Poem: To Be Posted in the Sunday Classifieds (2012)

 

(I could've used so many Doctor-Companion pairs and sets to illustrate the spirit of this poem, but you can never go wrong with Donna.)

 

To Be Posted in the Sunday Classifieds

 

 

 

The love I’m looking for

Doesn’t come with wedding receptions,

Valentine’s Day reservations,

Or the close calls

Of almost-forgotten anniversary presents.

That flavor of love

Has its place,

But it doesn’t keep me warm

When the universe howls

Outside my door.

 

Give me a companion love,

A friendship whose spark

Has grown to a starlight burn.

Be someone to follow me

Through the forever

Of time and space;

Share my adventure, not my bed,

And be my proof

That life can be bigger

On the inside.

 

It’s not about date-night plans

Or appropriate bouquets of floral apology.

Be someone to run with me,

To jump into the wild with me,

To cling to the skin

Of the spinning planet with me.

Give a mad old alien a chance,

Because we can be

Incandescent together.

 

We’ll walk in the dust

Of long-ago days,

And I’ll bring you so close

To wonder,

You can dip your toes in it.

 

You and I

Will climb our way

Out of any beast’s belly,

And if the end creeps towards us

With a hungry stare,

Know that this body

Will blaze inside out

So that yours won’t have to.

 

If ever our skin speaks it,

It won’t be said

In the language of kisses

Or shiver-stirring caresses,

But in the frantic relief

Of still-alive hugs

And the don’t-lose-me way

We hold hands

As we Run,

                 Run,

                       Run,

And never stumble.

RENT (1996)

 

This Alphabet City rock opera was the show that kicked off my love of musical theatre.  I was 16, and I was in love with this musical.  I remember buying the cast recording at a CD store in the mall and playing it on a loop.  In 2005, when I was in college and the movie came out, I drove to Barnes & Noble to get the soundtrack before class and listened to it in the car on my way to the theater after class.  I haven’t listened to it in a while – so much theatre, so little time – but watching The Normal Heart inspired me to pull out my cast recording again.

 

The Broadway debut of the late great composer Jonathan Larson, RENT had its first preview the night after Larson’s sudden death.  It became a phenomenon, winning heavy-hitter Tonys, running for 12 years, and garnering a loyal following of “Rentheads.”  When it opened, there weren’t a huge number of rock musicals, and even fewer that dealt with gritty subject matter.

 

It’s easier to describe RENT’s focus than its story.  It follows a group of East Villagers, mostly starving artists, through a single, significant night (Christmas Eve) in Act I and the ensuing year in Act II.  The racially/sexually diverse ensemble struggles with love and fear, art and commercialism, and life and death.  Not skimping on sex, drugs, or rock ‘n’ roll, it was an anomaly on the Great White Way in 1996.

 

The reason The Normal Heart sent me back to the CD is because HIV looms large in both stories.  Half of RENT’s eight core characters are HIV+:  Roger the depressed rocker, Mimi the playful S&M dancer, Collins the anarchist professor, and Angel the kind-hearted busker.  Also featured are Mark the rudderless documentarian, Maureen the flighty performance artist, Joanne the uptight professional, and Benny the “soulless” sellout. 

 

In terms of the story, the relationships between the characters are central.  There’s Mimi and Roger, the way they dance around their attraction to each other and struggle to open up.  There’s Roger and Mark, best friends who both can understand the other better than they can themselves.  There’s Collins and Angel, bravely taking the chance to dive into love while they can.  There’s Mark and Maureen, exes who still have enormous pull over each other.  There’s Maureen and Joanne, with their tempestuous on-again off-again romance.  And there’s Benny in the middle of it all, stirring up trouble professionally and personally, even though he used to be their friend.

 

The score is terrific, deftly mixing rock elements and Broadway sensibilities.  From the guitar-driven duet “Another Day” to the poppy love tune “I’ll Cover You” to the Broadway rock scene-song “Goodbye Love,” this musical is filled with great, immensely hummable songs.  The lyrics range from snarky to heartbreaking, and recurring melodic motifs knit the story into the music.  The original Broadway cast is top-notch, combining emotive acting performances with great rock and pop voices.  I discovered so many good actors through the cast recording, including Idina Menzel and Adam Pascal, and they all hold a special place in my estimation.

 

Warnings

 

Strong language, sexual content, drug references, and thematic elements.

