Contagious Confusion Concerning Consent

Dear Mr. Bieber,

It has come to my attention, through one of your inexplicably-popular-and-utterly-inescapable songs, that you have some questions regarding the concept of consent.  I speak, of course, of your ode to jazz flute and the crocodile from Peter Pan, “What Do You Mean?” (By the way, I was relieved to note that the song title truly does have a question mark.  This is by no means a given.)

While a good chunk of this song consists of you being whiny and vaguely threatening about receiving mixed signals, in a far inferior (though admittedly titularly superior grammatically) knockoff of Katy Perry’s “Hot N Cold”, the first few lines (which are repeated throughout the somewhat lyrically-challenged song) deserve some special attention and discrete answers.  So let’s break those down, shall we?

The Irritation of Infrastructure Infirmity

(This was going to be my next post, but to be honest, I got bored writing it, so I can't imagine it would be very interesting to read.  However, I spent enough time on it to not want it to just sit in my drafts folder forever, so if you happen across this (it won't be posted to Facebook until and unless I finish it someday) and actually, y'know, care, you can read this partially-completed and in-need-of-a-lot-of-work post on transit and infrastructure.  Sadly, it'll probably be the last post until summer (when I'm done with school for probably ever!).)

Metaphorical Beverages

So Selena Gomez has a new single out, “Hands to Myself”.  Yes, I pay attention to these things, and no, it doesn’t make me a teenage girl, no matter what certain people may try to claim.  It just means I have eclectic musical tastes.  So there.  (Except for Ed Sheeran.  Can’t stand his music, especially since I read this article, which rang a few bells.)

I actually really like this song, and it keeps getting stuck in my head.  Plus, I’m a sucker for the chord progression, regardless of how utterly common it is (well, there’s a reason for that, isn’t there?  Kind of like the Pachelbel’s Canon chord progression, some things just work better than others).  And as far as I can tell, it’s not a song about Justin Bieber, so hooray for moving on!

But there’s one GLARING problem with this song.  I suppose you could say two, but it’s just the same line a second time.

The verses to the song are done in a rather sparse, staccato (or at least detached; it’s hard to sing staccato without sounding like you’re spitting the words out) style.  It’s a little unusual, but it’s a neat sound once you get used to it.  And for the most part, the lyrics stick to one- or two-syllable words, which works just fine.

And then you get to the line.  The dreaded, cringe-worthy line that nearly made me hate the song before I had a chance to like it:

“You’re metaphorical gin-and-juice”.

Wow.

This line is terrible on both stylistic and lyrical levels.  There’s really no redeeming feature to this line other than the fact that it actually fits the meter.  (That’s always a plus.)

Stylistically, if you’re going to be using this detached style, you simply cannot use five-syllable words.  One syllable?  Fine, you’re just spacing out the words.  Two syllables?  Still works; you don’t lose the flow of the word too much with the break. 

But five syllables?  You sound like you’re sounding out the word, or very carefully overpronouncing it to make sure you get it right, kind of my like 4-year-old saying the word “archipelago”.  It’s just not… no.  Don’t do that.

Lyrically, it’s just completely unnecessary.  Of course it’s a metaphor!  Songs use metaphors all the time!  Everyone knows that, and is familiar with the concept of metaphors.  Spelling it out (nearly literally, given the enunciation) is just awkward and makes the line feel even weirder.  No one (except maybe Jimmy Buffett?) is going to be singing a song about actual gin-and-juice (although if he did, it would probably have the word “archipelago” in it). 

BUT! Selena Gomez is someone whose bigger hits include two songs basically about songs.  Like, the songs are using songs as metaphors.  This is either brilliantly meta, or a giant red flag about her competence with metaphors.

Plus, looking at the lyrics, there’s literally no reason why this couldn’t actually be a song dedicated to gin-and-juice.  Every line works equally as well in a literal or a metaphorical context!  Including the lines that don’t really work in either context, because they don’t really make sense.  (Pre-chorus, I’m looking at you here.  “All of the downs and the uppers keep making love to each other”?  What does that even mean?) 

So maybe it’s a good thing after all that she’s clarifying that this is intended to be a metaphor. 

Or maybe I’ll just have fun substituting the words “my most-fav'rite drink” for “metaphorical” the next time I hear it.

Who Mourns for Marie?

Aside from going to one production in the Richland High auditorium when I was about 12 (and which I may have slept through part of, since 12-year-old boys generally don’t care much about ballet), the only version of The Nutcracker I’ve ever seen is the PNB Stowell-Sendak version.  It was a bit shocking in recent years to discover just how different the “traditional” Nutcracker is, both in art and, surprisingly, in plot.

