Some Thoughts on Vastra and Jenny (Doctor Who)

Not a relationship spotlight, just a few comments about a certain Silurian detective and her lady love.  I have some sticking points with LGBTQ representation in Moffat-era new Who.  For example, I categorically refuse to believe that the phrase “gay-married” will still exist in 3000 years, especially since Who has established the 51^st century as a period of so-many-species-so-little-time “flexibility.” 

So how about Vastra and Jenny, Who’s most prominent queer characters these days?  As a concept, they’re fantastic.  Queer ladies in an interspecies relationship solving crimes in old London town!  I’m all over that.  And as characters, they work fairly well.  Vastra is highly intelligent and intuitive, and although Jenny is less educated – Dr. Simeon dismissively calls her “fatuous” – she’s pretty sharp and thinks well on her feet.  Both can kick some serious butt and are equally comfortable investigating with or without the Doctor. 

It’s in execution where I think they too often stumble.  On the butt-kicking front, I don’t know where they got those skintight cat suits.  That bit of wardrobe is nowhere near Victorian, and the anachronism always takes me out of the story.  Yes, they have some non-contemporary technology, and they have time-traveled before, but I just can’t with the cat suits.  They’re like a cross between superhero costumes and fetish gear, and they simply don’t work for me.  I much prefer what they wear in “A Good Man Goes to War”: trousers for Jenny, a skirt Vastra can move well in, and loose-fitting shirts that seem period-appropriate and make sense in a battle.

Then there’s the power dynamic.  I’ll be honest – I didn’t mind this before, because I had it in my head that Vastra and Jenny were into BDSM, and all the orders and “ma’am” business was a game for them.  Not sure why I thought that (other than the cat suits, I suppose.)  It had might have had something to do with Vastra using her tongue like a whip in “A Good Man Goes to War.”  However, BDSM doesn’t really seem to be the case, which makes me wonder what’s going on with them.  I get Jenny being Vastra’s maid in their first appearance; it’s unclear how long they’ve been together at this time, and it’s logical that they’d start as employer/employee and become lovers later.  When we next see them, though, it’s four years later and we’re told, repeatedly, that they’re married.  So why is Jenny still the maid?  In “Deep Breath,” Vastra calls it as a “pretense” to let squeamish Victorians think what they want, but Jenny herself points out that a public pretense doesn’t explain their private lives.  It’s a bit like Jane Eyre’s plan to keep working as Rochester’s governess after she marries him, and there’s a reason that would’ve been totally weird.  Does Vastra pay Jenny?  How much overlap is there between work and marriage?  How is it an equal partnership when one is literally subservient to the other?  “Deep Breath” is an overall misstep for them, I’d say.  Besides the employment situation, Vastra just sort of does as she likes with Jenny.  The scene where Jenny thinks she’s posing for Vastra who, instead of painting her, turns out to be working on something for the case, leaves a bad taste to me.

It’s a shame, because they can be great.  By far, my favorite Vastra and Jenny are in “The Name of the Doctor.”  It’s less tell and more show, trading repeated marriage mentions for regular signs of affection, and you can feel the bond between them.  I love it when Strax notes that “the heart is a relatively simple thing” (meaning medically,) and Vastra, looking at Jenny, softly replies, “I have not found it to be so.”  Gorgeous!  Can we get more of that Vastra and Jenny, please?

A Couple of Dollhouse Thoughts

I love Dollhouse.  Even in the early episodes, where it hasn’t quite figured out what it is yet and spins its wheels doing Engagement of the Week plots, there’s so much that I liked about it, and I felt super-vindicated when it pulled out all the stops later on.  Today isn’t about the series as a whole, or a specific character or relationship.  Instead, it’s about a single thread from the first season finale (the aired finale, anyway – no “Epitaph One” in this post.)  The discussion necessitates some important plot spoilers from the episode, “Omega.”

All right, so Alpha is obviously insane.  He was all kinds of messed up even before his composite events, and acquiring 40+ complete personalities in one go didn’t help matters.  His plan, to imprint a random damsel with Caroline and get Echo to kill her original self, is crazy.  There’s nothing worthwhile to be mined from this plan.  It’s villainous with a capital ‘lunatic,’ and you won’t find any ambiguity in it, morally speaking.