Relationship Spotlight: Dr. Danny Castellano & Dr. Mindy Lahiri (The Mindy Project)

 

There’s so much to love about The Mindy Project, as I’ve said before, but I’d say the largest chunk of the credit goes to the interaction between these two doctors.  In most romantic comedies I see, at least half of the central couple isn’t terribly interesting to me, and TV shows of any genre have a dangerous habit of homogenizing well-written female characters once they get into a relationship, turning them from a person into a generic “girlfriend” type.  No such worries here.

 

Early episodes of the show give Mindy and Danny a rather combative relationship.  They spar with each other, mainly out of annoyance at the other’s more irritating tendencies (which both have, especially in relation to one another.)  Mindy rolls her eyes at Danny’s prickliness and penchant for pooping on parties, and Danny groans over Mindy’s frivolous attitude and over-the-top love of pop culture.  For the most part, it’s lighthearted, but each knows the other’s Achilles heel (Mindy’s body image and Danny’s failed marriage) and aims for it when pushed.

 

So far, this might sound like a clichéd love/hate romance, but it’s rooted in one of the relationship’s strongest components – how well Danny and Mindy know one another.  If neither had a true understanding of the other, they wouldn’t have such silver bullets.  And while this is where we first see their dynamic at play, their mutual knowledge is rarely used for evil.  It also informs how they playfully tease each other as their friendship develops.  Mindy’s Danny impression, for instance, is totally adorable.  It plays a major role in how they help one another.  When Mindy is struggling with push-ups, Danny uses a bunch a silly celebrity scenarios to motivate her (“Michael Fassbender’s trapped in a well!  […] Anne Hathaway is trapped under a car.  You gotta push her out.”)  Finally, it’s what allows them to be vulnerable with one another.  They can open up about their fears, shames, and neuroses, because each knows the other will get it.

 

As a ship, I also like it because both characters have a good mix of admirable and unappealing qualities.  There’s no sense that one is a mess that needs to be saved by the other.  Rather, they’re both messes (but endearing ones.)  By getting together, each could help the other, and as a team, perhaps they could save themselves.  That’s a huge draw for me, particularly since the woman usually comes out looking bad no matter where she falls in the imbalance.  If she’s the lesser one, she’s a weak woman who needs a man to sort her out, and if he’s the lesser one, she’s a cypher who only exists to prop a man’s story.  Neither is a good place to be, and I love that Mindy and Danny are drawn more equally.

 

Beyond that, they’re just plain entertaining.  Whether they’re teasing, fighting, teaming up, hanging out, or opening up, their scenes together pop.  They’re sexy, earnest, and wondrously funny (the first episode of the series that really caught my attention involves Danny insisting that he can be Mindy’s doctor without their friendship making it weird, and their resulting game of exam-room gynecological chicken is absolutely hilarious.)  In only two seasons, their relationship has evolved a lot, and I can’t wait to see how the dynamic develops further in season three!

My So-Called Life (1994-1995)

 

Watching (and adoring) Winnie Holzman’s Huge inspired me to break out my DVDs of this mid-90s teen drama she penned and remember how much I enjoy it.  Seeing it again after Huge, plenty of similar building blocks stand out:  naturalistic-sounding teen dialogue, lovably flawed characters, and rich exploration of dramatic subjects.  Another similarity is of course the painfully-short life – one season is all we ever got.

 

My So-Called Life centers around 15-year-old Angela Chase.  She’s reached that difficult age when she’s finally a teenager but doesn’t always feel like it.  She’s intelligent, soulful, and introspective, but she’s also naïve, dramatic, and myopic.  Family, friends, and love bring her joy and heartbreak in equal, sometimes simultaneous, measures, and she confusedly attempts to sort through it all.

 

Angela is played by a very young Claire Danes, so relatable it makes you squirm at times.  Another familiar face, Jared Leto (who most recently won an Oscar for Dallas Buyers Club,) appears as Jared, the object of Angela’s idealized affections.  A.J. Langer and Wilson Cruz steal the already well-performed show as Angela’s friends Rayanne and Rickie.  Rayanne is That Girl, the one mothers don’t want their daughters befriending.  She drinks too much, doesn’t care about school, and sleeps around; however, she adores Angela and her “perfect” life as much as Angela craves Rayanne’s adventurous sense of abandon.  We could call Rickie a precursor to Alistair on Huge, but at the time the series was made, he was a class of his own as a gay Latino boy on a teen show.  He’s completely figured out who he is but still isn’t sure what means for him or where he fits.  He’s a sweet kid, a perennial peacemaker who probably looks after Rayanne with more care than anyone else in her life. 

