Tuesday, January 12, 2021

2021 Offers Hope (and Streaming Services)

 Happy 2021, blog!

While many have scoffed at the idea that this year will be better, I truly believe it will.  (It could hardly be worse than the dumpster fire that was 2020.)

I'm looking forward to ongoing writing projects, an end to the Trump presidency, a Covid-19 vaccine roll-out, and a couple of really great new Marvel shows coming out.  In the meantime, I recently finished Pixar's latest movie, Soul, and wrote a quick little article about its mechanics and plotholes.

Check it out here!

Thursday, December 24, 2020

Santa Claus is (Still) Coming to Town!

Covid-19 has made this year into a bit of a nightmare for many of us, but, just as the Grinch attempted to do away with Christmas only to discover that Christmas is rather tougher than he'd imagined (V in V for Vendetta notes that "you can't kill an idea"), so have I discovered a bit of Christmas spirit at the end of the year.  It was unexpected but a small, bright beacon of light in an otherwise largely dreary season.  I've gotten to enjoy time with my family, including my wonderful new son, and although some things have changed (we met with Santa on Zoom instead of in person), others didn't (we still sent an obscene number of holiday cards - you're welcome, USPS).

Because I love both Christmas and "fictional" science (aka "comic book" or "super-hero" science), I decided to round out the year with a beloved topic of mine crammed through a pseudo-scientific lens: the topic of Santa Claus.

I've been a big fan of Santa for over 30 years and this year was no exception.  I wrote an article explaining how Santa is handling the Covid-19 pandemic and what various Santa experts (including Santa's elves) have informed us about Santa's annual gift-giving journey.

If you'd like to know about how Santa is managing 2020, click here!  Don't worry, kids; he's still coming, and he's being extra safe!

Merry Christmas, everyone.  May our 2021 days be more merry, and brighter.

Thursday, December 17, 2020

Good Reads: Skyrim Edition

Did you know that the video game Skyrim has over 300 readable books?  They don't do a thing except tell you a story and you can, in game, open them up, flip through the pages, and read a story.

Most people don't take the time to read every volume, but yours truly did, and wrote a massive, 10-page article summarizing the best books AND personal journals in Skyrim, for the curious readers who wonder which tomes are worth their time.

Check out my article here!  (Spoiler alert: No, "Palla" isn't #1, though it did make the top five.)  This article details the best Skyrim reads, where to find them, if they confer any special skill points to your in-game character, and offers a broad plot summary so you can choose if you want to track them down and give them a read yourself.  Enjoy!

Friday, December 11, 2020

Dualing Banjos: Two Portrayals of the American Hillbilly

On July 7th, back in the days before I canceled my Amazon Prime account, I saw a documentary called The Wild and Wonderful Whites of West Virginia. It's about the White family, a self-proclaimed clan of hillbilly redneck ne'er-do-wells. I wanted to write a review for it, but got waylaid. In a note to myself, I wrote simply, “It's at times funny, but mostly heartbreaking. It's a great look at how America has let down its people and why white supremacy is flourishing. These people are so destitute, so despondent, and yet so resilient. An amazingly insightful film.”

With the Netflix release of the Oscar-bait movie Hillbilly Elegy, I decided now is the perfect time to revisit my review The Wild and Wonderful Whites, which didn’t get nearly as much attention as it deserved. It got a lacklustre response and mixed reviews. This isn’t surprising to me, though, because it’s by no means a feel-good movie. It’s simply a year in the life of people, and it’s generally a hopeless sort of film that seeks only to give a realistic portrayal of the American hillbilly. It’s a hopeless kind of film, one in which sympathy is tempered by the up-front awareness that many of the struggles faced by the family are self-inflicted wounds.

Yet there’s also an understanding that the poverty, mental illness, and drug abuse that plagues the family is so thoroughly ingrained that it’s almost impossible to change. One small part of the family moved away from West Virginia in an effort to “start over.” It is made clear that this was a difficult decision, one that stripped the people of their very identities, and that many members of the family lack the resources to make a clean getaway.

Near the end of the film, one of the central subjects of the documentary, Mamie, confesses that she feels like there is no hope for her or her generation; they are not only mired in poverty and ignorance, but doomed to hell. She says she only wants more for her children and grandchildren; there’s a brief cut of her smiling, laughing, and hugging one of them, only for her expression to fall into one of despair the moment the child runs off to continue playing. The utter hopelessness of these people, and the idiosyncratic self-awareness they have of their situations combined with a paralyzing inability to alter them (call it fatalism, or nihilism, if you insist on assigning it an -ism), really affected me.

This film was a portrayal of “hillbillies” in a way that was both sympathetic but unflinching. Certainly, one could easily dismiss the Whites as the main perpetrators of their own abuse, and one would not be wrong. But at the same time, I found myself rooting for them. I wanted them to get better. And I wanted their efforts, however small, however late, however utterly stupid, to succeed.


