Category: Rants…I mean…well thought out think pieces

A Defence of the Jurassic World Films : a literary message rediscovered

What Ho wee readers, and welcome to the newest post of the Wee Writing Lassie. You know what’s a wonderful feeling, watching a film – or in this case a series of films – that you had previously written off as stupid, or dumb, or ‘not as good as the originals’, and discovering that not only were you really wrong with that assessment, but that these seemingly dumb movies have actually reached a depth a nuance that before only existed in the original source material. No, too specific an example to be relevant to anyone but myself? Oh well, at least I’m writing the post.

To clarify, recently I have had the pleasure of rewatching all of the films in the Jurassic Franchise. And I found something absolutely remarkable, the newer films – the Chris Pratt films as they’re called within my family – are better. And no, I’m not just talking compared with with the second and third Jurassic Park films, which everyone can sort of agree where lack lustred additions to the franchise – I’m talking about the original film as well. Yes, yes, I know, the horror, the horror, but I’m not saying that it was a bad film; I’m not actually even saying it was bad compared to the newer films. What I really mean is that when you look back to the original book ‘Jurassic Park’ by Michael Crichton, and the deeper messages it was trying to convey – the danger of corporate sponsorship of science, and the horrors that can be unleashed by genetic engineering done for the pure pursuit of profit – between the two film trilogies , it’s the newer one that actually convey those messages.

Okay, let’s take a step back here, all the way back to 1990 in fact – to when Michael Crichton published his grim prediction of what science working for profit and profit alone, could be capable of. And he called this, harrowing story of genetic engineering gone wrong – Jurassic Park. You know the basic story already: very rich man decides he wants to make an amusement part like no other, an amusement park filled with Dinosaurs. But things start to go slightly wrong because the Dinosaurs are proving a little too dangerous for his people to handle, his investors get very anxious and so they demand that he have experts look over the park before it’s allowed to open for the public. Experts come in, are shocked and awed by the dinosaurs – all seems to be going well for our rich man, then a storm hits, the lights go out and shit, as the expression goes, hits the fan.

That sounds about right, doesn’t it? That’s the basic plot for both the original book and the first film anyway. I never said it got everything wrong, it’s just some of the details were lost in adaptation. But the devil, as the saying goes, is found in the details. One of the first thing that is changed, or cut out in the transition from page to screen is the level of control, that Hammond and his employees have lost over the dinosaurs even before the storm hits. In the film one employee has been killed by a raptor who didn’t even get out of its box-cage, and some of the dinosaurs have started to breed despite the fact they should all be female. That’s about it, and then a greedy and ungrateful employee shuts off the power to the island, and everything goes down hill from there. In the books … the dinosaurs haven’t just been breeding without Hammond’s team’s knowledge, they’ve been escaping the island. Granted, only the smaller dinosaurs so far – but seeing as our main characters spot several juvenile raptors escaping on a boat leaving the island before the storm hit, I’m guess it won’t be too long before the others follow.

Another thing the film changes from the book is Hammond himself – in the film he’s a cuddly old man, who truly wants to make something wonderful and real for all the children of the world, not just the rich ones. And when it becomes apparent how dangerous the park he’s created actually is, he agrees that it’s something that should be shut down.

In the book he’s out to make money, pure and simple – he only listens to the trained experts he’s hired to run and build his park when they’re telling him what he wants to here, never admits the park was a bad idea from concept and does everything possible – in mental gymnastics – to avoid taking responsibility for it. And oh yes, was completely planning on making another one of them if he ever escaped the park – which thankfully in the book he doesn’t. Nope, he falls down a hill after getting spooked by a fake dinosaur noise and breaks his ankle. Then he gets eaten by tiny dinosaurs.

Hmm, an old millionaire capitalist who instead of learning and being humbled from his mistakes, and trying to fix them later in in his life, instead doubles down on them and dies in a humiliating way? Well, doesn’t that sound familiar. Don’t get me wrong, Attomburgh’s performance – he was a star, but the Hammond of the Book wasn’t meant to be a star, he was meant to be a Hate Sink. There was nothing redeemable about him, nothing cute or grandfatherly – he was a monster, as big a monster as the dinosaurs he helped create. An unnatural creature was this late stage capitalist typhoon, a beast not worthy of pity or mercy … but something that must be killed, that must die if life, or at least human existence, has a hope of continuing.

I’m not trying to call for the heads of all late stage Capitalist millionaires, or the CEOS of our biggest money making monoliths – before anyone mistakes that last bit of poetry for a call to arms. Rather, what I’m saying is that after reading it – that appears to be what the book is trying to convey, if maybe not in those exact words. It’s an anti capitalist, anti Science for profit book and while the film has hints of that, the true depth of that message, and how obvious it really is – is lost under the spectacle of the Dinosaurs. Because that’s what the first film is it’s a spectre thing – ooh look at the pretty dinosaurs, look at how sharp their teeth are, look run away they’re trying to eat you. Let’s not think too deeply on the endeavours and the process that brought these horrors to life, don’t look at the man behind the curtain – he’s only cuddly old Attenborough anyway. No, need to worry about the future, or think what other horrors science – and biological science in particular- will bring if conducted only for profit.

And all the Jurassic Park films work this way, I might add. Oh the second one tries to have a deeper message of animal conservation, but it still ends with a t-rex roaming the streets of New York City, like a modern day scaly King Kong. And the third one even has the gall to show a picture of pterodactyls flying towards the main land, like it s a whimsical magical thing we should stand in awe of – rather then what it actually is, the beginning of another horror film.

This is a problem that the Jurassic World Trilogy manages to side step entirely. Mainly because it’s first film – Jurassic World – begins from the starting premise: ‘What if Jurassic Park Opened, and people got bored of Dinosaurs?’ This works on both a story and a meta level, because, no, there’s nothing exciting about seeing dinosaurs on the screen anymore. We were well into the age of CGI, and pretty good CGI, by the time Jurassic World came along – so it was no longer enough to just put a dinosaur on the screen to captivate an audience. You had to try harder, make it bigger, make it more exciting – which is exactly what the scientists at Jurassic World were told to do when they made the Abominable Rex. “I believe the word you used was, ‘cooler’, in your note.” – Says Henry Wu to the owner of the park, when he’s confronted with the results of his mad science. And this new dinosaur is a creature of mad science, no, no, it’s a creature of for profit science. Wu and his team were told to make an attraction that was bigger, cooler, that had a name that was easy to pronounce: and so they smashed together different DNA, and what they made was an actual monster. A creature that kills, not because as a large predator it needs to eat, but because it finds it fun. Which means it’s killing a heck of lot quicker, and more, than any other predator on the island would.

And the Second Film – Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom – continues this theme by introducing another genetically made Dinosaur monster, but this one was specifically designed to be sent into war zones as a weapon. And the villains are selling it, along with the rest of the dinosaurs they could get out of the now defunct’Jurassic World’ before it was destroyed by a volcano – it makes sense in context – to the highest bidder. No longer any bullshit about ‘bringing joy to children’ by these money men, their motivation is laid out naked for the audience to see. Money, dear boy, money. And the devastation this of this for profit science is no longer contained to a single amusement park – oh no, for you see the Dinosaurs get out. Mainly because our heroes let them out – but still!

Which brings us to the last, and by far the best of the trilogy: Jurassic World Dominion.

Dinosaurs live amongst us! This is the reality, the world, that our for profit science has wrought, now we have to live in it. It could have stopped at that: Dinosaurs running rampant all over the world, and humans have to do what they have to, to survive against the horrors their own science has wrought upon them. That would have been a pretty good film, by itself, a pretty good ending to the trilogy but Dominion, goes two steps beyond. You see, society hasn’t ended with the introduction of man-made dinosaurs – it’s adjusted. People illegally farm them for pets and meat, they train them for the military, they throw them in cages and make them fight in underground tournaments. Giant herbivore dinosaur wonder into lumber yards and have to be shooed out by experts, they roam the wilds in great herds and have to be caroused away from danger by Cris Pratt. And most frighteningly at all, none of this has been the wake up call for the corporate world to stop its bullshit with biological science.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I’d like to introduce Dr. Lewisham Doderson, a man who Wikipedia claims is the main antagonist from both Jurassic world novels as well as the first film. Erm, I can’t speak for the second novel but as for the first – while he does set some of the shenanigans into play, it’s really the dinosaurs themselves who are the main antagonists. However, he’s certainly the main antagonist of Jurassic World Dominion, and it is he who far more resembles the book Hammond, than anything Richard Attenborough ever touched.

He’s out to make money, just like he was in the original film – though he’s played by a different actor this time round – but he’s not going to do it by making dinosaurs, please we’ve already got a planet full of those. No, this time he’s ordering Wu to make him locusts, locusts that attack any crop that hasn’t been grown from his own biologically engineered seeds. And he hides all this research, along with a now throughly broken Wu, under a sanctuary for the dinosaurs.

The lesson here?

Trust no one – especially giant corporations who’s main purpose is reaching their bottom line.

If you’ve enjoyed this surprisingly anti capitalist rant – I’m not personally against money, or even capitalism as a concept, but like the biological science of the Jurassic franchise it’s a terrible destructive force in the wrongs hands – why not follow the Wee Blog if you haven’t done so yet. Also check me out on X, Instagram, Mastodon, Threads, Spotify, Tumblr, TikTok, YouTube, Goodreads, Facebook and Kofi. Also if you wish to discover which Jurassic World Beast is the best subscribe to the Wee Mailing List before the end of the Month. Until then Wee Readers, stay safe, be happy and have a very bonny day.

The Skeptic vs The Believer : The Hidden Theme of Scooby Doo

What Ho Wee Readers, as some of you may have already known by now I’m a wee bit autistic. Why is this relevant to the topic up above our heads? Well, I have the tendency to develop intense hyper fixations. Usually they follow a cycle pattern, with Greek Mythology being one of my most well trodden hyper fixations – I’m even currently writing a novel that’s a retelling of a Greek Myth, that’s how much it fixates me – but sometimes, occasionally my fixations will be kind of random. And my most recent one has been the franchise dedicated to the talking Greta Dane, known as Scooby Doo.

