I know the title of this post didn't suggest this at all, but I wanted to write about how disappointed I was by The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. You know, Brad Pitt is a movie idol, a really, really, ridiculously good-looking actor who is a joy to watch. So, just getting to see him do his thing is nice (I think I have an old blog about just watching Brad Pitt). But this movie dragged on so long, and took so many left turns, that by the time it was over, I had no idea what I was expected to walk away with. I was unnerved by the fairy-tale aspect of Benjamin's miraculous reverse aging process juxtaposed with the hyper-realism induced by including hurricane Katrina. I actually think I didn't like it, and that it really wasn't a good movie. The only thing that saves it is Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett are so attractive. I guess what I'm left with is that old age is ugly and it sucks to lose your mind. This was like the antithesis to The Notebook. I read the story to my niece the other day, the original story by Fitzgerald, and Benjamin was never meant to be this benevolent, ageless creature full of wonder and sagacity. Giving the character so little personality caused me to constantly remember that I was watching Brad Pitt. It's a shame, really, to get these A list actors together so beautifully, and get so little out of it.
On to the original intent of this post -- Emily Bronte's tale of the hearth.
Chapter one of Wuthering Heights introduces a rather odd, rather Ishmael-like narrator, Mr. Lockwood. I have a lot of thoughts about this narrator. One concerns his view of what I'll simply call "the gaze." I'm trying very hard to remember the theory I've read about the gaze. I think Butler discusses the importance of the gaze in the subject/object relationship. The subject gazes at the object of desire. In Mr. Lockwood's case, he doesn't particularly care for the gaze to be returned -- especially by a woman. When Lockwood first meets Heathcliff, he gets a little crush on him, he says, because he "felt interested in a man who seemed more exaggeratedly reserved than myself." The first woman to meet Lockwood's gaze is the mother dog that jumps on top of him and dominates him. This is the beginning of what seems to be a pattern with Lockwood: out of fear of female dominance, he avoids the returned gaze. He seems to better tolerate Heathcliff's person, and he gives us a little insight into why this is: "I bestow my own attributes over liberally on him." Lockwood likes to look at what he can see himself in, and I don't believe that women can do that for him, but Heathcliff, with his masculine power, wealth, and frustrated heterosexual desire is something that can receive his gaze, precisely because he won't return it. When Lockwood speaks of a failed romance, he confesses that he was interested in a lovely girl, "as long as she took no notice of me." When this girl does look at him (he even insists there was no telling of love, only looks), "at every glance [I} retired colder and farther."
Now, I think for the purpose of the novel, we are to compare Lockwood and Heathcliff, and find the latter far more exciting and masculine. However, aside from Lockwood's inexperience in the country, how are we to distinguish between his frustrated sex life and Heathcliff's? I think it has to do with the gaze, and with power. Lockwood is secure until the object of his desire returns the gaze; Heathcliff is secure until Cathy turns her gaze to something else besides him. Lockwood would have liked it if his aforementioned object of affection had kept her gaze elsewhere. Heathcliff admires an empowered woman, and Lockwood is afraid of one, even if only in the form of a dog. This fear in Lockwood is so off-putting. I feel somewhat sympathetic for him, having stumbled into this mess unknowingly, but when he begins to worm his way into things, I find it don't like him. When he wants to free himself from the Cathy's ghostly arm, he rubs it bloody against the broken window pane. Something about him, his fear and his weak character, make him the great counterpoint to Heathcliff.
I find that he is very much like Ishmael, and Heathcliff is very much like Ahab.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Friday, December 26, 2008
Final Thoughts on Fall 2008
Grades are in! I did even better than I anticipated:
African American Poetry and Drama: A-
Women's Studies: A
Natural Disasters: A- (!)
