Set Ways

A couple months ago, I had the good fortune of being invited onto the Justified set. I got several stories out of it for my employer, but haven’t been able to really express what I got out of the experience. This was what I wrote on the plane ride from LA to Chicago (with a few minor edits and additions from subsequent interviews), basically a straight account of my day so I wouldn’t forget anything, but it approximates what I wanted to get out there.

Stone Fruit Season II

Mama doesn’t call me Shortbody like everyone else. “What’s wrong with your name? Don’t you let them call you that,” she hollers when she hears Dale and Ruth call me over for fishing. I don’t know where she got the name from, but it’s not me, so I tell Dale and Ruth not to worry about that ol’ grizzlebelly. They laugh at the word; they know it’s what I named an old raccoon who took up in our backyard a couple years ago. He was almost all silver when I found him the first time.

Stone Fruit Season

Thanks to Dagny Salas for the title for… whatever this will be. It started as a phrase that floated into my head while standing, sweatsoaked, on the corner of 54th and 6th, and then she came to me all at once in her delightful prickly practicality. I’d feel bad for setting aside Katrina, but she’s off in the Highlands right now, having Adventures, so she’ll be all right on her own for a while.

The Antihero’s Algorithm

There are a couple of pieces that have been making their way to me lately about the state of the Antihero on TV. I’d been thinking about this for a while, and I think those pieces have finally helped me crystallize my thoughts on the concept of the Antihero in general.

The stuff I’ve seen is a good foundation, but slightly flawed (sort of like several characters I’ve seen branded as “antiheroes”). For me, Hero and Antihero operate much as matter and antimatter do: the latter merely has the opposite characteristics of the former. Physicists figured out a while ago what those characteristics are, though, so there’s no real debate between what constitutes a quark vs. an antiquark. But there’s lots of potential debate about what makes a hero a Hero, especially in this day and age. And there are a few characters out there in the pop culture landscape that seem to straddle the line. So I’ve developed my own algorithm for deciding if you’ve got an Antihero on your hands:

1. Is he/she a Protagonist, or an Antagonist?

Antagonist: Not an Antihero. The antagonist has a supporting role; he/she spurs action and conflict, but, in a well-told story, never eclipses the protagonist. There are plenty of examples of stories out there where you end up rooting for the villain or wishing he/she had a bigger part in the text. Or really great actors who steal whatever scene they’re in, despite being antagonists, so they take on an antiheroic sheen. However, it’s just that: a sheen that masks the character’s fundamental relationship to the story. Justified‘s Boyd Crowder springs to mind first, and while the show rightfully places a lot of focus on the Boyd-Raylan relationship and Boyd’s journey, it’s very clearly Raylan’s show. Boyd is a supporting character, however magnetic Walton Goggins may be.

Protagonist: Let’s move on to number 2.

2. Does he/she have flaws that go deeper than “I wouldn’t like this person because he’s mildly abrasive or kind of strange”?

No: You’ve got yourself a genuine hero. Congratulations. This is where you’ll find The Hunger Games‘ Katniss, Harry Potter, Sabriel from Garth Nix’s Abhorsen trilogy, Justified‘s Raylan Givens, etc.

Yes: We’re talking alcoholism, legitimately sociopathic behavior, deep-seated racism or misogyny that’s been acted upon (rape, domestic violence), etc., right? If so, down to 3 we go. If not, you’re probably thinking of someone like Dr. House on House, who, yes, was a bit of a twat, and did some shitty things, but (for reasons that will become even clearer later on in the algorithm) he’s not really an Antihero. He’s the network version of an Antihero, which is a Flawed Hero.

3. Is the protagonist aware of these flaws and the effects they have on loved ones?

Yes, and he/she is trying to change: Flawed Hero. Not having seen the vast majority of NYPD Blue, I can’t authoritatively state Andy Sipowicz belongs here, but if Wikipedia is right, this seems the best place for someone like him.

No OR Yes, and he/she doesn’t give a shit: Come on down to 4!

4. What is the protagonist’s raison d’être? Why do they get up in the morning? And, more importantly: Is it a goal we want them to achieve?

Yes: This can be a little complicated, though mostly this means you don’t have an Antihero. A lot of cops, doctors, government operatives, etc. end up here. If they’re saving people’s lives on a regular basis, they’re probably not an Antihero. They’re just Flawed.

In the case of, say, Revenge‘s Emily Thorne, it comes down to a matter of taste. If you believe the ends (ruining the people who ruined/killed her father) justify the means (blackmail, violence, etc.), you’re more likely to view her as a Heroine. If you’re a “turn the other cheek” sort, you might cluck a little and tell your kids not to be like her.

Some people might have gotten down here with Dexter, who also muddies the waters a bit. On the one hand, he’s a serial killer and, at the beginning of the series, a literal sociopath. So: Antihero. On the other hand, he only kills bad people (mostly other killers), has a code, and understands how his actions affect the innocents around him and sometimes takes steps to shield them; he’s also grown more human as the series has progressed. This one comes down to taste as well, though I bet most people would end up slapping the Antihero label on him.