But I hear you say, that’s all well and good, Wee Lassie, but that doesn’t exactly explain the title of the post. And to that I say, no it doesn’t really. So instead I will ask you to think carefully and tell me, what do you think is the main message of this franchise? Let’s think, a mystery solving franchise where more often than not every ghost, or goblin is revealed to be some creep in a mask? Well, that’s obvious isn’t it? The theme of Scooby Doo is the theme of the sceptic. It’s telling you, or rather the intended audience of children, not to take every story you hear at face value. Ghosts don’t exist, so think carefully and dig deeper, and you’ll probably find a rational explanation to most perceived supernatural occurrences. As Velma has taken to saying lately : “There’s a Rational Explanation to Everything.”

Great answer, well thought out and argued, one problem though … Ghosts are real in the Scooby Doo world. Ghosts, Vampires, Werewolves, fairies, goblins, monsters of all shapes and sizes actually do exist in the Scooby Doo Franchise. Starting from about the eighties I think, with the introduction of the Tv show “The thirteen Ghosts of Scooby Doo” – the supernatural was in fact very, very real in the world of the talking Great Dane.

So what does this mean? Is this a sign of the franchise’s slow degradation? That it strayed so far from its original purpose just to keep the interest of an ever easier distracted audience? Maybe, it certainly wouldn’t have been the first franchise, or the last, to degrade in quality over a long period of time. But that argument relays heavily on the idea that the Scooby Doo franchise has declined in quality at all. Some might say it has, but since there have been so many interpretations of the classic cartoon talking Great Dane, that is certainly not a conclusive declaration. Thus if the appearance of real supernatural entities is not a writing blunder, or at least cannot be proven as such, what does that mean for our greater meaning? Think carefully when confronted with supposed supernatural occurrences because there’s a rational explanation for everything … except when there’s not? Well not to put it too bluntly and give the game away but … yes. That’s exactly what it’s saying.

Stop for a moment, and walk with me to this ledge, I’ve not gone insane. I’ve actually thought out this argument a great deal. Okay, I’d like to start by asking you a question. Yes, another one, I know they’re getting rather tedious but come on, just one more then I’ll be done I promise. Taking a step back to our Sceptic take on the franchise, what character would you say most encapsulates this view of the world? If you said any character but Velma Dinkley, than you are wrong and will be going home with no prizes today, Tom. I mean you wouldn’t be even if you did since I don’t know where you live, but that’s the joke. Yes, Velma Dinkley, resident brain behind Mystery Inc. and half the time the one actually solving the mysteries the Gang comes up against. Okay, that’s a bit mean to the others but still … she’s the one seen doing the research, and she’s certainly the character who, shared with Fred, is often the one describing how they worked out the mystery. And most importantly of all, she’s almost always the one actually saying ‘there’s no such thing as ghosts’. She’s the actual skeptic in the group, again while some interruptions make her share this trait with Fred and or Daphne, you’d be hard pressed to find a version of Velma who at the very least didn’t start out a skeptic. And it’s notable that in the more heavily unquestionably paranormal interpretations of the franchise – the eighties films, like the Ghoul School and the Reluctant Werewolf; along with Tv shows like ‘The 13 Ghosts of Scooby Doo” – Velma isn’t present. And when she is either the supernatural is either non existent – think of “Scooby Doo, Where are you?” , “Whats New Scooby Doo?”, “Be Cool, Scooby Doo” -; is something she never sees or remembers – think the modern direct to video movies -, or it’s a revelation that has to be worked up to – think the nineties films like “Scooby Doo and Zombie Island” or the “The Witch’s Ghost” or later Tv shows like “Mystery Incorporated”. Never once in a Velma present Scooby Doo show is it just taken for granted that the supernatural exists. Thus one could make the very real argument, at least as far as the narratives of this decades long franchise is concerned, that Velma Dinkley is the living embodiment of the Sceptic is this world.

And yet it’s notable, that Velma Dinkley is not the most prevalent character in the franchise , she’s not even the second most important character in the franchise . So who is? Well, dear reader that should be obvious by now. The most prevalent characters are Scooby Doo and Shaggy Rogers. Over the various spin offs and re imaginations it is almost always these two characters that remain a consistent presence in the franchise.We can swap out Fred, Daphne and Velma for Scrappy Doo all we like so long as the titular Great Dane and his beat-nick owner remain at the helm. The only show I can think of that deviated from this was Velma – in which it is the titular brainiac who’s the main character, Scooby Doo is no where in sight, and Shaggy – or “Norville” as he’s now called – has been rewritten to be so deeply and pathetically in love with Velma that he will quite literally shape himself into whatever she wants him to be. A simp, with a captain ‘s’. Don’t get me wrong he’s an interesting character, but he’s also … you know … not Shaggy. Not at least the Shaggy that is prevalent in the rest of the franchise. And that who is that, I hear you ask? If Velma is the embodiment of the sceptic, than Shaggy Rogers is her opposite … he is the Believer.

In every single one of the mysteries the gang conducts he – along with Scooby – is the one that always believes the ghost is real. Yes he’s a self proclaimed coward, but that cowardice, that all encompassing fear isn’t fueled by nothing. Scooby and Shaggy take it as a given that the supernatural exists because to them it very much does. They alone – at least in the more modern films – are allowed to remember their supernatural experiences, because they alone have minds open enough not to go mad from the revelation. This was not the case in the nineties films, where the creative team instead chose to shake up the usual formula by allowing the supernatural to be real for the entire gang. Or for the show “Mystery Incorporated” which would follow in the steps of the nineties films by encompassing supernatural elements into its lore, that the whole gang was allowed to both discover and retain the memory of. But this is certainly not a usual trait for most of the shows and films in the franchise.

So what should we take away from this? Is the hidden theme of the Scooby Doo franchise in fact, that we should instead believe everything? That to sew even the barest amount of doubt into the possibility of a single supernatural occurrence will shut ourselves off from the true wonder hiding within our universe? If you can’t tell from my slightly incredulous phrasing, I believe the answer to be … no. It’s not saying that at all. For while it is true that Shaggy and Scooby Doo, are consistently the only ones allowed to retain knowledge of the deeper truths of their world, it’s worth noting that they are nervous wrecks. In fact in recent films, this is gotten so bad that it has started to actually affect the state of Shaggy’s health. And it should be noted that in the majority of cases they aren’t correct in their unwavering belief in the supernatural. The ghosts, or ghouls, do often turn out to be nothing more than a creep in a mask.

I believe what we should take from these two cases, these extreme opposing philosophies, instead is the danger of assumption. Yeah, Velma is usually right when she states that “there’s a rational explanation for everything” – but because she’s usually right, she assumes she’s always right. And so when something steps beyond her limited definition of ‘rational’, she either misses it completely or has to go through a great deal of pain – sometimes both psychologically and physically – to comprehend what she’s actually seeing. Something that is more than a little bit of handicap to a seeker of truth, which is what Velma claims to be. On the other hand while Shaggy and Scooby are not blind to the hidden truth of the world, their initial assumption that all the ghosts they meet are real – while also having a tole on both their psychological and physical well being – is not really conducive to mystery solving either.

Sometimes the ghost is nothing more than a man in a mask, but other times he is real – and it is when we assume he is always only ever one of those things, that is when we will fail to solve the mystery.

If you’ve enjoyed this strange little rant of mine, why not follow the wee blog if you haven’t already. Also check me out on X, Instagram, Mastodon, Threads, Spotify, Tumblr, TikTok, YouTube, Goodreads, Facebook and Kofi where I am also active. And sign up to the Wee Mailing List by the end of the month to discover my top five hyper fixations. Until then Wee Readers, stay safe, and have a very bonnie day.

The Sabotaging Writer: Miranda Hobbes is Awful, and that’s the Point

What Ho, Wee Readers and welcome to another post of The Wee Writing Lassie. Well, as you might have guess from the title of this post I’ve been bitten by the Sex and the City bug … sort of.

In all honesty I’ve never quite gotten Sex and the City, at least in anyway that made me have an emotion other than irritation at it. I can understand it’s appeal on an academic sense, four female main characters trying to push the boundaries of what’s acceptable to talk about on Tv, particularly regarding female sexuality. But in practice whenever I tuned in all I saw was four people being assholes to everyone they met, including each other. Like, yeah on a meta sense it might seem great to the audience that Miranda Hobbes stood up while having lunch with her friends and berated them for being four grown ass, intelligent women with nothing to talk about but their boyfriends – but in the narrative, the world of the show, it’s a really shitty thing to do. Like … so are they not allowed to talk about their relationships, a part of lives, in front of Miranda less she have another hissy fit?

While I’m sure there’s a greater context to that scene, once again couldn’t bring myself to stay long enough to find out, I’m still kind of sick of people holding it up as a great feminist move on behalf of the character. Because the truth is it’s only that in the meta sense, in real life if you did that you haven’t made some great feminist statement, you’ve just been an asshole.

So yeah, Sex and the City … not for me. So, what you might be asking yourself, changed? Well, nothing really. I still don’t like Sex and the City. But then the sequel happened and at first I didn’t bother to watch it. Why would I? I already hate these people, I don’t need to see them twenty years on and with back pain, I can’t imagine it’s improved them significantly. And for the next few years that was it, but then screwing around on YouTube … as you do … I stumbled across a few reviews of ‘And Just Like That’. Apparently people didn’t just hate it, they loathed every last second of it. From the new characters, the woke version of New York – even actually woke people hated that, probably because it was so forced it felt like it was making fun of them – to the main four demons themselves. Wait sorry, three main demons, because one of them refused to come back which really should tell you everything about the kind of behind the scenes drama that plagued the sets of both shows.