However, the judgment and philosophy that fuels his plan is really interesting to me.  When Echo (still wearing a specific imprint at this point) puzzles over why Alpha is showing her Caroline, he tells her, “She abandoned you.  She walked out on you when you needed her most […] She left you to the jackals, to the wolves.  To the predators.”  I love this idea, because it flies in the face of most of the morality discussions Dollhouse was inspiring at the time.  While fans were talking about sex, violence, and overall trauma committed against the person, the personality that’s been removed, without their consent, the show looked at the body itself as a separate victim.

Not that the person doesn’t have a right to disgust, horror, or outrage.  Madeline hates to think of what she did, and what was done to her, when she wasn’t in the driver’s seat, and even a brief comic beat, Tony getting a little panicked when he finds gay-coded clothing among Victor’s eclectic engagement wardrobe, shows that the people behind the Actives have no say in what they’re made to do.  But in this episode, the person, Caroline, is confronted for what she allowed to happen to her body.  As Alpha explains, when “the road got a little rocky, seas got a little choppy […] she thought, ‘I’ll go to sleep.  Night-night.  See you in five years.”  What happened to Caroline is undeniably horrible, but she, her actual personality, wasn’t present for it.  Her body was.  While Caroline “vacated the premises,” her body was shot, stabbed, and screwed.  It was spun about, made to surge with every chemical it could produce (along with others it could ingest,) bereft of the inhabitor who could protect it with her agency and awareness.

After Alpha manufactures a composite event for Echo, the newly supercharged Active acknowledges the truth in Alpha’s accusation.  “You walked away from me,” Echo tells Caroline.  “You left me alone in that place.  Why did you do that?”  Despite Alpha’s blatantly-evil scheme, Echo recognizes the injustice done to her, the body, when Caroline signed away her rights to it for a number of years.  I don’t know why I love this idea so much, but I really do.  The thought that a body would take its mind/soul/personality to task over its treatment – I love it.  When we think of rights related to our bodies, we tend to think of our bodies as our property, but here, our bodies are our dependents, looking to us to ensure their safety.  It’s such a unique perspective, and I’m glad that this unique show gave me an opportunity to see it.

The Princess and the Frog (2009, G)

More Disney of the recent past.  This one is a mixed bag – it has some excellent highs, like the beautiful 2-D animation, and some indifferent lows, like Randy Newman’s so-so score.  It’s fine, but it deserved to be quite a bit better than it is.

Tiana, the working-class daughter of a seamstress and an aspiring cook, is a young waitress in New Orleans.  All determination and elbow grease, she works indefatigably while she saves up enough to open her own restaurant, one tip at a time.  When a foreign prince comes to town for Mardi Gras, Tiana’s usually spartan life fills with adventure, danger, and magic; Prince Naveen has been taken in by a shifty voodoo practitioner and turned into a frog.  The smooth-talking prince convinces Tiana to make like a princess and lay a magic smooch on him, but things don’t go according to the fairytales, and a freshly amphibious Tiana has to keep the two of them alive and afloat long enough to break the spell.

The Princess and the Frog has a lot to set it apart from most Disney Princess fare.  There’s no European or European-inspired setting, instead letting the action play out against a vivid Louisiana backdrop.  It’s also a 20^th-century story, with a jazz-infused score and ‘20s-era costumes that would look out of place in its sister films.  As I’ve already said, it eschews the ‘80s-and-beyond practice of using songs penned by Alan Menken in favor of a number of Randy Newman ditties.  And of course, the biggest news is Tiana herself, Disney’s first Black heroine.

These novel elements are pulled off with varying degrees of success.  New Orleans is a nice choice for a setting; it’s vibrant with life and color, and it offers a variety of locales from the Quarter to the bayou.  Placing it in the U.S. during the Jazz Age gives it a pretty different feel from most of Disney’s princess films, but overall, I think the movie makes it work.  Instead of being a place where fairytales play out every day, Tiana’s fairytale-obsessed childhood friend Charlotte is our entrance into that aspect of the story.  The typical Eurocentric princess tropes are just that, tropes brought into the film by a character who grew up on lavish dress-up clothes and happily-ever-after bedtime stories.  This provides the nod to the original tale while allowing some subversion through Tiana, who’s not sure she buys all this Handsome Prince and True Love’s Kiss business.  Tiana, by the way, is a very rootable heroine with a decent character journey and a gorgeous singing voice (Anika Noni Rose – Emmy from Caroline, or Change.)

