebook, this was suggested as a good foreign film for my project. Having read another book the same author Fredrik Backman had done, I actually have this novel on a list somewhere as a to-be-read and recognized the title. I was a bit annoyed with at first, to be honest. How many stories are there already about crabby old white men, and do we really need another one? The early half of this film was very sour, very depressing (if you do end up watching, TW: suicide[s]), and overall didn't do much to engage me other than to remind me of a very similar crabby old dude, Norwegian not Swedish, who used to come into the Blockbuster Video I worked at in Uptown apparently just to leave his car directly in the through area of the parking lot and to yell at everyone. However. The film definitely shifted in mood and depth once Ove's younger years were explained, and I ended up in a puddle of tears by the end of it. 

A Man Called Ove, 2015. d. Hannes Holm

Written by Hannes Holm (screenplay) and Fredrik Backman (novel)

Starring: Rolf Lassgård, Bahar Pars, Filip Berg

Summary: Ove, an ill-tempered, isolated retiree who spends his days enforcing block association rules and visiting his wife's grave, has finally given up on life just as an unlikely friendship develops with his boisterous new neighbors. (via IMDB)

Like I said, we've all experienced stories of crabby old people being crabby, having crabby interactions with other people who just sort of tolerate the crabby person's crabbiness as some sort of endearing quirk, and honestly, I do feel like it's overdone (see: All Clint Eastwood). The bigger picture here of course is that many people also live lives that have been ripe with disappointment and loss, and that while we (as viewers) may not agree with someone's constant crabbiness and mistreatment of others, we are able to understand that disappointment and loss will shape someone's worldview and learn not to judge so quickly. Hand-in-hand with this, we also see the negative effects of isolationism, learning that while we may never be able to stop the disappointment and loss that is inevitable in the human experience, we can embrace togetherness through relationships in order to help each other through these events. 

Shorter reaction: Ove (Rolf Lassgard) is unpleasant and treats people badly, but we eventually forgive him for this once we understand him better. Our getting to empathize with him coincides with Ove's own gradual thawing through his relationship with his neighbor, Parvaneh (Bahar Pars). 

The story itself isn't necessarily rooted in Swedish culture, it could well have taken place anywhere, really, but there are little bits of time and place that do stick out, adding to the viewing experience. The Swedish countryside is beautiful, shown several times during young Ove's car trips with his father, and the obsession over Saabs (NOT VOLVOS) is relatable for car folks, I'm guessing. The time and place makes a big difference when considering Ove's wife Sonja (Ida Engvoll), and her experiences as a special education teacher. There weren't any ramps for those who needed them and it was difficult for children to get their needs met before medicine and education recognized what those needs really were. It's good to see attention brought to the struggles of people who are disabled, just as it's good to see some visibility on immigration and homosexuality (despite his many other issues with people in his residence community, Ove praises Parvaneh for her strength and resiliency in having fled her native country and provides shelter for a young gay man whose father has kicked him out). It seems Ove's heart is good, he just would rather not show anyone. 

It's a wholesome, emotional story, perfect for a quarantined Thanksgiving. Give it a try. 

Netflix Disk in Quarantine: The Animatrix, part one

Back in 2003, I was a film student at the University of Minnesota. During a May-term American Studies class I made friends with another younger student who noticed a Matrix book I was carrying with me; we had many conversations about the film trilogy and she told me about this animated series, The Animatrix. I had not seen any anime before, renting this disk (probably at Hollywood on Hennepin Ave) was my first experience with it. I definitely enjoyed some of the following shorts more than others at the time, but I have never forgotten two very specific scenes from the first and second parts of The Second Renaissance. My two older kids were watching with me this time around; they were both equally disturbed by the seriousness of what they saw in these episodes, too. I think the order of the sequences is a good one; I had forgotten about what goes down in Matriculated, but after seeing it again, agree with its placement as the last story. It's not outwardly hopeful, exactly, but the idea it explores plants a pretty important problem-solving seed in terms of humanity fixing its destructive choices. I wish this didn't seem as timely or as relevant as it currently does, but here we are. 

The Animatrix, 2003. 

"The Animatrix is a 2003 American–Japanese animated science fiction anthology film produced by the Wachowskis. It is a compilation of nine animated short films based on The Matrix trilogy, which was written and produced by the Wachowskis. Four of the shorts were also written by the Wachowskis. The film details the backstory of The Matrix series, including the original war between humankind and machines which led to the creation of the titular Matrix." (Wikipedia)

1. Final Flight of the Osirus, written by The Wachowskis, directed by Andy Jones.

Beginning with a sexually-tense spar on the Osirus hovercraft, Thaddeus and his first mate, Jue, (inside the contructs of The Matrix) must unplug quickly when sentinals show up. After a chase, the crew of the Osirus soon discover more sentinels directly above Zion with drilling equipment poised to dig straight down. While the Osirus and its crew is ultimately destroyed, a message sent by Jue to warn Zion is successful (and is referenced verbally by Niobe in The Matrix Reloaded). 

A sweet, short little tale about love among soldiers in battle. Good use of color in the opening spar scene; characters very attractive. If you've seen The Matrix trilogy, which chances are, you will have if you're watching these, or even if you're just paying close attention, it's clear pretty early on (and considering the title) this will not end well. Unfortunate, but it's to-the-point and full of action.

2. The Second Renaissance part 1, based on material written by The Wachowskis, directed by Mahiro Maeda.

How did The Matrix become? Better yet, what events led to its creation? This story and its follow-up (below) explain. To summarize, mankind's greed, vanity, and corruption led to the creation of a race of computers to serve as domestic slaves and general lower working class. Made in man's image, these machines saw themselves as equals to human beings, or "real." When a domestic machine, BI66-ER (in a reference to Native Son's Bigger Thomas) was threatened with destruction by its human master, BI66-ER commits murder. This act and the subsequent lawsuit and ruling inspires the mass destruction of the machines, who resist and beg for mercy. Human beings, unwilling to acknowledge the machines' "realness" or right to exist among them, banish the remaining machines to an area in the Middle East, where they create their own civilization named 0-1. In contrast to humankind, the machines prosper well together. 

There are some very disturbing scenes in this piece together with its second part (the photo I used below is actually from one of the end scenes of this story but I felt it set the stage well for what was to come in part two). The bottom line in both stories is an upsetting one, one that I see unfolding today in 2020 American culture: the greed, vanity, and corruption that everyone wrote off as "individualism" or "the free market at work" has created a culture of hateful people who have no capacity for empathy. Now, someone might rightly accuse me of taking a bleeding heart liberal approach in trying to tie this into a fictional story about ROBOTS of all things, but I'll stand firm. You have to be a certain kind of person to abuse an animal just like you have to be a certain kind of person to see another human (or in this case, humanoid-looking being) as a thing, a mean to your own selfish end. Dehumanization of the enemy was used as a tactic in more than one war, after all, but unfortunately for us, it didn't stop there. Groups of people dehumanize each other every day.