I enjoy a a good hate watch as much as anyone, and if Sex and the City fans … arguably the target demographic of any sequel to that show said it was objectively bad, well what reason did I have to doubt them. But I was curious, could anything really be as bad all that? So I downloaded the first episode on my iPad, and sat down to watch it with my lunch. And … I didn’t hate it. In fact I would even say that the first episode of ‘And Just like That’, was really, really good. And even now when I’ve watched the rest of Season One and discovered how truly not good the rest of it is, I will stand on my pedestal and proclaim episode one, and maybe episode two and three, are actually good. In fact back then, I enjoyed it so much that I was even planning on a blog post on why I, someone who was not a fan of Sex and the City, could be objective on the actual quality of its sequel.

That was the early stages of this blog, so you can see how things change over time. For one thing, I can admit now that I am not as objective as I naively thought I was. True, I don’t have fond feelings for any of the characters of Sex and the City. But I do have feelings, I do carry over an impression of them – perhaps poorly formed but there undoubtedly- from the previous instalment of the franchise. Thus when I see a character being so throughly … what would be the right word here … assassinated… I can’t just note it down as something that happened. Oh don’t get me wrong, I’m not devastated or angry as apparently so many other people were … I find it kind of funny.

Well, we’ve reached the part of the post where I really should introduce the main point of it, or just admit I don’t have one. Thankfully, I’ve got one and her name is Miranda Hobbs (I can’t be bothered to remember her married name) and she’s a bitch. I’ve properly just offended a whole bunch of people there, but I will stand on my sad little soap box and scream it to the heavens if I have to, Miranda Hobbs is and always has been a bitch. She looks down on everyone she meets, whether it be friends, boyfriends, or casual acquaintances – she regularly participates in the slut shaming of those she pretends to care about (despite hating to feel slut shamed herself) and she once proudly proclaimed that bisexuality wasn’t a thing. Oh, isn’t it ironic. And yes, I’m talking about Sex and the City Miranda here … just in case my hatred of her confused anyone.

Because here’s the weird thing, many people hold up that version of Miranda as a feminist icon. I assume because she wore business suits and didn’t take shit from anyone. Which to be fair, all true – she did do that. But I would hesitate to call any character who treats the other women in her life the way this one did, as a feminist. She’s got superficial traits of a feminist, she’ ambitious and has drive to succeeded in the male dominated world of law. She’s easily the kind of character an audience needing a feminist outlet would gravitate towards, but let’s not make the mistake of thinking that’s actually feminism. Feminism is about bringing all women up, Miranda Hobbs just cares about bringing Miranda Hobbs up. The fact that she is a woman while she does so, is the only thing that makes that look feminist.

The Miranda from ‘And Just Like That’ is an entirely different animal all together . Oh she’s very much still a bitch, and I really wouldn’t call her a feminist icon, but then again no one else would either. While you could conceivably call old Miranda inspirational in certain aspects of her life : she was ambitious, she knew how to stand up for herself, and at least in theory, she had strong principles and stuck to them. The New Miranda has none of this, she looks at these qualities, the very few qualities that mad Miranda someone who you could pretend was a likeable and admirable character and she spits on them.

That ambition? Gone! She throws away a very difficult to get internship so she can follow her new squeeze to LA for the summer. In an act that makes her look less like the RomCom heroine she thinks she is, and more like someone having a cross between a midlife crisis and a psychotic episode. That ability to stand up for herself has either been twisted and warped to the point she shuts down any conversation that even remotely hints at judging her for her horrible, horrible actions. Or, in the case of her relationship with Che, has vanished entirely. Turning her from a person that could stick up for themselves into someone who is both so stubbornly resistant to criticism that she stops anything interesting from being said; and so weak willed that she drops everything to be with a person who can’t even be bothered to tell her they’re moving to a whole other state in private. And then we have the biggest issue of contention with Miranda’s old fanbase, her moral decay.

For Miranda Hobbs was someone who was venomously opposed to the act of infidelity. This is a woman who would scream at her friends in the street if she caught them cheating on their partner, who threw her husband out of the house after she discovered his one night stand, and took a whole film to forgive him. To the Miranda of yesteryear while the sin of cheating on your significant other could be forgiven, given the right amount of grovelling and regret on behalf of the cheater, it was still very much a sin. It was a crime, it was something only trash people with garbage souls did. And to that the new Miranda says, unless it’s me of course.

She gleefully jumps into an affair with Carrie’s new boss Che Diaz, a Non-Binary unfunny comedian. And this isn’t just a one night stand thing either, it’s basically a full on relationship by the time Miranda finally gets up the nerve to tell her husband – at the end of the season – that’s she having an affair. And she certainly didn’t do that because she felt guilty about it.

Of course none of these observations are new, they are in fact quite common criticisms of the New Miranda. So you might be asking yourself why have I bothered to even write them down at all, then? Ha, ha, you have fallen into my trap I see. You’re right of course, there’s nothing new about noticing that the Miranda of ‘And just like that’ has degraded from her ‘Sex and the City’ counterpart. However most criticism and critics – that I have read to be fair – seem to blame the abysmal writing of the series. That obviously this was just some kind of horrific mistake on behalf of the writers. And yes, indeed, the writing of the majority of this series, is terrible. But I don’t think the writers intention for this character can be so easily read as all that. That is to say, I am throughly of the opinion that everything Miranda has done, every cringe inducing escapade, has been a deliberate attempt on the writer’s behalf to make the audience hate her.

Really, don’t believe me? You think they intended you to like a character who has sex with her best friend’s boss, in the kitchen of said best friend’s apartment, while that best friend is lying in another room of that apartment recovering from hip surgery? Really? You think they actually made Carrie, the main character of both shows and currently grief stricken widow (spoiler), pee in a plastic drink bottle because she was in too much pain to get to her bathroom without help, and the person that was meant to be helping her was too busy breaking her marriage vows were food was prepared, because they wanted you to feel sorry for that person?

And this isn’t just me pointing to the terrible things a character does and crying – the writers meant for them to do that, we were meant to hate them. No, Miranda’s actions are bad in universe and I have proof!

I ask the reader to turn their eyes once again to the character of Che Diaz.

They are not a nice person certainly, but then again as they have been written by the same geniuses that write Carrie and Miranda, that should not be a surprise. Most, if not all of the characters on this show are throughly unlikable people, with garbage souls – so expecting the non-binary person to be an exception from this is, odd. Yes, that’s the kindest word I can use, odd. But whether or not their character is deserving of all the vitriol they get is not the point here – the point is really not Che at all, but rather how the writers use them.

For you see Che is not just Miranda’s new love interest, oh no, they are her guide into the frightening new world of the LGBTQ+ community. What it is, how it works, the ins and the outs of it – I never said they did it well, but Miranda’s intense infatuation with Che is an excuse for her character to explore that side of herself, and the narrative does tend to hold them up as a leading figure in the New York LBTQ+ community, so bear with me. In a sense, the writers want us to see them as an authority figure, a yard pole for behaviour that should be allowed to be acceptable. So thus when it finally comes out that Miranda is not, as Che had believed, in an open marriage but rather simply cheating on her husband with Che – the writers want us pay attention to their reaction.

Because it’s not one of acceptance, it’s not one of humour, or pity for Miranda’s situation – it’s one of horror, and disgust. They are absolutely horrified that Miranda has essentially turned them it what they had never wanted to be – a home wrecker. It’s a mildly self centred horror, they are a self proclaimed narcissist after all, but it is a horror none the less. And when Miranda replies with the rather pathetic, “you knew this was all new to me,” with a great big grin across her face, the writer’s want you to hear Che’s next words, so I’ll repeat verbatim.

“New to being Queer is one thing, lying and married is another.”

What Miranda is doing, the cheating, the lying to both partners in the equation, this is wrong. The writers know this is wrong, and they want you to know it too. Not to teach you any kind of moral lesson – I think that would be quite beyond them – but because they want you to hate Miranda, they want you to be disgusted by her, to look at that woman on the screen and think, ‘God, she’s the worst’. And judging by the level of virtual towards the character in almost every review, or passing comment I’ve read on the internet, they have certainly succeeded.

But the thing you must be asking yourself right about now is, why? Why shank your character so hard in the belly like this? Well, before I start I want to reiterate that this is all just a theory of mine, and not hard solidified fact. Granted it’s a theory that has some legs, considering everything Miranda does – but that’s all it is, a theory. So like, when I say they did this to spite Cynthia Nixon, the actress of Miranda Hobbes, it’s a speculation. Having said that, the possible reason why they would want to do this is verified fact straight from the actress herself. She had the love interest that was supposed to awaken Miranda’s latent bisexuality, changed.

It had originally been planned to be Mia, her Professor when she went back to law school and both characters would act as a closet key to each other.

But apparently Nixion really did not like this idea – the reason why seems to change depending on where I read the interview but either it was because she felt that sleeping with her Professor was a line that Miranda wouldn’t cross, or because she found the idea unsexy. Referring to it as two straight women flopping at each other – assuming I haven’t misremembered the quote, I’m not going back to check. She then pushed for the Che character, who was not conceived as such, to be the love interest instead.

Now I could be completely wrong, maybe they had no hard feelings about this at all. Maybe they welcomed the constructive criticism, and jumped at the chance to rework their original idea to accommodate someone who would clearly know the character well, having played her for so many years. However giving the fact that Mia, and at least the remains of the law school plot are still there in the show, despite not really having a narrative purpose with the affair plot surgically removed from them, I find that unlikely. Clearly they liked the character of Mia enough to keep her in the show, and to keep the storyline of her troubles with infertility, and trying to decide if she really wants a child at all giving all she has to go through to get one. Not judging that, Mia is one of only two likeable characters in the whole show – the second being Steve, (Grady! That was the married name, okay, that was going to bother me all day, back to the rant) who we see so little of in season one, he’s more of a cameo than a character. But while her storyline is certainly one of the few I stayed awake for, I would be lying if I said it felt needed in a sequel to Sex and the City. Like this is a really interesting story, with a lot of depth and nuance to it, but what’s it got anything to do with the three remaining witches of the Upper East Side and their search for more Man Flesh? True she’s Miranda’s new friend but all that does is make Mia look like she has terrible taste in friends – particularly since their introduction was Miranda being really, really racist towards her.