 

One of My So-Called Life’s biggest strengths is that, even though Angela and her fellow sophomores are the main focus, theirs isn’t the only perspective we get.  Angela’s parents are just as well-drawn as she is, and they have plenty of their own meaty plots.  Some of it involves Angela – how they relate to her, how they struggle to reach her, how they worry for her – while other stories deal with work or their relationships with one another.

 

But like I said, the show is primarily about teenagers, and so the A-plots mainly revolve around teen issues.  Stories of love, like wrestling with how to respond to sexual pressure.  Stories of family, like reconciling who you’re becoming with how your parents still see you.  Stories of friendship, like painfully negotiating relationships that have drifted apart since middle school.  Internal struggles about insecurity and fear and loneliness, and external struggles about gossip and homework and rejection.  The subjects are nothing I haven’t seen before, but they’re depicted with such specificity, with such genuine feeling, that the storylines are elevated into something special.  It’s really too bad we couldn’t have had more time with these characters and their lives.

 

Warnings

 

A little swearing, sexual discussion and references, substance abuse, and some heavy thematic elements.

Top Five Stories: The Eleventh Doctor

Expect these installments to show up periodically between now and the start of series 8.  It may have made more sense to start with One and move forward to the celebrated arrival of Twelve, but going backwards gives me a bit more time to fill in the holes in One and Two’s repertoires. 

 

“Vincent and the Doctor” (Series 5, Episode 10) 

Is it schmaltzy?  Maybe.  Is it emotionally manipulative?  Well, yeah.  I don’t care – this episode is gorgeous.  I always like the Doctor Who:  Celebrity Edition stories, and Vincent van Gogh is a great pick.  It’s outside the norm, since he’s not famous when Amy and the Doctor meet him and believes he never will be.  His running gag of using paintings as coasters and blithely painting over masterpieces is fun, and he makes a strong emotional connection.  The museum sequence at the end makes me tear up, and the scene of Vincent describing the night sky is utterly beautiful.

 

“The Doctor’s Wife” (Series 6, Episode 4) 

I’m a sucker for the Doctor/TARDIS relationship, and this episode is everything I could have wanted it to be.  I love that the TARDIS is given a voice here, I love that she perceives everything nonlinearly – tenses are difficult – and I love that she stole the Doctor all those years ago.  Companions come and go, but she’s his one constant through it all.  Throw in a creepy villain menacing Amy and Rory and a DIY TARDIS-building session, and it’s just about perfect.

“The Girl Who Waited” (Series 6, Episode 10) 

The above criticisms about “Vincent and the Doctor” apply here as well, but once again, it’s too effective to be a concern.  The conceit – that Amy is caught in a faster-moving time stream than the Doctor and Rory – is a good one, and Karen Gillan does a bang-up job playing both versions of Amy.  It’s interesting to see the Doctor stuck maddeningly outside the action while Rory is the one sent into the fray.  The first time I saw this episode, the big climax left me a wreck.

 

“The Lodger” (Series 5, Episode 11) 

I’m a big fan of both “Craig” episodes, but I really have to applaud the original.  Eleven is just so alien, and while “The Lodger” was first written as a Tenth Doctor comic story, it’s even funnier to see him trying to pretend he’s human.  Without Amy as a buffer, his craziness is in full force, and he and regular-guy Craig make a terrific Odd Couple.  There’s a lot of genuine sweetness, and the offbeat wish-fulfillment aspect of having the Doctor as your flatmate is irresistible.

 

“The God Complex” (Series 6, Episode 11) 

Sorry, Clara!  Though I considered “The Rings of Akhaten,” I couldn’t leave out this fine story.  I love sci-fi/fantasy stories that play on the characters’ worst nightmares, and in that sense, I’m disappointed that we only see into one of the trio’s “rooms,” but it’s still top-notch.  There’s an excellent, eclectic supporting cast, including the fabulously companion-esque Rita, the Minotaur is a scary, intriguing villain, and the story has a real emotional impact for the Doctor.  A winner!