While the animation and storyboards used here are quite skillful (think Metropolis with more color and violence) I think this story overall is a very cerebral one. It showcases the dehumanization concept in multiple ways, but most clearly in the scene (pictured above) that shows the gleeful kicking, bludgeoning, and ripping of clothes from a humanoid (done by a group of men to a female-featured machine) as the victim pleads with her assailants to stop, crying out, "I'm real!" This is very upsetting, I know, but the point here is to show us behaviors and assumptions that hurt because these things matter and because we, as humans, sometimes need a mirror held up to our own shittiness. Empathy, whether it's toward human beings, animals, or any other sentient or non-sentient elements, matters. Clearly (looking around and gesturing vaguely at everything happening) it's an idea that needs more emphasis.

3. The Second Renaissance part 2, based on material written by The Wachowskis, directed by Mahiro Maeda. 

Human beings unfortunately do not learn anything from the aforementioned unwillingness to coexist peacefully with the machines, despite the machines' desire (pictured left) to join the United Nations and to teach humans better, stronger methods in technology and economic advances. A war between the two sides begins, and Operation Dark Sky explains in detail what Morpheus meant back when he told Neo in The Matrix that the humans had "scorched the sky." The machines outwit the humans by creating the matrix and by using fields of people, not the sun's energy, as their power sources.

Everything being explored in part one is just as present here, but with the added bonus of a resolution: These are the illustrated failures of diplomacy as spurred by human ignorance and lack of empathy. How relevant. The two Renaissance pieces are in my opinion, the very best in this collection.

4. Kid's Story, based on material written by The Wachowskis, directed by Shinichiro Watanabe.

Story of "Kid," the eager would-be soldier from The Matrix Reloaded and The Matrix Revolutions, who despite crediting Neo with his salvation from the matrix, actually saved himself.

This story reads a lot differently now that it did, initially. Teenagers on computers, depressed and alone, are a lot more common now than twenty years ago. My heart aches for them, then and now. Skateboarding scenes a little overblown, but tension well done among Kid, the teacher bucky about the ringing cell phone, and eventually, the agents (who like in A Detective Story, which I'll write up in a second installment), seem way slower and much more dense than in the films). Leaving us with a positive message on the computer screen---"You are not alone,"---was a balm to my soul. I feel like even then, we (as in Americans) should have been taking better care of the kids . . . 

5. Program, written and directed by Yoshiaki Kawajiri.

Cis, a highly skilled swordswoman battles her mentor (and lover?) Duo inside a construct program of the matrix but after learning Duo is no longer interested in "red pill honesty" must choose whether to join him in leaving the real world or fight to the death in the artificial one.

This story is pretty short and to the point, but the style and aesthetic is pretty breathtaking throughout. If you've seen The Twilight Zone you'll appreciate the ending, very "Where is Everybody?", but with a successful resolution and a badass female protagonist. Another short and effective little story that captivates with its images.

6. World Record, written by Yoshiaki Kawajiri, directed by Takeshi Koike.

After having his Olympic gold medal revoked due to drug use, world record-holding track star Dan Davis attempts to return to competition. The intensity of the race causes Davis to rupture muscles in his legs, drawing the attention of three agents within the stadium, but Davis continues his frantic pace, coming in just under his previous world record. During the race, a sentinel in the real world senses irregularities in the pod where Davis is plugged into the matrix. When Davis returns to consciousness he is confined to a wheelchair but despite the machines' best efforts, still manages to surpass expectations.  

A very visceral story; the running, the exertion, the bursting muscles (colors, illustration, sound) . . . all were quite tense. The introductory narration spoke of truly exceptional people having the ability to become aware of the confines of the matrix; this is a great story that describes such exceptionalism in a sort of unexpected way. I don't typically flock to stories about sport or sports people, but I did enjoy this as it was a unique insight. 

This got very long-winded, sorry for that, so the final three stories I'll write up in a separate post. Stay tuned! 

Television in Quarantine

Sorry this got so long. Since I really don't know when I'll be able to go back to work again, my personal quarantine may indeed be extended into the summer, so I'll keep posting my "in quarantine" series. So many shows . . . so many rants. Funny I haven't started anything new but just rewatched old favorites or got myself caught up on seasons I was behind on, and my kids did this, too. I think we're clinging to times and experiences that reminded us of being safe, or just reminded us of happier times altogether. I still maintain that for the best possible escapism, LOST (which I'm still reviewing one episode at a time) fits the bill better than anything. It's the one show I recommend to everyone who asks.

These are the shows I completed from start to finish:

1. The Handmaid's Tale

In Gilead, women called "handmaids" are forced to submit to ritual rape and humiliation in order to conceive and carry babies for wealthy couples unable to procreate.

I'd read Atwood's novel years ago and then just this year, The Testaments, but seeing it all in action really disgusted me in a way the novels couldn't. This was one of the first series I watched after the shelter-at-home order, and given everything happening in the world under the current administration, it's safe to say I was extra anger-prone sitting through all this ridiculous male bullshit in the name of religion. Most nights I would just fill up my wine glass and scowl, especially those early episodes where there seemed to be little hope and the events were more or less controlled by the commanders of Gilead. I hated those men, I hated seeing their stupid little system, and obviously, I was enraged by all the rape and baby-stealing.

About midway through the first season there comes a shift when the handmaids begin to organize their revolt and begin resisting, and these are the moments that make the show amazing and scary as it may seem to us now, relevant. All three seasons were deeply disturbing, yet not without their moments of hope and tenderness (June's friendships with Moira and eventually Janine, as well as her relationship with Nick, to name a few), but as upsetting as it all was, I did feel like the show validated my anger and served as a somewhat cathartic experience toward everything I've come to detest about men in power who hurt and demean women.


2. Sons of Anarchy

In a twisted, modern-day homage to Hamlet, Sons of Anarchy, a northern California motorcycle club and its vice president, Jax Teller, weather the ups and downs of organized crime in the close-knit community of Charming.

The first season is a little clunky, the last two off-the-rails violent, but for my money, there are no two better characters in television than our two prime movers, the Claudius and Gertrude of Charming, Clay Morrow (Ron Perlman) and Gemma Teller (Katey Sagal). I'll give an honorable mention to Nero Padilla (Jimmy Smits), as well as the amazing supporting cast throughout the seasons and a ton of excellent guest stars. If I'm honest I need to say that Charlie Hunnam as Jax Teller, the hero, the Hamlet, definitely looks the part, but his accent, the cringe-y swagger he does, and those ridiculous white shoes he wears, were . . . poor choices, but whatever, it's Hunnam! He didn't need to do much with a cast like this, we were always gonna pay more attention to Perlman and Sagal (who stole every scene), anyway.