Having said that, at least she has managed to escape the curse of being romantically entangled with Miranda – a silver lining if ever there was one.

Steve and Miranda were a fan favourite couple before ‘And just like that…’, so any character made the catalyst for their marriage going up in flames, was going to have an uphill task of being accepted or barely tolerated by the target audience. Perhaps Mia being an actually decent person on a show full of assholes could have managed it, but it was the death nail to the likability of Che Diaz, unfunny comedian and self proclaimed narcissist asshole.

I’m not saying that’s the only reason people didn’t like them, there were many reasons not to, but it certainly didn’t help. Which you know must have been very annoying for the Writers who spent time crafting this character and then were forced to change their entire role in the story. Che had been more imagined as a friend of Carrie’s, and a side character primarily in her storyline not Miranda’s. Which you can kind of see the bones of in the first few episodes, particularly when Che takes Carrie aside to talk about the problems she’s having talking about sex on their podcast. It would have been an interesting dynamic to watch unfold, that friendship, but instead most of Che’s scenes revolve entirely around their relationship with Miranda and now they and Carrie are the friends that never hang. Instead we got … well.

God, it’s like Miranda makes everything less interesting just by her involvement.

Ah, there’s that old feeling of hate in my chest again – it seems like the writer’s have done their jobs well. Maybe a little too well, if I’m to be honest. But what do you think? Have I just gone nuts, or is there some grounds to my mad cap theory?

If you’ve enjoyed this long ass rant on the deliberate character assassination of a fictional person why not follow the wee blog if you haven’t already. Also check me out on X, Instagram, Mastodon, Threads, Spotify, Tumblr, TikTok, YouTube, Goodreads, Facebook and Kofi where I am also active. And if you want to find out whether of not my view on Miranda has changed upon finally making myself sit down and watch the second season of ‘And just like that…”, sign up to the Wee Mailing list by June 10th. I know it’s a long way away, but I need the time. Until next time Wee readers, keep safe, write well, and a have a very bonnie day.

A Christmas Carol vs. The Modern Christmas Message : or missing the point entirely in a famous work of literature, Grade 1

What ho, my wee readers, I hope you had a very merry holiday season whatever holiday you celebrate at that time of year – I know this post is focused on Christmas , but that’s only because bad Christmas films are the most abundant and by far the most insufferable. Yes, I suppose I’ve let the cat out of the bag a bit, today we are going to be talking about Christmas stories, movies mostly, but also one really famous book.

I speak of course of A Christmas Carol, I could give you a whole lecture of who wrote it, when it was published and a short synopsis of the story. But that would be I think a bit of a waste of time. We all know who wrote it, we all know the story, and I’m betting that each of you is picturing your favourite Scrooch or adaption in your head as I speak. For me its Muppet Christmas Carol, and Michael Cain – I can’t help it, it’s the only one that doesn’t cut out the second Marley.

I recently finished the book during last year’s GoodReads Reading Challenge, not to mention rewatched the only proper adaption out there, which was a nice reprieve from all the rest of the Christmas trash they put on this time of year. I think that’s a good enough segway into my actual point. Onwards with the post!

Tell me what do you think is the message of A Christmas Carol, what is the thing that the three ghosts are trying so desperately to drill into old Scrooge’s head? The importance of Christmas, yes certainly, but that’s only the very surface level of the thing. Come on try again. The importance of Love and Family, of not pushing away people until you’re all alone with no one to even cry over your grave. That’s certainly present, certainly most of the purpose of the ghost of Christmas past, I will concede. But I wouldn’t actually call it the main theme of the book, though it’s certainly the one a lot of later writes of Christmas stories and media have latched onto. The importance of charity and goodwill towards men. Ah yes, we’re getting somewhere now. The importance of not valuing your own material wealth over the good of your fellow man? That in fact poor people are people too? That they have their own wants, desires, loves, lives that may have nothing to do with you but are equally as important in the eyes of your god?

Yes, we’ve struck gold. And it’s not a subtle theme either, the book practically beats you over the head with it. From the memory of Scrooge’s ex-Fiancés contempt at his money grubbing ways and her belief that he would not seek her hand as he is now, a poor girl as she is, from the Ghost of Christmas Past. To the deep sense of loss and love surrounding Tiny Tim’s death compared to Scrooge’s own, from the Ghost of Christmas yet to Come. And that’s not even mentioning the entire existence of Jacob Marley and his kind. However the greatest source of this theme comes from the Ghost of Christmas Present. For it is he more than even his fellow spirits who emphasises the grace and goodness of the humble man over the mighty. It is he who takes Scrooge to Bob’s household and introduces the reader to Tiny Tim. It is he who throws Scrooge’s words not once but twice back into the old man’s face.

“Are there no workhouses? Are there no prisons?”

The Spirit even has anger left over for other men, men of the church who presume to use his name to do their deeds, who shut their doors to the poor and the homeless on Christmas Day even though they are starving,

And yet I find it most interesting that this is the segment of the book that most adaptions- to be fair, most adaptations I’ve seen – will soften. Making the spirit far jollier than his book counterpart and far less angry. And yes, I even include my precious Muppets in this, they don’t even include the manifestations of human Want and Ignorance hiding under the Spirit’s Robe. And I’ve only ever seen one adaptation that included the condemnation for the Men of the Church who do wicked things in the spirit’s name. The Jim Carey One if you can believe it. Hmm, maybe should have watched more of them before starting starting this post…oh well, too late now.

So I hear you say, adaptations made by multibillion dollar media conglomerates mostly for children have softened the contempt of the treatment of the poor by the rich in Dickens’ original text, what else is new? And I entirely agree, this is neither particularly surprising or indeed newsworthy at all. But it is still worth mentioning regardless, the fact that though our love of Christmas has grown, and we are still up for watching a senior citizen be bullied into conforming with holiday society expectations by three cosmic entities – there is still something uncomfortable to us, about acknowledging a simple truth that the book makes abundantly clear.

That is, that the evil Scrooge unleashes upon the world is not his alone. It is not even remotely unique to him. Many times the spirits condemn the works of ‘men like Scrooge’ but they never put the blame solely on Scrooge’s shoulders. His words and his actions are his, and he must repent of them, or pay dearly. But he is only part of the problem, not the root cause of it. And though the Spirits can fix Scrooge in a single night, there is no magical or supernatural fix for society’s woes. For the woes of man’s Want and or Ignorance . Fear them both, the Spirit of Christmas Present warns, but most of all fear the boy (Ignorance). And often the only way to combat ignorance, particularly with subjects that we find uncomfortable, is by forcing ourselves to confront them, even if only in the form of fiction. And yet we must ask ourselves, what happens when we are so unnerved by an idea, or a concept that we cannot bare to even do that much?

Enter the modern Christmas Movie.

Follow this story, you might know it well. A young business person (usually a woman, but occasionally a man) must for some sometimes convoluted reason pick up and relocate to a small town during the Christmas season. During their stay, they will enviably learn that their investment in their big city life and career was either entirely wrong or misplaced, the warmth of family and community, and usually the magic of Christmas. Sometimes literally. There will be a final act confrontation with someone from their city life, usually an ex but sometimes just a jackass boss. And once that asshole has been beaten back and the town or tree lot saved, then the business person can now be accepted fully into the community. And usually start their new relationship with a man who appreciates Christmas.

Now why have I told you this story, what does this tale have anything to do with a Christmas Carol, or it’s numerous interweaving themes? Well, nothing at least on the surface. However such was the fame of that old Victorian story that I would argue you can read it’s influence in almost all of our Christmas themed entertainment. Swap out the three cosmic entities for a whimsical small town obsessed with Christmas or Santa Claus and you’ve got the plot of most Hallmark movies. Give or take a few grumpy old men. And yet what I find interesting is where the story deviates in its themes.

Both tales emphasis Christmas, Love, and Family over a life lived for prophet and ambition true, but where this story seems to deviate is the wider view of things. Namely all the strife and worries of this story can been wrapped up in less than two hours, because ultimately the responsibility for the woes lie with the individual. Either the main character before their turn around, or the half hearted attempt at a villain. There are rarely if ever crooked men of the church closing their doors on Christmas, or wicked men making the world a worse place on a wider scale than any one individual could ever reach – because ultimately that would be uncomfortable to think about. Now am I saying that because these stories lack the nuance of a Christmas Carol, they’re bad movies? No, a film doesn’t have to have that kind of message to be a good one. They often are bad, but not specifically for that reason. But I just find it interesting to ponder the parts of the story they left by the wayside, considering how much else they aped from it.

What do you think?

If you’ve enjoyed this bitter Christmas theme tirade about a collection of films that have done absolutely nothing to me but exist in my vicinity , why not follow the Wee Blog if you haven’t already. Also check me out on X, Instagram, Mastodon, Threads, Pinterest, Tumblr, Spotify, TikTok, YouTube, Goodreads, Kofi and Facebook. Also sign up to the Wee Mailing List by the end of the month if you want to see all new pictures never before published anywhere else. Until next time, keep safe and have a very bony day.

Time travel and the Artist: Peeling back the layers on Emily St. John Mandel’s Station Eleven

What Ho Wee Readers, well it’s been a while since I put up a post that wasn’t of the Wee Archive, hasn’t it? I could make excuses, excessive tiredness and a hectic work schedule , but I think that would just annoy us both. So instead, I’ll just ask you to turn your mind away from thoughts of the past posting schedules, and move on to the future. Dare I say it, a post apocalyptic future?

Okay that was a bit corny, but I didn’t know how to more elegantly segue us into talking about Station Elven, one of my top current favourite books. Speaking of…

First published on the 9th September 2014, Mandel’s Station Eleven follows two time periods. One set in the present day, following the life of actor Arthur Leander, a man who dies of a heart attack during the first few pages of the book, and all those that interwove in and out of it during his relatively short time on Earth. Such as his first wife, the creator of a post-apocalyptic comic series named ‘Station Eleven’, his former best friend a corporate psychologist who’s drifted away from him, his second wife and young son who live in a different country, and Kirsten, the young child actress who was there on the stage when he drew his last breath.