The Normal Heart (2014)

 

This HBO movie aired last night, and I was as hopeful as I was apprehensive.  I knew about its source, Larry Kramer’s 1985 play, and I was looking forward to seeing a fine Hollywood cast perform this story of the early fight against HIV.  At the same time, Ryan Murphy’s attachment gave me pause – my experience with Glee, The New Normal, and Pretty/Handsome has shown me that Murphy’s work tends to be a mix of outrageous, heartfelt, and preachy.  While certain characters, moments, or threads resonate, the overall effect is often messy and/or aggravating.

 

So I guess it’s good that Murphy only directs this TV film, and Kramer himself adapts his largely-autobiographical play.  It’s very “play-ish” in that it’s incredibly talky and each major character gets at least one big “spotlight” speech.  Fortunately, I liked that when it’s done well, and it’s mostly done well here.  The story is told with urgency, confusion, and heartbreak.  When the play was written, it was coming directly from the trenches in the midst of the crisis, and that allows the film to seize its viewer in a way that historical pictures don’t always manage.

 

In The Normal Heart, writer Ned Weeks is enlisted by an overwhelmed doctor to spread the word about the “gay cancer” that keeps appearing in her examination room.  Ned forms the Gay Men’s Health Crisis, a group committed to educating the community, lobbying for research funds, and helping the dying.  As the disease tears its way through people in Ned’s life, he grows increasingly angry and desperate at the country’s seeming indifference.

 

I’m most fascinated, not by Ned’s crusade, but by the conflicts that arise between him and his own activist group.  Some of Ned’s practices – publically calling out politicians, insisting that everyone comes out, and urging total abstinence until more is known about HIV – don’t sit well with his more moderate collaborators.  They fear that his strong-arming and scare tactics won’t get them what they need, that he’s giving their important cause a bad name.  Though Ned argues that people are dying and there isn’t time to play nice, his associates aren’t simply weak-willed fence-sitters without stomachs for the fight.  They have valid points as well; they won’t get funding by alienating the politicians who can help them, and, for an oppressed group that’s been taught by the majority to be ashamed of their “unnatural” love, telling them they’ll die if they have sex could prove irreparable.  (Interesting that the idea of using protecting is barely offered as an alternative.  Omitted to maximize the conflict, or the product of a different time?)

 

Mark Ruffalo, after wowing me with his Bruce Banner in The Avengers, does a great job with Ned.  He’s a man combusting, someone appalled to see an epidemic met with apathy.  Julia Roberts plays the doctor crusading alongside him, and Matt Bomer is highly affecting as Ned’s boyfriend.  Among Ned’s fellow activists, Joe Mantello (who I actually know best from directing Wicked on Broadway, but he’s fantastic here) and Jim Parsons (that’s right – Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory as a sweet but stubborn campaigner) are standouts.  The film also features Jonathan Groff (third time Murphy’s cast him, wow!) and Alfred Molina.

 

Warnings

 

Language (including homophobic slurs,) sexual content (including nudity and sex scenes,) some drinking, and hard-to-watch depictions of the effects of AIDS.

Ragtime (1998)

 

This morning, I saw Audra McDonald on the Morning Show (thanks for the heads up, Mom!) and thought of this excellent musical.  Seussical was my gateway into the crack composing team Ahrens & Flaherty, but Ragtime is the “wow” show that got me excited to hear more from them.

 

Based on an E.L. Doctorow novel, Ragtime examines the changing world of 1906.  A white family from New Rochelle collides with the immigrant community in city tenements and the burgeoning black culture in Harlem.  The collision is by turns awkward, explosive, painful, and electric, and members of all three groups are shaped by their interactions with the other two.

 

There are many of compelling characters in this show; I’ll just touch on my favorites.  Coalhouse is a suave ragtime musician who won’t abide his treatment as a second-class citizen.  Mother is a safe suburban housewife who learns how much larger the world is than her cozy circle.  And Tateh is a determined Latvian father who bends the heavens to create a better life for his daughter.  These all sound pretty predictable for a piece about turn-of-the-century culture clash, and to an extent, there are.  However, Lynn Ahrens’s lyrics cut to the heart of these characters, laying them truly open for the audience to see.  Let’s look at them once more.