I did some thinking about the subject matter of the show, which is heavy into selling guns and prostitution, and shows many instances of violence against women, and admittedly, it's disturbing. A different type of disturbing than what happens in The Handmaid's Tale to be sure, but significantly disturbing, nonetheless. There's a fair amount in diversity in these episodes, but also a fair amount of racism, mostly in the form of epitaphs and stereotyping. Throughout every season, there are rapes, beatings, murders, and infidelities. In this way, SOA is not unlike a mafia film or series; it's about a group of male criminals who, at their best are hyper-masculine, at their worst, toxic and violent, and who live and work within a system where there are differing morals and constantly changing rules among crews and the law. Kind of like politics, when you think about it. If no one plays by the same rules, there effectively are no rules. If everyone is making underhanded dealings behind allies' backs, you effectively encourage your ally to do the same to you. Jax has good intentions but they're not enough, and like all good mafia pictures, we meet him on an upswing but then spend seven years watching it all crash and burn and this is sad, because like Hamlet, Jax Teller is a great character.

There is a moment early on in the first season I'll never forget: the crew is gathered around the table at Gemma and Clay's place, passing food around and bullshitting. The camera lingers on Gemma watching her family and we see her happy, in her element. Would that such experiences lasted . . .

3. Mrs. America

Phyllis Schlafly, conservative mother of six and opponent of the ERA movement, battles celebrated feminists like Gloria Steinem, Bella Abzug, Betty Friedan, and Shirley Chisholm as the women's movement gains traction in the seventies.

I grew up in the eighties in a tiny farm community in rural Minnesota, and the first thing I ever heard about any of this was when I took a women's studies class IN COLLEGE, in the year 2001. In elementary and high school, our extremely conservative social studies curriculum focused around civics/law, the big wars, and the evils of communism (without breaching the actual wars that were fought over it); if it didn't cast the white American male in a heroic spotlight, we did not learn about it.

I thought I'd immediately hate Schlafly, I wrote about her with more than a little venom in one of my American Studies classes at the U of M, but considering Cate Blanchett's portrayal and the fact that Schlafly is basically mansplained to by everyone for the first two straight episodes, I first felt sorry for her, and then came to somewhat agree with Bella Abzug's assessment, "Phyllis Schlafly is a f*cking feminist." She's not a good feminist, but she wanted all the same freedoms the real feminists were fighting for. I loved how Bella set a little trap for Schlafly's underlings to walk into, admitting basically the same, and how the idea that they might have more in common with each other than not (shown by Alice's experience with the Christian woman at the bar). In order to be engaging, I feel like many stylistic and dramatic liberties were probably taken by the show, especially with Schlafly (her posthumous publication, The Conservative Case for Trump suggests to me that in the end maybe she wasn't all that intelligent but just good at mobilizing and shouting), but whatever. The show was brilliant, more relevant than ever  (hello, MANAFORT AND ROGER STONE!) and material that young people should encounter before college level electives. Watch it.

4. LOST

After 10 years of writing about it do I really need to make up a synopsis? Fine, here it is:

After surviving a plane crash, a group of people discover connections among themselves and the unique properties of the island they've crashed onto, which was Absolutely. Not. Purgatory.

While it's true that I am watching each episode, taking notes in detail, and writing each one up separately (see LOST), I watched the entire series with my son, ending with the finale on the 10 year anniversary on May 23. The first and final seasons are pretty familiar to me, but many of the middle episodes I'd only seen once or twice, so it was nice experiencing these all over again. I've told the story about how I came to the series many times, but it's such a great one I'm telling it again: In 2006, I was working at a Starbucks on 50th and France in Edina, and many of my coworkers were film and television people. I was in the height of a serious 24 obsession (getting these either through Blockbuster online or eventually Netflix), and was watching The Sopranos and Six Feet Under weekly on HBO. Several of my coworkers assumed I was watching LOST, and when I said I hadn't heard of it, pressured me to start. My sister and brother and law said the same thing, but I always answered that I had too many shows going to start another. Only when my brother told me what he thought ("It's like The Twilight Zone on an island. You need to watch this.") did I actually become interested, but I didn't actually start watching for at least another year, possibly two as I was busy having many babies during this time.

When I did eventually begin watching, I was mesmerized from the very beginning; it was like The Twilight Zone on an island, a series of different episodes and experiences that were strangely ALL CONNECTED. The unidentifiable "monster" (which turns out to be THE DEVIL). Ben Linus as a sort of stand-in "Howling Man" (not the devil, but a dangerous man). Keeping Jack in the cage on Hydra Island and the turnaround scene where he later catches Friendly's football having presumably joined the others. The entire "Expose" episode. The explanation of keeping the smoke monster on the island as illustrated by the corked bottle of wine (straight from "The Howling Man"). It was very much its own story, different than anything we'd ever seen before but still a TZ fan's dream come true. One line that's stayed with me since the finale is when Jack says to Desmond, "trust me, all of this matters." This is something I've come to learn from life, more so in the last few years than any other time, there is a play between good and evil, it never stops, but we really are all connected and everything we do matters. Everything.

Now. I've never really been comfortable enough in the past to just lay out my take on LOST, but after ten years, I'm willing to be blunt about a few things. The island on LOST was meant to be creation. Life began on the island and then through its electromagnetic properties, once it was discovered and manipulated, continued through the donkey wheel exit point into Tunisia, flourishing all over the Middle East. Each protector of the island (Island Mother, Jacob, Jack, Hugo, Walt) is a Jesus/savior figure, human and flawed, the unnamed man in black was a human who became the devil at the hands of Jacob, and the light and energy of the physical island is God/The Universe through which all things are possible. Island Mother and Jacob clearly served the longest tenures as island protectors, but in his wisdom and maybe due to his desire to pass on the position in a timely factor with a gift for planning and unique foresight, Jacob assigned meaning to the numbers 4 8 15 16 23 42 even before the candidates were born, but then, when it was clear that they would eventually factor into his own replacement, linked each number to a candidate. The numbers, the candidates, and the people they connected became united by the island's energy (via Jacob's interest in them) which influenced everything from the relationships they made, the jobs they took, and the internal struggles they faced even before coming together on Oceanic Flight 815 and crashing onto the island.

This, as said by "A Scientist
Explains LOST" about a decade
ago, IS FRECKLES, JUNIOR.

David Shephard was not a dummy character or flash sideways stand-in for Jack's guilt over abandoning Aaron or having daddy issues but a real, live person, and the son of Jack and Kate (not Jack and Juliet). Being in the flash sideways, David has also died but was not instrumental to the entire island group's moving on, only Jack's, as if the God or the Universe perhaps wanted to give him a chance to meet his son, which is a very Hugo Reyes, empathetic thing to consider. It's the only thing that makes any sort of sense.

After Juliet Burke detonates a nuclear device in the pit of the then-in-process Swan station, the split narrative known as the "flash sideways" was presented in a way that, to viewers, suggested Farraday's idea of sending everyone back in time before Oceanic 815 crashed, worked. In reality, the flash sideways was its own, legitimate series of events experienced by every character after they died in whatever various methods befell them in a common place (I'm okay with using "pre-afterlife" for this) that, according to Christian Shephard during his explanation in front of the stained glass window in the final moments of the finale, they, the survivors had created for themselves. Also not purgatory. Michael and Walt are notably absent from this gathering, Michael having been relegated to the island whisperers to work off his punishment for murdering Ana Lucia and Libby and Walt being busy with island leadership duties after Hugo's unseen death, in whatever form it took. The rest of the survivors moved on together, presumably to the afterlife, proper. The end.