Shakespeare: A
British Lit 1842 - Current: B+
I couldn't believe it when I found out I got the A- in Natural Disasters (the last general ed/science class of my BA)! I know there are some of you out there who don't expect any less, or who perhaps think I could be getting these grades even if I were sleep walking through class, but I have to say I am pretty darned pleased with myself. Yet, that B+ irks me, for I earned an A- in that class (see the blog on the midterm mishap). I wish I could say that I am rid of that rigid instructor forever, but she is the contact for the masters program. What incentive for transferring to CSU Long Beach! Well, I guess I could just try to pay more attention to directions. It's apparently pretty important, seeing how I got the only other B+ at DH, in syntax, because I failed to notice that homework was 40% of the grade, and didn't turn in the first assignment.
The instructor I had for Shakespeare, Dr. Lois Feuer, was a very intimidating Shakespeare expert. Imagine my delight as she took me aside after I turned in my final and told me she had considered inviting me to audit (?) her graduate course on gender and sexuality in Shakespeare next semester. She told me she was surprised and disappointed that I was a junior -- well, I'm only a junior because I'm compressing my schedule to graduate a semester early -- and that I was already enrolled in five classes for the Spring semester. She has one of the toughest reputations in the department, and she was simply wonderful to me. It more than made up for the rigamarole I went through in British Lit. It's amazing how far personality goes. I'm convinced that I erred in syntax and British Lit mostly because I didn't care for the instructors. Even though I know I'm not telling Dr. Feuer anything she doesn't already know about Shakespeare, I am convinced that she appreciates a good discussion about literature. I felt that Dr. White was more concerned with weighing and measuring, holding us up to the light to check for flaws, than she was with excellent discussion. Yet, I learn from all of it. I learn what kind of teacher I want to be, and what kind I desperately want to avoid being like.
In other news, I got the results for the GRE subject test back. I scored in the 78th percentile. Not my finest hour -- but not bad, especially since I didn't get to study for it, and had to rush through at least 20 questions. I still consider myself pretty great, because I scored with about the top 20 percent of my fellow test takers, which puts me with some pretty good people.
I'm very pleased with all that I got accomplished this semester. I feel like I've returned to the real world, for at least a few weeks. Are you freezing? 'Cause it's FREEZING. I hope this blubber I've been developing lasts through the winter.
African American Poetry and Drama: A-
Women's Studies: A
Natural Disasters: A- (!)
Shakespeare: A
British Lit 1842 - Current: B+
I couldn't believe it when I found out I got the A- in Natural Disasters (the last general ed/science class of my BA)! I know there are some of you out there who don't expect any less, or who perhaps think I could be getting these grades even if I were sleep walking through class, but I have to say I am pretty darned pleased with myself. Yet, that B+ irks me, for I earned an A- in that class (see the blog on the midterm mishap). I wish I could say that I am rid of that rigid instructor forever, but she is the contact for the masters program. What incentive for transferring to CSU Long Beach! Well, I guess I could just try to pay more attention to directions. It's apparently pretty important, seeing how I got the only other B+ at DH, in syntax, because I failed to notice that homework was 40% of the grade, and didn't turn in the first assignment.
The instructor I had for Shakespeare, Dr. Lois Feuer, was a very intimidating Shakespeare expert. Imagine my delight as she took me aside after I turned in my final and told me she had considered inviting me to audit (?) her graduate course on gender and sexuality in Shakespeare next semester. She told me she was surprised and disappointed that I was a junior -- well, I'm only a junior because I'm compressing my schedule to graduate a semester early -- and that I was already enrolled in five classes for the Spring semester. She has one of the toughest reputations in the department, and she was simply wonderful to me. It more than made up for the rigamarole I went through in British Lit. It's amazing how far personality goes. I'm convinced that I erred in syntax and British Lit mostly because I didn't care for the instructors. Even though I know I'm not telling Dr. Feuer anything she doesn't already know about Shakespeare, I am convinced that she appreciates a good discussion about literature. I felt that Dr. White was more concerned with weighing and measuring, holding us up to the light to check for flaws, than she was with excellent discussion. Yet, I learn from all of it. I learn what kind of teacher I want to be, and what kind I desperately want to avoid being like.