 

For Coalhouse, there’s the tragic anthem “Make Them Hear You”:  “And say to those who blame us / For the way we chose to fight / That sometimes there are battles / That are more than black or white… / And I could not put down my sword / When justice was my right. / Make them hear you.”  Mother has the quietly strong “Back to Before”:  “Back in the days / When everything seemed so much clearer. / Women in white / Who know what their lives held in store. / Where are they now, those women who stared from the mirror? / We can never go back to before.”  And finally, Tateh’s wistful “Journey On”:  “Do you see in my face / What you’ve lost, sir? / Are you moved by the death ship / We sail upon? / Well, perhaps you’re a man / Who’s in search of his heart. / Journey on.”

 

Ragtime is a splendid example of Stephen Flaherty’s talent for mixing modern Broadway and setting-appropriate music.  The ragtime songs are stylish and danceable, there are nice hints of eastern European flair, and as always for Ahrens and Flaherty, we get an amazing opening number.  The sprawling prologue is great – it introduces all the major characters, sets the stage for the central issues, and weaves in the disparate musical styles of the show to come.  Oh, and the lyrics?  “It was the music / Of something beginning, / An era exploding, / A century spinning / In riches and rags, / And in rhythm and rhyme. / The people called it Ragtime.”  Enough said.

 

The original Broadway recording has some stellar voices, including Marin Mazzie as Mother and Peter Friedman as Tateh.  However, the album belongs to Brian Stokes Mitchell as Coalhouse and Audra McDonald as his lover Sarah.  Their sublime singing is on an entirely different level – Mitchell’s rich baritone and McDonald’s crisp, gorgeous tones blend beautifully, putting the term “eargasm” into perspective.

 

Warnings

 

Some language (including racial slurs,) sexual content, and violence.

What Makes a “Strong Woman?”

 

This is a topic that’s been on my mind lately, and when I talked on the blog about Black Widow and Meg Murray in quick succession, I was struck by the huge differences between these two that I consider to be strong female characters.  (Now, at 14, Meg isn’t a woman and hasn’t had any sort of training, but regardless, she was always going to grow into a woman far removed from Black Widow.)  At their cores, the two characters have a similar strength that manifests in different ways.  However, there are many more Black Widows in fiction, especially film and TV, than Meg Murrays, and the Black Widows seem to get a great deal more credit for their strength.

 

I have nothing against action heroines – not at all!  You’ve already heard how I adore Black Widow, and I love Brienne from Game of Thrones, Zoe from Firefly, Katniss from The Hunger Games, and Starbuck from Battlestar Galactica, to name a few.  It’s thrilling to see these women kicking butt and taking names, women who, when they’re in trouble, can save themselves rather than wait for a man to rescue them.  They’re tough, smart, and active in their own stories, and they don’t let their foes see when they’re afraid.  At the same time, the best characters of this type have flaws and vulnerabilities, and all the women listed above fit the bill nicely.

 

But like I said, strength means more than handling oneself in a fight.  Meg is strong enough to face her insecurities, and she’s not alone.  Watson from Elementary has intelligence and agency, and she holds her own against the frequently-stubborn Sherlock.  Verity from An Adventure in Space and Time fights, not with her fists, but with her words and her determination, and makes headway in a male-dominated industry during a sexist time period (plus, she’s even more awesome for having been a real person.)  Even mousy, painfully shy Fanny from Mansfield Park stands up to her uncle with her knees knocking, weathering a tide of disapproval even though everyone expects her to roll over. 

 

I love these women every bit as much as I do the physically-capable characters above.  And yet, their sorts of strength get less attention than the more action-oriented sort.  It’s particularly noticeable in genre fandoms, and I’ll confess that I’ve not always been immune to this thinking.  On Game of Thrones, Sansa manages to stay alive in the viper’s nest of King’s Landing by being savvy and keeping her head down, but her sword-wielding sister Arya is more popular with fans.  Is Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s efficient-and-deadly May stronger than Simmons, even though Simmons demonstrates brilliance in the face of incredible pressure and has proven willing to sacrifice herself for the safety of her fellow agents?

 

Part of my issue here is a desire to see a wider variety of rootable female characters.  I want complexity, and I want the same plethora of options that men have.  But beyond that, there’s an uneasy trend at work in the popularity of action heroines.  By and large, the women lauded for their strength are physically strong, often unemotional, and generally characterized as being decidedly “not girly.”  Again, nothing wrong with these traits, but all of them are coded as masculine.  When female characters are mainly praised for qualities associated with men, we run into the unconscious suggestion that the only way for a woman to be strong is to be like a man.  Some, like my beloved Buffy, possess fighting prowess and feminine-coded interests; however, when Buffy is lauded, it’s not for her femininity.  Let’s make more noise in support of heroines of all types, reminding writers that strength of character isn’t a gendered trait.