Then you have someone like Travis Bickell from Taxi Driver, who raises the same question, though ultimately feels like he falls in the Antihero category, possibly just because Scorsese and DeNiro do such a bang-up job at selling how completely unstable the guy is; the lurking danger in every glance and mutter.

No: Antihero. Here’s where you have your Walter Whites, your Tony Sopranos and Nuckys and Humbert Humberts. These people are not contributing to society in the way an audience expects a Hero to; there’s something rotting at their core so that, however much we might be charmed by them or even root for them at the beginning, by the end of their story we want to see their uppance come, whether through death or some other kind of ruin. Their karmic debt is too damn high for an audience to allow them to slink away unscathed.

The best example I can think of to illustrate the real dichotomy of the protagonist is Homeland, where we have both a Hero and an Antihero in play. (Spoilers ahoy for those who haven’t seen all of season one.) Carrie Mathison, one of our protagonists, is a deeply flawed woman. She makes some pretty weighty decisions that we’re not entirely on-board with, at least in theory: secretly surveiling Brody, starting an affair with him, concealing her condition from everyone but her sister. But despite these choices, we understand that she is trying to do good: She wants to stop a terrorist attack. Her aim is sympathetic, and intent carries a lot of weight in the Hero vs. Antihero pathway.

Brody is our other protagonist– and he is a protagonist; the show is asking us to follow his journey just as much as Carrie’s, and to sympathize with him to a degree we’re seldom asked to do with plain antagonists. It’s why Alex Gansa and Howard Gordon felt the need to whack us over the head with the story of Issa. But Brody is almost an exact inversion of Carrie: a good man warped by years of torture and an unspeakably horrible act. It was an outside force that inspired his thirst for what he might think is justice but is perhaps more selfish than that. There’s a deep-seated self-destructive impulse in Brody (which was probably what drew him to Carrie in the first place, if only subconsciously); why else go for the bomb vest instead of some more remote method? By blowing himself up as well he gets to finally rest, consequence-free. At any rate, we understand his motivations, and even better, he’s portrayed as being conflicted about his mission, but we certainly don’t want him to fulfill his aim. Were the show not asking us to get inside his head, giving him as much screen time and separate plotlines as Carrie, he would be the villain of the piece.

I realize, going through all the potential examples, that the Antiheroes are overwhelmingly male, but that’s perhaps a post for another time. For now, let’s see if this thing can be broken by a character whose heroicness or lack thereof isn’t a question of taste. Takers?

See Jane Write: Part III

I haven’t done an update on the project I’m working on in some time. Here’s the first part, and the second. This one takes place quite a bit later in the text, but it adds a lot of texture to the world, I think.

Aquatics and You

About seven and a half years ago, I hung my goggles up, after a literal decade of propelling myself up and down various pools. I was mostly relieved at the time, though there was still a sense of sadness there, buried under layers of “Good, I can give my shoulders a rest” and “Oh thank Christ, I don’t have to wake up at 4:15 tomorrow morning.” It is not an easy thing to shrug off such a large part of your life, and I remember occasionally staring with something resembling longing at the pool when I would pick my brother and sister up from practice in the months between quitting and going off to college.

Being a swimmer gave me something to be proud of, though I was not exceptional by any definition of the word: I had good technique, a good coach; I had the willpower and the thousands of practice-hours it takes to be truly great. But I didn’t have the raw talent that some others had. (That always irked me, the fact that I pushed my body past the limits of endurance in practice, until every fiber of my being was crying out for some rest god damnit, and then in a meet I would get my ass handed to me by some Sally Save-Up. This was the first of many “No, It’s Not Fair, Just Deal With It” lessons.) But I still went to every practice. And then went to school. And went to practice again after that. I was an athlete. I got to complain about my tendonitis, or being tired, and no one could tell me to shut up. …At least not to my face.

Then I went to college and became a total piece of shit. My boyfriend at the time actually delayed that process a bit, but I think I messed around in the pool for a grand total of, like, an hour in my entire three years of study. And once I finally left a place where there was a massive, clean pool waiting for me just about whenever I wanted it, the transformation was complete– and, I thought, irreversible. Sure, I’d never been able to live far from a large body of water, and I’d stand at the edge of the East River and think of nothing but diving in and flykicking until I ran out of air. But that nasty little voice– the one in everyone’s heads, and that causes about equal harm and good –told me at this point I was too far gone; I would never be a swimmer again.

Tonight, I discovered that to be an utter falsehood.

There are a lot of shitty things about New York, but they do have a pretty great program for lapswimmers during the summer. There are prizes, the pool’s close to my apartment, and, most importantly, it’s free. So when I watched people I knew back in the day (well, “knew”– I doubt Ryan Lochte remembers that time he was talking to my teammate near me at some meet or another) slicing through the water and making records at Trials, I decided the time had come to find that part of me again.