In other news, I got the results for the GRE subject test back. I scored in the 78th percentile. Not my finest hour -- but not bad, especially since I didn't get to study for it, and had to rush through at least 20 questions. I still consider myself pretty great, because I scored with about the top 20 percent of my fellow test takers, which puts me with some pretty good people.
I'm very pleased with all that I got accomplished this semester. I feel like I've returned to the real world, for at least a few weeks. Are you freezing? 'Cause it's FREEZING. I hope this blubber I've been developing lasts through the winter.
Monday, December 15, 2008
"Give my love to everyone!"
After watching the film adaptation of Tennessee William's The Rose Tattoo, I have to admit that I am a little overwhelmed at the complex themes at work here. Before I do any research, I want to discuss some ideas that I have, some thoughts.
I think there is a pretty obvious reference to Italian theater history in this film. I don't remember exactly what the types are, but the notion of the buffoon is pretty strong, especially when it comes to Burt Lancaster's character, who is as tragically goofy as it gets. The other thing that I remember from Italian theater is the use of masks. There are no literal masks in the film, although it could be argued that Sarafina uses "dressing up" as a literal, tangible mask. Even then, I think once again Williams has given us a story that looks at gender and gender expectations as a mask, and discusses the power of this mask through gender-bending characters.
Is Sarafina's problem her husband's infidelity, or her expectation of herself as the ultimate woman, with feminine power enough to keep Della Rosa from straying to the Mardis Gras? What I appreciate about William's vision is his ability to show people who suffer because of their own perceptions of who they are. I think he mostly shows women who are struggling with autonomy, women who are suffering because they must see themselves as objects of male desire, or they are oppressed by others who must keep them within the limits of a very gender-specific expectation. She can't believe that her husband was cheating on her, not because of the kind of man he was or wasn't, but because of what his fidelity would suggest about the power of her femininity. The idea that she isn't feminine enough is implied in the very beginning of the film, when the store keeper has her carry her own groceries. She is reluctant to do so, because (I'm trying to remember the words) she isn't a "common donkey" in the street; she argues that she isn't a beast of burden. Yet, her expectation of her femininity weighs her down so heavily in her marriage, as well as her relationship with her daughter, that she has to implore a goddess, the divine mother herself, for help.
Now, I had another idea, that Williams was heavily relying on the association of the rose with Mary Magdalene, and the sacred prostitute archetype. Perhaps Sarafina, in her rigid demand for fidelity, is actually blaspheming the sacred prostitute. She sure does give it to the other woman at the Mardi Gras, doesn't she?! She breaks a bottle over her face, if I recall. I'm sure the purveyors of myth would go crazy with his movie, but I'm not educated enough in myth to make much more of this allusion.
Lust is a dominant theme in the film, I actually thought Burt's character just wanted to get laid, before he confessed his situation with his "dependents." The daughter is inconsolable when she cannot actualize her desire for the sailor, and her desire to live in the moment means she has a lust for life. So just whose lust is she mirroring? Her mother's lust for a strong man who will confirm her status as a sex symbol, or her father's, who's wild sexual appetite needs more than one partner for satisfaction? I think perhaps we're supposed to imagine both.
Yet, this is Williams, and he never sticks with just one theme, or one comment on that theme. I can't wait to buy his complete works.
I think there is a pretty obvious reference to Italian theater history in this film. I don't remember exactly what the types are, but the notion of the buffoon is pretty strong, especially when it comes to Burt Lancaster's character, who is as tragically goofy as it gets. The other thing that I remember from Italian theater is the use of masks. There are no literal masks in the film, although it could be argued that Sarafina uses "dressing up" as a literal, tangible mask. Even then, I think once again Williams has given us a story that looks at gender and gender expectations as a mask, and discusses the power of this mask through gender-bending characters.