Having just seen the new PNB version of The Nutcracker, with new art by Ian Falconer and the traditional choreography/plot by Balanchine, I now feel qualified to offer a comparison between the two, because I know you care what I think about it, and because I might as well add “art critic” to my list of hats that I’ve worn on this blog.  Note that this is obviously my opinion, and tastes may vary.  I’m also doing my best to avoid a “change is bad” perspective.

Obviously, if you want to see this without any spoilers or foreknowledge, then don’t keep reading…

Art

As might be expected when switching art designers from Wherethe Wild Things Are to Olivia the Pig, there’s a significant difference in set design, color scheme, costumes, etc.

This is obviously much more of a personal taste than most things, which is why I’m putting it first, but I certainly preferred the old art scheme.  There’s nothing WRONG with the new art, certainly: it’s bright and cheerful, it’s cohesive, and it looks good.

There are some nice touches, too: Drosselmeyer’s coat lining is the same as Clara’s dress; the main entryway looks very nice, and there’s a neat trick with three drawn chairs and one real one; the costumes are quite well done (for some reason, the flowers in the second act particularly caught my eye; the long skirts were very light and floaty (some sort of organza?) that made for a nice effect you didn’t see elsewhere in the show); and the set for the second act was one giant confection.

However, it just seems to lack the… richness of the Sendak designs.  Both fit their respective plots, though (more on that later), and wouldn’t fit the other if they were reversed, so it works; I just don’t like it as much.

Also, the Chihuly Winter Star was entirely underwhelming.  I’m not a huge Chihuly fan to begin with, and it did look nice, but this certainly didn’t merit accolades like ”amazing” or “dazzling”.

Technical

There were a couple high points in the new production that I thought topped the Stowell/Sendak version.  First, this production plays more with the full-stage screens that can be opaque or translucent depending on the lighting, which gets used to great effect, especially in the keyhole scene at the beginning.  And the sleigh at the end is simply spectacular, and is well beyond anything the Stowell/Sendak version did.  Also, if you look closely through the glass doors in the back of the room in the first act, you can see snow falling through the trees, which is a very nice touch. (Emily pointed this out to me.)

However, the rest of it pales in comparison.

While fun, the film that plays during the overture isn’t really necessary, and feels like a sop to people who can’t enjoy ballet for what it is.

The Stowell/Sendak version had those screens at the beginning of the acts and the end of the show which seemed to be solid, with windows partway up that they opened for Clara’s bed and the ship, and the doors at the bottom for the skit at the beginning.  It was a cool effect, and I’m sorry to see it go.

Second, while the new Mouse King certainly fits the “seven-headed” description from the original text better, it simply looks paltry compared to the gigantic Mouse King of the previous version.  With the head on one side of the stage and the tail coming in from the other, it was a great illusion of an ENORMOUS Mouse King, and a not-that-much-larger-than-the-other-mice-(although-with-significantly-more-heads) Mouse King just isn’t as impressive.

And finally, the growing room.  This just simply was not as good.  Not a huge difference in some of the surrounding furniture, although I seem to recall the Stowell/Sendak version making a slightly smoother transition.  And the giant suspended dancing clock can be cool or goofy, depending on your tastes (I liked it), and there’s nothing like that in the new version.

But the tree.  Oh, the tree.  In the new version, it looks like most of the tree “texture” is actually projected onto the tree with a light, and the tree itself is a big piece of fabric.  That does make it easy to lift it smoothly upwards and have additional fabric come out of the folds below, and the result is fairly pleasing.  But.  But!

The old tree, and the way it gradually unfolded and got bigger and bigger until it swallowed almost the entire back of the stage, and how solid it seemed?  That was magnificent.  In the program, Balanchine is quoted as responding to criticism regarding how much of his budget he spent on the tree (half of it) by saying, “The tree is the ballet.”  It’s still true now, and seems like it perfectly exemplifies the difference between the two productions.

Plot

I realize it can seem a little funny to talk about plot in a ballet, where at least half of the show is simply throwing the dancers out on stage to do their thing, but the changes, as minor as they seem superficially, actually add up to a huge difference in the themes and meaning of the ballet.

The Stowell/Sendak version is generally regarded as being a bit darker than the usual Nutcracker, and not without reason or with reference to just the color palette.  But perhaps “grown-up” would be a better description.

Rather than just being the kindly godparent that he is in the standard Nutcracker, the Stowell/Sendak Drosselmeyer is vaguely sinister, and Clara is appropriately cautious of him.  He clearly doesn’t like how shy she is with him, and eggs Fritz on in some of his misbehavior (which I also actually like better than the way Fritz is simply pretty much a jerk in the new version).