The second, tells the story of the travelling symphony- an acting troop making their way through the post-apocalyptic world which the ‘Georgia flue’ has left behind. Kirsten , now an adult, is one of the leading actors in the Travelling Symphony. We follow this ragtag band of misfits as they travel to a previously friendly town, only to discover it has been taken over by a doomsday cult. Where Kirsten will meet the mysterious cult’s Prophet and discover he may have a connection to her past that even she cannot fully comprehend.

That is the basic gist of both interweaving plots, not altogether very well described but there you go. The book flicks back and forth between Arthur Leander’s modern timeline, and Kirsten‘s future to give a grander scope of both the lives of the characters, and how terribly they were disturbed and thrown of course by the tragedy of the Georgian Flue pandemic. An illness that wiped out a sizeable portion of the world’s population very quickly. Huh, why does that sound familiar, when was this written again? 2011? Are all the best writers going turn out to be witches?

Well, regardless it’s little more than a framing device to get us to the post-apocalyptic world, and by extension our main theme of the book. That is the connecting nature of art, of loving art, of doing art, of appreciating art. How when we create a piece of art, and it doesn’t matter what kind – whether it be a painting, a novel, a show, a freaking comic book – we in a sense, are reaching across time to all the generations that have the potential to see and (hopefully) love the work we are creating. And it goes the other way too, when we as modern readers sit down to read something like Shakespeare we connect with an artist, with their voice, their life, that lived hundreds of years before even our grandparents were born.

And I personally never fail to find that astounding.

The book uses its post apocalyptic setting to highlight the connecting nature of the art the characters experience ,with refreshingly frank clarity. Works from the plays of Shakespeare, to episodes of Star Trek, and the impact they have on the characters are openly discussed. The actors of the symphony have deep conversations on whether the works of Shakespeare they often perform still connect to their audiences’ post-civilisation lives, or if they just provide an escape from the day-to-day drudgery that is life now.

However the most illustrating example of this cross generational connection comes from the thing that the book takes its very title from. Namely the in-universe comic book series “Station Eleven”. Set in its own post-apocalyptic world, the comic book tells the story of Doctor Eleven and his giant, flooded, forever in twilight, planet-shaped space station known to all as “Station Eleven”. I could go on to give a detailed summary of the plot of the comic book, telling you all about Doctor Eleven and his fight against the people of the ‘Undersea’, but honestly that matters significantly less both to the book and my point, than then connection it bridges between three people. Who through the courses of their lives build a connection to one another through these pieces of art.

First we have the creator of the work Miranda, the first wife of Arthur Leander, who interestingly enough in a work of fiction, creates the graphic novels of Station Eleven with little to no intention of ever publishing them. Her satisfaction comes from the creation of the work itself and its not until years later, near to the time when civilisation is about to end, when she finally publishes the first three copies at her own expense. It’s an interesting, and highly unique stance for her character to take, but its one I can’t really relate to at this point in my life. So in that vain please take a look at my Short Stories page, where you should find my publish stories. Or at least most of them anyway. I’d also like to point you in the direction of my Fanfiction.net and Ao3 accounts, where you’ll find my fan-fiction work. Because it doesn’t matter if I can’t publish it professionally, and possibly make some money off it, I’m highly proud of what I’ve written and would like as many people to go and look at them as possible. Go ahead,go click on them, we can all wait for the post to continue…

Okay so maybe I don’t have the patience for that.

In the end, possibly because of this, only two other people will read these comics – Kirsten and the Prophet. I don’t want to give away anymore spoilers so I won’t tell you how the Prophet came into possession of these pieces of art, but suffice to say the comics have had a profound affect on these two children and the adults they would become. With Kristen not only were they a connection to a world she could hardly remember anymore, but they were a beautiful distraction to her terrible childhood on the road. For the Prophet they seemed to have become almost a religion, their words mixing with his own odd form of Christianity. Becoming so much a part of his philosophy that when he hears someone else quote them – line for line – for possibly the first time ever, he literally stops dead in his tracks.

These words, written by a corporate executive who died on a beach almost twenty or so years before, connect these two people who could not be anymore different, in such a profound way its as if they speak a language that only they understand. Really, because its such a small sample size, its as we’re seeing an intensified version of the connection made between Shakespeare and Gene Roddenberry by the other players of the traveling symphony.

As artists, when we write words down on a page, or set paint to canvas, or whatever form our art takes, what we do is seek to build a connection with our audience, with our readers, with our patrons and viewers. We might certainly expect this connection between ourselves and the audience in our own time, but what if that spark, that connection goes beyond that? Not only beyond our own time, the years of our life, but beyond the very world, the very civilisation that we live in. Why I think that would be something very close to magic.

This is the feeling, this is the theme, this is the connection that Emily St. John Mandel’s Station Eleven provoked in me. What about you?

If you’ve enjoyed my little philosophical rant why not follow the wee blog if you haven’t already. And make sure to check me out on Twitter, Instagram, Mastodon, Threads (which I’m now on people), Pinterest, Tumblr, TikTok, Goodreads, Facebook and Kofi. Also sign up for the Wee Mailing List before the 6th of August to find out what I’ve been messing around with on Canva for the past month and a bit. Until next time wee readers, keep safe and have a very bonny day.

Glitz, Glamour, and the Green Light: Pulling Back the Curtain on The Great Gatsby.

What Ho, Wee Readers, and welcome to another rant… I mean well thought out think piece. If you’ve been here before, you should know how this goes by now – so let’s just sit back and enjoy the ride.

Speaking of ride, you know what book I’ve just finished…The Great Gatsby. I know those two things aren’t related but I had no segway into this part of the post, and I didn’t want to wait around and think of a proper one.

Anyway, getting back on topic ; The Great Gatsby is a book written by F. Scott Fitzgerald, first published in 1925. It is considered, I am told, as one of the great classics of American Literature. And held up in many an English course, as a master of the literary device. I will ruin what should have been the conclusion of my post, by stating here, that it is not a very good book.

Yes, shocking isn’t it – this great “masterpiece” is in actuality a boring, highly convoluted story of the death of a criminal. Full of boring, very shallowly written characters.

But please, let me explain before you raise your pitchforks.

Part the First: Pretty Pros, Do Not a Good Story Make

I’m not denying that in certain ways, the Great Gatsby is a very well written book. It’s pros after all are beautiful, having an almost hypnotic quality to them when listened to in audio form.

However I would ask my Wee readers to look past that, past the gentle rhythm of those phrases, to what they’re actually saying. What is the story of the Great Gatsby? Aplogies for any spoilers ahead.

Our Narrator Nick, moves into a small cottage right beside the mansion of the “mysterious” Jay Gatsby, who throws wild parties every single night. I mean he sounds like the worst kind of neighbor to me, but like I don’t think Nick seems to mind. He’s much too busy congratulating himself over his own “honesty” and “virtue” to really hear the din anyway. These partieas are apparently so wild that you can just turn up and you’ll be let in, no invitation needed. In fact most if not all the guest weren’t invited, only Nick, at his little cabin, recives an invitation.

I’m going to speed past this bit as quickly as I can, as that’s how bored I am now right now. So bear with me. Turns out Gatsby is in love with Nick’s cousin Daisy, who lives across the lake with her rich husband and child, and all the parties he’s thrown have been to catch her attention. Nick agrees to basically set up a date with the two of them, and they begin an affair.

But don’t worry, before you start to think that something morally questionable is going on , let me assure you, Daisy’s husband is a racist arsehole. Of course this is a book published in 1925, about elite American society, so basically all the characters are that. But it’s somehow supposed to be different with him.

He’s also having an affair with a mechanic’s wife, which is viewed as a bad thing he’s doing – which to be fair, it is – but it’s fine when Daisy does it apparently. Anyway a lot of confusing faffing around in each other’s cars later, Daisy accidentally runs over Tom’s mistress but because of some car swapping shinaggings, everyone thinks it’s Gatsby instead. So the mistress’s husband shoots him and most people don’t even bother to show up to his funeral.

And that’s it, stripped of all its pretty prose and liquistic tricks, that is the story of the great Gatsby. A sad, convoluted tale of a criminal’s pointless murder. Okay, I’ve throughly depressed myself, onto the next part.

Part the Second: The Green Light and the Literary Device

But wait, I hear you say – isn’t The Great Gatsby famous for its ingenious use of literary devices? The green light at the end of Daisy’s dock, symbolically embodying Jay Gatsby’s undying love, desperation, and inability to fully achieve the American dream? Yes, I will give you that, it’s an ingenious use of a literarily device – for if we’re too busy staring into that startlingly green light, we don’t see anything it’s hiding. We don’t examine whether that love is more a reflection of Gatsby’s yearning for wealth and position than it is any real affection for Daisy. We don’t look at the depths that desperation has led him too, or how skewd this version of the American dream really is.

If we’re looking too hard into the light, into the deeper meaning behind it, and patting ourselves on the back for how clever we are for spotting it, we don’t see that the author has twisted himself up so hard trying to make Gatsby’s death a tragedy, that he’s accidentally made it a contrived aubserdity. Really it’s a work of genius on Fitzgerald’s part, it’s a pity he didn’t use any of that genius to write a better book in the first place.

Part the Third: The (2013) Adaptation, and it’s Genius

So if we were to look for a good adaptation of this book, this literary classic what we should really be looking for is not one that keeps strictly to every wobbly plot point of the original. No what we need is one that keeps to the spirit of the book. To the showmanship and illusion of the green light and the elegant pros of Fitzgerald’s masterpiece.

To me, ignorant pion that I am, that film will always be the 2013 adaption, staring Leonardo Decapreo. But wait I hear the snobs in the back of the room cry, isn’t that a bad adaption? Isn’t it too flashy and over stylised, saturated with modern music and a casting more concerned with big names than actually capability? Well, I can’t say you’re wrong on all accounts – though as for Gatsby I’d argue stunt casting or a big name of some kind was the only way to make the character work to a modern audience – that’s not my argument here. No my point is that like the book before it, this film uses it bright colours, it’s stylised editing, it’s banging soundtrack and let’s face it , it’s big named casting to hide that it’s still telling the same kind of bland, convoluted story of a man getting killed because he was in the wrong car at the wrong time, that the book left behind.