Questions? Let's have a drink and talk. I'm here all night.

Reading in Quarantine: The Second 7

This stack went considerably faster than the first one. They were shorter in length but also very engaging---I tore through these because I thoroughly enjoyed each one and always looked forward to picking them up when it was time to read. I don't think I've ever felt that way about an entire group of 7 before. 

The Poet, Michael Connelly, 1996. 492 pages.

In effort to uncover the truth surrounding his twin brother's supposed suicide, a journalist finds a string of serial crimes linked to a murderer and child abuser with a penchant for the work of Edgar Allen Poe.

I had read only The Lincoln Lawyer from Connelly, which I liked a lot, but I picked this up for fifty cents at a thrift shop in my hometown last year. It was a little slow at first for maybe two chapters, a lot of journalism and cop talk as the main character, Jack McEvoy, deals with the aftermath of his brother Sean's suicide, but once it gets going, it really goes. Details that don't add up, the arrival of the FBI to the story, and the POV chapters from the murderer himself, not to mention Poe and the poetry, all make for very interesting scenes and a compelling mystery, overall. As with any story that deals with child abuse, the subject matter here was dark and disturbing, but it was a very well-done, interesting novel.

The Great American Read project (which I'm still in the first pages of) lists all of Patterson's Alex Cross mysteries on their list, and while I do enjoy the character of Alex Cross, I feel like Connelly does a better, more authentic job laying out the mystery. Written in 1996, this was Connelly's fifth novel, but on the strength of this one I'd really like to start at the beginning of his work like I did with Patterson and CJ Box's Joe Pickett series. Good thing I have all this time on my hands.

Esperanza Rising, Pamela Munoz Ryan, 2000. 312 pages.

After the death of her father, a young girl must leave Mexico with her mother to escape an abusive uncle and find work in California.

I needed a YA novel and one of my kids recommended this one. I really ended up enjoying it, there's so much going on to process. It makes me really happy they give this to kids in elementary school, because on top of being a great story about a girl and her family, there are class issues at play (Esperanza is from a upper class family), labor union issues (many of the workers want to strike for better working conditions), and racial issues (white workers from Oklahoma are given better homes and more pay per hour than the immigrant workers from Mexico). Each chapter heading is a Spanish word for whatever fruit or vegetable the crew is currently picking or prepping, so by the end you've learned the Spanish words for twelve nouns (grapes, papayas, figs, guavas, cantaloupes, onions, almonds, plums, potatoes, avocados, asparagus, and peaches), which is cool, too.

The story itself is told through the main character Esperanza's perspective, and while it does focus on common YA topics such as friendship, material things, and bullying---which I happen to think everyone should read more about anyway, no matter age or gender---the bigger topics described above make it an important story about immigrations experiences with labor and the struggles these workers face. I daresay we as Americans could stand with a bit more empathy for situations like these, and would recommend this book as an introduction on learning about topics that require understanding and compassion for humankind.

The Wild Things, Dave Eggers, 2009. 306 pages.

In a novelization of Maurice Sendak's children's book, Where the Wild Things Are (and also a novelization of the screenplay of the same name), Eggers tells the story of Max, the boy in the wolf suit who escapes his family life to and island of beasts to become their king.

Silly me, I bought this only because Eggers did it, had no idea it was based on Sendak, no idea Eggers had done the screenplay. Only after the wolf suit came into play did I realize what was happening, but even so, the story was wonderful and engaging from the very first page. I don't think you even need to have read or enjoyed the first book or film to enjoy this story, Eggers is a brilliant enough writer to have carried it totally on his own, filling in those back stories of why Max was naughty, what was going on in his family, the unique personalities of each of the beasts he spends time with, and how Max inadvertently learns a lot about himself in the process. It's a great story, and should you already be a fan of its original subject material, you will likely enjoy this, too.


Watership Down, Richard Adams, 1972. 496 pages.

After their warren becomes unsafe, a group of rabbit bucks forge an escape and relocation plan encountering several threats and challenges along the way.

I never really had any interest in rabbits; as a writer and more importantly, a reader, I'm a solid cat person, although I do sprinkle our throwaway produce ends under our deck for the baby buns that hang around the yard. It doesn't matter if you like rabbits or have even thought about them in regard to fiction, this book is really about adventure and relationships, and it's very well done. I really enjoyed it.

As with The Stand, I read most of this about ten years ago when looking for clues about LOST ---people said it might hold clues to the survivors' fate (it was also one of Sawyer's "beach books"). The premise is sort of similar, a group needs to survive and evade enemies, but that's really it. At its heart, this is a sweet story that explores a lot of how wild creatures experience other species and the natural world. I enjoyed all the rabbits' names and personalities (Dandelion, the storyteller, was easily my favorite), the mythology and history of rabbitkind showcased in the stories of old they passed around, and as these were British rabbits, I enjoyed many of their words such as "shan't," "Old Chap," and other traditional phrases. It's a lovely story, and I daresay, one that eventually addresses bigger, relevant-to-humans themes such as trust, bravery, and control. It's pretty long, but well worth the time, and the ending had me in full waterworks.

The Underground Railroad, Colson Whitehead, 2016. 338 pages. **SPOILERS BELOW**

A woman escapes from the plantation owner who enslaved her through an underground railroad but soon discovers, escaped or free, there are no safe places in America.

This was on a list of novels of supplemental reading for one of my grad classes at Augsburg, the third one from the list that I've finished, and by far the best. I didn't know anything about it before reading, only that it was said to be very good and that it would go on to win many, many awards. I assumed it was about The Underground Railroad as I've grown to know it from history and I was very excited when I discovered the motivation was the same, but this story was about an actual railroad that allowed people to escape. I don't want to say too much, because reading and learning about the railroad, where it goes, how it's made and hidden, should be experienced as it's written, I think the less known in advance, the better.

Cora, the book's main character, is interesting, very headstrong, and written, I think, in a way that details the evils of slavery she experienced while giving equal attention the concept of the long-lasting trauma these experiences caused. I don't know that I've ever read it described so fully (since Toni Morrison, at least)---the idea that these terrible things that have been done to a person, beatings, rapes, humiliations, stalkings, murders, and the memories of these things can and will stay with them, affecting every aspect of their lives. The effects of slavery didn't just stop when those enslaved escaped or obtained freedom.

Everyone should read this.

Catch and Kill: Lies, Spies, and a Conspiracy to Protect Predators, Ronan Farrow, 2019. 464 pages.