Is Sarafina's problem her husband's infidelity, or her expectation of herself as the ultimate woman, with feminine power enough to keep Della Rosa from straying to the Mardis Gras? What I appreciate about William's vision is his ability to show people who suffer because of their own perceptions of who they are. I think he mostly shows women who are struggling with autonomy, women who are suffering because they must see themselves as objects of male desire, or they are oppressed by others who must keep them within the limits of a very gender-specific expectation. She can't believe that her husband was cheating on her, not because of the kind of man he was or wasn't, but because of what his fidelity would suggest about the power of her femininity. The idea that she isn't feminine enough is implied in the very beginning of the film, when the store keeper has her carry her own groceries. She is reluctant to do so, because (I'm trying to remember the words) she isn't a "common donkey" in the street; she argues that she isn't a beast of burden. Yet, her expectation of her femininity weighs her down so heavily in her marriage, as well as her relationship with her daughter, that she has to implore a goddess, the divine mother herself, for help.
Now, I had another idea, that Williams was heavily relying on the association of the rose with Mary Magdalene, and the sacred prostitute archetype. Perhaps Sarafina, in her rigid demand for fidelity, is actually blaspheming the sacred prostitute. She sure does give it to the other woman at the Mardi Gras, doesn't she?! She breaks a bottle over her face, if I recall. I'm sure the purveyors of myth would go crazy with his movie, but I'm not educated enough in myth to make much more of this allusion.
Lust is a dominant theme in the film, I actually thought Burt's character just wanted to get laid, before he confessed his situation with his "dependents." The daughter is inconsolable when she cannot actualize her desire for the sailor, and her desire to live in the moment means she has a lust for life. So just whose lust is she mirroring? Her mother's lust for a strong man who will confirm her status as a sex symbol, or her father's, who's wild sexual appetite needs more than one partner for satisfaction? I think perhaps we're supposed to imagine both.
Yet, this is Williams, and he never sticks with just one theme, or one comment on that theme. I can't wait to buy his complete works.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
My Homage to British Lit
I'm not sure if British Lit will be amused, but I am planning on reading Wuthering Heights over the break and doing my usual running commentary here.
I have simply had a miserable time in British Lit this semester, with mistakes and misunderstandings flying. I'm a little disappointed that I didn't give some authors due attention. I especially avoided James Joyce, Seamus Heaney, and Tennyson. I don't think I had enough time to really give these texts the close reading they demand. I had no real desire to please the teacher, which can go a long a way when you feel overwhelmed by long readings. I knew that if I did the readings we would have the same inane discussion in class that centered around a New Historical perspective, and the same dim wits would give their reader response comments that our instructor would spin according to her wishes. I had to keep myself from sleeping, doing other homework, and indulging in other diversions during this class.
I was actually interested and involved for the first half of the semester, but when she rode me so hard about the midterm mishap, I just tuned out.
Well, the entire time I have spent analyzing Moby-Dickthere has been this small voice saying, "Wuthering Heights...Wuthering Heights... ." I don't know why. There is something about childbirth, the other, and tragedy in this novel that has been echoing around in my mind as I try to understand my ideas about Moby-Dick. I started re-reading this book today, and I already see some similarities.
A full journal will follow, a chapter by chapter discussion. Maybe British Lit will forgive my behavior this past semester, and I can redeem myself with this literature that I love.
I have simply had a miserable time in British Lit this semester, with mistakes and misunderstandings flying. I'm a little disappointed that I didn't give some authors due attention. I especially avoided James Joyce, Seamus Heaney, and Tennyson. I don't think I had enough time to really give these texts the close reading they demand. I had no real desire to please the teacher, which can go a long a way when you feel overwhelmed by long readings. I knew that if I did the readings we would have the same inane discussion in class that centered around a New Historical perspective, and the same dim wits would give their reader response comments that our instructor would spin according to her wishes. I had to keep myself from sleeping, doing other homework, and indulging in other diversions during this class.
I was actually interested and involved for the first half of the semester, but when she rode me so hard about the midterm mishap, I just tuned out.