I mean it works, arguably even better than the book’s tricks – I really enjoyed this film. The song “Young and Beutiful” makes Gatsby’s and Daisy’s affair seem deep and meaningful, even though honestly it’s anything but on either side.

Though if you’re still determined to watch a more honest interpretation of The Great Gatsby, might I recommend The Family Guy Adaption?

So that’s my take on The Great Gatsby, a strange and convoluted story, ending in a strange and covulted death. Hidden under layers of tricks and bright green lights. But maybe you saw more to it than I did, if so tell me down below in the comments – it’s why I have them in the first place.

If you’ve enjoyed this trashing of an American classic, why not follow the Wee Blog if you haven’t already. And check me out on Twitter, Instagram, Mastodon, Pinterest, Tumblr, TikTok, Facebook and Kofi. Also remember to sign up for the Wee Mailing List before April 5th for my first feelings on three great works of literature. Until next time, Wee Readers, keep safe and have a very Bonny day.

The Wee Archive – Attack of the Star Wars Critic

What Ho Wee Readers, and welcome to another addition of The Wee Archive, this time in Star Wars flavour. Remember to sign up to the Wee Mailing List, to receive stuff like this all the sooner.

The Royal Election – or the Stupidest Criticism of the Prequel Trilogy that has or will ever exist in this world.

The Star Wars Prequel Trilogy gets a lot of flak from the wider pop culture lexicon, doesn’t it? For a long while a hatred of the three film fall of Anakin Skywalker was assumed as the default, by people both in and out of the fandom. And while they have received a bit of a boost in popularity since the sequel Trilogy came out and showed us all what an actual bad Star Wars trilogy looks like, it would be difficult to say that that hatred just up and vanished into nothing. Everything from the comedic side character of Jar Jar Binks to the heavier focus on political intrigue, has been criticised and made fun of.

And honestly, I can’t fault that…not because I agree with it, I don’t. But if someone did find the political talk too complicated to understand, or found Jar Jar Binks kind of humour grating, that would certainly spoil a lot of the films for you. Same goes for the acting, the direction or even the CGI. If that bothered someone, then yes that would make the prequel films, bad Star Wars films for that person. I may think that person is wrong, but their logic is sound. If it bothered you, then that criticism is at least partly valid.

But you know what criticism never is?

Queen Amidala was elected, that’s so unrealistic.

I’m seen this thrown around a lot on the internet, both as a ‘legitimate criticism’ and as throwaway line and it always really annoyed me. Especially because when fans of the prequel fire back in its defense, it’s almost always with the same retour; that some countries do elect their monarchy. 

Because here’s the truth of the matter…we’re talking about Star Wars here. The franchise that is set a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…why are we trying to match them to our one planet society at all? Oh, royalty isn’t supposed to be elected in your world view, random person on the internet…you do realise you’re watching a space opera, right? I mean these are films set in the world where entire planets are treated more like countries – or states if you’re American – and artificial intelligence is somehow so widespread that it’s become boring and mundane. .

 This has been something that has really bothered me for years, but I always figured it was something people said when they ran out of anything else to gripe about the prequels. Like, yeah you may think the CGI is obnoxious but apparently so did everybody else on the internet, and it’s really not interesting anymore. So, the would-be critic looks around and spots another little flaw that perhaps hasn’t been talked about quite as much. And there, we have a brand-new thing to whine about. Which would be…well…not fine…but at least I could follow the logic. No one wants their voice to be lost in the crowd. But here’s the thing, it’s the response from the prequel fans, that same response done time and time again, that threw me. Because if you’re arguing against a completely nit-picky critique that doesn’t actually say anything about the film’s quality, why is your response to nit-pick right back. Why does it matter if some people on earth elect their monarchy? Star Wars isn’t set on earth, why engage with that kind critique at all? And then a horrible thought accrued to me, a horrible depressing thought. It’s not about critiquing or defending Star Wars at all. It’s about making ourselves look smarter than the other side.

As I said at the start of this now that I’m looking back quite bitter sounding rant, it was a popular thing to bash the Prequel trilogy. In a sense it made you look like you were smarter than others. Jar Jar Binks was too low brow for these critiques, and the forced love plot point was silly. Okay, I’ve kind known there was a bit of self-congratulating about hating the prequels for a few years now, so no surprise there. But then we have the flip side of the argument, and honestly, I can’t say that fans of the prequels are any less guilty of this intellectual posturing. Yeah, even me when I was much younger – it’s fun to think that the people that whine about the politics in the prequel films, just weren’t smart enough to understand it, but honestly the truth is that it’s just not true. Whether you liked something or not is not a mark of your intelligence, it’s not even really a mark of your morality – it’s just a random fact.

Thus, what can we conclude? Well, maybe there will always be people that hate the prequel trilogy – we may think they’re wrong but that doesn’t automatically make them stupid. And vice versa, just because someone loves the prequels doesn’t make them an idiot or a nostalgia obsessed baby. Thus perhaps, just perhaps, we should stop trying to trip each other up with nit-picks that say nothing about the series we’re watching at all. And finally, if there really is someone out there that found the fact that a space opera had a minor different political system to what is considered normal on earth, so awful that it ruined the film for them…maybe they shouldn’t be watching Star Wars.

If you’ve enjoyed this Wee rant of mine don’t forget to check out the original post , and follow the Wee Blog if you haven’t already. Also check me out on Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, Goodreads, Facebook, and Tumblr. And if you really enjoyed this post why not stop by my Ko-fi page to buy me a wee cup of coffee.

A Vulcan Alone: Human Exceptionalism in the Sci-fi Genre

What Ho Wee Readers, I hope you’ve all been keeping optimistic in these troubling times of ours. I know it’s difficult, and with any hope there’s not a World War been declared by the time you’re finally reading these words – but still, I think it’s wise advice to live by. Let’s try and be optimistic, reality doesn’t need to factor into the equation. And if there was ever a shinning beacon of optimism for the future, it’s Star Trek – or at least the original show. To be honest I’ve never watched Next Generation, and the later shows were too busy poking holes in that initial optimistic federation, for much of their own optimism to sneak in. Not that that’s bad thing on a story level, it’s actually quite interesting – and something I’d quite like to get into later – but there was something so hopeful about the Original Trek, that none of those later shows could quite capture.

Just the idea that humanity has not only finally managed to put aside its differences – and grow beyond its prejudices – and has come together to reach for the stars, is a very nice thought. Especially with people so dived as they are now. And not only have we managed to reach and travel through the stars, but we find that we are not alone in the universe. There are others out there, different perhaps, alien, but intelligent and friendly. People that we can work with to build an even great galactic civilisation, a federation if you will.

And this, Wee Readers, is where we come to my favorite character in all of Trek: they call him Mister Spock. He is an alien – or at least mostly. While he does have a human mother, for the most part his role in the narrative is to expresses the alien view of the federation. Sure, there might be other alien characters that the crew meet along their journey, but in regards to the main cast Spock is pretty much the only alien on the ship. In fact, scratch that, he is the only alien on the ship period – something that’s once again pretty much unique to the original series of Trek in particular. That is while the other shows feature and focused on a predominantly human cast as well, they often will have more than a single non-human entity in the main cast. Even Discovery had other alien crew members in bit parts – I’m assuming, I lost interest half way through season one.

And I think there’s a reason for this, that is why the original serious would choose to focus on a crew of a ship that is predominantly human in origin – despite the federation actually being made up of many species. And it’s more than just the affects and make up budgets – although I’m certain that was a contributing factor. No when you watch through the series in rapid successes – as I am doing now – you begin to pick up on a theme that I never realised was there before. The theme of humanity, what makes us what we are – and if we were to go into space, live inside spaceships how much of our humanity might we lose?

This is why – to an extent – when it comes to talk about non-human members of the federation and beyond, they’re more focused on how they reflect back against humanity. How does the Vulcan culture, which values logic and suppression of emotion – not lack of them, suppression of emotion – hold up against raw human gut instinct, and embrace of our emotions. Often, at least in the first series of the original show – it does not. Not I feel because the creators were arguing against logic and rational based reasoning, but because in its heart, Star Trek is a show about Humans traveling through space. And thus, the question, of what makes a human a human, or what makes us worthy to travel through the stars is infinitely more important to the narrative, than what makes a Vulcan worthy. Thus – again at least in season one – Spock is there to add opposition to the purely human advice of Dr. Mccoy to Kirk, and perhaps to acknowledge – at least passively – that there are aliens that we can call our close allies.

I would like to reiterate that this is not a bad thing – humans after all, are Star Teck’s primary and only demographic thus far.  However, while I can acknowledge the reason why such decisions were made, and even their narrative strength, their existence implies some uncomfortable realities of the show’s universe.

For instance: while narratively the reason why McCoy is constantly challenging, and dismissing Spock’s Vulcan logic – and by extension heritage – is because his purpose in many of the episodes is to argue for the power of humanity, and emotionality – let’s take a look at his actions ‘in universe’. He loudly, and repeatedly, chides his superior officer – often stepping into actually insulting him – based on said officer’s different cultural background. He is insubordinate, and undermining of Spock whenever the Vulcan is in command, and strangely enough for a doctor working in space, very hostile to Spock’s alien biology. Now, you might say that that last one is just McCoy’s frustration on not being able to treat his patient as well as he could, if he were purely human. And while I could fire back that McCoy is a Starfleet Doctor, he should be at least partly used to treating non-human patients without throwing a hissy fit each time, I would never insult you like that. Besides, either way – what we are left with is a man whose actions make him seem hostile to one of the founding species of the Federation. A man, who most troubling of all, is never reprimanded for said actions.