Farrow investigates the countless sexual assault and harassment charges against Harvey Weinstein over the years; many people, including his production team at NBC and Weinstein himself, try to kill the investigation but in the end, The New Yorker publishes the story.

I was curious at first, and I knew quite a bit going in, but after "The White Whale," a section about 90 pages in, this became an anger read to the end as I learned about the number of victims, specifics of how they were raped/assaulted/stalked (and not only by Weinstein, Matt Lauer has a section and he's just as disgusting and criminal), and just how deep this coverup really went. It was infuriating, but an important read, and (as with War on Peace) really good insight into the importance of competent journalism. The one happy moment, if there can be one in a story like this, is Farrow's little "okay, bitch ass," (my words, not his) treatment of his producer Noah Oppenheim's pleads for Farrow to make a statement that he, Oppenheim, wasn't the villain in all this. I'll allow that in a story this evil, he wasn't THE villain, but he was definitely A villain. Reminds me of Isaac from Children of the Corn, strapped to the corn cross, crying, because he knew his ass would soon be grass. With any luck, Weinstein is making similar sounds in prison these days.

Unsound Variations, George R. R. Martin, 1982.

A former chess captain and two friends agree to meet the teammate that lost an important chess match decades earlier; the loss has consumed every aspect of the teammate's life, and as it turns out, all of theirs, as well.

This is a short story in the Dreamsongs, Volume 2 collection, and one of my favorites of all GRRM's short fiction. I'm a pretty basic chess player so I knew and understood most of the terms, but honestly, it didn't really matter. Chess is important in the story, yes, but overall, it's a story about bitterness and strategy (both on and off the chess board). I think it would make for a very nice new Twilight Zone episode, if Peele might be looking for material for his third season. I really, really dug this, very clever with a brilliant ending.

Why Watch Foreign Films? Pain and Glory

Pain and Glory, d. Pedro Almodovar, 2019.

This felt a lot like a modern-day Fellini film. Everything looked very beautiful, the moments of pain and light-heartedness went hand in hand, and every scene shouted art. I often wonder what items or experiences other people have from their childhood or coming-of-age years that they look back on and enjoy remembering; this film is a lovely reminder that we should do that, if we can.

Salvador Mallo (Antonio Banderas) is a gifted film director with several health issues that have kept him from exploring new work or interacting with the public. When one of his popular films gets remastered, he agrees to meet with the film's lead, Alberto Crespo (Asier Etxeandia), who he'd shunned for years after a falling out over the actor's heroin use. The two men connect over the exact act Mallo had judged Crespo for decades earlier (which Crespo calls, "chasing the dragon"), and under influence of the drug, Mallo begins a sort of retrospective review of his life and work. He not only begins writing again, but through Crespo's stage performance of his autobiographical essay, Mallo reunites with the love of his life, who inspires him even more. While many of his physical pains persist, Mallo continues his work honoring the people and experiences that shaped him as an artist.

The technical and thematic elements present in this film are equal parts skillful aesthetic and sentimentality. The colors, the landscapes, the interactions between characters, and even the graphics used early on in the film are all engaging and beautiful. The nostalgia and heartbreak shown in the film is best seen and not so much spoken of; this is such a writer's film, one that those of us who spend time wrapped up in our thoughts, reactions, and longing for past experiences will easily recognize. It was truly lovely to behold.

Pain and Glory is rated R for nudity and drug use and runs 1 hour 53 minutes. I got this as a recommendation via Twitter (thanks, LOSTie Laura!) and got the film itself through Netflix disk.

Disney in Quarantine: Five More Shorts

How to Play Baseball, 1942, rated G, 8 minutes.

Over some (maybe) official narration, Goofy models the highlights and rules of the game: field composition, uniform, pitching, and hitting. Two teams (made entirely of Goofys) battle it out in a world series game while providing an over-the-top physical parody of America's Past-Time. End with an all-out brawl under a stars and stripes banner, which was likely fitting for the time, but strange to consider among other, more violent organizations of American sport today. It's a sort of cute, drippy kind of comedy, the kind you'd expect some totally-not-into-sports character doing in a very exaggerated way. Like, "Hey, kids! Look at these dorks trying to SPORT!"

How to Play Football, 1944, rated G, 8 minutes.

Yeah, see above, although there are more gags on the audience during this one (cheers echoing over the rules being told, camera panning the length of the field following a play but obscured by spectators). Taxidermy Tech takes on Anthropology A & M where, again, each team is made entirely of Goofys. Physical comedy includes pants falling down, a butt being smacked (hard), a cheerleader being kicked and beaten, and at game's end, the coach being put into a padlocked straightjacket. The ongoing commentary is sarcastic and blunt, most memorably, "What a dumb quarterback!"

Double Dribble, 1946, rated G, 8 minutes.

In a similar spirit as both previous shorts, two teams of Goofys and one miniature-sized one battle out a game on the basketball court. Gags are mostly the same, exposing underwear and beat-downs among team members although the audience gets involved in this one, grabbing the ball and passing it or preventing shots when the mood strikes. In a moment that would be echoed some forty years later by Pee-Wee in Porky's Revenge, the little guy gets put in after an injury just before the buzzer and gives the game his best try. Nice. It occurs to me that these shorts are basically suggesting that athletes of all sports are . . . not that smart or have little common sense, but they all seem happy and enthusiastic about everything, so at least that's positive.

All in a Nutshell, 1949, rated G, 7 minutes.

Chip and Dale try to overtake Donald Duck's giant walnut-butter factory; things go poorly for Donald. Not a lot here, but good-spirited physical comedy that usually involves one or all characters getting smacked in the head by nuts. Some sympathy for Donald; he's just trying to make his nut butter. There's something kind of silly and charming about these chipmunks, their high voices and carefree attitudes are inspiring in light of Donald messing with them, a lot like Tweety, Road Runner, and Jerry (of Tom and Jerry). Perhaps this is some sort of metaphor for life: try to carry on your happiness even when things seem negative.

Out of Scale, 1951, rated G, 7 minutes.

Donald Duck has a very elaborate toy train setup crafted around the large tree where Chip and Dale live; after he moves the tree, they take up residence inside one of his toy houses. After nurturing them there for a while, he decides to mess with them (pretty innocently) by confusing them and mixing up the weather. When the figure out what he's doing, they shrug it off, squeaking out, "Look at that bum!"

Cinema in Quarantine: Strange Bedfellows

Last week I watched a few different films, did some cleaning and baking, and deactivated my Facebook account because a break was needed (STAY HOME/WEAR A MASK). The funny thing about these three films is that they relate really well to the stack of books I'm reading right now, hope to have those finished next week sometime.

The 39 Steps, d. Alfred Hitchcock, 1935

A man in England gets drawn into some espionage stuff; danger unfolds.