The Station Agent (2003, R)

 

Before Peter Dinklage was an Emmy- and Golden-Globe-winning BAMF, he was the star of this quiet, wonderful little indie film.  I’d seen him in a couple of things before checking out The Station Agent – his one scene in Elf is great, and he’s the highlight of the very uneven Tiptoes – but this is the movie that really made me take notice of him.

 

Fin is a solitary, soft-spoken train enthusiast who thinks he’s found the perfect hideaway when he inherits an old New Jersey depot.  He packs up and moves, and briefly, everything is just as he’d like it.  He has no neighbors to bother him, no gawkers nosily whispering or snapping pictures (Fin has dwarfism.)  However, his cozy new home is upended when a food truck sets up shop next door.  Fin finds himself suddenly saddled with its gregarious, friendly-to-a-fault proprietor, and try as he might, he can’t avoid contact.  It seems he acquires strays whenever he goes:  a heartbroken artist, a kind librarian, and an awkward little girl are quick to follow.

 

It’s a sweet story of up-and-down friendship, filled with likeable characters who, despite some archetypal traits, always feel warmly specific.  Exuberant chatterbox Joe is like an overgrown puppy – a born extrovert, he goes stir crazy in the boonies and immediately latches onto Fin, seeming to take the view that, “We’ve met, therefore we’re friends.”  He’s played splendidly by Bobby Cannavale, a real favorite performance of mine.  Damaged, distracted Olivia is a loner like Fin; she’s grieving the loss of her son, and she brings an absolutely aching vulnerability to the film.  This role was my introduction to Patricia Clarkson, and it’s a good one.  Joe brings Olivia into the fold through sheer force of will, and the sometimes awkward, sometimes shy, sometimes touching friendship the trio forges is endearing and hilarious. 

 

Fin’s circle is widened further by Emily (Michelle Williams,) a sweet woman who’s spent too much time in bad company.  Additionally, Cleo (Raven Goodwin, much recently of Huge) is a girl who connects shyly with Fin over their mutual love of trains.  It all leads Fin to the old lesson about people who need people, and he gradually begins to open himself up.

 

All of the characters are terrific, but this is undoubtedly Peter Dinklage’s film.  As Fin, he’s intelligent, exasperated, and gun-shy.  He’s a bit of a curmudgeon and quite the homebody, but at the same time, he can be slyly funny, and you can’t help applauding as he timidly starts reaching out to others.  Quiet characters can be hard to pull off in a compelling way, especially as protagonists, and Dinklage is more than up to the challenge – this performance is magnificent.

 

I also love how the film deals with Fin’s disability.  It has an inescapable presence – it’s of course the first thing anyone notices about Fin, and it follows him wherever he goes– but it doesn’t overwhelm the story.  While Fin gets his share of stares, snickers, and stupid comments, and that’s obviously informed his personality, it’s far from his only issue.  The film doesn’t get maudlin about it, and when I think of my favorite scenes, many have nothing to do with Fin’s size.  It might be the most well-written film I’ve ever seen that addresses the theme of disability.

 

Warnings

 

Plenty of swearing, some drinking/smoking, and a bit of light drug use.

Favorite Characters: Dean Craig Pelton (Community)

 

I’m sure that many members of the Community ensemble will show up on the blog as time goes on, but I’d like to start with the one who pressed his way to the fore on my most recent run through the series.  It’s none other than Dean Pelton, Greendale’s hapless head honcho.

 

In season one, the Dean is introduced as relentlessly optimistic, absurdly PC, and incurably incompetent.  Deep down, a part of him probably realizes he’s the captain of a sinking ship, but bless him, he never admits it.  Much of his presence in the first season comes from his cheerful P.A. announcements; no matter what unfortunate FYI he gives his students, he delivers it without fail in a chipper voice.  We also see his out-of-control PC leanings in action.  His attempts to be fully inclusive in creating the Greendale Human Beings mascot are well-meaning but misguided, and the holiday season is so taxing that he feels compelled to invent an entirely new character, Mister Winter, to avoid religious affiliation.  And let’s face it – he’s terrible at his job.  This is a man who accidentally gives out malfunctioning condoms at the STD Awareness fair.