One of the biggest losses to me is the Pirlipat scenes.  These are the small skits both right after the overture (which Clara dreams), and again when Drosselmeyer is presenting his gifts.  In both cases, Clara is given a clear warning of what the Mouse King can do to her (we’ll set aside the gender and body image issues of being “turned ugly”), and it’s Drosselmeyer who orchestrates this.  It’s not clear if it’s intended to be a discouragement or a warning, which adds to the sinister feeling.  (From the original backstory, it would definitely be more of a warning, but that would make Drosselmeyer better than people in his position, who tend to simply throw the heroine into their cause without really warning them what they’re up against, lest they refuse to participate.)

Despite these warnings, though, Clara still chooses to attack the Mouse King to rescue the Nutcracker, which makes her actions much braver than they are in the new version, which has no such warnings.  And that bravery is a big step in her growing up, as shown by her change into an older version of herself directly after.

Drosselmeyer’s edge also makes him a perfect choice for the menagerie that Clara and the Prince visit in the second act.  First of all, the Pasha (who is clearly intended to be a dream version of Drosselmeyer) makes much more sense than the Sugar Plum Fairy, who we’ve never met before, so we get some much needed continuity (it also lets Clara dance the pas de deux with the prince instead of the Fairy, which also makes much more sense).

Second, the use of the Pasha in the second act, along with the ending, also provides some actual meaning to the second act.  Much as Drosselmeyer set up the circumstances for Clara to “grow up”, he’s there in the second act to show her the temptations of being older.  And in the end, Clara demonstrates that she’s still just a child at heart when she’s unable to give up those temptations in the face of her responsibility to get on the boat, and the dream ends with her back in bed as her younger self again.

In contrast, the new version has none of this meaning.  Clara remains the same age, the Sugar Plum Fairy is just there to show Clara some fun, innocent things, and then the dream ends.  The whole thing can be summed up by “There’s a party, and then Clara has a dream with mice and candy.”  It’s wholly insubstantial, and ultimately unsatisfying. 

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So there you go.  Don't get me wrong, the new Nutcracker is still fun!  It's still quite a spectacle, and I definitely think it's worth seeing at least once, if for no other reason than to make up your own mind.  And you might even like it better!  I won't judge.  But to me, the new Nutcracker is a bit of a disappointment, at least in comparison to the old one.  That may simply be a coincidence of comparison, and this one may be way better than other traditional versions.  But as it stands, this definitely feels like a step down.

Unfortunately, I doubt we'll be seeing the Stowell/Sendak version again for quite some time.  They spent 4 years and a lot of money to do a good job putting this together, so they're hardly going to swap it right back out (nor should they!).  It would be nice to see it back at some point in the future, though.  Not only on its own merits, but because it's also just fun knowing that we had one of the most distinctive Nutcrackers out there.

Continuity: Why is This So Hard?

As an avid SFF reader, I’m deeply accustomed to extensive world-building, plotlines spanning multiple books, and characters by the bushel.  In fact, at this point, single-volume stories almost seem simplistic and bland by comparison.  (Almost.  To be clear, there are still plenty of books that aren’t part of a series that I enjoy.)

I mean, some of my favorite series (Wheel of Time, Honorverse) span over a dozen books (in fact, the latter is right around 20 books, and probably has at least 5 to go).  That’s a lot of room for plotting.

Of course, reading series like this can cause some problems in the long run, even aside from the aforementioned issue with shorter stories.  (Not to be confused with short stories, which are clearly an invention of AP English to sap all interest in reading from innocent high schoolers.) 

(No, I did not enjoy my time in AP English.  The year was kind of spoiled when the first thing we read from the textbook was a lengthy discourse on the evils of wasting time reading “escapist” fiction, since clearly “realistic” (or whatever term they had for it) fiction was the only valuable thing to do, as it would lead to a better understanding of human nature and result in magical self-improvement, which is clearly the only reason to read.  We then spent much of the rest of the year reading inane short stories and finding the symbolism.  I found myself neither understanding human nature better nor improved in my self, except in making sarcastic quips.)

(By the way, just to be clear, I don’t blame my teacher for this.  That sort of thing is clearly what the AP English exam is intended to cover, so it’s completely understandable that it’s what we covered.  But understanding that didn’t make it any more tolerable at the time, and so I compensated by sitting in the back and making the aforementioned sarcastic comments with the person next to me. (Quietly, of course; I wasn’t trying to be disruptive.)  (And when I wasn’t accidentally dozing off.))