This was probably one of my least-remembered Hitchcock films; I read the book some years ago and didn't remember much from that, either. Now that I'm a more mature person with fewer interruptions, I thought I'd give it all another go as this was the first selection on Netflix's Criterion Collection (disk). It took two separate viewings for me to really get into it, but was worth it in the end because I really appreciated the second. I got to enjoy the little moments that felt very Hitchcock: slow, moving camera to show suspense through varying POVs, the strength of the musical numbers (orchestral, whistling, wavering between the jaunty situations and announcing peril), and sly, witty banters between the principal characters, Hannay (Robert Donat) and Pamela (Madeleine Carroll).

There's a neat little moment that fans of the Chicago St. Patrick's Day parade scene from The Fugitive will recognize about midway through, and the ending, though subtle, is one of my favorite wrap-ups of a mystery story, ever. It's a smart and fun, but have some caffeine and keep the subtitles on. If you don't keep on top of what's being said, you're apt to tune out.

King Arthur: Legend of the Sword, d. Guy Ritchie, 2017

The son of a murdered king draws a magical sword out of stone; danger unfolds.

This has got to be one of the most underrated films of the last decade. The only complaint I have about it is that I wish it was either longer or done as a trilogy or series. So much happens that's amazing and impressive but is presented as exposition or an afterthought that really leaves one wanting more (Uther Pendragon and Merlin, to name a couple), and the end scene especially hints at more shenanigans in the future, but whatever. As an action film with supernatural elements, it still gets everything right. The banter and nicknames are great (use subtitles), the fight choreography is amazing, and the music on this one (composer Daniel Pemberton) is absolutely among the best in soundtrack history.

I know people will come after me about Hunnam, but I'm sorry, I love the guy. He does in this what he mostly always does--looks amazing and does great physical acting while his supporting cast does most of the emotional heavy lifting. The accent in this is decidedly better than the Jax Teller we all came to love (and cringe at), and no weird swaggering around, so bonus. I'll also say that it was this film that took him up a level as an actor, and that he's only gotten better in everything he's done, since, so I think del Toro and Ritchie have both brought about positive effects in CH. Take a look:



Django Unchained, d. Quentin Tarantino, 2012

A former slave joins forces with a German bounty hunter in effort to locate his wife; danger, disgusting racism, and extreme violence unfold.

I saw this in the theater when it came out and had a hard time with it. It was put together well, amazing aesthetic, performances, and music as all of Tarantino's films, it's just . . . difficult to watch and difficult to talk about, too. I hated DiCaprio as Calvin Candie the first time around, this time I wasn't bothered by his performance as much, I just was uncomfortable with pretty much everything going on, as was meant to be the point, clearly. No matter how idiotic the Klansmen plantation owners are shown to be (which is very), we're still watching idiotic Klansmen and plantation owners commit violent, dehumanizing acts, and it's troubling enough to be sickening. I guess what I'm trying to say is, as competent a film as it is (these types of things indeed happened, and as Rod Serling once said, we shouldn't look away), I couldn't be entertained by it, even as a sort of get-what-you-deserve fantasy tale like Kill Bill or Inglourious Basterds. There's just too little distance between how racism was portrayed or acted upon from this film compared to the enslavement that this film is about; the fact that the same words are still being uttered by racists and many of the same violent actions are still happening today in 2020 is ridiculous and horrifying. I agree that we shouldn't look away, I just don't know how a conversation about this film should go, considering.

I very much enjoyed Django (Jamie Foxx), I loved his lines, his attitude toward the racists, the bounty hunter outfit and hat, and his tear-assing around bareback on the horse after the exchange with the Australians. More than anything else, I loved his words to his wife, Broomhilda (Kerry Washington) when the two finally reunite:

Why Watch Foreign Films? Le Grand Voyage

What a lovely, relevant film! There was a moment early on that I connected with completely, one that is apt to strike a chord with many parents, especially today. I won't spoil it, but it has to do with a cell phone and a garbage can. Even in 2004, the message was clear . . . why didn't we listen?

Le Grand Voyage (The Great Journey) is a 2004 French production written and directed by Ismael Ferroukhi, filmed across multiple locations and spoken in both French and Moroccan Arabic. Part road trip, part religious awakening, the film travels across ten different countries as a devout father (Mohamed Majd) attempts to reconnect with his indifferent son, Reda (Nicolas Cazale).

As Reda is somewhat at odds with his father at the film's start, he is reluctant to drive to Mecca for this pilgrimage; his attention is directed at his phone, his upcoming school exams, and his non-Muslim girlfriend. He wonders aloud several times why his father doesn't just fly to Saudi Arabia. In disagreement for many of the first days, Reda and his father really don't seem to get along very well: deciding when to sleep, where to stop, and whether or not to pick up hitch-hikers is a continual cause for friction between the pair, and many scenes are spent in brooding silence. As Mecca draws closer and Reda begins to actually listen to his father, he realizes that his father's devotion, not only to his faith but to Reda and much of humankind, is heartfelt and remarkable.

Despite many moments of silence and awkwardness between father and son early on in the film, the music choices keep us from becoming impatient with their interactions together. Often playing is a simple progression of piano or orchestral chords that seem to swell at just the right moments but never take away from the emotion (or lack thereof) of the characters. Reda's father often breaks away with his rug to pray, but this act takes on an entirely new, profound meaning once they near Mecca; one voice joins with many others, the call to prayer and the resulting chants are heard fully and clearly over the landscape, becoming its own beautiful soundtrack. The physical landscapes themselves are varied and interesting, (lowlands, snow, deserts) and many times we are left wondering which country they've entered until a city is named or a new language is spoken. The journey itself while impressive in length and grandeur, seems in the end to be no less important than the distance the two men travel, emotionally, and this makes it a film for the ages.

Parents and children, be patient with each other. Time goes faster than you think it will.

Le Grand Voyage is 108 minutes and is unrated. I obtained a copy of this film through Netflix DVD. 

Reading in Quarantine: The First Seven

I always have a stack of seven books to read. Sometimes I'll get to pages or chapters from all seven in one sitting (or bath), other times I'll zero in on one that I'm enjoying more than the others and finish it first before going back to the remaining six. This time around, I was watching The Handmaid's Tale while also reading The Testaments in early March, so I worked it out by reading Testaments in the morning and then by watching Handmaid's Tale at night (with wine, because yeah). I can't say it was fun, exactly, but I was very interested in both stories having read Atwood's THT novel years ago. Things were a lot different back then.

I didn't set out to create a depressing stack of dystopian books to read, it just sort of assembled itself. My friend lent me the Atwood, I had been reading small bits of the Rand since summer, Cronin's last in his vampy trilogy had sat gathering dust on my shelf since after returning home from China in summer of 2018, I'm just always reading something of GRRM's, and I've been rereading each of King's novels just for the fun of it. The other two I just picked up because I wanted to learn more about history and international diplomacy. When I posted a photo of this stack on March 16 (the week after my graduate school internship was suspended and the quarantine unofficially began), many people noticed the theme and remarked upon it. Very heavy, very dark, they all said; I went with it. It was indeed a very heavy and dark collection of books, but without spoiling anything, there are a few happy conclusions snuck in, too. Not the non-fiction, mind.