It’s always either tied up with a joke at the end, often about how Spock is too stubborn to admit he has feelings (specifically emphasised human feelings) – or never mentioned at all. As a dangling plot thread, it annoys me to no end; but as micro-example of how the Federation – and in particular Starfleet – treats its non-human members, it’s actually kind of disturbing. In the first live-action series of Star Trek Spock seems to be the only non-human citizen of the federation on board of Starfleet’s flag Star ship – and he better get used to be treated like shit even by his subordinates, if he wants to remain there.

I know, I know even I can see I’m being a bit harsh with that last statement – after all, Kirk respects Spock. In fact, they’re so close that not only did they give birth to the Slash fanfiction genre, but Gene Rodenberry created a whole new word for their relationship. Personally, I think it would have been simpler just to admit that they were a bit gay for each other, but it was the sixties so maybe the world just wasn’t ready yet.

But let’s jump forward about a hundred years or so to the new era of Star Trek. For while I haven’t really watched The Next Generation yet – and hence I won’t really be talking about it here – I have watched large chunks of Voyager and the beginning of DS9 – before I got bored of that particular show and wandered off. All of which has left me with the ability to comfortably say that humanity – as presented in the nineties star trek shows – was kind of insufferable. I mean we get it, earth is a paradise, and you’ve advance so fast from the war hungering savages you once were, that it impresses all the good aliens. And the only ones who talk smack about you are either jerks, fascists or Ferengi. We get it, that’s the truth as it is presented in the show – hope for our collective future yadda, yadda, yadda – but honesty I’m on the Ferengi’s side here, that’s really annoying to sit through. It also, from a purely narrative perspective, gives the federation characters – i.e., the mostly human or heavily human aligned and codded characters – excuse to treat those who don’t align perfectly with human emotionality and current ‘ethical and economic’ standards (if you’ll pardon the language again) like shit.

Whether you’re a logical Vulcan, a driven ferengi, or an honorable warrior of the Klingons – if your people don’t align perfectly with the federation on everything from the way you dress (onesies for everyone please), to the way you express yourself (never through violence and every time we feel an emotion, we’re going to loudly proclaim it even if it’s a horribly inappropriate time). Get ready to be talked down to by a species that only mastered space travel in the last few hundred years, like you’re a toddler in a strop.

Now honestly, even as I say all this, I don’t really think the federation is meant to be set up like this – as I said before it’s a natural outcome of one species making shows, or indeed any form of entertainment about another. We might see a similar outcome even if we stay close to home – has anyone casually used the term Neanderthal to mean stupid or violent lately? Yes, I thought so. Indeed, if we look at the case of the Neanderthal, and other variations of the human species, we might even discover the source of this constant quest for validation in the sci-fi writer.

After all, why was it us that survived?

Why was it homo-sapiens that went on to win the supremacy of the species, and populate the planet with our ilk?

Are we such a violent species, that we butchered everyone else?

Or are we just that innately superior? Our brains more developed and highly skilled in some way. Maybe it was because we could talk and they couldn’t. (Not true, but go off I guess). Maybe we could dream and they couldn’t – as there are no living Neanderthals (that I know of) we’ll probably never have a clear answer beyond what we can guess at their remains. But regardless on where you lie on that debate, one thing is clear amongst these theories – there has to be a reason why.

It couldn’t just be by chance, or luck. There has to be a measurable reason why we’re still here, and they aren’t.

We’re homo sapiens.

And in one form or other, we are exceptional.

Thus, when a writer, or a producer, or an actor looks up to the stars and decides to create a piece of fiction in which we are no longer the only (perceived) sentient form of life – they must contend with this question also. There has to be a reason Humanity is worthy to go amongst the stars, to exist in a world where we are not the only form of dominant life. Surely even amongst species that have had space faring technology centuries before us, we are unique, we are interesting and worthy of fascination from beings beyond our wildest dreams.

Because in the end the most terrifying question, isn’t are we alone in the universe; it’s if we aren’t alone in the universe, what makes us so special then? Because, and here’s the true driving force of all this clumsiness in the writing of the federation – what if we’re not? What if we’re just one species amongst a thousand more, and not even a particularly advanced one. What if, we don’t matter a great deal at all in the wider scope of things?

And that, dear reader, is a terrifying thought.

If you’ve enjoyed this little delve into existential dreams, and horrible questions plaguing my mind each night why not follow the Wee Blog if you haven’t already? Also check out my Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, Facebook, Tumblr, and Goodreads. And sign up for the Wee Mailing List by April 30th to find out my top five fictional aliens. Also why not pop through to my Kofi page and buy me a wee cup of coffee. Until next time Wee Readers, stay safe, stay sane, and have a very bonny day.

Deconstructing the Disposable Fiancé: The Love of Michael Cordero Jr.

What How Wee Readers – well I hope you all had a good holiday time in december – and for all our sakes let’s hope 2022, is slightly less depressing than 2021. Yet there are still bright days in even the darkest times, and I have to admit something quite exciting happened to me. I’ve finally, I have a new job! While this is undoubtedly a good thing, because it’s a housekeeping job it’s very physically hard work, and because I’m high functioning autistic – I also find it very emotionally draining too.

Which for the sake of this post means that after work, I usually collapse on my sofa and binge watch my current favorite Netflix show:  Jane the Virgin. Jane the Virgin is a very loose adaption of the Venezuelan telenovela Juana la Virgin; that premiered on the CW network in 2014 and finally reached the end of its five season long run, on July 31st 2019. The series tells the story of devout catholic Jane Villanueva, who has promised her grandmother that she will stay a virgin until she gets married. A prospect that doesn’t look that far away when it looks like her long-time boyfriend – Michael Cordero Jr – is set to propose. However, things start going wrong when during a routine smear test – Jane gets accidently artificially inseminated.

And things only get stranger from there.

Who is Michael?

Michael is introduced to us as a hardworking, and cunning detective – who loves Jane with all the power of his still beating heart. His purpose in the story is to be one point of the love triangle between Jane, Rafael and himself. #TeamMicheal for life, if you couldn’t tell – not uncommon plot point even outside of the Romance drama. Can anyone say, Hunger Games – pour some out for my hommies on #TeamGale, we can’t win them all.

While Rafael represents new and exciting love in Jane’s life – being the father of her artificially conceived baby – Michael is the old and the familiar. The love that has stayed true, long before the plot got involved. And part of the conflict for the story is which kind of love will Jane choose – the flashy new kind, or the old and true.

Ultimately Michael is a person of two sides – he is a brave man who could have well been the hero of his own story. And he is an inconvenient man, who could well have been the villain of Rafael’s story. But ultimately, he is neither because in the end this is not Michael’s story, or Rafael’s story, it’s Jane’s story.

Thus, to truly understand Michael as a character we must examine his role in Jane’s story, and how he ultimately subverts it. And what is his role you might ask?

The disposable fiancé

To best illustrate exactly what the Disposable Fiancé is as a trope, I would like you to think back to one of those terrible Christmas films you saw over the holiday. Don’t look at me like that, we all see at least one, don’t lie to yourself. Okay you’ve got the film in your head, good. Now unless the film is very specific, you’ll probably going to come across some surprising similarities between each of their plots.

First, you’ll have a woman who thinks she’s satisfied with her city life, complete with city long-term boyfriend/ fiancé. But then suddenly, inciting incident happens and she has to pick up and move/ stay temporarily in a sweet, innocent, village out in the country. Something that I can tell you for a fact, is not true, the village I used to live in was not innocent or wholesome at all. Anyway, where was I, oh yes – where finally she meets the one true love. Who sometimes is a lot nicer than the original fiancé, but most of the time is only better because he visualizes a superior way of life.

The strangeness here is not really that so many films follow the same formula over and over again, it’s Netflix, that’s basically all they do now. It’s not even notable that the choice between a person’s social life is encapsulated in their love interests – I mean that’s basically every piece of fiction ever. No, what I find notable is the wrong path is illustrated by such a long-term relationship.

My point, if this life is wrong for her and she’s so easily going to throw it away – why make them engaged at all?

Could it be high-lightening how we as a society are always looking over the hedge at what we don’t have – to fill that aching void inside ourselves? Could be, we are a capitalist society after all. Or could it be that to establish the strength of the writer’s preferred couple, the heroine’s romantic-false lead has to be a big enough threat to the course of true love. And we can’t have him be that, by being a caring and loving partner – after all, then we might feel bad that he’s being emotionally cheated on.

Or perhaps there’s no reason at all.

Regardless of the reason why ,through this example we have established some basic facts, and common traits of our Disposable fiancé.

  1. He’s established a long-term relationship with the heroine before the start of the story.
  2. He often engages in morally dubious actions – to establish that we’re not supposed to be rooting for him as the end goal love interest.
  3. He’s often encapsulates the kind of world (and or mind set) our heroine needs to escape and or grow out of.
  4. When the main couple does get together, the fact that this man has to have his heart broken so that our lovebirds can have their happy ending – is treated like a good thing, if it’s mentioned at all.
  5. Before the events of the story, the heroine believes she’s happy with him.

Ways in which Jane the Virgin stays true to the disposable fiancé trope

  1. An already established relationship with the female lead – yep, Michael proposes to Jane in the very first episode, and if the plot hadn’t already gotten started, she would defiantly have said yes.
  2. Morally dubious actions – Though a good man deep down and where it matters, Michael does engage in some shifty behavior at the start of the show. Including but not limited to, bribing Petra to break off her affair with Roman so Jane will give the baby to her; and conducting an illegal search of Rafael’s (the rival to Jane’s heart) secret safe, without a warrant.
  3. Heroine is (or at least believes she’s) happy before the story – yes, Jane is very happy with Michael before the plot.

Ultimately though what segments Michael as at least in part a disposable fiancé, is that he and Jane are not endgame for the series. So, in the narrative sense no matter how far the story goes to relay Michael’s worthiness as a character, he will always be disposable. And that’s a sad thought for any character.

Ways in which it subverts the disposable fiancé trope

  • Encapsulates the kind of life that the Heroine doesn’t need – No, there’s no hints that what Michael and Jane want at the beginning of the series – marriage, kids, a happy and stable family life – ever diverge.
  • His heartbreak is treated as joke at best, or a triumph of the hero at worst – No, whenever Jane and Michael break it off, both parties’ feelings on the matter are treated with the kind of seriousness that such things deserve.