That said, the film has its share of dings and dents.  While the basic narrative is solid, getting from point to point feels a little slapdash.  For instance, Tiana and Naveen’s mission to break the spell is interrupted by tons of side trips, distractions, and out-of-nowhere threats that don’t seem to flow organically.  Also, I know that hiring a composer other than Alan Menken isn’t an automatic knock – The Lion King and Frozen are obvious winners, and Mulan has some fine songs – but Randy Newman’s music doesn’t really work for me.  It’s not bad, just repetitive and a little generic.  Still, I know Disney can do better, and it’s disappointing that Tiana doesn’t have more to work with.

Warnings

Some scary stuff for kids, including creepy “voodoo” spell-casting.

Relationship Spotlight: Felix Dawkins & Alison Hendrix (Orphan Black)

I love that Felix takes so well to the idea that his foster sister is actually a clone.  He develops a separate familial dynamic with each of Sarah’s more prominent “sisters,” and, surprisingly, none is stronger than his bond with uptight soccer mom Alison.  This is a relationship that snuck up on me, but I’ve come to realize that any episode with Alison-Felix interaction is just that little bit better.

The proceedings get off to an inauspicious start when Felix, serving as Sarah’s back-up during an early clone encounter, is almost shot by Alison after she catches him outside her house.  She’s high-strung and justifiably paranoid, and he’s completely freaked out by his first actual clone sighting; so far, his only knowledge of Sarah’s apparent doubles has been secondhand, but now, he sees the indisputable evidence standing in front of him with a handgun. 

Even without threats of bodily harm, Alison is the clone that, on the surface, seems the most unlike Felix.  There’s his history and habit of mutual law-breaking with Sarah, and I defy anyone to dislike the brilliant, wonderfully vibrant Cosima, but Alison’s life couldn’t be further from his.  She’s a prissy suburban housewife who needs everything “just so,” and he’s a hard-partying artist who’s the biggest believer in his own fabulousness.  One of my favorite laughs from season 1 comes when Sarah pulls Felix in to babysit Alison’s kids, freeing Alison up for Clone Club-related goings-on, and Felix immediately wants to dress both of the tots in drag; Alison’s reaction is one for the ages.  All in all, not exactly a surrogate sibling match made in heaven.

Somewhere along the line, though, Alison and Felix grow incredibly close.  As things unravel, she gets much worse at pretending nothing’s wrong, and while her ensuing meltdown damages her relationships with her husband and friends, as well as her standing in the community, I think Felix sort of admires the mess that she really is.  He likes seeing the perfect, anal-retentive veneer fall away and finding the frantic, impulsive woman underneath, and she in turn realizes that Felix is enormously loyal to those who’ve won his affections.  I’m not gonna lie, their shared fondness for booze and pills is a real ice-breaker, but it quickly goes a lot further than that. 

Soon, strangely, almost paradoxically, they become one of the most unexpected pairs on the show.  Alison’s world is imploding, and she leans increasingly on Felix for help (he jumps in as bartender when a neighborhood potluck descends on her house while she’s tied up with particularly-insane clone business,) company (they share anti-anxiety meds after she locks herself in the bathroom at her intervention,) and comfort (she tells him massive secrets without fear of judgment.)  They still have their culture-clash (really, more like class-clash) moments – when Alison stays at Felix’s place, he’s fantastically horrified to discover she’s scoured it from top to bottom – but generally, he’s 100% in her corner, and she rates him miles above all her two-faced suburban friends.  There’s a moment in season 2 when Sarah is in colossal, life-and-death trouble, and Felix is obviously there for her, but despite all the craziness going down, he still worries about Alison’s well-being.  With Sarah, it involves conspiracies and assassins, but with Alison, it’s community theatre, and he still feels bad about leaving her without his support.  It’s so inconsequential, but it’s important to her, and Felix knows that and wants to be there for her.  That’s love, people.

A Few Words on Tipping the Velvet and Drag Kings

I was at a drag show not too long ago, and it got me thinking again of Tipping the Velvet and its portrayal of male impersonators in Victorian London.  The actual drag performances are a mixed bag – Rachael Stirling is glorious, and I’ve already voiced my lackluster feelings about Keeley Hawes – and the historical look at the practice is intriguing.  I’m so interested in drag, anyway, and media depictions of it, especially from other eras, offer a lot to explore.