After a while and given the way the events under quarantine have unfolded throughout my time at home, I started balancing these stories with television programs that became an outlet for my disgust and anger at the administration's handling of the situation (Sons of Anarchy, Rescue Me, House, Mrs. America) and my need to escape it all (LOST). Here's what I read:

1. The Testaments by Margaret Atwood. 2019, 431 pages.

This story continues the events of The Handmaid's Tale and is told through POV chapters from two young girls, one inside Gilead and one across the Canadian border, and Aunt Lydia, one of the women charged with the education of Gilead's young women.

I could give my thoughts on this in a balanced and proper way highlighting interesting bits of prose or clever links back to the previous novel --Hey, Aunt Lydia's backstory! Awesome!-- but this would really be a waste of a good rant. It's obvious that Atwood knows how to write; everything she does is intelligent and skilled, but I wasn't thinking of this while I read. I was cringing and scowling and squeezing the book (as during the show but sub squeezing the book with gulping my wine) because I was ANGRY. This experience was quite unlike reading The Handmaid's Tale so many years ago because for various reasons, now, I am more afraid of it ACTUALLY HAPPENING. I found myself thinking several times that this might give the wrong people worse ideas than they already have and that women might need to have a plan in case this someday gets put into play. Just like everyone is likely to have a "pandemic plan" that has toilet paper, yeast, and bottled water hidden away in a bin after this COVID debacle, I move that women start developing a "Gilead plan," for safety's sake. I don't know what it would entail, but once we can meet again friends, let's get something down on paper, okay?

Verdict: Great book, well done (will raise blood pressure). Men? Reading this could really help with insight and self-awareness, please try.

2. Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. 1957, 1084 pages. 

I will try to be tactful with this. I started reading it a really long time ago and planned to stop at least six times throughout different stages of it but didn't. I read The Fountainhead about twenty years ago and thought it was okay until I actually started thinking about the date rape presented as, "well, it worked out in the end, didn't it?" I had a hard time with that, but it's another story for another day. Atlas Shrugged is an entirely different experience although there's definitely gender stuff and a weird, destructive vibe around the intercourse that gets had among characters.

Dagny Taggart is the vice president of a successful railroad company; her brother is the company's president but he's spineless and bad at his job. Hank Reardon is successful in running a steel company having created his own superior brand of metal. Europe is in the grips of communism, which seems to be spreading to other parts of the world, and this worries the two industrialists because every single liberal-minded person in America favors collectivization, helping one's fellow man, eschews science, progress, and rational thought, and they're beginning to take over. Through the guidance of several other mysterious and lauded industrialists, the two realize they've been approaching their businesses in a way that rewards laziness and ignorance, and that this needs to be radically halted.

I get that communism was scary, but seriously.

(Epoche: I have a liberal arts undergraduate degree and have very nearly completed a graduate degree in a field that combines art and science. I taught little kids to read for four years; I serve others in a helping profession. I am a writer and musician. I have more children than average. I read a lot. I am not a business owner, nor I am remotely interested in becoming one. I realize I am speaking from a position of privilege, as a reader and as a middle-class, white, cishet American whose parents created a comfortable life for me). As such, I was not made to be afraid of the ills described in this story, nor was I guilted by the implications leveled at liberals. I won't say it's not an important story, it is, but it's of another era, another world, even.

Most liberals are not going to put the time in with this. Hell, most followers of Rand are probably not going to put the time in, either. It's long, it's complex, and it deals with a lot of abstract ideas that don't really get interesting until halfway through the book. That said, I was intrigued by the two characters' views and experience in their respective industries. The book itself is written well (if a tad long-winded), it's passionate, and presented in an intelligent manner. As someone who enjoys a good rant, I appreciated that this book had several: Francisco's wedding rant was maybe 15 pages, John Galt's radio lecture was almost 60. I didn't particularly enjoy those rants but I liked some of the other lines, mostly Dagny's: (New sis-in-law tries to throw down. "I'll put you in your place. I'm Mrs. Taggart, I'm the woman in this family now." "That's quite all right," said Dagny. "I'm the man.") I liked her energy and inner focus, and I liked that she, a woman, was competent and respected.

What I rolled my eyes at a lot were the thoughtless and negative blanket statements about professors, teachers, mothers, and even writers and musicians that were presented as absolutes as well as the whole idea of moral codes being the guiding forces in these industries. Please. If she's trying to sell us on America's superiority and the strength of the American businessman, that's some real fairy tale, revisionist bullshit that ignores a hell of a lot of exploitation that this country was built upon. I don't think Rand considered how quickly and completely her little idea would eventually 180, (the word moral as it applies to this outfit, today? People rejecting logic and intelligence? Come on!) but whatever. I can have a sense of humor about being a liberal, and in so doing, I can laugh about this very misguided idea of Rand's that caring and empathizing is wrong and that only selfishness matters.

Verdict: It's obviously written by an intelligent person, just one I don't personally agree with. If a greater understanding of "what moves the world," was the goal, the book is only interested in what moves the unemotional, disconnected world of white businessmen and their money. I'll take real humanity, thanks.

3. The City of Mirrors by Justin Cronin. 2017, 602 pages. 

I really shouldn't have let so much time pass between installments, but it all worked out in the end.

In the reorganization after the defeat of The Twelve, members of the new civilization throughout various locations in Texas make ready their next moves for survival while Zero (Timothy Fanning) shares his backstory and furthers his plan.

I'm not gonna lie; Timothy Fanning stole this story completely away. His chapters had the best events and the most emotion and insight into his character. I had to try very hard to keep everyone else straight. This survivor's doing this, this is a dream sequence, this survivor's over here, now, and so on.  Really loved the line about Hollis, "This large, gentle man, collector of books and reader to children, had become a warrior." I very much dug the book and thought it wrapped up the trilogy nicely; the idea of hitting reset on humanity is not something I thought about in any seriousness before, but funny enough, it's on my mind a lot now. Bonus points for viruses being not just interesting but all of a sudden relevant.

Verdict: Enjoyable book, lots of feeling, a smart series about vampires. Enjoyable series overall. Check out The Passage and The Twelve first, if you're interested.

4. The Stand, the complete and uncut edition by Stephen King. This release, 1990, 1141 pages. 

A virus named "Captain Tripps" wipes out most of the country; good versus evil battle it out in the aftermath. 

I've never read the edited version, I wonder now what initially didn't make the cut. This I read 10 years ago in search of what I thought would be clues to the ending of LOST. I whipped through chapters and did not appreciate all the subtle little details that I really enjoyed this time around. Although there are definite ancestor text references, this felt decidedly less like LOST and very much more like The Walking Dead after the initial threat of the zombies had been extinguished. They have to elect a new government. They have to figure out how to get the power back on. And gardening! The community-building was a huge part of the novel, mixed in with the creepy jealous evil of first, Harold Lauder, and next, Randall Flagg, aka "The Walkin' Dude." I had forgotten the last battle, as it were, and was expecting some sort of desert ultimate fight scene, so I was a little let down by the abruptness of the final battle (but appreciated the link to a certain Juliet Burke). 