Hillbilly Elegy, by comparison, is a sneering, derisive work that aimed for the same tone as The Wild and Wonderful Whites but misses its mark and ends up caricaturing its subjects in an inexcusable way.

The thing you should know about Hillbilly Elegy is that the movie is based on a book, and that book is a memoir. The author of the book was born into a family of hillbillies not unlike the Whites, who suffer similar problems: severe drug addiction, untreated mental health problems, dire socioeconomic circumstances. The author proceeded to go to Yale. That’s pretty much the entire plot arc, which is a bit dull and self-congratulatory, in my opinion. But it’s also the sort of thing that you would write a memoir about. My problem is not with the plot but the conclusions drawn from it. Author J.D. Vance blames the people in his life for their own circumstances in what comes across as bitter libertarianism that’s the direct result of the familial traumas he suffered in his pre-college years. The general disdain Vance has for his ex-peers precludes any possible sympathy or understanding. And the generalizations he makes are sweepingly broad.

In short, the problem with Hillbilly Elegy (as a book) is that it falls victim to a fair world fallacy in which all people who are poor are poor because they are lazy; all victims of drug addiction are simply not trying hard enough to get clean; the world is populated only by pathetic losers and Vance, who heroically discovered that the secret to success is pulling oneself up by the bootstraps.

The Netflix screen adaptation, directed by Ron Howard, dilutes Vance’s problematic, right-leaning ideals, making its central focus the portrayal of his mother and grandmother. Played by Amy Adams (a rich Hollywood woman in “poor face”), Vance’s mother steals the spotlight with her hysterical antics. Though I didn’t like Vance’s memoir, one thing I can say about it is that it had a point. The movie, in forcing Vance to play a milquetoast “straight man,” ends up being nothing more than an invitation to gawk at a caricature. It has no lesson. The book did, and while I disagree with it, I can at least say it was pushing forth a story that the author felt had meaning. The Netflix movie trades in cheap emotional clichés, with its characters oscillating wildly between screeching at each other in over-the-top, fake southern accents (Vance is from Ohio) and nauseatingly gooey speeches set to rousing orchestral music.

 
It invites the audience to gawk openly at the poor yokels with smug satisfaction and the security of knowing that the actors themselves are not real people, only pale imitations of real people. It’s a voyeuristic film that comes across as the highfalutin final project of an insufferable film student, and it would be utterly unremarkable if not for the “based on a best-selling memoir / based on a true story” tagline.

I know it’s a bit of a banality to see a film based on a book and to say afterwards, “The book was better.” I read Vance’s book in 2016 and I strongly disliked it. I disliked its cruel, pitiless, snide tone and its ham-fisted lessons on self-actualization that seemed rooted in personal scorn. However, in this instance, I’ll resort to the film’s strategy of trading in clichés and say it: The book was better than the film. And neither holds a candle to the stark, raw, provocative, and terribly under-valued documentary that is The Wild and Wonderful Whites of West Virginia.

But when you get right down to it, that is how Americans as a whole regard the iconic hillbilly. We want to stare, to spurn, to point and laugh, and we want to do it without feeling bad. J.D. Vance’s book and the film based on it both allow us to witness the spectacle without being touched by it, and to be reassured of our own superiority to the hapless hicks we’re observing. It’s a modern freakshow. The Wild and Wonderful Whites does not strip the Whites of their humanity and, in doing so, demands that the audience confront the horrible realization that, there but for the grace of God go we. You don’t feel good watching it, and nor should you. The Wild and Wonderful Whites is a lens into an uncomfortable reality that, unlike Vance’s book, doesn’t extend itself into the realm of judgement.

Hillbilly Elegy robs its characters of their dignity with the weak excuse that hillbillies have none. As a result, it’s exploitative and mocking. The Wild and Wonderful Whites, on the other hand, lets its subjects speak for themselves; they are both pathetic and proud, forcing the audience to accommodate their oxymoronic nature in what is an uncomfortably close depiction of complex, wholly realized people. This is where Howard’s film failed. His characters, based on Vance’s memoir, are one-dimensional and shallow. They don’t deserve your attention; the Whites do.

Wednesday, December 2, 2020

Content Dump: Animorphs and Elliot Page

Yesterday Elliot Page, one of the stars of Umbrella Academy, came out and as the "resident Umbrella Academy fan" of the Grand Geek Gathering I was asked to whip up a press release.  You can read it here.

I had actually spent all weekend writing a 9-page listicle about the best books to read in Skyrim (spoiler: Palla v2 only made it to the #4 slot) but this was deemed more timely, so you'll have to wait for next week.

Also this week, I wrote up a brief review of the new Animorphs graphic novel adaptation.  I don't like it as much as the books but in fairness, it would have been hard to live up to my eight-year-old enthusiasm for the original book series.

Click the links for my writing or don't.