 

The Dean’s more unique quirks start to come through toward the end of season one and beyond.  His Lady Gaga costume in season two’s Halloween episode kicks off the running gag of the Dean appearing in outrageous outfits to deliver a bit of exposition.  He has a particular penchant for women’s costumes; Tina Turner, Scarlett O’Hara, and Donna Reed are just a few looks he’s appropriated.  I adore this gag, not because I think drag is inherently funny, but because the Dean will seize upon the flimsiest of excuses to dress up.  My favorites include dressing like a Moulin Rouge dancer to inform the study group that biology class is “can-can-canceled” and wearing a “sexy construction worker” costume because he’s “building to big news.”

 

I think part of the reason I like him is because he’s just so happily weird.  He goes about his day wearing wild costumes, making goofy puns on his name/title (“simmer dean” is a good one,) and writing about the exploits of time-traveling Dean Dangerous, and he doesn’t generally let other people’s remarks stifle him.  At some point, he decided he was okay with flying his freak-flag, and he never looked back.  Some would argue that the show uses him to poke fun at queer sexuality, and I can see where they’re coming from, but it’s hard for me to agree.  I see how much the Dean enjoys being who he is, and even though he sometimes seems pretty wimpy, I think his sunny disregard for anyone’s mockery shows that he’s ultimately quite a strong person.

 

Not that he doesn’t let anything get him down.  As comfortable as the Dean is in his own skin, he’s very insecure when it comes to his job.  It’s desperately important to him that he’s viewed as a good dean and Greendale as a good school – when things start to get away from him, he falls apart spectacularly, and it’s always hilarious.  He goes to pieces when a game of paintball turns the school into a warzone, he very nearly loses his mind trying to film a commercial for Greendale, and when an outdoor food festival descends into a “race kerfuffle,” he helplessly wails, “I didn’t even know there was a difference between North and South Korean barbeque!”

 

Luckily, the study group usually comes through to help him out.  His earnest affection for them and their somewhat-begrudging protectiveness of him – like he’s an eager but annoying little brother – is a sweet part of the show.  It invariably makes me smile when the group includes him in an activity, a celebration, or even a group hug, because I know how much it means to him.

Neverwhere (2013)

 

Not the awesomely inventive, mid-90s-BBC-budget miniseries, mind you.  Same story, different medium.  This is Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere in radio-play form.  (Side note:  I get the sense that Gaiman is forever chasing a perfect version of Neverwhere.  It’s also been published as a novel and a comic.)  I find that both incarnations are excellent in their own ways.  It’s like with Doctors – Two and Nine, for instance, are massively different but equally great.  Bet you didn’t think I could come up with an analogy that’s even nerdier than the thing I’m actually talking about, did you?

 

Split into six parts, this radio drama is actually half an hour longer than the original miniseries.  Each episode covers about the same ground as its television counterpart, but first episode is twice as long; apparently, set-up takes more time when you can’t see anything.  I was impressed with how well it comes off on radio.  There are a few clunky lines where one character needlessly describes what something looks like, but they manage to avoid it for the most part.

 

It’s interesting, the way your imagination fills in any visual gaps.  There’s some description, like I said, foley art is used well, and occasional sound effects on the voices give added hints, but really, that’s it.  Just a light framework for the world of London Below, and my mind fleshes out the rest.  (Amusingly enough, I envision the on-the-cheap sets and costumes of the miniseries.  Wonder if that’s what Gaiman had in mind!)  I’m not sure, though, if it’d be so easy for someone who hasn’t seen the TV version; I might have to find myself a guinea pig.

 

Since radio nicely minimizes the expense of creating an urban fantasy world, terrifying hallucinations, and a hulking beast, the whole production feels a lot sleeker than the original.  The big names don’t hurt, either.  James McAvoy and Natalie Dormer (Margaery Tyrell on Game of Thrones, and a repeat visitor to Elementary) lend their voices to Richard and Door, and both are excellent.  McAvoy’s Richard is an overwhelmed but good-hearted everyman, and Dormer brings an otherworldly quality to Door, along with an inner strength.