Overall, the story itself doesn't seem to me to be rooted in horror at all: The Stand is about its characters, which is very much like LOST, and I can't fault it for that because all of them are interesting and well-written. It's a long read, it takes its time, and some of the language feels very dated and cheesy, but it still holds. Especially now. Did you know they were releasing a new version of it in 2020? Good to see the Skarsgaard family is making a habit with these creepy updates; Eric the Vampire as RF? Nice.

Verdict: If you are a patient reader, a fan of King, or both, you'll dig it. Surprise, it's disturbingly relevant, also.

5. "The Skin Trade," from Dreamsongs, volume II by George R. R. Martin. 2012, 88 pages. 

Werewolves (lycanthropes) do wolfy things in this crime story. Skins are also removed.

This was a nice longer short story. I was hopeful that the wolf and skin stuff might be some generationally-relevant reference to the Starks and the Boltons, but no such luck. I just want everything GRRM writes to have some basis in the world of ice and fire, is that too much to ask?

Verdict: It's fine. It's not Winds of Winter but we make do, you know? Enough said.

6. The World Since 1945: A History of International Relations by Wayne C. McWilliams & Harry Piotrowski. 2001, 618 pages. 

This was a textbook for a current events history class I took back in 2000 at MCTC. I learned a lot; it was definitely one of my favorite history classes, ever. The professor was super smart, liberal as hell, and had done his studies on China, Latin America, and Sub-Saharan Africa.

A detailed volume of how the threat of communism guided US policy and got us all in bed with terrible dictators. Also colonialists did not leave their former colonies with the skills or tools to prevent corruption, so that happened. Germany and Japan rebuilt and learned a lot from their horrible mistakes; globalization has its good and bad points. The former Soviet Union and modern-day Russia is a shit show, but we can't really even know the half of it. Oil. Pollution. Poor nations become indebted nations. 

Verdict: Yes. Read it. 

7. War on Peace: The End of Diplomacy and the Decline of American Influence by Ronan Farrow. 2018, 392 pages. 

In summary: There used to be smart people in the State Department, and while those smart people didn't always have all the right answers and made a lot of mistakes, they were smart, they understood diplomacy, and legitimately wanted to help the country and the world. Those people were fired or quit 3 years ago and weren't replaced or are governed by people unfit for such roles who don't understand or value diplomacy. Or anything, really. Gross. 

Verdict: WE. ARE. SCREWED. 

Disney in Quarantine: Five Short Films

Golden Touch, 1935, rated G, 10 minutes. A King Midas story where Midas is large and sort of creepy with little to no regard to any of the living things around him. The golden touch comes to Midas (who's already rich) by way of another creepy character, Goldie, who has the face of a septuagenarian but the voice of a toddler. Goldie reluctantly bestows the golden touch upon Midas, who enjoys turning statues, water, and animals to gold but has second thoughts only when he realizes his food is affected.

Rating: you can skip this one, unless you like your animation heavy with uncanny weird guys and subtle cruelty to animals. There are some skeletons (which my youngest son enjoyed relating to the current Midas Fortnite skins and the Oro story), but they're not exactly scary. It's a story about greed, but only in degrees; the sweaty king's hunger for food wins out over his hunger for gold, how relevant. How manly! Mostly I just cringed.

On Ice, 1935, rated G, 8 minutes. Mickey, Minnie, Goofy, Donald, and Pluto go ice skating! Mickey and Minnie are wholesome and sweet; Goofy ice-fishes with chewing tobacco and gets outsmarted by the fish he means to catch; Donald messes with Pluto and gets himself swept away in a kite versus waterfall debacle; Mickey saves the day and Goofy does more dumb stuff, but funny dumb stuff because it involves Donald getting smacked in the butt with a baseball bat. Stellar.

Rating: This was cute at first but went downhill fast. So much of early animation focused on physical comedy (which is done great with Mickey and Minnie's scenes) and cruelty (Donald is not a nice duck). The cruelty is pretty minor, just pretending to be a cat and laughing when Pluto repeatedly falls on the ice but I know my children would have likely felt sad for the dog and confused at all the meanness. I remember watching an animated version of the three little kittens who lost their mittens back when I was maybe five or six and feeling very sad about the bullying (the three rich kittens would not allow a poor kitten to play with them because he had no mittens); this felt a lot like that and I didn't like it. Mickey needed to step in and tell Donald to back off his dog. What a jerk.

Elmer Elephant, 1936, rated G, 8 minutes. Elmer is a sweet, shy, waddling young elephant attending Tillie the Tiger's birthday party with a collection of jungle friends. He gives Tillie a bouquet of flowers, which she enjoys, and is soon bullied by the other party goers, presumably because Tillie likes him best. They decide to focus on his trunk and assemble in a petty little parade which imitates Elmer's anatomy and distinct way of walking. Insecure, much? What a bunch of dicks. Elmer storms out of the party but is consoled by a friendly elderly giraffe and a squadron of pelicans. When Tillie's tree house catches on fire, Elmer's new friends assist him in putting out the fire, which in a "all's well that ends well," conclusion, wins Tillie's love and affection. The other animals apparently peace out because they're useless and bitter jackasses.

Rating: This was probably my favorite of the five; there are strong precursors to Dumbo, which deals pretty extensively with bullying as well. The ringleader of the rudeness was really just an animal version of the kid in the circus crowd who would eventually go on to imitate Dumbo's ears, but in Dumbo that kid got a nice retaliatory beat-down from Mrs. Jumbo in response. These little brats just . . . I don't know, had to go home or something. Boo.

Sea Scouts, 1939, rated PG, 8 minutes. Donald Duck takes his nephews on an attempted sailing expedition; he's a terrible sailor, is obsessed with his Napoleon hat, consistently puts the young ducks in harm's way, and battles a shark (which he punches out in the end) over the hat.

Rating: I get that Donald is supposed to be this overreacting sort of scoundrel that exemplifies the physical comedy in these animated pieces, but there's nothing endearing about him (other than being a dick, that is). He uses a few comical phrases and big words to condescend to his nephews, and he's in and out of peril throughout the story, but overall it's all pretty mean-spirited and negative. I guess that's what people found funny back then. It's different than say, the interactions between Wile E. Coyote and the Roadrunner or Tom and Jerry because those stories are about creatures who are natural opposites on the food chain and in nature. Donald Duck is just shitty. Shitty to his nephews, shitty to other animals, shitty to the core. I don't often want to harm animated characters but I'd like to punt him.

Donald's Dog Laundry, 1940, rated G, 8 minutes. Donald Duck tries to entice an innocent, unsuspecting Pluto into a dog-washing contraption. Things don't go according to plan.

Rating: See above. Also I was reminded very strongly of people or children in real life who insist on doing things to pets that are clearly unwanted. Stop doing this and leave them alone.