However, the neat list aside, I belive that what really subverts this ‘disposable finance’ trope in Jane the Virgin, is the fact that Michael stays in the story far longer than your average disposable boyfriend/fiancé should. He’s there throughout the story doing his detective work, or reminding Jane of their time together. Often not deliberately just by still continuing to exist in the story.

Which is ultimately one of the strengths of not only Michael as a character but Jane the Virgin as a whole – it goes beyond the ‘main’ couple getting together. Of course, there’s nothing wrong, per say, with a story ending there. But by going past that point – past the first break up of Jane and Michael. Where Jane realises Michael’s being lying to her about Petra’s affair, and just can’t trust him anymore. Past the point where she tearfully gives him his ring back; and even past the point when that same night she madly kisses Rafael, and gets together with him. By going past that point, the show highlights that often the main weakness of the ‘disposable fiancé’ trope is not actually the fiancé himself. Counterintuitive as that sounds. Sure, in a lot of the more badly written Netflix /Hallmark films he is a card-carrying scumbag with no greater depth to his character than a speed bump. But to be honest, fixing his character won’t fix the story. You can make him the nicest guy on the planet if you want, or at least make him feel like a real person. But either way something in the story will feel hollow and that’s because the fault lies not in the character himself but the role he represents.

For if such a long term, well-established relationship is nothing but disposable, then the love that is replacing it must be something truly transcendent. And that’s a lot to put on any relationship, let alone one that’s so often in its infancy. While I have watched some films that try to answer this by illustrating the superiority of the new love interest – often on a moral ground – to the old one, sometimes they don’t even try that much. Relying instead on how terrible the ‘disposable fiancé’ was/is to establish the final romantic choice of the heroine as the right one.

By going past this point – where the main couple get together – Jane the Virgin establishes the weakness in the premise that new is automatically better. As because they are such a new relationship, Jane and Rafael don’t really know each other at this point. By no accounts a strange phenomenon; but because the circumstances around their connection are so unusual, with possible hints that they are destined to be – this causes both parties to rush into a deeper commitment than was strictly healthy for their fledgeling relationship. With Rafael even trying to by-pass the early stages and skip straight to marriage before either party is really ready for it.

While (Spoiler) Jane and Rafael do end up being endgame, because the narrative doesn’t take that shortcut of having all their relationship conflict be from an external source – i.e., a disposable fiancé – their relationship is allowed to grow and mature at a more natural rate. Thus it feels in some ways much more real.

So, in conclusion, Michael is great and if Jane and Rafael want to be together – that’s fine, he doesn’t need them.

If you’ve enjoyed this weird ramble of mine, don’t forget to follow the Wee Writing Blog if you haven’t already and check me out on Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, Facebook, Tumblr and Goodreads for all that good stuff. Also sign up for the Wee Mailing List before February the 28th to find out the five best looking men on Jane the Virgin and why. Until next time Wee Readers, stay safe and have a very bonny day.

Firefly vs. Star Wars: The Language of Competition

What ho Wee Readers, I hope you are all as well as can be hoped for in this desperate time of ours. For me myself, I’ve beaten the deep apathy I developed for finishing a book during the lockdown – and am well on my way to completing my GoodReads Reading Challenge. Please do not check if that is true, until at least a week after you’ve read this post, come on at least give me a chance to back up my lies with some facts.

Joking aside, my recent renewed interest in reading is why I’ve chosen this topic for my Post today. I have just – just being a relative term of course – finished a book called Serenity Found: More Unauthorized Essays on Joss Whedon’s Firefly Universe, which is a book of essays regarding the (at time of the book’s release), ‘recent’ film Serenity, and the show Firefly of which it was a sequel to. Now, before we get into anything deeper, I’d just like to say that I love the show Firefly. I think it’s a brilliantly written thing, with a cast of funny and likable characters. Really the only actual problem I can see with the show, and by extension the film itself is the lack of diversity in both the main cast and the background players. And when I say lack of diversity, I don’t actually mean that they’re all just white people – although let’s be honest in a Joss Whedon run project, that would not have been surprising – there are people of colour in the main cast.  Rather, that seeing as it is set in a world where America and China have combined to become one giant space faring society – and part of the show’s world flavor comes from the interaction of Chinese and America culture – it’s strange that there are no Chinese members of the cast.

And it’s even weirded that the narrative doesn’t comment on it at all – in this Chinese inspired world, where are all the Chinese people? Something to think on certainly, but not why we’re here today. No, why we’re here today is the book called Serenity Found: More Unauthorized Essays on Joss Whedon’s Firefly Universe. Which is a very good book, full of essays that are insightful, and filled with interesting points of view on this fascinating world. Unfortunately, we’re not going to talk about that today, no instead we’re going to zero in on one small problem I found both in this book and its predecessor.

Namely, well…

If I asked you to tell me what you liked about something, say a particular work of fiction, or what you thought made it such a fascinating story – how would you answer that question? Would you tell me about your favourite character, how you were drawn to them? Would you tell me about the dialogue, and the general writing of the story? Might you even tell me about the themes, and what you thought the message of the tale was? All good things, that if I asked that question, I clearly want to know your oppion on. But you know what I don’t want to hear…

“Well, unlike [entirely different piece of fiction that in no way relates to the one I ask about] …”

Basically, if I buy a book of essays about ‘Firefly’ or its film ‘Serenity’; then I clearly want to hear the authors oppion on those two works of fiction – what I did not pay for, were the authors oppions on Star Wars, Star Trek, Stargate SG1, or any of the other dozen or so shows they whined about. Now don’t get me wrong I love Star Wars, see my previous posts on the subject if you don’t belive me:

Disney: Whoops – or the re-examination of the Duchess Satine in context of Mandalorian Creed Culture

Palpatine: A Villain through the Ages

The Great Star Wars Lockdown Binge

I love Star Trek – the majority of their shows, anyway.

And I have no strong oppion on Stargate SG1 whatsoever.

They just weren’t why I bought that book.

Now all these essays were written by intelligent people, who had clearly thought out and carefully structured their argument to the full height of effectiveness. And yet time, and time again we get paragraph after paragraph explaining why Firefly is good, not simply because it is a well written piece of art – but because it is better than other pieces of art. In a sense we cannot truly see (or at least discuss) Firefly’s brilliance, without first illustrating why everything else is stupid.

We cannot speak about its strong female characters, and how great it is that they are allowed to be both strong and feminine, without first delving into why Stargate SG1 did not do this.

We cannot speak about the cleverness of the character’s banter, and Firefly’s humour – without first asserting that ‘Star Wars’ has no humour whatsoever. (A fact that was not true in the 1970s, and is still not true now).

We cannot speak about the depth of the characters, and the skill that must have gone into writing them – without first clarifying characters on Star Trek mount to little nothing but their job title. And if you think differently than clearly, you’ve just been tricked by a good actor.

Is this starting to sound annoying, or repetitive – good because that’s how I felt reading it. Now, I know what some of you might be thinking – Wee Lassie, aren’t you over reacting? Sure, it’s annoying for an essay to go out of its way to insult more than one of your favourite franchises, but aren’t they just discussing the market? Showing the reader where ‘Firefly’ and ‘Serenity’ stands in the great tapestry of Science Fiction? What, in a sense makes it stand out? And while I wouldn’t say that’s necessarily wrong – it felt more than that reading it.

It felt like Firefly couldn’t just be a good show, worth watching – it had to be better than everything else. Otherwise, it was nothing at all.

It felt like they weren’t just critiquing bits of other Science Fiction – but tearing them down, so Firefly could be built up in their stead.

Sure, in most ‘social worlds’ competition can be healthy – even in the market of Science Fiction. But my question is, at what point are we taking it too far? At what point are we competing not because we want to grow and succeed as people, or creators, or what not – but because we simply have no other way to communicate? At what point is it no longer enough for something to simply be good in of itself to be worth something?

And this attitude is evident in not just Science Fiction communities – but our wider culture as well. Think of any piece of popular culture, media, or online discussion that tries to be ‘feminist’ by implying that woman are innately better than men. Usually because men are depicted as stupid, or simple, or lazy, or just not as good as the fabulous women in the show/film/ anecdote. Don’t look at me like that, we’ve all seen something like this at least once in our lives.

But this I would like to point out is not actual feminism, because real feminism is about lifting people up to be on an even keel with each other; not tearing them down. There’s another word for that, but it’s not feminism. This notion – that to be a proper feminist property your female characters have to be superior in every way to their male counterparts – is an innately sexist one, really on both sides of the supposed gender wars. On the male side, it shows young boys that they don’t have the right to be respected, even if they’re good people. While on the female side, it heaps untold pressure onto young girls – to not only succeed in the specific way our culture deems appropriate, but to outcompete their male co-workers. It is no longer enough to be a strong and successful woman, now they have to be stronger and more successful than men (their competitors) – otherwise they haven’t accomplished anything at all.

And there’s that same notion again – the notion that if there are no losers in this game of life, how can there ever be winners?

This is not an indictment of competition in of itself – sometimes it is good to push ourselves to strive to the standards of others in our field. Rather it’s the indictment of the filter of competition, or the language of it. That is when the only way our society can express approval of a work of art, a political movement, a real living human being, is through putting down someone or something else. Has our world view become just a little skewed? Do we really have no other way of viewing or describing our world, but by these kill or be killed standards?

But what do you think? Am I blowing this all out of proportion? Part of me hopes I am – but I’ve seen people go ballistic with the Star Wars vs. Star Trek debate, so I don’t really think so. Let me know down in the comments, its why I have them in the first place.

If you’ve enjoyed this wee rant of mine – much shorter than usual, but that’s not always a bad thing – why not follow the Wee Blog if you haven’t already. Also check me out on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, Tumblr, Pinterest and Goodreads for all that good stuff. And don’t forget to sign up to the Wee Mailing list by the 21st of December for a special Christmas-themed addition of the Newsletter. Until next time Wee Readers, stay safe, stay strong and a have a very bonny day.