Well, the entire time I have spent analyzing Moby-Dickthere has been this small voice saying, "Wuthering Heights...Wuthering Heights... ." I don't know why. There is something about childbirth, the other, and tragedy in this novel that has been echoing around in my mind as I try to understand my ideas about Moby-Dick. I started re-reading this book today, and I already see some similarities.
A full journal will follow, a chapter by chapter discussion. Maybe British Lit will forgive my behavior this past semester, and I can redeem myself with this literature that I love.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
To Kill a Ratcatcher
Nine days left in the semester. That's not a very comforting fact, considering the amount of studying I have to do. Today I am playing Mercutio in a scene reading of Romeo and Juliet. He's one of my favorite characters Shakespeare wrote; there's something almost suicidal in his tone -- his "I care not," and his rant about Queen Mab -- there's something very odd going on with Mercutio. If I was a director I would portray him as very troubled -- but kind of mad, in that funny way of his. Anyway, we are going to be wearing mustaches and wielding star wars light sabers, so if anything it will be entertaining. How often do you get to say, "They have made worms meat of me!"
I missed being at Fullerton College today. I love the campus in the winter, when leaves are falling and the air is crisp. The white buildings glow in the glare of the winter sun, and a nap in the new library is so delightful. I miss FC a lot.
I'm going to start planning my break. I have six weeks, and I would like to try to go on at least one outing a week. Must stops:
LACMA: They have a new contemporary space, which my cousin says is awesome. I haven't been in ages, so that will be a fun day.
The Huntington(don?) Library: When I was sixteen I drove my boyfriend and best friend here so we could work on her photography project. We took gothic pictures by the fountain and in the statue garden and rose garden. We must have been a sight -- girls in head to toe velvet and combat boots waltzing around while the older death rocker boy looks on. I think I had red Shirley Manson hair. Compared with the goth look of today, we were pretty mild. Those were simpler times. I'd like to go and look at the collection. What fun.
Hot Springs: I just love hot springs. I know it's a little stinky -- but I think a good soak in mineral baths is very rejuvenating. Let's throw in some acupuncture and massage, too.
Films: I haven't been to the movies much lately, and I want to go all the time on break. I want to say -- yeah, I saw that -- to everything.
Theater: I vow to see at least one big show on break.
The Dick: I will work on Moby-Dick. I wish I had a grant and could buy up all the theory books I want -- but I may just have to hang out at the library. I will make breakthroughs and headway and all of that. Right after I sleep in.
Well, that's enough planning for now. Wish me luck as I go sword fight my heart out.
I missed being at Fullerton College today. I love the campus in the winter, when leaves are falling and the air is crisp. The white buildings glow in the glare of the winter sun, and a nap in the new library is so delightful. I miss FC a lot.
I'm going to start planning my break. I have six weeks, and I would like to try to go on at least one outing a week. Must stops:
LACMA: They have a new contemporary space, which my cousin says is awesome. I haven't been in ages, so that will be a fun day.
The Huntington(don?) Library: When I was sixteen I drove my boyfriend and best friend here so we could work on her photography project. We took gothic pictures by the fountain and in the statue garden and rose garden. We must have been a sight -- girls in head to toe velvet and combat boots waltzing around while the older death rocker boy looks on. I think I had red Shirley Manson hair. Compared with the goth look of today, we were pretty mild. Those were simpler times. I'd like to go and look at the collection. What fun.
Hot Springs: I just love hot springs. I know it's a little stinky -- but I think a good soak in mineral baths is very rejuvenating. Let's throw in some acupuncture and massage, too.
Films: I haven't been to the movies much lately, and I want to go all the time on break. I want to say -- yeah, I saw that -- to everything.
Theater: I vow to see at least one big show on break.
The Dick: I will work on Moby-Dick. I wish I had a grant and could buy up all the theory books I want -- but I may just have to hang out at the library. I will make breakthroughs and headway and all of that. Right after I sleep in.
Well, that's enough planning for now. Wish me luck as I go sword fight my heart out.
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