First, I’ll admit that I don’t know a lot about what male impersonators were like in 19^th-century music halls, so I can’t speak to the miniseries’ accuracy or lack thereof.  I do think it’s neat that they appear to have been very mainstream.  Kitty and Nan hit it big in London, performing for what looks to be a pretty varied crowd.  True, they do a single routine in a show with many acts, so there are probably some people in their audiences who don’t care for them much, but they still get awfully famous.  While there’s a whiff of cheekiness to what they do and it’s a bit shocking for people, there’s not a sense that they belong to this underground niche that’s only for fringe groups and well-to-do people taking a detour into something scandalous. 

Once again, I simply don’t get how Kitty is supposed to be this astounding drag king.  There’s not a thing about her that projects masculinity.  Her voice – both singing and speaking – is high and soft, she doesn’t make any effort to mask her feminine features, and her demeanor is all wrong.  And yet, people praise her six ways to Sunday for making such a convincing boy.  Mystifying.  Technically, this performance might have been accurate for male impersonators of the time; like I said, I really don’t know.  Maybe simply seeing a woman in trousers with short hair was enough to spell “dude” for the Victorians.  I did notice that both Kitty and Nan are billed with their own names instead of with that of male drag personas.  And from a story perspective, I guess it makes sense to make her femininity so obvious, since seeing Kitty perform prompts Nan’s first sexual and romantic feelings.  However, I don’t know how anyone could look at her and commend her for her drag skills.

Nan, on the other hand, is a superb drag king.  Rachael Stirling’s husky voice, which she pitches even lower onstage, helps tremendously, but her look, posture, and movements all contribute to the effect.  She acts and carries herself like a man, and when she performs, she’s attractive in a distinctly masculine way.  I definitely buy that she can pass herself off as a man on the streets of London, whereas I’d never believe Kitty capable of the same. 

On a further note, I really like how Nan is appreciated for this quality.  The first time Kitty sees her in drag is the first time they kiss, and Mrs. Lethaby is completely enamored of the “handsome” Nan, often referring to Nan as her “boy” during their liaisons.  Yeah, it plays into the erroneous notion that, in same-sex relationships one person plays the “man” and the other the “woman,” but it also represents the far more seldom-shown idea that women who are thought of as masculine can be desirable.  With lesbian and bi women in the media so often portrayed as conventionally feminine, it can be harder to find queer women who are even slightly butch, and even then, it’s rare to see someone falling for them.  One might fall in love with other (usually conventionally feminine) women, and you may glimpse one in an already-established relationship (which probably doesn’t get much focus,) but to see another woman look at her and go, “She’s stunning!” doesn’t happen nearly enough.  Way to go, Tipping the Velvet!

Kick-Ass 2 (2013, R)

The original Kick-Ass is all high-octane violence, outrageous twists, and a sly blend of the insane and ridiculous with the ordinary.  It’s definitely an experience, and I don’t think the sequel matches it.  It’s not a bad movie – many a follow-up has failed to deliver on the promise of its predecessor – but the tone isn’t handled as well, and it doesn’t use its best asset, Chloë Grace Moretz’s Hit-Girl, nearly as much as it should.

In the years since the first film, masked crime-fighting has become the latest fad, and the streets are full of DIY heroes.  Dave starts out with the intention of training seriously under the punishing tutelage of Hit-Girl, but when certain obligations force her to get out of the game, he finds himself lending the Kick-Ass mantle to a poor man’s Justice League.  As in the previous movie, though, his notoriety in the criminal underworld is much bigger than his competence strictly merits, and his presence on the team soon makes them the target of a super-villain.

Obviously, sidelining Hit-Girl for a big chunk of the movie does it no favors.  Watching her attempt normal teenage stuff and deal with the Mean Girls at school is fine, but it’s not nearly as much fun as watching her acrobatically dispatch lowlifes while she curses like a sailor and shows off her swagger.  So, her own plots are less entertaining, and many action scenes fall short of top-tier without her unique brand of deadly, balls-to-the-wall fighting.  For narrative purposes, I can understand it; if she was helping out Kick-Ass and his less-than-impressive comrades, all their problems would be solved a lot sooner.  Still, from a viewer standpoint, it’s disappointing.