First of all, I’m very likely to catch most foreshadowing and hidden clue drops, which makes it hard for the plot to really surprise me.  In fact, at this point, I’m generally mentally flagging things that aren’t foreshadowing, just because they’re suspicious and might be.

(The solution for this is probably to plant a ridiculous number of red herrings, or (or even better, and) have the obvious answer actually be the right one.  That would drive me nuts, but in a good way.  Much the same way I probably would have found it hysterical if (spoiler alert!) Mark Watney had actually died at the end of The Martian.)

Second, you start seeing the same tropes over and over again.  My current pet peeve is the lack of reasonable communication between characters.  I get that sometimes people need secrets or an information asymmetry to keep the plot going, but seriously, sometimes you just want to skip that whole part, because it never goes well, except it does in the end, because it just serves to make the plot more complicated for the heroes without ever totally derailing them.

(The solution to this one, of course, is Dangerously Genre Savvy characters, or real, plot-altering problems due to lack of communication.  Star Wars was a well-placed antenna away from Obi-wan’s failure to tell Luke the truth about Vader resulting in a COMPLETELY different story.  (I’m going to assume there’s no spoiler warning needed for that, although I will question how that antenna hadn’t already been knocked off by garbage or whatever coming out of the chute previously.)  Similarly, (this one does get a spoiler alert!) Memory, Sorrow and Thorn is basically, as far as I can recall, all about the heroes actually carrying out the villian’s plan, only to avert it at the last moment.  These things get SO CLOSE to real consequences, but then don’t actually follow through.  Granted, they’d be different stories if they did, but still.)

But more importantly for the purposes of this - now wildly digressive, even for me – post, you get used to authors who can actually keep their continuity straight, and who might have actually plotted a few things out ahead of time.

Unlike, say, certain TV shows that clearly had no idea what they were doing beyond a certain point that came way too early into their run.

Like, say, Lost.  Or Battlestar Galactica.  Just to name a couple from personal experience.  (I’m sure there are plenty others.  I hear Alias went way off the rails a couple seasons in, for example.)

(Just consider this a global spoiler warning now.)

Lost started off so promisingly, with lots of good ideas.  But then it gradually became very, very clear that there was no real plan or set mythology, just some good ideas with no real resolution thought out ahead of time.  I still refuse to rewatch this show because of the utter debacle that is the last season.  (Incidentally, I still think that, plot details aside, the ending of the Mistborn trilogy is what the ending of Lost should have been.)  Every time I get tempted, I remember the stupid flash-sideways, and the fate of, like, the world (I think, still not exactly clear on that, because they did a terrible job of explaining, well, anything), coming down to fisticuffs, and I’m so disgusted that it washes all temptation away.

BSG wasn’t quite so bad, and actually had a solid plot up through the midpoint of the second season.  (The Pegasus storyline was fantastic.)  New Caprica was a decent storyline, too.  But after that, things were REALLY a mess until the last few episodes, and I still don’t buy that Hera was worth risking the entire fate of humanity over.

One thing I did enjoy, though, is that they actually followed through on the “obvious answer is the right one” in the end, though.  It’s more apparent on a rewatch, but the show was hitting on the religious angle from the very beginning, and consistently through the entire show.  I’m really not sure why it surprised so many people in the end.  I guess you can find it unsatisfying, but that’s not the same as it coming out of nowhere.  (The Night’s Dawn Trilogy has a similar plotline.)  So that’s one thing it does have going for it.

My gold standard for continuity throughout a show (aside from Fringe, apparently) is Babylon 5.  Say what you will about the special effects (which weren’t that bad for the time) and the acting/scripts (it was deliberately designed to be a bit more stage-theatrical than most shows), the backstory, characterization and plotting was simply first-rate.  I mean, JMS even planned out ways to remove each and every character seamlessly and plot-consistently from the show if need be (and in some cases, even bring them back).

The story is tight, with not very much filler, which is what happens when you PLAN THINGS OUT AHEAD OF TIME.  All in all, it’s like a book on the screen.  It’s marvelous.

So why can’t more shows do that?  Why is this so hard?

I mean, I get that it’s a little foolhardy to plan out an entire 5-season show in today’s TV environment, but wouldn’t it, y’know, help to at least have a list of your core mysteries/ideas, what they mean and how they’re resolved, and the big plot points you want to hit?  Is that generally going to turn out better than just throwing ideas at the wall and seeing what sticks?

Because to me, the latter way leads to madness, or at least an audience pissed off that you’ve suddenly dropped the numbers, that the smoke monster is pretty much nonsensical and self-contradictory, and the Island is actually so packed with people and structures and ruins and landmarks that it’s a wonder the characters can walk five feet without tripping over an Other.  And then they all die.

What the heck, Lost.