 

I’m not terribly familiar with David Harewood, who plays the Marquis de Carabas, and he doesn’t make a huge impression on me.  In his defense, however, Paterson Joseph is just astounding in the miniseries and would be hard to match.  Sophie Okonedo (Hotel Rwanda, and she also played Liz Ten in series 5 of Doctor Who) is a fierce, dignified Hunter; her voice work here makes me wish I could see her performance onscreen.  Benedict Cumberbatch’s Islington couldn’t be more different from Peter Capaldi’s, and I think he tips his hand a bit early, but he’s very good as well.  No question that Islington isn’t of this world.  Anthony Stewart Head (Giles from Buffy, and he appeared in Who’s “School Reunion”) plays Mr. Croup with joyful menace.

 

And those are just the major players.  Also featured are Romola Garai (who starred in a miniseries of Emma a few years ago) and the great Christopher Lee.  For even more Whoniverse alumni, we have Bernard Cribbins (Donna Noble’s grandpa,) Lucy Cohu (Torchwood’s “Children of Earth” series,”) Yasmin Paige (Maria Jackson from The Sarah Jane Adventures,) and Paul Chequer (From Torchwood’s “Random Shoes.”)  Have I mentioned lately how much I love Britain?

Relationship Spotlight: Meg & Charles Wallace Murray (Time Quintet)

 

I was a little girl when my mother started reading A Wrinkle in Time to my brother and me.  It’s a fantastic beginning to a stellar series, and it contributed a lot to my lifelong love of reading.  Right from the start, I adored the rich characters, the sci-fi/fantasy elements, and the earnest prose.  The first thing that truly grabbed me, however, was this relationship.

 

When I think about it, it would’ve been so easy for Meg to resent Charles Wallace.  As an awkward 14-year-old, she’s a swirling bundle of insecurities.  She chafes at her clumsiness and lack of social graces, she bemoans her ungainly appearance (especially compared to her lovely mother,) and she can’t really see herself as the smart girl she is.  Given all of this, she could’ve regarded her brilliant 5-year-old brother as a reminder of her own less-than-remarkable intelligence.  Furthermore, the mere fact of Charles Wallace is a source of ammunition her classmates use to ridicule her; she’s the girl with the freak for a baby brother. 

 

Many stories about girls Meg’s age would follow a narrative of the girl learning not to be embarrassed about the atypical member of her family, but Meg’s ferocious love for Charles Wallace is one of her most admirable qualities.  It’s a defining facet of her character that she defends his honor at every turn, scrapping with those older and stronger than she is and going to the principal for her troubles.  She’s utterly thrown in her lot with Charles Wallace, and this is what leads to the extraordinary experiences in her life.

 

Charles Wallace is a great character, too – I don’t know why, but when I read his dialogue, he really feels like a child genius rather than an adult writer’s idea of what a child genius sounds like.  He’s knowledgeable, well-spoken, and unnervingly insightful, but he can also be petulant and a bit bossy.  Throughout A Wrinkle in Time and A Wind in the Door, Madeleine L’Engle weaves in reminders of just how young he is, and that goes a long way toward balancing out the more incredible aspects of his character.  Like his sister, he has a strong sense of morality, and he doesn’t back down from a fight, though his are usually mental rather than physical.

 

As terrific as the Murrays are separately, they’re magnificent together.  They generally talk to each other like adults, discussing their problems and planning their next moves as a team.  Although Meg sometimes pulls “big sister” rank, she doesn’t run roughshod over Charles Wallace.  For his part, Charles Wallace’s higher I.Q. doesn’t diminish the importance of Meg’s input; he’s patient with her and explains without condescending.  Much is made of their innate connection, and it becomes vital when they learn to kythe in later books.

 

Most of all, each character’s primary motivation is often protecting the other.  From the very first chapter of A Wrinkle in Time, Charles Wallace gets up in the middle of the night to make cocoa because he knows Meg is afraid of the storm, and it only grows from there.  He’s her protector through their first adventure as much as she is his, and Meg’s involvement in A Wind in the Door and A Swiftly Tilting Planet are entirely for Charles Wallace’s sake.  The climax of A Wrinkle in Time is perhaps the heart of the whole series.  It’s Meg at her most heroic, walking into an unspeakably dangerous situation that plays on all of her insecurities, and her greatest weapon is her love for Charles Wallace.  It’s them against the world (all the worlds,) and there’s nothing they wouldn’t do for each other – now that’s a love that can topple evil.