Aside from that major sin, though, it’s pretty enjoyable.  I don’t find it quite as funny as the original – at times, it seems to take itself a bit too seriously – but it still has a lot of irreverent humor, and I like the gallery of new heroes and villains.  (Jim Carrey’s Col. Stars and Stripes and Donald Faison’s Dr. Gravity stand out among the good guys, and for the baddies, Olga Kurkulina’s Mother Russia is the clear MVP.)  The animosity between Kick-Ass and the main villain is believably established, and while none of the big action set pieces match the ludicrous heights of Hit-Girl’s introductory fight in the first film, there’s some cool fighting to be had.

Just a bit more on Hit-Girl, because even when they don’t use her to her full potential, I still love her.  I like that, among the snapshots of trial-by-fire high school stuff she gets, we see her discovering her sex drive.  Don’t get me wrong – I love that she was a little girl in the first movie, totally desexualizing the usually hyper-sexualized role of the BAMF female assassin, but this scene is focused on her feelings, not anyone else’s feelings for her.  Hard, detached Hit-Girl is bowled over by a sensation she’s never experienced before, and this isn’t a moment we usually see for teen girls.  We see them crushing and loving, requitedly or otherwise, and sexual feelings can go hand in hand with this, but it’s rare to see a girl feeling turned-on for the first time, especially in a scenario that’s wholly separate from romantic attraction.  Very interesting.

Warnings

Swearing, sexual content (including an attempted assault,) alcohol/drug use, disturbing images, and plenty of the old ultraviolence.

Top Five Redeeming MGM Moments: Buster Keaton

I spent lots of time taking Buster Keaton’s MGM talkies to task, as they well deserve, but there’s a reason all of them – save Free and Easy, which is a crime against movies – are written up as The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly posts.  There is good there.  This is Buster we’re talking about, and he almost always wrestled at least one wonderful scene or moment into these films.  Here are my favorites – you’ll notice they’re heavy on physical comedy.  What does that tell you, MGM?

(Some of the pictures are pending.  I couldn't find shots of all the pertinent scenes online, and since I'm moving this weekend, all my movies are in boxes right now.)

The Art of Seduction (Parlor, Bedroom and Bath)

Straitlaced Reggie wants to convince the girl he loves that he’s a roguish playboy, but he’s not sure how to go about it.  A ringer is brought in to teach him the seductive ropes, and he learns his script – verbal and physical – dutifully.  It’s terrific slapstick, and Buster as hilarious as he is athletic here, whipping his practice girl around with diligent gusto.

Dancing at the Company Show (Doughboys)

The only way Elmer can see his girl is to join the company revue, already in progress.  In hastily-dressed drag, he first fakes his way endearingly through the big group number, then goes full-on deer-in-the-headlights when he’s pulled into the spotlight for a partner dance.  It’s half-dance, half-wrestle as Elmer frantically tries to get away and his tenacious partner keeps an increasingly tight grip on him.  Some amazing tumbling from Buster.

Trying to Save the Show (Speak Easily)

Everything goes wrong on the Broadway revue’s opening night, and Professor Post’s fumbling, pedantic efforts to right the ship only add to the chaos.  Buster is very funny as the stiff professor getting caught up in the action; he punctiliously lectures the audience, runs onstage at the slightest provocation, and ultimately winds up tangled in the scenery.  Some great gags here.

The Princess Rajah Dance (The Hollywood Revue of 1929)

I didn’t review this film, which is mostly a bunch of MGM stars proving they can talk and performing lavish numbers.  In the midst of the self-congratulatory ostentation comes Buster, in an act he created in vaudeville and perfected overseas during WWI.  Wearing a DIY Arabian princess outfit – his skirt is decorated with ladles and his headdress is adorned with a toothbrush, and so on – he does a fantastic snake-charming dance (with a string of sausage links standing in for his snake.)  It’s equal parts acrobatic and hysterical, and Buster just kills it.  Masterful.

Hiding the Dog (The Passionate Plumber)

This is just a tiny bit of business, but it cracks me up.  The girl Elmer loves is out on some errands, and Elmer follows with her tiny dog in tow.  As he waits for her outside the hairdresser, he cannot figure out what to do with the dog, and in a short wordless sequence, he explores all his equally bad options for trying to conceal a small dog on his person (in the inside pocket of his jacket, etc.)  In a pretty middling talkie, it’s a great Bustery moment with a lot of personality.