Conditions are not exactly ideal: There are no lanelines, just massive “areas” for the Slows, the Mediums, and the Fasts. There are no flags, which makes backstroke a little tricky. The water is skin-itchingly cloudy. The first 25 yards felt like an eternity, like jello wiggling through plasma.

But oh, the joy. How did you never realize what a miracle this was? This must be like flying; controlling every part of your body, all the muscles working in unison to propel you forwards, backwards, any way you choose. To feel your muscles remembering, gaining back their strength: No, your elbow should be higher. Stretch to your full length. Don’t just kick when you’re breathing. The first time you flip your legs over and you realize you haven’t forgotten; the way your body twists of its own accord and your legs automatically glue themselves together and you kick from your core, not just your hips. Your head automatically turns to the right; three strokes; left; three strokes. Back and forth until you forget how many times it’s been (though honestly it hasn’t been that many). Here is a world where everything makes sense: You are faster than most, your strokes are prettier than most, your webbed feet are an asset, and all that matters is following the black line to the T.

Afterwards you are calm and quiet. The mildewing, urine-soaked women’s locker room barely warrants a judgmental sniff. The twenty-minute walk back to your apartment feels like a brief stroll, though by the time you walk in the door the moon has risen. You are again who you were, and all is well.

Girls Gone Critical

First, a disclaimer: I’ve only seen the Girls pilot. All of these thoughts pertain only to the pilot, and I reserve the right to go back and reverse all of the ensuing opinions if certain problems are addressed. I know, David Simon views me as part of the problem, whatever.

I…well, I didn’t hate the Girls pilot. But after weeks and weeks of everyone declaring it The Show That Saved Television, blah blah hilariouscakes, all I could think was, “…Really?” Less than ten minutes in and I was losing patience with the characters.

This is not a matter of not wanting to see people struggle with becoming an adult. Look, I am barely an adult: I eat cereal for a lot of meals. I had my entire life stolen just a month ago. I almost died after tripping and stabbing myself in the neck with a steak knife (almost severed my jugular; needed ten stitches). I want very much to see a humorous account of becoming an adult in this city, because that is literally my life right now.

So no, I didn’t hate the Girls pilot. I did, however, hate the vast majority of its characters (Marnie, you’re my only hope). I understand that this is basically the point of the show. We’re not meant to think these people are especially worthy of our sympathy or love. And that shouldn’t be as large a problem as it was for me this time: after all, the core Seinfeld characters are reprehensible, and millions of people continue to enjoy their antics in syndication. The same goes for the It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia gang– there are virtually no redeeming qualities to any of those people. But I love that show. So what is it about the decidedly antiheroic Girls that puts me off so much?

Alyssa Rosenberg at ThinkProgress (among several others) has made the point that we should be able to have female antiheroes like Hannah. For me, the problem with the Girls pilot, though, is that I don’t see Hannah as any kind of antihero. She’s just an entitled asshole, like the ones I spent most of my time at Northwestern avoiding.

I was disgusted by Hannah, not because she’s not stick-thin or has sex with gross hipsters and we see all of these things, or because she’s allowed her parents to support her for two years after college, or even because she took the money her parents left for Housekeeping; but because she doesn’t treat Adam as the disposable sex object he should be to her; because she expects her parents to support her.* In theory, Hannah’s rude awakening should be heartbreaking, but in practice, it’s just irritating.

*I’ve always thought it’s stupid and counterproductive to dislike people merely for coming from privilege. It’s not like my life was full of hard knocks, and most people don’t choose where they’re from. But there’s a difference between “coming from privilege” and “being entitled.” Disliking people for being entitled? Who expect things from adult life that do not jive with how the real world works, like Hannah does? I think that’s fine, and for me, it has nothing to do with gender and everything to do with socioeconomics.

It’s entirely possible that Girls holds up a funhouse mirror to me, showing what I could have been (or could yet be; I am still 24); and that, unlike with the Sunny or Seinfeld gangs, it is this “too close to home” aspect that, well, hits too close to home.

There have been a lot of comparisons (and contrasts) with Louie, another show that sometimes hits a bit too close to home, in the best way possible. The tones aren’t quite the same, but the similarities are enough that you can make those comparisons. Louie himself isn’t always relatable or sympathetic, but there’s a reality to him, a groundedness. This is what I’m hoping Lena Dunham is moving towards: Eventually, in this city, you get grounded. You realize that your college degree is not the mighty shield you thought; it truly is just a scrap of paper, and you are probably going to have to do something you don’t like just to make money, that you can get your creative rocks off elsewhere for a while. Maybe that grounding just happened to me earlier because I had my dreams shattered within a year of moving here, and not enough time has passed to make me feel less disdainful.

That doesn’t speak to the quality of the show (which did make me laugh, though not as much as the other two shows I’ve mentioned, or even Louie). It places the blame squarely on my own shoulders. Maybe the weight just needs to settle.